January 28th, 2019 - Cream
Dear TNY,
I cannot even begin to describe the emotional turmoil I am currently in, so I was really looking forward to “Cream” as a distraction from it. Well, you delivered a distraction. Thanks for that.
But don’t get too boosted by this yet. This story isn’t incredible either. I’m going to cover both pros and cons to the best of my ability. And, in the end, this will be another unheard letter and I won’t matter. Ha. That’s kind of comforting at this point. Like, coming home. If you fuckers ever responded this wouldn’t feel the same, you know? Because I just throw this shit into the void and no one ever responds, this loneliness has become familiar. I’m Tom Hanks on this island and you are my Wilson. That’s alright, I guess. I’ll keep this up regardless.
The best thing about this story is how it unfolds. This thing reads like a Joe Frank radio piece. It’s got this even tension to it. Some of the events are strange, but their strangeness, as a whole, combine to make this commonality where none of the pieces feel out of place. To me, this story feels like one I’ve been on the cusp of living. Like it’s all from a dream, so it’s familiar, but I can’t place my finger on why it’s familiar or where I know it from. And the fact that the invite, the recital hall, the lack of people, the Jesus car, the old man, the circle, the cream…the fact that none of it is ever explained is fucking perfect. That’s what makes it Joe Frank for me. Or, Magnolia, you know? The beginning of that movie. The narrator says:
It is in the humble opinion of this narrator that this is not just "something that happened." This cannot be "one of those things"... This, please, cannot be that. And for what I would like to say, I can't. This was not just a matter of chance.
That’s what this story feels like, to me. There was this other story I read in The Atlantic years ago (I believe that was the publication; I’m sorry, I cannot seem to locate it right now), and it’s about a man that keeps getting visited by someone bequeathing him things from a will. Anyway, same style of pacing. That same even pull that doesn’t allow the reader to put the story down. I respect the fuck out of this kind of thing because it’s very, very hard to do even a little bit. And when it is carried off over the whole story at the same even rate, well that’s just grand.
Okay, the big downside to this story is that the payoff isn’t there. So, I’ll remember this one (unlike the other Murakami shit from last time), but I’ll remember that I kept at it with that chugging force and when I got to the end the delivery just wasn’t there. So, to me that could be a couple of things. Maybe the author doesn’t know what the circle is about, or the cream for that matter, and is using that as a tool to get us to create our own meaning for it. I once did this in a story with a tattoo written in the palm of a hand. It was cheap, the mechanism, when I used it. That’s how I feel about that technique. It’s cheap and lazy. Or maybe the author does know. Then it can only be one of two things. Either I’m not getting it (totally fucking possible because contrary to what you might think, I don’t actually think highly of myself or, pretty much anything about me) or the author didn’t do a good enough job with the words on the page for me to unfold the thought cloud inside my head that he was shooting for. I’m leaning more towards me not getting it. I would LOVE to hear from you guys on what you think the ending is about. But I won’t be holding my breath. I will be pondering it, though, the circle. Why not?
Well guys, I’m a little surprised that two weeks in a row I didn’t hate the pieces. Maybe this will last? I fucking hope so.
Thanks for this one, chappies.
Nick
