Friday, March 24, 2017


In one story, the mortician's daughter felt "crazy and alone as a mouse trapped in a hat box." (31) She was always the outsider, always the oddball, always the one that got constantly teased and ridiculed. But perhaps this dark poet may be just the person to lend a willing ear.

In another story, one aspiring writer is dramatically taken by the genius works of Kafka. "I also read with deep shame at the jealousy I felt: jealousy that someone should write better than I; jealousy that another writer should say his part, then have his stories— stories as timeless as a platonic form—sit on the shelf of a second-hand bookstore collecting dust while I labored vainly, foolishly even, on flawed nonsense, thinking I was producing great art." (52) With his idol holding on to his last breath, the writer wonders if his writings should "be printed and sold like vegetables at a market." (56)

This small collection of stories is a well-written account of incisive wit and raw sensitivity. I thought the writing style was reverent and intelligent with a quiet solitude, but the stories didn't quite captivate me. While some were more enjoyable than others, most of them felt "unfinished," leaving the reader with questions rather than answers. And perhaps that was Dubbs' main establishment in these works. It's clear that these stories contain a philosophical approach that provoke critical analysis and pensive thought.  Like the stories that ran rampant with no end, perhaps this book would inspire the same in critical thinking, ensuing in a torrent of questions with no answers.


My rating: 3.5 stars

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