Wendy Erskine’s debut short story collection is a remarkable portrayal of ordinary life. Set in East Belfast, the assortment of candid tales perfectly encapsulate the fragments of beauty and bleakness found in the everyday, often mundane lives many of us lead. Documenting familiar folk with splendid rhythm and the monotony that overshadows them; the oddities of character and ghostly familiarity: this is domestic literature at its finest. Terse and simply written, yet so affecting and darkly comedic, with few references to the Troubles.
Winner of the 2020 Butler Literary Award, these short stories pull you in. You just cannot put them down.
The collection begins with the story To all their dues. We meet local sociopath Kyle who possesses a ‘diverse portfolio’, including racketeering and extortion, a noxious character who, accompanied by his brother, murdered their alcoholic father. Remarkably, he attempts hypnotherapy, and the results are hysterical: this hard-headed faux-masculine gangster seeking help, completely out of his depth. These places are only frequented by ‘ponces’ or ‘students’. He mocks the £80 fee for the session, instead handing the therapist a fiver with disdain, retorting: ‘You are making easy money, pal, let me tell you with this fucking caper’. Running concurrently is the story of the character Mo, embarking on a beauty parlour business, perfectly capturing how the plans we make rarely amount to what was first envisaged: the decor should have been ‘Caribbean paradise’: it ended up with vibes of an Amsterdam coffee shop. A smashed shop window and a visit from Kyle later offering ‘protection’ reveals the darker nature of the story: he’ll help those in a changing, vulnerable community; but it comes at a cost. Mo knows exactly what community means.
Erskine flawlessly captures those subtle, familiar behaviours of ordinary people. She articulates it in such a fine way that I found myself frequently looking inwards – sometimes wearing a droll smirk because many parts were so discernable. Uncanny and very powerful; at times unavoidably relatable. This is particularly highlighted in the story Inakeen, in which the character Jean is captivated by the routine and general lives of the Somali neighbours who have recently moved into the house opposite. Her unenlightened, indifferent son Malcolm only casts further shadows to an already desolate existence since the death of her husband and infrequent contact with her only grandson. The curtain-twitching amidst her ever-growing curiosity towards her enigmatic neighbours brings the only element of repose.
Arab States: Mind and Narrative sees surgery-worker Paula, who despite having her own family, is enticed by an old university friend who she stumbles upon while flicking through the channels for something to watch. Upon seeing his face she begins to ruminate, googling his name and finding him flourishing in a political career – imagining what could have been had she not declined an offer one night to meet up with him alone. The story is evocative and overshadowed by nostalgia – it drives the reader to question their own situation – the poignancy of what could have been had we all made different decisions or choices earlier in our lives. Is this really what we want? Are we ever absolute and/or complete? Those fleeting questions that often blindside even the most self-assured.
That belligerent and narcissistic person you know of, or have at least experienced, is perfectly captured in Observation, in which the character of Kim Cassells, absent-minded and unheeding mother to her daughter Lauren, fixates on her own self-absorbed world of the gym and her current provisional romance: ‘The problem about people like her…is that they think they’re something special…And they’re not’. Perhaps her fixation should have been nursed slightly more towards her offspring, as unbeknown to Kim, her daughter’s own self-centeredness knows no bounds. At times excruciatingly uncomfortable to read, not only in its awkward plot, but equally through the sheer dullness of small-talk and pseudo pleasantries exchanged: ‘My Dad was saying he saw you the other day. He was saying how well you looked’.
Locksmiths was arguably my favourite story from the collection. The plot is relatively uncomplicated, but Erskine manages to sandwich haunting trivialities in the spaces in between. A daughter inherits her grandmother’s house while her mother sits in jail. She peruses the aisles of a DIY store, in that pragmatic state when one has a new house to make a home: ‘I sometimes spent sixteen, eighteen hours a day working on the house, forgetting to eat’. The DIY store acts as the stimulant for change, and in the process leaves an incessant lingering of emptiness for the daughter. It contrasts the memories of old: ‘woodchip giving way to a paisley swirl, paisley swirl yielding to a bottle green paint’. It coerces her to move on from the death of her grandmother and highlights the finality of death: ‘She always sat in the same seat and smoked; there was a yellow bloom on the ceiling which I eventually with some reluctance painted over’. Decades of a life erased in one smooth coat of emulsion.
Change, and learning to adapt, is a common theme. Upon collecting her mother from the prison after her release, she is aghast at the radio: ‘What a load of shit’ and she is intrigued at how fast the car could potentially travel. Time had stood still: both for her mother and her grandmother’s house. The moments of pure stillness in the house are intensely haunting: she heard every floorboard creak, the clock ticked and ‘the slight gurgle of the water going into the radiator’. Those moments of silence only highlight what once was.
This is a collection of moreish, powerful short stories. They compel you to question yourself and your own life. The shortness of the stories (roughly 20 pages apiece) does not affect the quality, with Erskine managing to effectively instill colourful characters and engaging plots in slight space. They make you uncomfortable. Uneasy. But equally they are extremely enjoyable. They contain characters you know and live amongst every single day. The best thing I have read so far this year and for a long time.