Skip to main content

A Blind Man Can See How Much I Love You

This was the second book of stories from Amy Bloom, and I had fun rereading parts of it over spring break. Not everything works. The triangle in "Rowing to Eden" doesn't fully hold my attention. And the woman who adopts a badly disfigured child as a way of coping with grief? This feels a bit "on the nose."

But I like the shocking last story, "The Story," and the fun of being inside the mind of a crafty anti-heroine. I like the woman who sleeps with the husband of the president of her local synagogue, and contemplates helping him to commit suicide. (He is slowly dying of a disease.) I like the girl who stops speaking because her mom is really ill. People are in dire straits, in these stories. That's often a source of black humor.

Then, the title story, about Jane, whose daughter wants gender confirmation surgery. A story that came out before people knew much about the experiences of transgender men and women (and it surely uses dated language):

Once you know there are transsexuals, you see them everywhere. Short, pear-shaped men. Tall, knobby women. When you walk out of the waiting room at the North American Gender Identity Clinic, everyone looks peculiar. You flip through magazines and think, hmmm, Leo DiCaprio? There's something about him. And Jamie Lee Curtis? Look at those legs.

In her own mirror Jane now looks odd to herself. Maybe she's morphing; her feet look funny, her shoulders seem as wide as Marcella's, and there is a dark downy space where her hairline seems to be receding. Maybe she'll cross over before her daughter does, except she'll look like Don Knotts, and her daughter will look like one of Calvin Klein's young men....

This is funny and unusual; it puts the experience of a middle-aged mom front and center. Again, her daughter is considering surgery to correct her gender. The mom, through love and empathy, begins to wonder about her *own* body. Who is *actually, fully* comfortable in a body? Maybe we're all a bit transgender. Celebrities, women with receding hairlines. All of this seems like a plausible report on what this particular woman would be thinking in this moment. There's a sense of wonder--seeing the world anew. Also, when one member of a family goes through a major change, *every* member of the family goes through a change. Bloom captures this smartly--as Jill Soloway would also capture it, years later, in "Transparent."

Bloom is reliable for funny, incisive, elegant, and startling sentences. This slim collection of stories is maybe her best book. Food for thought....

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...

My Favorite Pop Song

  One thing I admire about Prince is his weirdly pretentious verses: Dream, if you can, a courtyard-- An ocean of violets in bloom. Also: Touch, if you will, my stomach. Feel how it trembles inside. No one else writes like this. Did people try to shoot down these choices? Did a producer say, "We'd like to rethink this one... Touch, if you will, my stomach...."  I can't help but wonder. But it's the chorus that makes this a classic. It's direct and universal--and it ends with that bizarre flourish, the allusion to "the crying doves." (Prince's song was number one in America for quite a while; it defeated Bruce Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark.") How can you just leave me standing-- Alone in a world that's so cold? Maybe I'm just too demanding. Maybe I'm just like my father--too bold. Maybe you're just like my mother; She's never satisfied. Why do we scream at each other? This is what it sounds like when doves cr...