Reggae's rebel spirit blazes in this hot selection of short fiction from Jamaica's Calabash Writer's Workshop. Set in the Caribbean and the U.S.A., the stories sweep across a range of moods and genres to create a narrative LP of fascinating voices. From the old lady who gives a "how to" speech on beating children, to the schizophrenic singer who thinks he's Bob Marley, to the hotel maid who gets a sexual offer that she can't refuse, the diverse mix of characters are linked by the fundamental principle that all cliched conventions must be shouted off the page. In the proudly odd tradition of Jamaican music, the selections seek to entertain while asking daring questions that provoke new ideas into being.
Contributors Colin Channer, Elizabeth Nunez, Marlon James, Kwame Dawes, Kaylie Jones, Geoffrey Philp, Rudolph Wallace, Konrad Kirlew, Alwin Bully, A-dZiko Simba, and Sharon Leach.
I love short stories because of how they translate to literary grasping and fumbling. You get to explore more from an author's mind or from a group of authors through them, and that's exactly how reading this collection felt like.
Many of the stories included here are written in dialect, and all of them are actually very much overflowing with the inner life of Jamaican themes, stories, blood etc. I loved it, loved it, loved it.
Some of my favorite parts:
“My palms began to itch and I rubbed them as I talked to Maria in my mind—I’ve never found seduction easy. It’s never really simple. At first. There’s a part in the beginning when the glands are warming up and the old fears about yourself are hard and cold. When the glands are warm and the fears heat up, the fears will melt. But till then they’re hard. Like rock. And you think you’ll never be able to lift them up or roll them back or mash them down. If you back out soon, you can be safe. But if you stick it out, man, if you stick it out, and the glands warm up and their heat begins to cause the fears to melt, you’ll get a high, a real high, and you’ll feel like you can play any role you want, that you can play the man you used to be, the one with the prospects, the good playwright, the good husband, the great father—no, the great dad—and you’ll feel a jet of coolness just below the surface of your boiling blood.”
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“Lightning looks for water. Men are drawn to women’s tears. If I dig deep enough to analyze it, I might find out why. Maybe it’s because experience teaches that a love-up is the hero’s just reward. Maybe it’s because the tears provide us with a chance to catch up on the moments we missed with our children. Maybe it’s because a breakdown is exactly what we want them to feel when we’re inside them, turning like tornados, collapsing them with overwhelming force. But I’ve never analyzed it—even now—which means I didn’t analyze it that night. In the moment I just knew I wanted to hold her close and tell her what she needed to hear to make the crying stop, whatever that might have been …"
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“When I left my husband, I didn’t take anything. I just leave everything, because I couldn’t stand the arguing anymore. Next thing, I say I want to take something, and him say it should stay, and it boil into a fuss and get loud like a market, and then is just a big disgrace. Plus, whoever leave a marriage should prepare to leave everything behind. Hopefully it won’t come to that. Hopefully you can work it out. But if it not working out, make up your mind before that you won’t make things like furniture and all o’ that hold you back. When you got to go, you got to go.”