Kevin Canty has written a supreme collection of short stories.
What shines in the imagination long after reading A Stranger
in this World, with its tales of the strange journeys taken
by some of America’s twisted souls, is not just the precious descriptive
detail, nor even the word-perfect pace of plot construction, but
rather the sheer range and beauty of each individual narrative
voice. Canty succeeds in assembling a gallery of characters who
shift constantly in their psychological apprehension of the world,
who move through a variety of situations which are coloured by
the unstable passions of the moment, and offers to the reader
insights which, if they are unsettling, are faultlessly conveyed.
The barest outline indicates the adventurous nature of this collection.
We meet a boy who dreams of running away from his estranged parents,
an unspecified voice which speculates about what it is to work
the night shift killing stray dogs, a boy who falls in love with
a retarded girl, a young woman who discovers the strange exhilaration
of killing, an ex-junkie whose past returns to maim his new lover,
a middle-aged couple on the verge of divorce who sit together
in bliss as a blind man drives their car, and a woman bitter and
strong, almost beyond emotion, because she has lost the capacity
to love.
Canty’s gift is in creating these stunning fictions from the world
of suburbs, highways and holiday resorts. The stories encapsulate
moments of decision, possibility of tension, and focus on the
bizarre psychological processes of the individual character. But
the expression itself is carefully measured to maintain the link
between imaginative life and reality, as in his description of
a mother watching her infant son suffocate himself: ‘Miriam can’t
seem to move. She can’t focus her mind on the problem but thinks
instead how strange it is to see Will’s face in a different material,
a cast in plastic of his head and shoulders, a something: a bust,
she remembers, that’s the name for it, and awards herself a little
prize for remembering.’ That the mother adores her son makes the
image all the more powerful.
Canty’s confidence with language is such that he can take on such
subtle shifts of character without reducing the impact of the
story. Words are sharply defined but never all-embracing and always
subject to the changes of the characters themselves. Every line
is equal to the task of shooting between the world outside and
the processes at work in the characters’ imaginations, as well
as encapsulating the moments when they impinge on and influence
each other. In one of the stories he writes: ‘You might suspect
her of bird-watching, of having a VISUALISE PEACE bumper sticker
on her station wagon. You wouldn’t imagine her naked on the bus,
inviting the driver to fuck her. You wouldn’t think she had a
knife in her purse, defense against a conspiracy she wouldn’t
name, afraid to say the words.’ Kevin Canty makes that imaginative
leap seem effortless. This is not writing that takes short cuts.
Reviewed by Simon Peters
