AICN BOOKS! DROWNED GIRL, Short Stories, Jonathan Lethem!!

Random House, 241 pages

When I asked for this book from the nice people at Random House I was expecting something completely different then what arrived in my mailbox. The opening line that ran in Entertainment Weekly threw me off. It’s strange how a magazine that lacks intellect in such a profoundly abundant fashion could have picked this densely packed white trash comedy to blurb. It would be interesting to find out if someone at that magazine had actually read this book in it’s entirety. Stephen King writes for them, need I say more? Owen Gliberman hated the movie Heat, so that’s a permanent stain in my book.

Steve Sherrill on the other hand makes up for the lack of intellect the world over in this his second book. Benny Poteat is a very sick and troubled individual. I say this because I felt like running to the toilet to release my stomach contents on more than one occasion. What caused such a reaction? Let me count the ways.

1. Sex with a midget. Repeatedly.

2. Oral sex from his best friend. Countless times. That’s okay, Benny’s not gay, or straight from what I can tell, but that the act itself, the description; the detailed thought patterns troubled me. Do what you want, but there was something about the guy who runs the car wash as the local $5 whore, that really got to me. They're friends and lovers? Which is it?

3. Raping of the midget while she’s passed out from drugs supplied by friends of Benny Poteat. And then the examining of fecal matter from said midget. I'll let you read the book. Let me know how it makes you feel.

4. Masturbation. Copious. With different levels of success and failure.

These are the moments that caught me off guard. Sherrill taps into something here that is not common in any of the books I read, which is detailing the lives of the marginal white trash populace of the south, and describing them as white trash is being kind. Benny trips the light mundane more than once on his way to a discovery that is most exciting, like a tasty mashed potato sandwich. I didn't miss Sherrill’s play on words with his hero’s name. Benny Eat’s Pot, a nice touch. Benny fixes the lights on water towers in his hometown of Buffalo Shoals and the surrounding area. On our first trip to the top of the water tower we're given a birds eye view of a woman setting up a video camera, disrobing and walking into the nearby river. Benny can hardly believe his luck. His life is nothing more than a long list of things that involve almost no brain cells, no energy, and very little imagination. Now he’s got something to worry about. So off into the fray he goes, taking camera, and tapes off to his little slice of paradise, his apartment with wafer thin walls, furnished by Peg Bundy. This is where the book takes a turn for the exciting. Not that making tuna salad out of lemons isn't exciting, as is Benny’s job at the local (caloric over dose, heart attack waiting to happen) diner, it just isn't as thrilling. Note to editor, wasn't he instructed to use onions, and instead used lemons? Just a minor question.

Benny discovers a woman, (the drowned girl), and her entire creative life in a milk carton of VHS tapes she’s left behind, a sort of suicide note in reverse. She’s a struggling artist, making paintings from her waste, menstrual and fecal, you see the pattern. While Benny is feeling profoundly guilty about keeping this secret, he meets the drowned girl’s sister, the little person. Becky seems to be nothing more than a fantasy gone wrong. Benny’s world is warped and he lives in the disintegrated remnants he’s created, by ignoring and tuning out the world he inhabits. Interspersed with moments of masturbation glory and visits with the midget, Benny pounds his way through one strangely sickening situation to the next. This book is memorable for many reasons. Sherrill is a talent to be sure; his work requires a stiff fortitude towards the sickness that creeps in when examining the margins of society. This book is a treat, save for the last thirty pages where the wheels come off completely. The finest sections in this fairy tale are about cats, where they came from, the midget getting felt up by farm animals, and the mind of Benny Poteat, as oddly deluded and sickened as it is.

A brief note from our sponsors: Short Story collections to spend time with.

Unkempt, Courtney Eldridge, Harcourt, 262 Pages.

Anyone who has dropped out of three colleges, including the one I spent four years at, is someone I want to meet. A strange little package of stories from a writer that has been published by McSweeney’s, but I won't hold that against her.

The Anchor Book of New American Short Stories, Anchor Books, Edited by Ben Marcus, 480 Pages.

After you get through one of the more arrogant prefaces I've ever read, you'll be treated to some of the more tantalizing stories your likely to read. Ben Marcus is supposed to be Mr. Cutting edge, writing some sort of new style but it’s lost on me, (his jacket photo makes him look like he’s from the future). Fortunately he can pick a collection of short stories, toss a cover around them and call them “new”. Contributor’s include, A.M. Homes, (that’s my girl, love her), George Saunders, what a genius!!! And many others. Check it out; it’s worth the money even if you don't like short stories.

Labor Days, Selected by David Gates, Random House, 222 pages.

David Gates should be required reading for anyone over the age of eighteen. ‘Jernigan’ is a masterpiece, pure and simple and with ‘Preston Falls’ close on it’s heels. This collection is filled with modern classics, Carver’s: ‘Fat’, Richard Ford’s ‘Independence Day’ (excerpt) and George Saunders shows his face, again. These stories tell you what it’s like to work for a living. Sounds simple. It’s not.

Back at the Halls of Justice…

Men and Cartoons; Stories by Jonathan Lethem

Doubleday, 106 pages.

I'll be the first to admit that I didn't read ‘The Fortress of Solitude’. I can't remember why, but it just passed right over me like the shooting star that it was. I will however demand that all readers of this column stop what you're doing immediately and find a copy of ‘Motherless Brooklyn’, right now. Lethem charged forward into the literary landscape with a book that was so incredible it was hard to believe that something that brilliant could ever exist in this mortal world. You can thank Lethem when you see him, but the guy behind the guy that needs the kudos is his editor Bill Thomas. Lethem is nothing more than a brilliant creative force harnessed by Doubleday, and with his latest output, he’s their literary workhorse. Thomas told me a few years ago that he thought Colson Whiteheads novel ‘John Henry Days’ was the greatest book he'd ever read. I disagree, but that’s life. Thomas came up through Doubleday and made his bones with ‘The Century’, and after that embarked on a path of superior editing while plucking some real talent from the great unwashed. The world is luckily enough to have this crew released upon their consciousness, Colson Whitehead, Aimee Bender, Mark Haddon, Elwood Reid, Lethem, Myla Goldberg, just to name a few. This group is a sort of new school or creative force behind the best imprint at Random House. Sure Doubleday publishes Grisham, and Kitty Kelly, but with out guys like Bill Thomas, there'd be nothing to read. Sure, there’s Fisketjohn at Knopf, Kamill at Dial, but don't forget Thomas at Doubleday.

With that said, this little collection of stories that will slither out into the book world just to keep you thinking of Mr. Lethem while his next masterpiece is constructed, is something of an oddity, but a glowing gem just the same. ‘Men and Cartoons’ snuck upon this reviewer like stray dog. I knew nothing of it and I'm here to report that you dear readers need to pick this up when it hits your superstores in November. Lethem is a comic book junky and there are two stories here that are so deeply intertwined in the comic book world that you'll identify, I'm sure. ‘Iron Man’ was my bag as a kid, but I got over it and discovered movies. Lethem never let it go, he still gyrates with this heroic fascination of the super hero world. That’s okay, everyone has a vice. Lethem’s is simple idolatry, thrusting it into those adventures focusing his lusts on these characters, projection, perception is reality.

Starting with ‘The Vision’ a story so incredible, so delightful that you'll find yourself reading it over and over. The Vision is that kid in High School that you thought was just the coolest. He knew he was cool so he gave himself a nickname to suit that cool. The stuff about kick ball is incredible. Lethem misses these heroes’s, and The Vision doesn't care. Lethem looks for human companionship in these stories and when he meets a grownup Vision, he looks in his closet for his cape. At the end ‘Super Goat Man’ is a stunning piece of writing that dips into Lethem’s own collegiate past, (Bennington, I think, around the time of Donna Tartt?) and shows how a super hero, especially one as silly as a goat can be such an important component of modern folklore. Sprinkled into the rest of this collection are stories that reach varying levels of success, some hit and some miss, which is okay. ‘The Spray’ is brilliant, brilliant, God I love that story. Spray it on your house and you can see what you've lost. Finally the letter at the end will break your heart in two. That’s Lethem for you. He keeps it real, like his ‘Five Fucks’ in the Vintage Book of Amnesia; it’s all part of his fantasy life. If you're like me, you wish he'd write more, but there is enough to satisfy until he releases his next dream into the world.

Got something to say? If you've read this far you can shoot me an email.

Excellent work as always, Frank. Looking forward to next time already.

"Moriarty" out.