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Fiction International – 2011

Number 44

2011

Annual

Cara Bigony

This issue of Fiction International welcomes “deformity in all of its guises,” a description pulled from James Carpenter’s story “Extravagant Meanings.” In this story, a writer looking for literary fodder starts a shelter for troubled souls. He describes his “house of freaks,” as I’d describe what you’ll find in this issue of FI: “The physically infirm, the congenitally twisted, the morbidly obese and the anorexic and the bulimic, the mentally ill and mentally handicapped, the morally confused, the addicted.” It’s intense reading, to say the least. The plots are fast-paced and adventurous, and many of the stories’ lasting impressions are, on a human level, unsettling. It is also one of the more formally challenging and innovative journals I’ve read in a long time.

This issue of Fiction International welcomes “deformity in all of its guises,” a description pulled from James Carpenter’s story “Extravagant Meanings.” In this story, a writer looking for literary fodder starts a shelter for troubled souls. He describes his “house of freaks,” as I’d describe what you’ll find in this issue of FI: “The physically infirm, the congenitally twisted, the morbidly obese and the anorexic and the bulimic, the mentally ill and mentally handicapped, the morally confused, the addicted.” It’s intense reading, to say the least. The plots are fast-paced and adventurous, and many of the stories’ lasting impressions are, on a human level, unsettling. It is also one of the more formally challenging and innovative journals I’ve read in a long time.

The structure of Renato Escudero’s “Playing at Divorce” arguably determines our understanding of the love triangle between Bob, his ex-wife, and his aunt. The story—a combination of play, dialogue, and prose—is equally incestuous. In one scene, Bob and his Aunt are lying under the kitchen table writing a play about themselves when Bob’s ex-wife finds them. Self-referential by nature, the odd synthesis of play and prose is confusing at times, but does add new, juicy dimensions to the love triangle.

Kyle Muntz’s excerpt from his new novel Voices, is a story to be read out loud. If words can be more than poetic, if they can be sensual, his are. Whether in verse or prose (he alternates between the two), his sentences are short and crisp. The lust-filled narrator is also grounded by his insights, keeping the story from ever feeling too sentimental. You could open up to almost any page and find bits of wisdom that have been quietly slipped into the narrative:

We heard a siren from out front roaring. Two cars pulled onto the lawn. People took off running: transformation into an escaping wave  . .  We ran into the woods. The party fragmented like a star.  . .  Her arm bled, a trailing drop. It got washed off in the rain. She said yeah, ragged, leaning into me. I held her. She sighed. The night danced on her lips. When it was for her, the night could dance. She was real poetry: for her every bow bent, every corner turned. We didn’t need supplicants, and we didn’t need love. Every light blazed, every star shined. It didn’t matter that they’d come for us. We were already gone.

The excerpt ends with a fragmented dialogue between the couple that so smoothly morphs from prose into poetry that it’ll make you want to buy Voices.

Carol Novack’s “My Own Worst Enemy” is a demanding story about a man with split-personality disorder who sees everyone else in his life as a split personality, too. Each section of the story is a unique combination of Ted/Oliver and his ex-wife Mitzi/Doris. Novack’s constantly shifting “I” is clearly marked by bolded section titles which combine the different personalities’ names to show who will be present in the chapter. The penultimate section’s title “One Happy Family” makes for an interesting plot twist and showcases how Novack uses her unique format beyond its basic function. Personalities, not people, demand our sympathies in this story:

Was Ted as Oliver beginning to come to grips with having become his own worst enemy, or had he lost himself in Oliver so completely that the lesson in empathy was also lost? Would Ted as Ted when unbecoming Oliver (if ever) recognize Oliver’s ontological doubts, self-castrations, and heartbreaks?  . .  What chance did Oliver have, under such traumatic circumstances?  . .  [There was] so much to do to make up for the loss.

One of the only traditionally presented stories in the issue is “Maxine” by Camilla Palmer. Best defined as a tender coming-of-age tale, this piece deserves our attention as much as the crazy adventures that surround it. What’s great about this piece is that it doesn’t try to be more than it is: Maxine’s day of playing hooky. While the story is filled with action, in typical slice-of-life format, small indulgences like lying in the sun and eating Pop-Tarts are described with as much care as the more exciting events that unfold later that day.

FI also includes three successful pieces of short fiction, each barely over a page long and are as intense as the rest of the fiction in the journal as the stories tackle (respectively) the subjects of suicide, a man’s tour of duty, and a hostage situation.

The varied forms in this issue are enough of a reason to buy the journal. Though, there are times when the forms borderline on too experimental, perhaps at the expense of the fiction itself. The only major critique I have of this journal is that while titled Fiction International, most pieces are written by English speakers affiliated with American universities. The expectation that International means “works in translation” will not be met in this journal.
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