spite
I know an author!
In my most ravenous reads, I become a bit of a dreamer. I dream to be the expressive and observational female narrator, swishing about a large city with a social circle full of the published, the galleried, and the critiqued. They’re often columnists of some sort. They have great shoes and walk everywhere, making irresistible clicky sounds. Meeting Anjeli and reading her anthology Spite has made me feel a little bit closer to being them. The connected columnist – but without that edge of emptiness they give her in books (“she knows everybody but nobody knows her” and so on and so forth). Quite the opposite. All of my closest friends have held the book in their hands too, they have read the same words and known the mind who wrote them! Which is nice.
To sum up, I enjoy the pleasures of cosplaying as a well-connected dilettante.
Spite is a collection of three short stories.
Anjeli is a master packer, she has stuffed an unbelievable number of blindingly vivid moments and mental side-quests into this bright yellow carry-on.
French Turn is the story of an unfortunate pairing. Two women, being swept down the spiral slide Arthur has been unknowingly building for himself. In the margins of this tale (my favourite of the three), I asterisked (real word?) the following note several times:
”This whole section feels
like an incredibly well-edited movie.”
Anjeli has written marvellous scenes, but I think her great skill in French Turn is her editing – in the movie sense. Moving between moments, décor, habits… Hairspray in the morning and the promise of a young couple, a fire-escape and a jazz record, a floral arrangement and an ending.
In these quick moments, there is life given to each body, each member of the chorus. An air of likeability and banality for all.
The Wizard is simply a joy to read. A joy the way a makeover-montage is a joy. This tale is a haven for all the anxiety-riddled women with decision-paralysis. For masters at pre-empting, for those who cross bridges before an architect has even signed the contract.
Don’t we all so desperately wish to know: What if I did see every outcome, laid out in front of me like pretty thread? Anjeli, thank you for the silliest, yet most comforting answer I have ever received.
Saint Jane is a sad and beautiful meeting of grief and the inner child. Friendship in the earliest years manifesting as wonderful impertinence in times of need.
Read them all! It will take you one commute.
if you enjoyed the hypocrite you might enjoy:
on chesil beach
Ian McEwan
hot milk
Deborah Levy