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The Laws of Average
In 60 flash fictions, The Laws of Average celebrates the insanity of falling in love, the absurdity of playing by the rules, and the stupidities of discontent that ensnare us all.
- GenresShort Stories
282 pages, Kindle Edition
First published July 1, 2014
About the author
Trevor Dodge
23 books37 followersTrevor Dodge's work has appeared in The Butter, Hobart, Golden Handcuffs Review, Gargoyle, Gobshite Quarterly, Golden Handcuffs Review, Notre Dame Review, Natural Bridge, Great Jones Street and many others. He is the author of three collections of short fiction, the most recent of which is He Always Still Tastes Like Dynamite. He lives and teaches in Portland, OR.
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Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews
October 5, 2014
I have been struggling to articulate my thoughts on this book, but have yet to make it past my initial response, which I humbly offer as something akin to a review:
This book fucked me up. But, like, in the best possible way.
This book fucked me up. But, like, in the best possible way.
December 27, 2014
These stories weave in and around each other in ways that took me about a chapter and a half to figure out, but once I figured out how to approach reading these, every new intersection was a delicious little surprise. There is so much packed into these often miniscule pieces--relationships are a significant theme, how they build and grow stale and collapse in on themselves, how they can also be fresh and simple. Family, self-doubt, cycles.
The chapters themselves are cycles repeating throughout the book, starting and ending with pieces by the same name (although different text beneath those titles). There are also themes, some reading almost like inside jokes (James Frey comes to mind) that reappear in surprising ways.
The language, the sentences, struck me at first as a little distant, keeping me at arm's length rather than letting me into the thing. That's not quite what happens here, though, not really. The distance, the racing over the things that really hurt to linger on the detail just to the left of them instead, becomes its own doorway into the core of the story.
By the end of this collection, I found myself gobbling pages, reading faster and faster for the connections between some of these bits, feeling a sense of a single larger story hovering above all the parts on these pages, the literary version of a choral overtone. It's a cool sensation.
Finally, always, the words. I love, in particular, the way this author uses surprising but perfect descriptors and maneuvers his way through long, coiled snakes of sentences that leave us somewhere very different than where we started. A few bits I marked while reading:
"After she'd finished her fourth crossword thing and tenth sudoku whatchamadoo and sixth anagram-a-bob, he figured it was safe to drape his arm along her side as she faced away from him, the mechanical pencil still dangling between her index and middle fingers, the little crumbs of its eraser clinging to the sheets and her skin like a stubborn snow."
"The old Chevy pickup was a sorry sight to say the least, and even worse on the interior, with his uncle hunched over the cracked plastic steering wheel breathing through his teeth."
"The man as a child marveled at the orange plastic basket at the exact epicenter of the spectral bomb. How it opened up towards the sky with its tulip mouth, flattening its sides after a miracle steel had passed through a lucky strike of the flipper below the 12-volt battery powering a flashbulb fireworks show behind the sheet of glass to the simultaneous peals of a real brass hammer striking a real brass bell. Then the rush of hieroglyphed spheres showered his little hands in the payout tray, wave upon wave of them, like an ice cream headache right before the pain takes grip at the back of the throat."
Interesting and varied reading experience, framed in by a lot of dark shadows. My kind of meal.
The chapters themselves are cycles repeating throughout the book, starting and ending with pieces by the same name (although different text beneath those titles). There are also themes, some reading almost like inside jokes (James Frey comes to mind) that reappear in surprising ways.
The language, the sentences, struck me at first as a little distant, keeping me at arm's length rather than letting me into the thing. That's not quite what happens here, though, not really. The distance, the racing over the things that really hurt to linger on the detail just to the left of them instead, becomes its own doorway into the core of the story.
By the end of this collection, I found myself gobbling pages, reading faster and faster for the connections between some of these bits, feeling a sense of a single larger story hovering above all the parts on these pages, the literary version of a choral overtone. It's a cool sensation.
Finally, always, the words. I love, in particular, the way this author uses surprising but perfect descriptors and maneuvers his way through long, coiled snakes of sentences that leave us somewhere very different than where we started. A few bits I marked while reading:
"After she'd finished her fourth crossword thing and tenth sudoku whatchamadoo and sixth anagram-a-bob, he figured it was safe to drape his arm along her side as she faced away from him, the mechanical pencil still dangling between her index and middle fingers, the little crumbs of its eraser clinging to the sheets and her skin like a stubborn snow."
"The old Chevy pickup was a sorry sight to say the least, and even worse on the interior, with his uncle hunched over the cracked plastic steering wheel breathing through his teeth."
"The man as a child marveled at the orange plastic basket at the exact epicenter of the spectral bomb. How it opened up towards the sky with its tulip mouth, flattening its sides after a miracle steel had passed through a lucky strike of the flipper below the 12-volt battery powering a flashbulb fireworks show behind the sheet of glass to the simultaneous peals of a real brass hammer striking a real brass bell. Then the rush of hieroglyphed spheres showered his little hands in the payout tray, wave upon wave of them, like an ice cream headache right before the pain takes grip at the back of the throat."
Interesting and varied reading experience, framed in by a lot of dark shadows. My kind of meal.
April 16, 2016
Stunningly well-written short stories that intertwine effortlessly with one another. One of the best books I read all year.
July 22, 2016
I unique set of stories, some heart breaking, others hilarious, a few mindbogglingly intimate. I loved this book full of "whatnottery".
Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews