Our Sister Who Will Not Die: Stories: Non/Fiction Collection Prize
Autor Rebecca Bernarden Limba Engleză Paperback – 25 aug 2022
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Specificații
ISBN-13: 9780814258408
ISBN-10: 0814258409
Pagini: 240
Dimensiuni: 140 x 216 x 28 mm
Greutate: 0.29 kg
Editura: Ohio State University Press
Colecția Mad Creek Books
Seria Non/Fiction Collection Prize
ISBN-10: 0814258409
Pagini: 240
Dimensiuni: 140 x 216 x 28 mm
Greutate: 0.29 kg
Editura: Ohio State University Press
Colecția Mad Creek Books
Seria Non/Fiction Collection Prize
Recenzii
"[Bernard] creates a fascinating variety of ways to tell stories that engage risky narrative terrain. … Our Sister Who Will Not Die will appeal best to readers who are drawn to characters with precarious footholds on social acceptance, or even on reality." —Emily Choate, Chapter 16
“Rebecca Bernard explores the darkest innerworkings of her characters … while maintaining their humanity. … From pedophilia to drug addiction, abuse to adultery, each story highlights the painful and disordered elements of humankind but never loses the tether of empathy. … Separately, the machinations and characters within [the stories] are powerful, insightful, and absorbing. But together, this compilation and the dynamics within the relationships are unforgettable.” —Jenny Maattala, Southern Review of Books
“The characters ofOur Sister Who Will Not Dieare exquisitely chiseled, the situations nauseatingly challenging, the language delightfully direct and emotionally wise—so the results are refreshing and painful at once. … Our immersion in these uncomfortable spaces repels us. But Bernard won’t let us turn away. She makes us look closer, and we find ourselves identifying with, and rooting for, her broken, twisted heroes.” —Jody Hobbs Hesler, Another Chicago Magazine
“Without asking us to ignore or forgive, Bernard encourages us to rethink first impressions and to search deeply for compassion. … The stories [in Bernard’s collection] remind us that facing our fears and connecting with others allows us to ‘come, at last, to honesty, to ugliness, together.’” —John Wegner, Necessary Fiction
“Rebecca Bernard plumbs her characters’ darkest moments to extract something compassionate and gleamingly alive. One after the next her stories astonished me with their humanity and raw courage.” —Lee Conell, author of The Party Upstairs
“These edgy, unflinching, yet compassionate stories plunge us deep into the complexity of messy lives, deep into the minds of people we might prefer to dismiss. These complicated people—deftly brought to life on these pages—are like those who live in the world around us. They may even be us.” —Leslie Pietrzyk, author of Admit This to No One
“I read Our Sister Who Will Not Die in one sitting, as if diving into dark waters. After each story, I resurfaced with a gasp, certain only that I must dive again, reach deeper. A dazzling darkness beckons at the heart of these stories. The people Bernard writes into existence have unsettled me deeply. I care about them with an intensity that stuns me.” —Miroslav Penkov, author of East of the West
“Rebecca Bernard’s stories are scary exactly the way real life would be scary if we were aware of how close we were to great joy or great horror every step we take. I constantly felt as if I were standing on the crumbling edge of a cliff, entranced by the breathtaking view.” —Tony Earley, author of Mr. Tall
“All real lives are full of dark instincts, lost chances, moments in which everything hangs in the balance, or tips sideways. We’re struck by chance, how one thing becomes another over a lifetime. Our Sister Who Will Not Die is all about these moments and connections: moments of grief but also loose threads that reconnect in a profound way. A truly great story collection.” —Scott Blackwood, author of See How Small
“If Mary Gaitskill’s Bad Behavior and Ottessa Moshfegh’s Homesick for Another World had a lovechild, it would be Our Sister Who Will Not Die. Wild and subversive in the very best ways, these stories had me by the throat.” —Nick White, author of How to Survive a Summer
“This ambitious, daring story collection takes the reader to strange and unsettling places. Bernard explores, with great skill and unfailing compassion, subjects which many other writers would simply find too daunting to take on.” —Ian McGuire, author of The Abstainer
“Rebecca Bernard explores the darkest innerworkings of her characters … while maintaining their humanity. … From pedophilia to drug addiction, abuse to adultery, each story highlights the painful and disordered elements of humankind but never loses the tether of empathy. … Separately, the machinations and characters within [the stories] are powerful, insightful, and absorbing. But together, this compilation and the dynamics within the relationships are unforgettable.” —Jenny Maattala, Southern Review of Books
“The characters ofOur Sister Who Will Not Dieare exquisitely chiseled, the situations nauseatingly challenging, the language delightfully direct and emotionally wise—so the results are refreshing and painful at once. … Our immersion in these uncomfortable spaces repels us. But Bernard won’t let us turn away. She makes us look closer, and we find ourselves identifying with, and rooting for, her broken, twisted heroes.” —Jody Hobbs Hesler, Another Chicago Magazine
“Without asking us to ignore or forgive, Bernard encourages us to rethink first impressions and to search deeply for compassion. … The stories [in Bernard’s collection] remind us that facing our fears and connecting with others allows us to ‘come, at last, to honesty, to ugliness, together.’” —John Wegner, Necessary Fiction
“Rebecca Bernard plumbs her characters’ darkest moments to extract something compassionate and gleamingly alive. One after the next her stories astonished me with their humanity and raw courage.” —Lee Conell, author of The Party Upstairs
“These edgy, unflinching, yet compassionate stories plunge us deep into the complexity of messy lives, deep into the minds of people we might prefer to dismiss. These complicated people—deftly brought to life on these pages—are like those who live in the world around us. They may even be us.” —Leslie Pietrzyk, author of Admit This to No One
“I read Our Sister Who Will Not Die in one sitting, as if diving into dark waters. After each story, I resurfaced with a gasp, certain only that I must dive again, reach deeper. A dazzling darkness beckons at the heart of these stories. The people Bernard writes into existence have unsettled me deeply. I care about them with an intensity that stuns me.” —Miroslav Penkov, author of East of the West
“Rebecca Bernard’s stories are scary exactly the way real life would be scary if we were aware of how close we were to great joy or great horror every step we take. I constantly felt as if I were standing on the crumbling edge of a cliff, entranced by the breathtaking view.” —Tony Earley, author of Mr. Tall
“All real lives are full of dark instincts, lost chances, moments in which everything hangs in the balance, or tips sideways. We’re struck by chance, how one thing becomes another over a lifetime. Our Sister Who Will Not Die is all about these moments and connections: moments of grief but also loose threads that reconnect in a profound way. A truly great story collection.” —Scott Blackwood, author of See How Small
“If Mary Gaitskill’s Bad Behavior and Ottessa Moshfegh’s Homesick for Another World had a lovechild, it would be Our Sister Who Will Not Die. Wild and subversive in the very best ways, these stories had me by the throat.” —Nick White, author of How to Survive a Summer
“This ambitious, daring story collection takes the reader to strange and unsettling places. Bernard explores, with great skill and unfailing compassion, subjects which many other writers would simply find too daunting to take on.” —Ian McGuire, author of The Abstainer
Notă biografică
Rebecca Bernard is Assistant Professor in the English Department at Angelo State University. Her work has appeared in Colorado Review, Southwest Review, Juked, Pleiades, and elsewhere and has been recognized in Best American Short Stories.
Extras
Maxine and Frank had been the kind of in-love that even after seventeen years of dating and marriage, they could not seem to get enough of one another. It didn't matter what they did, they were happy-happy. Afternoons perusing sweaters at the Gap, evenings at Outback Steakhouse feeding each other bites of rare, over-priced sirloin, Saturday mornings at the community golf course holdings hands and Zach, their smiling child, riding along in the golf cart-a kind of easy, dumb bliss, too good to be true in its simplicity. When Frank mowed the lawn, trimmed the hedges, Maxine would come outside in cut-off shorts to offer him an iced tea, pass him the sweating glass, and watch him swallow the cool drink as moisture gathered between her narrow shoulder blades. Sometimes she wondered if her happiness was just too much to be believed, to be deserved.
But, of course, the death changed all that. It was a leveling device, something to make everyone even, even if it felt somewhat, or very, uneven at the time. So, Frank died and then it was just her and Zachery. Zach. Z. Her son, her baby, the only thing left, so it made sense they became closer. He was fourteen then, but still downy behind the ears, still sweet and meandering in his pubescence. He was a child, but not quite a child. He was a memory. A small glimpse of the love of her life who had left early, so early, but not Zach. He was still there. Still fresh. Still lithe. Still hers.
And so, in the wake of Frank's death, Maxine could recognize she had been something of a mess. It wasn't until after the first full month of mourning that she and Zach began venturing into public, and it had been her idea to make these necessary trips into a game. The Pity Party she called it. They'd dress all in black, drive the family's silver Subaru to the Kroger, and she'd pretend to be unmoored. Zach guiding her down the aisles, his hand on her lower back, stopping only occasionally to giggle at his mother's pretend stumblings, her quiet moaning, as they gathered bags of Sun Chips and organic chicken breasts, Hot Pockets for Zach and boxes of wine for Maxine. The strangeness of their display safely warded off the pushier neighbors with their endless condolences, the pity which at first felt honest, but later, Maxine thought, felt the tiniest bit smug.
The first weeks after Frank's death were something like that, a strange mix between loss and absurdity. How the dead person was like a crater, impossible to avoid, and yet she would somehow forget, find herself turning to speak to him, to ask Frank a question and realize once again he was dead. She was constantly between tears and hiccups of inappropriate laughter, and she and Zach both agreed that Frank would have thought they were acting crazy, but that he would have understood, and he would have loved them for it just the same.
But, of course, the death changed all that. It was a leveling device, something to make everyone even, even if it felt somewhat, or very, uneven at the time. So, Frank died and then it was just her and Zachery. Zach. Z. Her son, her baby, the only thing left, so it made sense they became closer. He was fourteen then, but still downy behind the ears, still sweet and meandering in his pubescence. He was a child, but not quite a child. He was a memory. A small glimpse of the love of her life who had left early, so early, but not Zach. He was still there. Still fresh. Still lithe. Still hers.
And so, in the wake of Frank's death, Maxine could recognize she had been something of a mess. It wasn't until after the first full month of mourning that she and Zach began venturing into public, and it had been her idea to make these necessary trips into a game. The Pity Party she called it. They'd dress all in black, drive the family's silver Subaru to the Kroger, and she'd pretend to be unmoored. Zach guiding her down the aisles, his hand on her lower back, stopping only occasionally to giggle at his mother's pretend stumblings, her quiet moaning, as they gathered bags of Sun Chips and organic chicken breasts, Hot Pockets for Zach and boxes of wine for Maxine. The strangeness of their display safely warded off the pushier neighbors with their endless condolences, the pity which at first felt honest, but later, Maxine thought, felt the tiniest bit smug.
The first weeks after Frank's death were something like that, a strange mix between loss and absurdity. How the dead person was like a crater, impossible to avoid, and yet she would somehow forget, find herself turning to speak to him, to ask Frank a question and realize once again he was dead. She was constantly between tears and hiccups of inappropriate laughter, and she and Zach both agreed that Frank would have thought they were acting crazy, but that he would have understood, and he would have loved them for it just the same.
Cuprins
In the Family
First Date
Sweat
Harold, Protector of the Children
The Pleasures of Television
Mouse
Our Daughters Whose Blood
A Most Pathetic and Confused Creature
Our Sister Who Will Not Die
We Have Disappeared
Gardening
First Date
Sweat
Harold, Protector of the Children
The Pleasures of Television
Mouse
Our Daughters Whose Blood
A Most Pathetic and Confused Creature
Our Sister Who Will Not Die
We Have Disappeared
Gardening
Descriere
Stories that bring the reader face to face with the frailties of human character and demonstrate how the yearning for connection allows beauty and hope to emerge from darkness.