In Sweetlings, the author depicts a world of survivors struggling to find some semblance of normal within their deplorable reality. Mir has recently lost her mother and younger brother, and is dealing with her increasingly unstable father who has an unsettling fascination with the creatures emerging from the depths of the ocean. Set in a post-apocalyptic world in which nearly half of the world was submerged by oceans, Mir spends her days in her seaside home waiting for the next supply truck to roll around.
The night before my mother walked into the New Sea carrying my six-week-old brother, I heard her and Papi arguing. Even with the wind screaming past our tiny squatter’s house on the cliff, the rage in her voice slashed through the thin wall.
“It’s not right! I’d rather smother the boy in his sleep than do this!”
“But you must,” Papi said. His voice was firm and deliberate, the way he sounded telling me to take a dose of foxglove to ward off Blister Rot or refusing Mama’s entreaties to leave this lonely, wind-battered place and take our chances inland. Kind, but unyielding. “The child is suffering. See how he struggles to breathe. I’d carry him into the water myself, but my legs are too weak…and I won’t ask Mir to do it.”
“Then don’t ask it of me!”
“It’s not in our hands, don’t you see? We’ve got to accept what this new world is becoming, not torment ourselves with what we’d like it to be.”
She battles against the desire to leave her home and her family – to move inward, away from the sea – but her sense of duty to her father binds her. Things come to a head when the expected supply truck does not arrive and Mir goes off in search of it with her friend Jersey, which leads to a series of events that reveal her long-hidden secret.
This story depicts a bleak reality; with an arresting protagonist and the world-building, it is a recommended read for fans of horror and post-apoctalyptic narratives.
Excerpt: From July of his sophomore year in college until the following January, all Tsukuru Tazaki could think about was dying. He turned twenty during this time, but this special watershed — becoming an adult — meant nothing. Taking his own life seemed the most natural solution, and even now he couldn’t say why he hadn’t taken this final step. Crossing that threshold between life and death would have been easier than swallowing down a slick, raw egg.
Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage is a quietly wondrous exploration of self-actualization and social acceptance in our quizzically-structured human world. The protagonist is a mellow, “colorless” being as the title suggests, who transforms into an individual who cements his center and who he believes he is. As a reader, you may find that you cannot help but empathize with him, for there is a quality of self-doubt about him that speaks familiarly to the human psyche.
The author’s writing is a gentle rapture as always, with deceptively simple language that belies a deeper philosophy worth ruminating. Although the plot does not tie all of its loose ends, it manages to sufficiently quench any broader disparities and come full circle. A definite read for fans of the author and his style, but do pick up for the transcendental ethos and vividly unforgettable characters.
eyes i dare not meet in dreams is a short piece of fiction that takes its time in establishing the world it is set in, where dead girls emerge from their not-so-final resting places and make their way to civilised society. Understandably, not everyone has a positive reaction to the phenomenon.
The dead girls climbed into the light in junkyards, in vacant lots, in the jumble of shit behind ancient disreputable institutions one might kindly call antique stores. The dead girls climbed out in ravines and ditches and on lonely beaches and in dry riverbeds. Wet riverbeds. The dead girls climbed out into feet and fathoms of water. The dead girls climbed into the air but they also clawed their way out of long-deposited sediment and new mud, like zombies and vampires tearing their way out of graves. The dead girls swam, swam as far as they needed to, and broke the surface like broken doll mermaids.
This is how the story goes. But the story also goes that no one was present at the time, in the first days, so no one is entirely sure how the story got to be there at all. Or at least how it got to be something everyone accepts as truth, which they do.
Moraine clinches the unsettling feeling that builds with each subsequent descriptor of the dead girls and their relentless, unyielding efforts to get to their intended destination. At one point, the author showcases an attempt by the media to interview them but ultimately unable to procure a response from any of the dead girls.
A closer analysis of this piece proposes that the author drew inspiration from the trope of female characters being ‘refrigerated’ or killed in order to advance the character development of a male protagonist; one of the dead girls is also referenced as emerging from a refrigerator. It is quite an interesting theory as the sheer throng of dead girls could be interpreted as possibly reflecting the actual number of actual female figures killed off.
Set in the present-day and supplemented by reconstructions of the past, a woman investigates the unsolved murder of an ancestor in the nineteenth century. The author of this short story unravels the story in a seamless way that builds the character’s development as she uncovers new information that potentially sheds light onto the circumstances of the death of her great-great grandmother, who was afflicted with a disease that led to physical deformities when untreated.
I cannot see them, not yet. And when the curtain is pulled back, what will I see? Faces, pale and almost indistinguishable in the gaslight. My shows are only at night, for that, he tells me, makes them more impressive.
But I know my audience. Clerks heading home from their offices, tired after a day of crouching over a ledger, wanting to see a miracle. Serious young ladies who would never condescend to the spectacles of Battersea Park, but this is different—a scientific lecture. A tutor shushing his charges, boys who will one day go to university—until they see me, and then they shush of their own accord. They recognize me from their lessons in the classics and wonder, how is it possible? Gentlemen in top hats, headed afterward to more risqué entertainments. An old woman in black who peers at me through her pince-nez, disbelieving. She must have seen an advertisement and become curious—is it real? Or a hoax, like the Genuine Mermaid?
I am improbable, am I not?
Almost, but not quite, impossible.
And when the curtain is pulled back and they see me, sitting on my pedestal, arms raised, branches swaying, they will gasp. As they always do.
As Daphne, the protagonist, digs deeper into her great-great grandmother’s history, she gains a deeper insight into life as a person inflicted with their shared disease in the past. History represents different things to each person, but in the context of Daphne in relation to her great-great grandmother, it represents a way of gaining closure and accepting the past.
This story is recommended for readers who enjoy introspective narration and light murder mysteries.
We’ve reached the six-month mark of 2017, and how fast the time flies! While it may be summer holidays elsewhere in the world, the Taylor’s Book Club are buckling down to settle our coursework for the remainder of the semester. ‘History’ is the theme of the month, and we all know the past catches up to us eventually! Why not share a story about a past event? It may even provide clarity to you in the present. As always, past themed prompts remain open for submission throughout the year!
Write a story based on your past history with a person who eventually became your best friend.
Pick your favourite historical movie / television show and imagine what your life would be like if you lived in that time period.
You are a time traveller tasked with protecting the integrity of monumental historical events. A rogue colleague has hijacked a wormhole and trapped you in a particular time period – where and when are you, and what will you do next?
If you could re-write your personal history, what details would you omit or add in order to achieve your ideal history?
Detailed below are the guidelines to be adhered to when submitting via the website’s Contact/Submissions tab:
All manners of written submissions (prose, poetry, short stories, opinion pieces, etc.) are welcome in response to prompts — unless otherwise specified in any given prompt.
Poetry submissions should not exceed 150 lines in length.
Submissions of short stories should fall in a designated range of 1,500 – 3,000 words.
Aside from the above-stated content, all written entries of other sorts should not exceed 1,500 words.