Spring 2004
Sick: An Anthology of Illness
Edited by John Edward Lawson
Raw Dog Screaming Press
Hyattsville, MD
296 pp. $15.95
Any work like Sick:
An Anthology of Illness is bound to carry with it the onerous and almost
stereotypical burden of experimental fiction: how does one depart from the norm
(plot, language, theory) while still functioning within the norm (the necessary
comprehensibility of the written word as communication vehicle). The weakness of
most modern experimental fiction springs from its nouvelle appeal to young and
disenfranchised writers who embrace the "approach" for its promise of
novelty while lacking the tools to execute it to any effective end. A more
important and related weakness stems from the stultifying effect of academic and
market forces that force those seasoned writers with the best chance of
succeeding in this difficult pursuit into narrow and unimaginative prose
patterns—patterns set and sanctified by a growing generation of editors,
publishers, agents, and other literary professionals genuinely incapable of
reading anything more difficult than plot-heavy, third person minimalist fare.
(If you can't sell the movie rights, why sell the book?) For the most part,
those who should depart from industry dogma don't have the guts or verve, and
those who do don't have the skills or experience.
Sick shows this
phenomenon in moderate relief. Strong individual works are sewn in next to
inconsistent passes of bright-eyed shock fancy. When judging the quality of such
visceral work one must remain highly attuned to voice and consistency—especially
in stories where the voice is intentionally inconsistent. If a writer is going
to depart from a strict attention to tense or toy with redundancy of word and
phrase or string together a series of irritating adverbs, he/she must have a
compelling theory-based reason, and this reason must be applied with a
consistent and assured hand. Using lumpen conversational voice in a narrative
phrase like "others didn't do nothing but stare ... " a few paragraphs
from a stilted permutation like "he was but two blocks from the hospital
..." can work, but only when applied evenly. In the story bearing
this example, little consideration of this nature seems to have been in play,
either in the compositional or editorial phase. This smacks of an "I write
what I write, and my genius shit don't stink, so fuck you"
mentality.
I've smelled a lot
of shit. Trust me: shit stinks. Even in rose gardens when placed next to wild,
colorful, and intoxicating outgrowths (like much of the writing in the story
from which the above example was taken).
This comparison
extends to much of the book: the sweet odor of some fine experimental fiction
marred by the occasional whiff of unintentional excrement, perhaps carried into
the house on the soles of the writer’s shoe from indiscriminate steps. It is
of course the editor's job to scrape away these offending particles and dung
balls, and to be fair, this phenomenon is only present in a third to half of the
stories in this collection—and in such limited quantity in those as to merit
only a few vague demerits. Almost all the stories have some redeeming features,
and several are effective beyond expectation. Stories by Harold Jaffe, Greg
Beatty, Earl Javorsky, Brandi Bell, Kevin L. Donihe and satan165 (hilarious
stuff), all display the combination of inventiveness and professionalism needed
for success in this gray area of prose. Many of the other authors show outright
genius, but a genius hampered by lack of attention to tools of the craft. Though
few budding authors are aware of the fact, this lack of attention constitutes
the most insidious and often mortal threat to any potential literary career.
Despite these
inconsistencies, we can recommend Sick. Younger, more impressionable
readers will be floored by it and think it a monstrous leap forward while more
experienced and educated readers may be able to excuse the occasional weakness
and appreciate the breathtaking, exhilarating and often diabolical machinations
of the human mind. Many tenure trackers and those even remotely familiar with
Strunk and White will undoubtedly squirm now and then, but there's a fair chunk
of meat in this nut. Tease it out.
