|

|
Ten
Stories About Smoking
by Stuart Evers
Picador
2011
First
Collection |
|
"
Linda
liked the way her brother's driveway felt beneath her feet. Singled
and stoned, it gave a solid, satisfying crunch at every step, a sound
both aristocratic and forbidden; as though she'd stolen over a
wrought-iron fence into the gardens of a stately home. She dropped
her cigarette, crushed it under the heel of her boot, and looked at
her watch. She was far later than expected, but she didn't think it
mattered."
Reviewed
by Catherine Smith
Collections
of linked short stories aren’t always a wholly satisfying
phenomenon; sometimes they seem too gimmicky or insular, not
sufficiently wide-ranging or inventive in scope, the characters and
their dilemmas too stodgily similar. Ten
Stories About Smoking, however, in its
cheeky "fag carton" packaging, is a delight, not least because
the smoking "theme" is handled with skill, humour and often great
subtlety. Evers isn’t afraid to experiment with different voices;
there are first, second and third person narrators in this collection
of flawed and memorable characters. In some stories, a character’s
smoking habit is absolutely central to the plot - a driving force.
Perhaps my absolute favourite in the collection - and there were
several stories I re-read several times, admiring the clarity and
sharpness of the prose, so this wasn’t an easy decision - is Things
Seem So Far Away, Here. Linda, the
protagonist, is a hardcore smoker whose often mentally chaotic,
unprivileged life is literally and metaphorically many miles away
from that of her wealthy, successful brother and sister in law. A
visit to their luxurious Kent home underlines the differences in
their lives; her smoking is often a "smokescreen" between herself
and her relatives and sometimes between objective reality and her own
perceptions. Linda, however, has a rich inner life, a compulsive
tenderness and generosity that makes her the warmest and most
likeable character in this beautifully observed story; the ending,
which cuts off - stubs out, perhaps? - at exactly the right moment,
leaves the reader with that socked-in-the-guts feeling.
In
others, one has to look harder to detect the yellowed fingers, stale
odour and hacking cough associated with hardcore smoking. In Real
Work, told in the second person, which
gives it a deliciously claustrophobic, confessional, sometimes creepy
intimacy, the narrator reflects on his intense but ultimately doomed
relationship with his rising-star artist live-in girlfriend. Here,
the smoking is more subtle, deftly woven into the fabric of the
story, but the details are as delicate and lingering as a smoke trail
after the smoker has left the room; in the early stages of the story,
the narrator recalls that "The window was
open, there was a warm breeze, and as I walked out onto your balcony
I smoked one of your imported American cigarettes. Below me the city
was waking, but was still groggy.
"
Evers
gives you just enough detail, and no more. Sometimes his writing is
so pared back it feels raw, but this gave me the impression he’s
happy to trust his reader’s intelligence and imagination, and so
doesn’t overload the stories with superfluous description. His
characters’ relationships to tobacco, to their bodies and to the
prospect of their own mortality, are many and varied. In The
Final Cigarette, which could easily
have been mawkish but is actually bitterly funny in places, Ray, a
writer, actively contemplates a life of smoking, of writing, of love
and of guilt. He’s become a better, less selfish person just as
he’d about to die. But how he loves that last cigarette, which
perhaps symbolises how we all love things that are bad for us but,
nonetheless, give us real pleasure and satisfaction. "He
knows it is his last cigarette, and he hopes the coughing won’t
spoil it."
One of the great joys of imaginative writing is that we can enjoy
vices that are bad for us and make us smell bad. I urge any
ex-smokers (like myself), as well as unrepentant puffers, to treat
themselves to this jauntily life-affirming collection.
|
|
Catherine Smith
writes
short fiction, poetry and radio drama and teaches for Sussex
University, Varndean 6th
Form College, The Poetry School and The Arvon Foundation. In 2004 she
was included in the PBS/Arts Council ‘Next Generation’ promotion.
Two of her poetry collections have been short listed for the Forward
Prize. Her first collection of short stories, The
Biting Point, is
published by Speechbubble Books. Three of the stories have been
adapted for a Live Lit show, Weight.
|
|
|
|