What do you think?
Rate this book
125 pages, Paperback
First published March 3, 2016
I'm not a short story person, either. To me, reading a novel is like going to a party where I don't know anyone: it takes a certain amount of emotional effort. If I find someone to talk to, I might have a nice time. The trouble with short stories is that it's like finding that person with whom to talk, and then being yanked back into the hallway where I have to open the door to an entirely new party.To extend the analogy, for me the conversations in the different parties either then have to be linked to form a coherent whole, or sufficiently fascinating in their own right to justify the investment and this didn't tick either box.
Yes, these are short stories about women in their mid-to-late twenties, and yes, in a way they cover many of those life moments often found in the more sophisticated chick-lit. Should it be on our long-list? Absolutely – Lara Williams is gifted writer. But more importantly, every story has an edge, an unexpected slant, a truth-seeking glance that forswears easy answers and creates a subtle ambiguity that forces us to doubt that happiness and contentment is around the corner. These stories take a sub-genre that is often frivolous and unthinkingly optimistic and renders the subject matter with an artistry it deserves.
You thought you might have exited your twenties, before announcing in whisky hushed tones … that you had been left for some kid in their twenties … some blond piece. You feel like some version of yourself sent from a future, dark timeline …. He hadn’t even the decency to have done it at a point when you could have properly committed to the role. Your options scatter like playing cards in front of you, offering only wishy-washed monologue, half-assed character pieces. Where does one go from here? Aerobics and amdram? Pilates and Prozac? … What is the narrative here?
How was she supposed to know that this thin sliver of untruth, this morsel of fiction, was being dispensed to her future husband … to grow fat, to develop wings …. she hadn’t realised lies take effort, they take commitment. She hadn’t realised that if you’re not in for the long haul, well best not, to bother at all. She hadn’t yet realised that in a relationship, honesty was just one of the many options, a sort of moral high ground, yes, but no more than vegetarianism or recycling. And she was both a vegetarian and a recycler.
She gripped him tighter, because what is it really, this small written thing, gone with the click of a button, the collapse of a screen, vanished, gone.