Black Light: Stories, Kimberly King Parsons

Atlantic Books, 2020

Short stories 

I see the merit in Black Light though these short stories weren’t my cup of tea. Parsons writes flawed, sometimes grotesque yet mundane characters who share their neuroses, desires and ugliness with us, often through first person narratives. Many of the characters are young adults or children with weird interests and secret desires. There is undoubtedly a darkness to all of these stories; they are unsettling. There are drugs, imperfect mothers and lesbian desire. Violence, cruelty and dysfunction bubble under the surface.

The reader doesn’t come to understand the situation, circumstances or relationships in each story until halfway through; Parsons drip-feeds details to us - always through implication rather than direct language - making the reader work a little. There were several moments where I wondered how readers with English as a second-language might fare with these stories because the language is far from literal. Parsons instead taps into Texan colloquialisms and modern patterns of speech rather than a traditional writing style, which gives the collection a contemporary and experimental feel. However, as a reader who prefers short stories with precise and purposeful language, like in Raymond Carver’s Short Cuts or Samanta Schweblin’s Mouthful of Birds, Parsons’s Black Light wasn’t for me.

Many of the stories in Black Light end abruptly. I enjoy stories that refuse closure but reading Black Light I often felt taken aback and frustrated by the lack of message or point to these stories. Whilst I appreciate the importance of portraying flawed characters and mundane life – both of which I usually enjoy – I wanted these stories to do more, particularly around themes such as body image issues and mental illness which are portrayed uncomfortably. It’s difficult to detect whether there was an underlying socio-political critique or a philosophical message to the exploration of these themes, which was a turn-off for me.

Whilst Black Light was disappointing for me, I can see that it will be an enjoyable and interesting read for some readers who like quirky, dark and gritty short stories and I can understand many of the positive reviews this collection has gained. The Goodreads book description (copied below) is particularly accurate and so I recommend reading this to understand whether this collection is for you. But if your reading tastes are similar to mine (precise language, profound messages and space for marginalised voices) maybe spend your time on a different collection.

2.5/5

Thank you to Atlantic Books and Netgalley for the Advanced Reader Copy (ebook). Black Light is out now - click here to buy.

Book description taken from Goodreads:

Taking us from hot Texas highways to cold family kitchens, from the freedom of pay-by-the-hour motels to the claustrophobia of private school dorms, these stories erupt off the page with a primal howl—sharp-voiced, bitter, and wise. Black Light contains the type of storytelling that resonates somewhere deep, in the well of memory that repudiates nostalgia.

 
In summary, My Sister, the Serial Killer is worth a read and is suitably enjoyable.


3/5

Buy book here

Little Eyes, Samanta Schweblin
Trans. by Megan McDowell
Oneworld, 2020

Samanta Schweblin's new novel Little Eyes did not disappoint. I am a huge fan of Schweblin's short story collection Mouthful of Birds, which contains unique and eerie stories and perfectly controlled prose. Schweblin brings the same imagination and storytelling precision to Little Eyes.

There was an element of magical-realism that made Mouthful of Birds eerie, but Little Eyes ventures down a different eerie road. Little Eyes is about a new technology; and it's the believability of this technology and its corresponding consequences that bring the eerie element to Schweblin's latest novel.


Kentukis are small, pet-like robots that come in a variety of animal types: panda, mole, dragon, crow, bunny. Kentukis move around your home, controlled remotely, but not by you as the owner. Each kentuki is connected to an anonymous controller somewhere else in the world. The controller - or "dweller" is unable to communicate with the kentuki "keeper", but has full camera and audio access to the keeper's life and cannot be switched off.


The novel consists of different scenarios, some from the perspective of keepers, interacting with their new kentukis, others from the perspective of dwellers, watching the lives of their keepers through their computer screens. There are five narrative strands - scenarios we return to intermittently throughout the book - amongst a handful of random scenarios narrated in single chapters. The divide between keeper and dweller is maintained in each scenario and in chapters about kentuki keepers, the dwellers remain anonymous, even to the reader, adding mystery and intrigue to the story and affecting a real sense of concern in the reader, as we wonder who might be behind the camera.


There are two particularly genius elements to Little Eyes. Firstly, Schweblin has thoroughly considered the potential ramifications and benefits to this technology and covers them in the main scenarios and also in the smaller details in the book. Secondly, Schweblin manages to make each of the five narratives equally captivating. She maintains a balance throughout the book as we intermittently root for both dwellers and keepers and cycle through feelings of being for and against this technology.


The novel opens with a scenario in which a group of young girls expose their breasts to a kentuki camera and are then blackmailed by the kentuki dweller. The novel begins with negative consequences of this technology, speaking to the invasive and dangerous aspects of the technology that many of us would automatically think about. But Schweblin balances the plot with positive scenarios: a lonely, elderly woman finds companionship in the kentuki system; a young boy from Antigua is able to experience snow as a kentuki toy; crimes are witnessed and redressed. It's difficult to make up one's mind about the kentuki technology until the final chapter of each narrative in which Schweblin delivers the message that this technology is ultimately disturbing.



Other than the uses and effects of this technology, Schweblin explores questions about humanity. She raises the question: what kind of person decides to dwell in a kentuki rather than own and be watched by one? She also makes us confront our assumptions about who might be on the other side of the kentuki binary. And her characters enact cruelty, asking: what's acceptable when the kentuki is considered as an animal versus when the kentuki is thought of as a human behind a screen?

This is a fascinating concept which speaks to the increasing globalization of our world, our privacy concerns and a widespread loneliness and desire for connection. Schweblin's writing is succinct, precise and well-balanced with seamless dialogue. I've yet to read Schweblin's first novel Fever Dream but I am tempted to say that Schweblin is one of my favourite contemporary authors. Thanks also to Megan McDowell for her seamless and readable translation from Spanish to English.


I only have one negative thought about this novel and it's a small plot inconsistency. Otherwise, this novel is brilliant!

5/5

Get a copy of Little Eyes 

(If you've read Little Eyes and want to discuss this plot hole as if we're some sort of Schweblin trekkies, please feel free to reach out to me on social media or in the comments below; part of me does want to get this off my chest!)

The Yogini, Sangeeta Bandyopadhyay
Trans. by Arunava Sinha
Titled Axis Press, 2019

Fiction | In translation | Independent publishing | Identity

What a great little novel! The Yogini is fun and brilliantly ambiguous, with an interesting and complex female protagonist and highly relevant existential questions at its root. There is a light-hearted tone to The Yogini which makes it a fun, easy read but the underlying concepts - identity, faith, agency and relationships - are deep and you're left with plenty to think about after finishing the book.

Homi is a young, middle-class, female journalist, living and working late-night shifts in Kolkata. Her marriage is passionate and highly-sexual but ultimately loveless. She is being stalked by a dirty "hermit" (or yogi) with matted dreadlocks. She's convinced that the hermit is a manifestation of her fate.


Homi becomes increasingly obsessed with the notion of fate, becomes unable to make decisions and surrenders more and more to fate. Her marriage falls apart and her life becomes a numb routine of sleep and work; a pattern which resembles depression. However, it remains unclear whether Homi is experiencing depression, a subconscious realisation that her life lacks purpose, the fragmentation of self or whether this is a larger existential and spiritual crisis, in which the hermit-like manifestation of fate might be very real. The book is, of course, really about all of these things.


Homi is an interesting and unapologetic female character who experiences both intense and depleted sexuality. She is described as selfish and in love with herself and although this causes her relationships to break down, the narrative voice doesn't condemn her for this; which is refreshing. She is not responsible for anyone else - also refreshing - and this allows space for the exploration of selfhood and purpose beyond the roles imposed upon on.

The novel undergoes a miraculous shift in place and pace, as Homi leaves the hustle of Kolkata and turns up in a retreat-like courtesan's mansion in Benaras, taken in by a group of women. Homi doesn't remember how she arrived there, and the reader isn't let in on the secret either.


At the courtesan's mansion, Homi sleeps for days, is cared for by the women living there and is even washed and soaped by a new friend; a moment of physical, non-sexualised touch between women which is beautiful and important amidst the hyper-sexualised representations of women's bodies we are so used to seeing. Reading these Benaras scenes instilled a deep sense of tranquillity in me, as it was easy to imagine (or dream about) how calming and refreshing these days would have been for Homi, as so many of us can relate to the exhausting modern life she escaped from.

The book was also an education for me on some aspects of Indian culture. I was inspired to Google courtesan history (courtesans were talented and respected dancers whose reputations were sullied as they were turned to prostitution during the colonial period) and the translator's note at the beginning of the book about the complexities of Niyati - translated as 'fate' - was helpful and highly interesting. This page on Niyati was also a nice touch in terms of the physicality of the book. (pictured below)


My favourite thing about this book is its ambiguity. It opens with an prologue of sorts, in which Homi tries to throw first herself, and then the hermit (her fate), off a moving train. Chapter one is entitled 'The Past' leading us to think that the book will circle around to her rejecting/murdering her fate, though by the end, the exact opposite seems to have happened. Bandyopadhyay leaves lots of space for interpretation; even the hermit's existence remains ambiguous; is he a figment of Homi's imagination or a real person on whom she has projected the idea that he is her fate? It's a book I want to return to, knowing how the plot turns out, to see what new ideas and interpretations come out for me. It's one of those books with enough layers that you can return to it time and again and always uncover something new.

One thing is certain: I'll be picking up Bandyopadhyay's earlier works Abandon and Panty which have also been translated by Titled Axis Press.

5/5

Get your copy of The Yogini here

Book suggestions if you like The Yogini:
- Plastic Emotions by Shiromi Pinto


The Yogini is one of five fiction book recommendations from the May curation




Why not add The Yogini to your Goodreads list and whilst you're there add me as a Goodreads friend.