This collection of short stories begins with the shortest first, leading to the longer and far more developed last.
My first impression was shock (less so because I had been warned by one of the author’s fans, and I was already impressed by writing for The New Yorker). Had I heard the language of her characters from my children, it would have been followed by a bar of soap.
Here, the idiom of her people is crude and standard to their world. It reminded me of the Ashcan School of Art, where the idiom portrays the linguistic setting of a poorer and less educated world than that of the average reader, one that we might think existed in depressed neighborhoods where individuals were just trying to survive. Spyra’s people are not well educated, certainly not refined, and their stories reflect their world where survival is personal and individualistic; they succeed in a world where they are unprepared and ill-trained to succeed except by the school of hard knocks. Theirs is a bar-fight world where the best they could hope for is still crushing poverty.
The first story shocks through its language and plot development. It takes place in a world alien to the average modern reader where success is exemplified in how we handle split infinitives, avoid guttural language, worry about which car to drive or how to afford a big city apartment now that we have our only child, or even before that, how do we get that unborn child into the best nursery school in New York City.
Please note that these stories, especially the last, are satires meant to provoke humor while pointing out the ugly and rough aspects of our modern soap opera world.
The first story reads like dynamite, planted by the author to blow the reader out of easy contentment. Don’t stop there! Travel on into a Swiftian world of satire, but one filled with humor, wit, and well-written prose.
Though the stories have no interconnecting plot, each in its own way introduces the reader to an unfamiliar world that lacks polish, a world that most of us would prefer to cross the road rather than see, much less meet, even listen to, what happens in this street curb society.
Sprya’s world is no Hemingway or Fitzgerald world of a middle ladder or class climber where how we talk, what we wear, what car we buy, and which neighbor we can afford defines success. Hers is a world where ‘Big Time’ is defined by affording the next meal, beating up the other guy by punching harder, hitting harder with words, or by using what sells, even if it's sex at the curb, also, of taking advantage of whatever luck happens.
Having dug into the mud and panned a few glittering nuggets, having allowed ourselves to be mocked, and in the end, learned to separate the dross of pyrite, we’ve unearthed a few bits and pieces of gold, even if it causes us then to wonder how we define success. In the last and longest story, is it Ruby’s luck to be on The Batchelor or her ‘nice’ friends who have truly succeeded fade into the woodwork of normalcy?
The first story mocks the dialogue of the average American, even the average urbanite and certainly the educated’ boomer,’ such as me; both characters and how they speak is crude, even shocking, shocking enough to sift away those not willing to take the characters as they are and ride with their stories. All, however, softens as the stories move along, or perhaps because the reader gets used to and more accepting of the world and dialect of these characters.
All the stories, therefore, prepare the reader for the last story, the longest of them all. Ruby, the central character, has grown up in an orphanage, in a school of hard knocks. Her rough/crude language matches her upgrowing. In addition, Ruby's story of an attractive young girl trying to enter and succeed in the equally rough world of Hollywood, where sex is traded for success and, therefore, for money. As a young wanna-be, she is prepared to perform whatever she must do to get ahead. Then the timeline of the plot explodes when she crashes in an airplane and wakes up several decades later (a modern-day Rip-Van-Winkle device), where sex is a less acceptable form of currency (but not absent), where drugs are rampant, where idioms have changed. As Ruby translates her former world into a more modern idiom, questions are raised (here’s the satire) about the values we, the reader, accept in our contemporary setting.
Many humorous things happen as Ruby tries to understand and cope in her new world, including being locked in a porta-potty (invented after her plane crash), which oddly launches her Big Time career as a contestant on The Batchelor.
This satire of our world today is good fun and very visual, even to the point of slapstick, a strikingly hard gag to pull off in the non-visual of unillustrated literature.