I bought this from a second-hand bookshop while on holiday in the small Norfolk village of Wells-next-the-Sea. This isn’t especially relevant to any feelings I have about it, but it seems worth noting for posterity regardless. I confess my interest in this book was entirely prompted by the combination of its unusual title with a name I’d never heard before. I bought it, and read up on it further only after I’d finished; turns out it had reviewed very well at the time, and I was pleased to note that all the author’s other books have titles that are similarly odd and compelling. But anyway: this is really quite good, and I enjoyed it in unexpected ways.
It’s a slim collection of stories, some of which are very short. The place is small-town Canada, the people are mostly working class, occasional small-time crooks, or family men and women. There are drugs and there are incidents of violence and terrible accidents. The style is somehow both florid and concise; there's generally few words on each page, but the writing is effusive, strange and evocative in a very particular way. There’s a feeling of noir about it, but there’s also that certain rambling, stoned quality associated with writers like Burroughs and Ginsberg, perhaps even Pynchon. Yet perhaps stoned is the wrong association: as I’ve suggested, there is a care and a precision at work here, even when the writing is doing its best to suggest a freewheeling ease.
Some (but not all?) of the tales assembled here are named after songs; some of the songs have something to do with the stories, but not all of the stories have anything to do with the songs. ‘Song from Under the Floorboards’ and ‘Burn Man on a Texas Porch’ are probably the finest and most complex offerings here: both offer rich meditations on sickness, ageing and the painful mundanities of life. Others are somewhat slight, reading more like tone poems or monologue routines: ‘Love is All Around Us’ is an amusing riff on the omnipresence of Margaret Atwood as one of Canada’s most celebrated literary figures, while ’19 Knives’ is a ghastly sketch of a methadone addict’s life with his son.
It’s good stuff; sometimes very good. Memorable in moments more than in its entirety, but such is the way of these things.