"Another Coming" by Sonya Taaffe
"The Elevator" by Patricia Russo
"Matters of Family" by Gary A. Braunbeck
"There the Great City Stands" by Ceri Jordan
"Night Window" by Marc Lecard
"Chad" by Kate Riedel
"Take the ‘A’ Train" by Wayne Allen Sallee
"C2" by Anke Kriske
"The Rosegarden" by Seth Matthew Lindberg
"Fading" by Katherine Harbour
"The Birthday Ritual" by Kurt Newton
"The Last Poetry Night at the Saturnalia Coffee House" by Mark McLaughlin
"Hooney Jew, Hooney Jew" by Steve Vernon
"Pale Fruit" by Jeffrey Thomas
"Soul’s Night" by Jennifer Rachel Baumer
"The Elevator" by Patricia Russo
"Matters of Family" by Gary A. Braunbeck"There the Great City Stands" by Ceri Jordan
"Night Window" by Marc Lecard
"Chad" by Kate Riedel
"Take the ‘A’ Train" by Wayne Allen Sallee
"C2" by Anke Kriske
"The Rosegarden" by Seth Matthew Lindberg
"Fading" by Katherine Harbour
"The Birthday Ritual" by Kurt Newton
"The Last Poetry Night at the Saturnalia Coffee House" by Mark McLaughlin
"Hooney Jew, Hooney Jew" by Steve Vernon
"Pale Fruit" by Jeffrey Thomas
"Soul’s Night" by Jennifer Rachel Baumer
"Not One of Us is a collection of stories, poetry, and artwork about people out of place in their surroundings." These words introduced the first issue of the magazine Not One of Us back in 1986. The stories that editor John Benson has chosen from the magazine’s many issues show glimpses into dark corners where outsiders dwell.
The opening story, "Another Coming" by Sonya Taaffe, is a surreal study of a love triangle. Acacia drifts through her worlds, pregnant and not entirely certain of the parentage of her child. Quince is a suspect, though how she could have fathered the child is never entirely explained. Leo is the more likely father, a man whose "skin, like honey in the light, silk and ivory in the dark" captures Acacia’s heart. Taaffe’s poetic descriptions haunt the piece. In one sequence, she describes how Quince "moved in a cloud of cloves and old burning, like incense in the matte folds of her coat and her fine, close down of hair where rain glittered" continuing with another lyrical passage describing Acacia’s thoughts. The story sets a haunting, mysterious tone for the anthology, skirting the edges of truth, leaving the true nature of its denizens unspoken.
Patricia Russo‘s "The Elevator" is a ghost story with tragic undertones. The narrator and her boyfriend, Danton, both see a girl in the elevator. She’s eight, maybe nine, and wears filthy clothes that stink of "a putrid, gut-curdling reek of crap and corruption." The narrator decides to investigate the girl, asking her elderly neighbors if they’ve seen or know of her. But the other tenants, all old-timers trapped by rent control, dodge the questions. Russo charges ahead with the story, pitting the narrator’s repulsion for the elevator girl against her feelings for Danton. The dialogue is crisp and the emotions intense, a striking counterpoint to the previous story. The ending lingers, memorable in its simplicity and decisiveness.
Another symbolic piece, "Matters of Family" by Gary A. Braunbeck, follows Albert’s shock at the drowning deaths of his parents and his coming to terms with his chronically disabled sister whose care has now passed to him. Despair is central to the plot; death, hopelessness, and the traps that ensnare men and women in loveless relationships. Albert resents his non-communicative sister, Suzanne, while desiring Fran, a friend who assists with Suzanne’s care, enabling Albert to attend his parents’ funeral. Albert recalls how his father used to read late at night to Suzanne, and how she once might have giggled at the spider in "Little Miss Muffet." Soon the edges of reality and fantasy blur as the spider webs from the fairy tale come alive in the confines of the apartment. Braunbeck personifies misery eloquently, so as to bring the reader to the edge of a precipice and appreciate the pit for its haunting beauty.
"There the Great City Stands" follows the narrator on an Alice-style adventure from the large city of Locutrix to a mysterious parallel city hidden beyond. Ceri Jordan splits the story in two—one half following as the narrator makes a life in Locutrix as a writer. Then, a chance meeting of an old woman drives the narrator to follow and slip between worlds to Utopia. Unfortunately, the secret city isn’t built for humans, at least not the type the narrator is made of, proving "It is a terrible thing, to be the only imperfection in Utopia." With few words, the story is a light read, focusing more on the moment rather than the ongoing issues of the narrator’s life. With a solid twist ending, though, Jordan avoids the vignette trappings of shorter fiction and instead offers closure.
Marc Lecard‘s "Night Window" is a wonderful "what if" story of a woman in the world’s oldest profession, but with a speculative twist. Deborah has been working for an unnamed group for nearly five years. She wonders how and why they chose her for this special line of work and posits, "Sometimes you find work, and sometimes it finds you." Her work becomes more fascinating as the details are carefully revealed. The unexpected yet inevitable ending is delightfully creepy and satisfyingly sensual. Not wishing to give away the surprise, I suggest you read this one early and savor the science fiction taste for a long while after.
One of the longer stories, "Chad" by Kate Riedel, opens with the great line, "They would eventually call it the Summer of Love, but right then it was only the Spring of Stupidity." Molly, Chuck, Gavin, and Renata borrow some land from Chuck’s Uncle and form a commune in a remote township of Ontario. A stranger named Chad arrives and gives the group two rabbits to cook. Molly speaks with him privately and shares a tender moment, igniting a relationship that drives the story. The next day, Chad returns with a chicken and an Algonquin story "of the great horned owl who wanted a wife." Soon, Chad’s behavior becomes more unusual, leading the reader down an obvious path. Though the ending doesn’t provide anything new, and the tale feels familiar, the prose is readable and the dialogue comfortable. Riedel accomplishes her goal of retelling a first nation tale from a modern perspective.
"Take the ‘A’ Train" by Wayne Allen Sallee is a sinister tale told from the perspective of a less-than-stable man. "Cassady spent October in his dingy, three-room hovel, submerged in his own guilt, self-exiled from the city." So begins Cassady’s decline from loner, to stalker, to worse. He has an ongoing relationship with Sarah, the woman who he met in University and who allegedly still loves him. When Cassady witnesses a murder, he seeks out his lover. She cooks him a steak, rare, and when he cuts in, the juices trigger a series of thoughts and his discussion becomes an artistic and surreal rant. With each paragraph, the plot, like Cassady’s mind, becomes disjointed, yet it never strays from its sole purpose—to frighten. Sallee’s meanderings through Cassady’s mind are delightfully murky, and the backdrop of the underbelly of Chicago provides the right sauce for this roast.
Another short-short is "C2" by Anke Kriske. "C for Ceilia, 2 for … second incarnation?" is the protagonist’s explanation for the title, also her apartment number. Ceilia finds the dead body of her neighbor, Mrs. Hernandez, in the middle of her living room after taking a shower. Rather than calling the police, she sits beside the body and contemplates its existence. Ceilia is prone to hallucinations, and this discovery may only be a figment of her confused consciousness. The ending twists the dagger further, giving the reader another angle from which to view the body. Is it real? Is the visitor at the door another hallucination, or is it the specter of reality? Neither Ceilia nor the reader ends the story with answers, only more questions to ponder. Kriske masterfully juggles hints of reality with globs of fantasy, painting a yarn of complex ambiguity. I came to my own conclusions about Ceilia’s reality, based on my desires rather than hard evidence, and I thank Kriske for the opportunity to do so.
Seth Matthew Lindberg contributes another weird tale with "The Rosegarden." Jack moves from club to warehouse, searching for the secret event known as the Rosegarden. At each rave, he pays money, but also brings a rose, "the true price of admission." Though he desires the women who frequent the events, he does not approach them. The allure of the Rosegarden is the music, or more specifically, the dance. On one special night, he sees the perfect woman and wants her, but when he approaches, she notices him and hides in the restroom. Not one to give up, Jack searches for the next Rosegarden, bringing along photocopied slips of paper asking, "Have you seen her?" With his obsession, his life deteriorates; he stumbles from job to job, making only enough money to stay afloat and obsesses about the mysterious woman despite his inability to remember her appearance. When he finally finds her, he puts a name to her face: Ganit. What transpires is awkward and unfulfilling. Jack’s life spins into a dark hole from which not even the woman of his dreams can rescue him. Lindberg masterfully captures the frenzy of the rave—the oddly dressed people, the secret locations, and the token of admission. Jack’s infatuation is as fleeting as the party: indistinct, addictive, and ephemeral.
"Fading" by Katherine Harbour begins in the attic of an abandoned house—a classic horror backdrop. Jaili contemplates killing himself, though first he whispers "the small chant he [uses] to change things." When it doesn’t work, his friend, Emery, arrives, Ouija board in tow, and the two head downtown for a last hurrah. This short work is filled with heartfelt moments; two teens connected so profoundly that they consider taking their own lives as a better choice than working through their difficulties. The end is poignant, though at a tangent to the expected outcome. Harbour captures the frailty of tormented youth with a quietness that cuts deeply at the heart.
An amusingly strange addition to the anthology is Kurt Newton‘s "The Birthday Ritual." Danny’s birthday party is filled with relatives from both sides of the family and carefully orchestrated down to the finest detail by Mother and Father. Joseph, the kitchen magician, feeds the boy breakfast and disappears, replaced by Mr. Bones, the Master of Ceremonies at the birthday ritual. Fine china, splendid food, and music open the festivities followed by a parade of presents each more grand than the preceding one. When the final presents are opened, the true purpose of the ritual is revealed, and the revelry takes a turn into the surreal. Newton paints a fantasy world reminiscent of The Nutcracker Ballet, filled with spectacle and tinged with fear.
One of the most memorable stories and certainly the one with the most interesting title is "The Last Poetry Night at the Saturnalia Coffee House" by Mark McLaughlin. Brent goes to the Saturnalia Coffee House every Friday night to read and listen to poetry. When a pale-skinned newcomer arrives, Brent follows him outside for a smoke, and they venture down a trail in the woods. Chad and Brent share an intimate moment surrounded by the trees. When they return, Brent learns that Chad is the son of Nose, the Saturnalia’s owner, who takes Brent aside and voices his consent for their actions. The romance flourishes, but when Chad reads his chilling poem, "Hungry for You," one Friday night, Nose hauls him aside, saying, "You know better." The story takes a sharp turn, and the true nature of Nose, his son, and their coffee house of secrets materializes. McLaughlin possesses a good sense of story, providing a solid beginning, middle, and end, with as many twists as a wooded road. Chad is exotic, Nose secretive, and Brent the quintessential naive and sensitive poet. The speculative elements are fresh and original, making this tale one of the highlights of the anthology.
Steve Vernon‘s "Hooney Jew, Hooney Jew" is the story of a girl’s coming of age in the harsh confines of her abusive family. Her only friend, Johnny-Jay, a homeless guy, rejects her advances when she asks him to marry her. And so she returns home to Poppa, a man who named her Hooney Jew, even though she vaguely remembers she once had the name Catherine, or Kathleen, or Katie. Momma mostly spends her time appeasing Poppa, keeping him occupied so that he will leave her daughter, who Momma swears was made by a Martian disguised as a door to door salesman, alone. Vernon’s style is savvy and streetwise, and his portrayal of this severely dysfunctional family, as told through the eyes of a confused and innocent child, is disturbing and unsettling. In an anthology filled with outsiders, Hooney Jew, her pathetic mother, and sinister father truly live beyond even the fringes of societal norm. With Twelve Monkeys surrealism, "Hooney Jew, Hooney Jew" speaks of a terrifying furtive world where family is synonymous with anguish.
The most haunting story is "Pale Fruit" by Jeffrey Thomas. Griffin knocks on his landlord, Guy’s, door only to meet Idelia, Guy’s daughter. She invites him in. As they chat about the bookstore where Griffin works, she stares at him, "as if to hypnotize him." The next moment, Idelia embraces him, kissing and groping. Shocked by the forwardness of this young stranger, and a self-described meek and inexperienced man, Griffin pushes her away and flees the apartment. He spends the day obsessing over Idelia, imagining her eyes on him through the apartment window as he walks down the street to his job, and later staring at him through the floorboards of her father’s apartment into his bedroom. Embarrassed by his escape from her affections, he returns the next day, hoping to apologize for his behavior. What transpires is imaginative and petrifying, a masterful scene of lust and discovery. Thomas fills the tale with stunning and evocative imagery, creating a young woman who is so much more than human and yet dreadfully empty.
The final story is Jennifer Rachel Baumer‘s "Soul’s Night." Cass attends the memorial ceremony in New York City held for her dead husband, Tim, and the other souls who perished when his plane crashed. The event is organized by the airline, complete with honor guard and flowers. Afterwards, she wanders the streets, unsure of the hotel’s location, nervous that the neighborhood isn’t safe, and dizzy from the day’s activities. The taut and page-turning prose is compelling to the end. Baumer adds layers of mystery until it’s unclear whether Tim or Cass was on the plane. The water of the river serves as a focal point, not only for the memorial, but for the lost hopes of their marriage.
Overall, the collection frightens, jars, amazes, and soothes the soul. Each story places its patch on a quilt of anguish and regret. As a sampler, the anthology provides ample reasons to subscribe to Not One of Us to further satiate the appetite of dark fantasy lovers.
Publisher: Prime Books (July 2006)