A radiant debut collection from Canada's freshest new voice in fiction.
Up Up Up heralds the arrival of a writer of astonishing range, compassion, and wit. In this taut collection of twenty short, sharp stories, Julie Booker grabs the reins from writers like Lydia Millet and Miranda July and takes off at full speed, and in directions all her own.
Julie Booker is five feet tall. She lives in a Toronto row house and drives a tiny car. She has a toy poodle and twin baby boys. She teaches small children. She sees the world in pithy arcs, nicely contained. Her short stories have appeared in numerous literary magazines and anthologies, including the 2010 edition of Best Canadian Stories. She won the Writers' Union of Canada's Short Prose Competition for Developing Writers in 2009.
Some beautiful nuggets of expressive, interesting description and writing. The stories had interesting sections, but most of the endings were not that satisfying for me. As usual, I acknowledge that this may say more about me than the stories.
She sees him only in her dreams now. Coming through the forest for her. Like the Big Bad Wolf. She’s disappointed, because she’s just finished decorating herself a house that suits her every need, her heart finally content. In her dreams Ray kicks her in the stomach and they have makeup sex stronger than mortar. She knows there will never be another like this. The depth of it. The tears. The repulsion and the coming back to herself as she rides him, making those animal noises. So that even the Woodcutter, ambling through the woods, holds still, wondering if it’s pain or pleasure he’s hearing. But he is busy with another wolf, another story. And in her dream she is never rescued; she simply moves house, leaves the neighbourhood. Gets her phone number unlisted. And every time Ray finds her, she sighs and opens the door before he breaks it down.
***
A quick peak online tells me that Up Up Up is Julie Booker’s debut. That might be the case—this is her first published collection—but this is clearly writing that has been honed and pared down to the bone.
The twenty stories collected in this book show an understanding of short fiction and the absolute need for cleanliness. In some cases, these stories feel drafted through a literary variation of architectural design—sharp, exact lines and simplicity of diction as the base. Every now and then she’ll get into a rhythm, like in the pulled section above, and the language and sentence structure will start to accelerate, impressively gathering momentum wish such little space to work with. It’s noir-ish in technique, minus the booze, broads and bullets. A little bit of James Ellroy, were he to write about art instructors, abusive teen relationships, and women struggling with their weight and their friendship as they trek through Alaska.
The economical style Booker employs in her word usage and sentence structure is echoed in the rather short, perfunctory conversations that her characters engage in. They don’t drawl, they don’t hypothesize, and they don’t ruminate over the ins and outs of the world. Stories like “Levitate” encapsulate a wealth of shared experiences—teasing, compromised friendships, and the youthful way we all thrive on the guilt of others to give our egos that boost we so frequently crave—in less space than most authors would use to fire their opening salvos. Some are certainly stronger than others—the aforementioned “Levitate”, “Breakup Fresh” and “Scratch” are the standouts, while “The Exchange” is possibly the weakest of the lot—but every story in Up Up Up offers a new, complete set of concepts in its tight and to-the-point running length.
Another in the trend of contemporary authors putting out books of short stories that are not really stories. They are glimpses into lives you probably will not care about. Imagine picking up an envelope filled with pictures of strangers in different settings . . . not knowing the people and not having a context makes the pictures forgettable. Nothing significant happens in any of these stories and adding a witty, clever, or "a ha!" final sentence will not make up that fact. The writing is good and there are some great lines nestled throughout but it bored me. Writing in subtlety for the sake of it is not enough. Three examples: 1) Two fat ladies go on a trip to Alaska and . . . nothing happens. 2) A woman takes a group tour across a mountain in Tibet and . . . nothing happens. 3) Two neighbors act cordial but do not really like each other and . . . nothing happens.
It is beyond dispute that Booker has a very strong writing voice. Most of the stories in this collection grab the reader immediately; the characters lost in a plethora of situations from canoe trips to doomed romances to eating disorders.
Where this collection lost me was that most of the stories seemed to end in places where little had been resolved or explained. For example, in one tale the reader begins by thinking the story is about a women coping with grief, but when two or three other themes are introduced before the story ends on a note that resolves none of them, the reader is bound to be confused.
With that said, "How Fast Things Go" and "Below, Below" both deftly avoid this problem and are, in my opinion, the strongest tales in the collection.
I found this to be a decent collection of short stories, but it didn't wow me like some of the other short story collections I've read. I liked the continuous themes of travel and art, but I felt the collection was a bit uneven. These stories did not really stick with me that much.
Last year I read 18 collections of short stories, and I find that exercise really had an influence on how I view the short story.
Laugh out Loud Funny, even when you think something serious is going on. Her depth of storytelling is brilliant, hoping she releases something more along a novel type book soon, loving this new found author !
Every 10 years I pick up a book of short stories so see if my taste for the genre has changed. It has not. Instead of condensed, stripped down stories reduced to their core as I expected, this read more as a collection of "middles" with no beginning and no ending which left me unsatisfied.