In stories
such as "Victory Lap," the volume opener, the author treats us to the thought
stream of his narrator or main characters, from adolescent fantasy to mid-life
confusions. His people tend to be hopeful, traditionally optimistic Americans.
If they work hard and keep on believing in themselves, things should work out.
If not on this page, perhaps a few pages later on. We’re often peering into
these characters’ lives at moments when things are not
presently working out.
"Victory
Lap," one of the stories that stayed longest with me, gives us two young
people at a moment of unanticipated crisis. Before the inconceivable 'bad thing'
happens, the author's prose has already got us into their heads. When it comes to young
people, Saunders is all over that ‘like.’ Nearly fifteen, Alison is posing on
the stairway of her house while imaging her image as the source of enraptured
contemplation by a suite of admirers. How fifteen is that?
The first
of her imaginary suitors says, “Let us go stand in the moon.” Had he meant 'on'
the moon? If so, Alison reflects, “she would have to be like, Uh, I’m not
exactly dressed for standing on the moon, which, as I understand it, is
super-cold?” Saunders is all over that American ‘Uh’ as well, and that
ubiquitous question mark at the end of statements meant to suggest the
questionable-ness of almost any assertion. Alison knows, beyond question, that
it’s super-cold on the moon, but she’s going to give you a chance to consider
how dumb you’re being.
Meanwhile
the neighbor boy Kyle is dealing with a "work note" left for him by
uber-controlling father, who sees life as an endless series of performance
standards. Poor Kyle's life is so tied up in parental regulations that he can't
take a step without making a misstep. Failing to remove his shoes before
entering the house, he fears leaving "an incriminating trail of microclods"
behind. He imagines a cable TV show called "What if... Right now?"
consisting of the dialogues that would occur if his parents discovered him 'right now' when he is in violation of one of their many protocols. His
inner monologue relies on phrases like "self-corrected," "per
your note," "holly-golly," and "shoe sheet is
required."
The plot of
"Victory Lap" appears to be heading toward tabloid TV disaster when a
dangerous-nut stalker -- contemporary social paranoia alert! -- appears on the
scene with a plan to abduct poor Alison. But when Kyle finds his self-button
and involves himself, against the parental warning in his mind, in the real-life
drama taking place before his eyes next door, the tale takes an unexpected
life-affirming note: "Easy, Scout," his inner voice narrates,
"you're out of control... Quiet. I'm the boss of me."
We suspect
this mean the end of parental mind-control for victorious Kyle.
The insight
that our inner voices are always narrating the progress of our lives gives
Saunders the technique he draws on for these stories. In the final, "The
Tenth of December" we follow the trails of a sick man attempting to remove
the burden his existence places on his family and a teenaged 'misfit' who
imagines himself becoming a hero as they intersect surprisingly. Again, the
inner word stream is spot-on, contemporary, and full of a cleverness the thinkers of
these thoughts seem unaware of.
Faced with
the challenge of rescuing the kid from a fall through ice, the undressed suicidally-sick
adult thinks about how to get the kid warmed up: "Hug him, lie on top of
him. That would be like Popsicle-on-Popsicle."
Somehow all
this works best, at least for me, when the deeper motivation behind all the
mind-chatter is fundamental human decency.
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