Who I was Supposed To Be (eBook)

Short Stories

Susan Perabo (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2001 | 1. Auflage
192 Seiten
Simon & Schuster (Verlag)
978-0-7432-1324-0 (ISBN)

Infos

Behind every face in Who I Was Supposed to Be, Susan Perabo's incandescent, devilishly hilarious debut short story collection, there is something simmering, a singular quirk to explore, a peculiarity to celebrate. In the world of her fiction, nothing can be taken for granted, and there is no such thing as the run of the mill: here, a retired grocer takes up jewel theft in his twilight years, a data processor squanders her inheritance on a gown from Princess Diana's collection, a mugging victim, newly separated from his wife, feigns amnesia to win back her love, a teenage pyromaniac finds release in the company of her mother's jilted second husband.

In the tradition of Lorrie Moore, the stories in this collection celebrate the absence of normalcy, the quirkiness of the human condition, the everyday deviance of 'ordinary' people. In story after story, Perabo peels back the layers of the banal and the bizarre, revealing a world that is at once stunning and familiar, shocking yet comforting. Through her slightly off-center lens, she provides a fresh and penetrating look at human nature, giving us a glimpse of the extraordinary in the ordinary, the magic in the smallest of gestures. Her resilient characters are a testament to the undying potential for optimism that gives people a fighting chance despite the twisted, sad world around them.

Written in sharp, incisive prose -- overlaid with a subtle, mischievous wit -- Who I Was Supposed to Be is an exquisite and unforgettable homage to the human capacity for laughter, love, and wonder.

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"e;Both sardonic and moving...Perabo clearly recalls how to hit home runs."e; The New York Times Book Review "e;A stunning collection of short gems, revealing a world both foreign and familiar."e; Chicago TribuneBehind every face in Who I Was Supposed to Be is a singular quirk to explore, a peculiarity to celebrate. In Susan Perabo's world, nothing can be taken for granted: here, a retired grocer takes up jewel theft in his twilight years; a data processor squanders her inheritance on one of Princess Diana's gowns; a mugging victim feigns amnesia to win back his wife. In the tradition of Lorrie Moore, Susan Perabo's slightly off-center lens looks hard at the banal and the bizarre, and at the human condition, where she finds extraordinary magic within the smallest of gestures. Sharply written and overlaid with a mischievous wit, Who I Was Supposed to Be is an unforgettable homage to laughter, love, and wonder.

Textauszug

'The Greater Grace of Carlisle'

My mother, beside herself with loss, spent thirty-five thousand dollars on lottery tickets in nine months. It was Mr. Jenkins from next door, the official neighborhood bearer of bad news, who finally called to tell me.

'You know I don't like to tattle...' he began. He ended with: 'We thought you should know.'

I thanked him. I had thanked him as a teenager when he peeled my cat off the road and brought her limp body to our front door. Funny, the things you wind up thanking people for.

My stepfather Walt had died the previous January, after almost two years of battling stomach cancer. Through it all, my mother was the poster child for well-adjusted spouses of the terminally ill. For twenty-one months, her good will and sound judgment bordered on the psychotic. And after he died -- after he finally, finally died -- she seemed fine. Well, not exactly fine, but up to speed for a grieving widow. She wept as she packed away his flannel shirts, even had a session of grief therapy with the minister at their Methodist church. And then she seemed to go on with her life. I stayed with her for two weeks and then returned to my own crumbling world, a thousand miles away. As I bitched my way through a separation and second divorce in Arizona, my mother was going crazy in Illinois, trying desperately to win the lottery.

'We've discussed it,' Mr. Jenkins said. I didn't ask who the 'we' was, probably him and his tropical fish. 'We think you should probably come for a visit.'

At the time, I was doing temp work in Phoenix. I was also doing temp life. I had moved there only a year before with my ex-husband, what friends I had made were the wives and girlfriends of the men at his office, women I had not had time to bond with profoundly enough to warrant the inevitable awkwardness of postdivorce friendship. I had suffered through this period before, with another husband in another state, so I knew what to expect: the occasional pity call, an offer for a lunch date that never materialized, empty well-wishing that was worse than no wishing at all.

'I'll be there,' I told Mr. Jenkins.

And so I returned to my childhood home of Carlisle, Illinois, population thirty-five hundred morons. My mother didn't admit anything for two days. I was afraid to spring it on her, wary of pointing fingers at my mother, who (like the good fourth-grade teacher she had been for thirty-two years) always told me that when you point a finger at somebody you've got three fingers pointing back at yourself. I didn't want any more fingers pointed at me for the rest of my life, so I tried the subtle approach.

Day one:

'Where's your car?'

'I didn't need it any longer. I sold it.'

'Don't you ever drive anywhere?'

'I can walk to the market, you know. I'm not feeble.'

Night one:

'You still have that stock?'

'The market is shaky. Besides, that was Walt's game.'

Day two:

'Where's Grandma's silver?'

'I don't know. Somewhere in the attic.'

'I sure love that silver.'

'Really? I always thought it was ugly.'

Night two:

'You still have that teacher's pension coming, don't you?'

She put down her glass of wine. 'Chatty Chatty Kathy,' she said, raising her eyebrows. 'I'm beginning to think you have an ulterior motive.'

'I just want to make sure you're financially sound,' I said. 'Don't you read magazines? All these eighty-five-year-olds end up working the drive-thru window at McDonald's because they've squandered their money.'

'I won't be working at McDonald's,' she said.

'I was just -- '

'It's sad,' she said. 'I thought we were fairly close. I'd expect this type of sneaky behavior from your brothers, but not you. Next thing...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 19.4.2001
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• ISBN-10: 0-7432-1324-6 / 0743213246
• ISBN-13: 978-0-7432-1324-0 / 9780743213240