Hydroplane is a story collection filled with the urgency of erotic obsession. Its breathless voices, palpable in their desire, are propelled by monomania, rushing from one preoccupation into a garage, a painting class, a basketball game, boys. Their words take on kinetic force, an almost headlong momentum, as though, while reading, one were picking up speed, veering out of control. The past returns. Rumination are continuous. A stranger at a bus stop is indistinguishable from the narrator's deceased grandfather; party guests turn ghoulish, festivities merge with nightmares.
Each of Steinberg's stories builds as if telegraphed. Each sentence glissades into the next as though in perpetual motion, as characters, crippled by loss, rummage through their recollections looking for buffers to an indistinct future.
Susan Steinberg is an American writer. She is the author of the short story collections Hydroplane, The End of Free Love, and Spectacle. Her stories have appeared in McSweeney's, Conjunctions, American Short Fiction, and elsewhere, and she was the recipient of a 2012 Pushcart Prize. She has a BFA in Painting from Maryland Institute College of Art and an MFA in English from the University of Massachusetts Amherst. She teaches at the University of San Francisco.
A dark and amazing collection of stories in the spare, fast, and sexually charged style that Steinberg is known for. I love how preoccupied she seems to be about youthful memories and deeply-seated angst. Fun fact: I named my cat Susan after this author.
While I didn't like this as much as Steinberg's first collection, The End of Free Love, there's some great stuff here. The last two stories in particular hit pretty hard. Much of the rest didn't really stick to me, though; maybe because the structuralism/formalism didn't quite seem to pull enough weight. Probably it was too subtle for my tastes—the aforementioned previous collection was a little more obvious in its formal constraints/experiments, and I liked it for that. It could also be that I'm just not in this sort of place, reading-wise, at this point in my life. For one thing, pretty much all the stories here are in first person (with, I think, exclusively un-named narrators), and that felt sort of claustrophobic to me, though it's hardly fair to knock the book for it. I just prefer third person lately (for the past few years), and never leaving the narrator's head over the course of the collection made me a bit restless. Still, the language is powerful to say the least. There's a great sense of being able to whip back and forth between multiple narratives within a story, the way people tell a story orally, with a sort of "but anyway" casualness, though it's handled really smoothly in the collection. Anyway, I look forward to reading whatever Steinberg puts out next.
Read this while my lamp sat on a cardboard box in Baltimore. You know how when you clip your fingernails, each individual fingernail suggests both history and connection with not only every other fingernail in the sink but every other fingernail ever, and this suggestion works by way of the underlying fact that fingernails are dead material and so many bodily things are dead material but also things we put on our body are sometimes dead, like toothpaste made out of ground up bones? That’s what this book—a collection of fictions, sure—is.
If I had to describe Steinberg's writing in 2 adjectives I'd choose stark and macabre. She has that rare gift for picking suspenseful scene structures, while at the same time extracting beauty from every sentence. I really admire her commitment to this relationship: writing brilliant prose on a word by word basis, but also keeping the plot moving at a gambol clip. Check out the stories "The Garage" and "To Sit, Unmoving" from this collection as wonderful examples.
Plus, you should see Susan when she gets all hopped up on tequila. Good times.
interesting forms and use of repetition, but makes you motion sick after awhile and the redundancy can be painful. Still, it often feels like a more honest approach to adolescent emotions than most authors take.
"The starts. There were fits. Then fitful thoughts. But first there were stars. They flashed past my face. And I watched them flash. And I felt my pulse. And the speed. I need not say." These stories are about desire. Women of varying ages rushing headlong towards something. Each tale is charged with energy, but also stripped of emotion. The book is almost entirely devoid of simile or metaphor. But what makes Steinberg's writing so exceptional, the pieces so compelling, is the rhythm, the repetition, the pacing. She creates the perfect atmosphere for each story. You're caught in the trance of these fervent young women -- all of whom experience some type of loss. Dark, spare, austere, Steinberg is a supremely talented author. I loved this book. 4.5 stars
Steinberg uses sentence structure, punctuation, capitalization, etc., as part of the art form. It really helps to add personality to the characters and to the reading experience. The stories are achingly relatable and full of antiheros. A lovely collection of short stories by a talented writer.
Experiential fiction shorts. The author does not use personal pronouns in this book. It is interesting, some more than others. Some go on too long. But still, it is a creative book. She taught at the experiential writers conference in Portland I attended and I liked the class I took with her. She inspired me so I wanted to read more.
I have heard her read twice in San Francisco. I love how she plays with style in all her work. The writing is very strong and engaging. A bit heavy sometimes, I felt I was holding my breath but that is a sign of a great writer to keep me on edge like that!