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PHICKSHUN

An imaginative if sometimes rambling collection of short stories.

Miller shares offbeat tales set in Southern California in this collection of literary short fiction.

“Art is a lie that tells the truth.” A creative writing teacher chalks this phrase onto a blackboard in the title story from Miller’s new collection, right underneath the eccentric spelling of “fiction.” The teacher—who has crossed eyes, braces, and a garbled voice—is himself slightly eccentric, as is the story and the 12 others that follow: An unusually tall high schooler attempts to ask a girl to prom while preparing for a presentation on the moons of Jupiter; in a neighborhood full of rumors of death and divorce, a father and his son learn the long, strange tale of their Vietnamese neighbor; an aspiring writer-turned-teacher experiences heart palpitations while preparing a lecture on California’s Channel Islands; an Uber driver gives a 98-year-old man a ride to the airport, where he is asked to go above and beyond the normal expectations of the job; and a motorist realizes he has the power to hear other drivers’ thoughts by staring at them via their side mirrors. Miller’s stories are, at their best, infused with wry humor, as in “The Time I Met Weaver McCracken,” in which the narrator—another of Miller’s numerous aspiring writers—travels to a conference to meet his idol: “I was going over ninety miles an hour, so I eased off the gas and turned on the cruise control. You have to take chances in life, but you have to be smart about them. Like Weaver McCracken, leaving his job as a golf journalist to write golf fiction.” The chatty narration sometimes hides a lack of plot, however, and many of the stories tend to run on without much of a sense of purpose or urgency. (The more successful pieces, like “Manfred Rutherford Junior’s Last Dance,” about the elderly Uber customer, tend to be shorter and less digressive, arranging themselves around a clearer premise or relationship.) Even so, readers will find a wealth of truthful lies to ponder here.

An imaginative if sometimes rambling collection of short stories.

Pub Date: Dec. 19, 2022

ISBN: 9798986335872

Page Count: 234

Publisher: Gnatcatcher Press

Review Posted Online: Feb. 5, 2025

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THE WEDDING PEOPLE

Uneven but fitfully amusing.

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Betrayed by her husband, a severely depressed young woman gets drawn into the over-the-top festivities at a lavish wedding.

Phoebe Stone, who teaches English literature at a St. Louis college, is plotting her own demise. Her husband, Matt, has left her for another woman, and Phoebe is taking it hard. Indeed, she's determined just where and how she will end it all: at an oceanfront hotel in Newport, where she will lie on a king-sized canopy bed and take a bottle of her cat’s painkillers. At the hotel, Phoebe meets bride-to-be Lila, a headstrong rich girl presiding over her own extravagant six-day wedding celebration. Lila thought she had booked every room in the hotel, and learning of Phoebe's suicidal intentions, she forbids this stray guest from disrupting the nuptials: “No. You definitely can’t kill yourself. This is my wedding week.” After the punchy opening, a grim flashback to the meltdown of Phoebe's marriage temporarily darkens the mood, but things pick up when spoiled Lila interrupts Phoebe's preparations and sweeps her up in the wedding juggernaut. The slide from earnest drama to broad farce is somewhat jarring, but from this point on, Espach crafts an enjoyable—if overstuffed—comedy of manners. When the original maid of honor drops out, Phoebe is persuaded, against her better judgment, to take her place. There’s some fun to be had here: The wedding party—including groom-to-be Gary, a widower, and his 11-year-old daughter—takes surfing lessons; the women in the group have a session with a Sex Woman. But it all goes on too long, and the humor can seem forced, reaching a low point when someone has sex with the vintage wedding car (you don’t want to know the details). Later, when two characters have a meet-cute in a hot tub, readers will guess exactly how the marriage plot resolves.

Uneven but fitfully amusing.

Pub Date: July 30, 2024

ISBN: 9781250899576

Page Count: 384

Publisher: Henry Holt

Review Posted Online: Sept. 13, 2024

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THE HANDMAID'S TALE

Tinny perhaps, but still a minutely rendered and impressively steady feminist vision of apocalypse.

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The time is the not-so-distant future, when the US's spiraling social freedoms have finally called down a reaction, an Iranian-style repressive "monotheocracy" calling itself the Republic of Gilead—a Bible-thumping, racist, capital-punishing, and misogynistic rule that would do away with pleasure altogether were it not for one thing: that the Gileadan women, pure and true (as opposed to all the nonbelieving women, those who've ever been adulterous or married more than once), are found rarely fertile.

Thus are drafted a whole class of "handmaids," whose function is to bear the children of the elite, to be fecund or else (else being certain death, sent out to be toxic-waste removers on outlying islands). The narrative frame for Atwood's dystopian vision is the hopeless private testimony of one of these surrogate mothers, Offred ("of" plus the name of her male protector). Lying cradled by the body of the barren wife, being meanwhile serviced by the husband, Offred's "ceremony" must be successful—if she does not want to join the ranks of the other disappeared (which include her mother, her husband—dead—and small daughter, all taken away during the years of revolt). One Of her only human conduits is a gradually developing affair with her master's chauffeur—something that's balanced more than offset, though, by the master's hypocritically un-Puritan use of her as a kind of B-girl at private parties held by the ruling men in a spirit of nostalgia and lust. This latter relationship, edging into real need (the master's), is very effectively done; it highlights the handmaid's (read Everywoman's) eternal exploitation, profane or sacred ("We are two-legged wombs, that's all: sacred vessels, ambulatory chalices"). Atwood, to her credit, creates a chillingly specific, imaginable night-mare. The book is short on characterization—this is Atwood, never a warm writer, at her steeliest—and long on cynicism—it's got none of the human credibility of a work such as Walker Percy's Love In The Ruins. But the scariness is visceral, a world that's like a dangerous and even fatal grid, an electrified fence.

Tinny perhaps, but still a minutely rendered and impressively steady feminist vision of apocalypse.

Pub Date: Feb. 17, 1985

ISBN: 038549081X

Page Count: -

Publisher: Houghton Mifflin

Review Posted Online: Sept. 16, 2011

Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 15, 1985

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