finding the lit: vol. 8

reviews

Welcome to finding the lit!

Yes, yes, I know I posted one of these last week. But that was a special edition, see, having to do with novels. Not my normal thing. This is a more classic edition, which has been a long time coming. Like, months.

As it turns out, writing and posting a story every week really cuts into finding the lit time—not because I am not reading my inbox (I am, in fact, still turning it into a finely curated lit mag) but because when I get the sitting-alone-at-the-computer time I need to put these together, more often than not lately I spend it pulling at story threads and hoping to weave a short story.

So yeah, it’s been a while. I try to limit finding the lit to 5 finds an issue, and I actually have some finds banked up, so there might be another new edition sooner than later.

It’s super important to me to do these. I want to put in to Substack what I hope to get out of it, which is: a place for good literary fiction to find us all. Recently I had someone compliment one of my specific finds on Notes, and another my overall recommendation output, which felt great.

Look, as I’ve said many times, I’m not trying to be an authority. If you enjoy my writing, you might enjoy these folks too. My finds are only as good as your opinion of my own writing. There’s no quid pro quo here, either. I’m just a guy who likes reading.

Without further ado—here’s vol. 8—

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I think

Chris Barkley

has been overdue for a recommendation on here, if you’re not subscribed him you certainly should be. It seems he doesn’t post often, but I found this in my inbox and was wowed. Not only did I learn the word bothy, but the Swedish word mångata, which a quick Google tells me means ‘moon road’, which you’ll see is a good fit for the story. Mångata is, at its core, about the exchange of stories and of burdens as we voyage our way through life, which is really kind of what Substack is…right? There’s a little twist to the story of one of the men that is heartbreaking.

And it’s filled with prose like this:

The land flattens as the dark moon opens like a seal’s eye. The bothy coils from the ink smear, a quiet sentinel looking out to sea.

Which I quite enjoyed.

Plus—he has a novel out?

This might have to go on top of my ever growing Substack stack of novels.

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Oh

Bob Graham

, my dearest Canadian. A strange time for USA-Canada relations, but I think Bob and I have always been cool. This piece struck me as uniquely Canadian; I’m not sure if it was the setting, or the attitude, or the voice of the narrator. The voice is all dropping the ‘-g’ and sounds country-like. In a way it reminds me of how people who live in the rural areas around me talk. I think it’s mostly about how we all get caught in the slog of the day-to-day, but sometimes you just have to lift up your head to sky and piss and be grateful.

I’ve always loved Bob and his non-fiction music posts. It feels weird that I haven’t recommended him yet; I obviously try to keep this space purely fiction, and he only writes fiction every once in a while. (Or have I recommended him? He’s not on the list but I might have missed it. If so he might be the first repeat.)

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When I read this story again, I realized exactly why I related to it so much: I’ve been the narrator in a relationship like this, the one that falls into complacency as the other surges ahead and ostensibly wants ‘lifestyle’ changes, but really they want you changes. I don’t think my experience revolved so much around food as this story did, but it did capture my feelings of inadequacy, the hinting from the SO in ways subtle and not-so-subtle, the anger at their overtures to another. What I mean is: this elephant in the room who thinks you’re an idiot is a universal feeling. It’s a lovely turn of phrase from

Kiana Alejandra

in a piece filled with good stuff.

Kiana leaves a little “author’s note” meta commentary at the bottom of this one. I especially like where she says:

I’ve never personally experienced what my main character is going through here

As someone who has, I believe her when she says this—just proof you don’t exactly have to experience something to let the muse come to you and regurgitate it.

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Ironically, this one also kind of has to do with food. I asserted in this Note that I knew what this story by

Caleb Caudell

was about, which was maybe brash of me.

He responded with a really insightful Note:

Inconsistent desires clash without higher mediating powers. A prognosis for modernity if I’ve ever heard one. I think this maybe gets a bit into Rene Girard type mimetic stuff and maybe even modern mimetic desire as described by Luke Burgis, but to get into that I would have to admit that I sometimes read some of these blustering philosophical Substack non-fiction types, and we all know I would never do such a thing.

Looks like Caleb has a book of short stories out as well. If they’re all the quality of this one, with the same gritty realism, I’m in.

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Rosie B

’s stories have a neat little duality to them; sometimes they wrap you up in a warm blanket, then tuck you in and give you a kiss goodnight. Sometimes they rip the blanket away and kick you out into the cold. But it always starts with the warmness of the blanket, I promise.

I didn’t want to spoil it here, but what happens in this story is a tsunami. Can you trust clairvoyants? It interested me enough to google Australian tsunamis of 1976. Did one happen? No. But it might’ve.

I don’t know if Rosie B is Australian, but if so, I hope they are enjoying the Australian summer. If I have to see

Nathan Slake

post one more pic of brilliant Melbourne skies, I am going to physically turn the world upside-down myself. I read better when the weather is nice in the Northern Hemisphere.

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That’s a wrap on vol. 8!

I’ll leave you with this:

And my latest short story, which doesn’t contain much re-stackable prose, but I quite liked how the story came together: