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Susanna Cornett burst on the blogosphere with the suddenness and effectiveness of a lightning strike on a tall pine. She holds a full-time job, updates her main blog cut on the bias frequently and wittily, maintains several other blogs, and is going to be in the Race for the Cure against breast cancer on September 15 (and if you haven't donated, either to sponsor her or as a virtuous thing in itself, do so immediately). It is therefore with some embarrassment that I admit that I didn't care at that much for her short story, "Santa's Best Delivery" (sorry, Susanna; you may now kick me until I bleed). As far as technique goes, there is absolutely nothing wrong with it; I do not want to give my readers a falsely low impression of her ability. Rather, it seems to me to be a "slice-of-life" short story. I'm not opposed to those on principle. And, although it is widely agreed that my personality makes alum seem sweet, I do not care for dreary, meaningless stories about dreary, meaningless people. If I want one of those, I'll look in the mirror. But Lynnell doesn't seem to go anywhere new in this story. I don't think she really doubted Luke (her husband), and there's no reason given why she should have. The competence and compassion of Rudy Thomas is, perhaps, more than can be expected of the average passer-by, but neither is it unheard of. And Lynnell ends by just affirming her faith in the people, close and chance-met both, and in the world around her. She had this faith already, although sweltering in red velvet and false whiskers whilst nine months pregnant, with small children jumping on and off her lap, causes her doubts, understandable if not well-found (a woman who didn't have doubts under those circumstances would be either a saint or tranqed to the gills). Yet a story which ends, as this one does in essence, with "Suddenly those mists cleared and everything was all right" is simply not one which can sustain my interest (and Rachel's naïvety at the end is perhaps a little too cute for my tastes). This is a story meant for a better man than myself. Fortunately, there are many such who may read it with the appreciation that I cannot. John "Akatsukami" Braue Thursday, August 29, 2002 |
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