If, like me, you're a Baby Boomer, the suburbs probably played a role in your early life, either as the culmination of your parents' postwar material dreams, or as a green-lawned magical oasis that you could only visit. Cheap suburban real estate was a boon to the working class of the 50's and early 60's, though, as with any new enthusiasm, personal problems did not disappear, and an increasingly unstable economy gave the lie to the concept of easy modern living.But many books have been written about life in the suburbs (Michael Cunningham's Flesh and Blood comes to mind), and many go unread. Fred Setterberg's sparkling prose and ear for dialog power this autobiographical novel like a vintage T-bird. Setterberg's book has brief, serious (they must be serious; they're in sans-serif) intros to the chapters, which then unleash crackling dialog between the protagonist's autodidact father and his war-hero brother, Win, as well as between the aforementioned older man and the protagonist, called “Little Slick.” The Dad is quite a character: “Too often on Sunday mornings, my mother and I would return home from Mass to find Dad cooking breakfast for the Jehovah's Witnesses, fattening them up for debate.” The Dad and uncle have no illusions and take no prisoners. The Mom is also quite independent, working for political candidates of her own choosing and putting campaign signs up on the lawn over her husband's objections. These are people who know they work for the man and are determined to express their disdain and their heretical ideas when out of the workplace. Of course, some express better than others; another father, a pompous Scoutmaster, gets his comeuppance, but his son pays the price.
The younger generation, playing rock 'n roll and Motown while residing in all-white neighborhoods, of course grow up confused, admiring their parents' resourcefulness but desiring more individuality, living under the shadow of the Vietnam war (which, if you were a teen and time passed slowly, seemed infinitely longer than our longest conflict in Afghanistan seems now), arguing its appropriateness, thinking about going on to college, wondering about their place in what is slowly becoming a service economy. There are dates with girls, hiding extra people in the trunk at drive-in movies, moments of homoeroticism. At the end, our protagonist quits the job his uncle obtained for him (in a ketchup factory) and sets out on a quest for something more. Of course, like the rest of us Boomers, there will be revelations and disappointments, and white-collar work will turn out to be the same as blue-collar toiling for management. The flower beds and barbecue grills will cease to be bourgeois trappings and become for a new generation small avenues for self-expression as the country lurches from one conflict to the next and the economy swings wildly up and down. Though settling down into middle age, the children of the working-class suburbs remember their quarrelsome roots.
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Tyler and Zack are thirteen- and fifteen-year-old brothers. Tyler sees himself as an out-of-shape video gamer, while looking up to Zack as a natural athlete and ladies' man. There are moments of tension between them, but their brotherly solidarity, and Tyler's own inner strengths, are affirmed when they go to a rustic lakeside resort with their parents for vacation and Tyler is attracted to a mysterious girl named Eena. The brothers are quickly swept up in a plot involving programmed human subjects, transferable supernatural powers, and a mysterious metal box. Their aloof survivalist father and hysterical ADD-afflicted mother are well fleshed-out, though they mostly stay out of the way of the two boys. Kaiser is good at character development and dialog; we see Tyler tap both his native and his newly conferred powers without jealousy on the part of Zack, who is less concerned with being #1 than Tyler realizes.
Superliminal is the first book in a (hopefully successful) series of stories about Dev Manny, an Information Technology Private Investigator (ITPI).
First up is S.B. Jung.
I nominate Helen Smith's
and
Rob Steiner picked
For me, the 2011 winner, hands down, was
Lacuna: Demons of the Void by David Adams starts with a bang. Literally.
Anthologies typically have some theme or common element to them. It could be something specific like
In He Who Shall Remain Shameless, the protagonist roams the world with his electronic companion on a mission to rescue ghosts from obscurity (personified by the Meritocrat). Most of these are no ordinary ghosts, but rather those who enjoyed some celebrity or notoriety in life and have become largely forgotten in death. Our protagonist, who shares the same name as the author of this book but definitely isn't him (and that's explained in the book), believes that the internet can keep the memory of people alive forever. All he needs to do is convince them to embrace it.