Chapter 8
As if I’m being controlled remotely, I step out of the bar and into the street. Cool wind blows in my ear. Its frigid bite resets me, slightly.
I’m going to assume the worst is over and that whatever malfunction my intestinal tract was experiencing was due to ingesting whatever it was in that cocktail. But it seems to have passed now, and I feel good-n-pissed. Downfall is, my whiskyed dick don’t work but I still got energy.
Where, exactly, can you find the dividing line between a ghost story and a story about ghosts? In her new collection Here in the Night, Rebecca Turkewitz explores that fascinating boundary. There are moments that stray into the uncanny here, for sure, but Turkewitz also explores the effects of ghost stories and local folklore on her characters, leading to moments that illustrate just how tales of the uncanny can have similar effects to the uncanny itself. I spoke with her about her collection, her own experiences with folktales, and what’s next for her.
Chapter 7
It wasn’t that weird that this Morgen A. needed a ride.
Although, our interactions in private messages did make me wonder if I was talking to a computer programmed with auto responses. A bot.
The driver double-checked to make sure the address I put in was really where I wanted to go.
Why does it always feel set-up whenever someone agrees to hang out with me?
Chapter 6
Spending so much personal time with Evy-B has dulled some of his shine. I’m starting to realize the billionaire barista does not exist, at least not full time. And I can’t lie, my reverence may be dwindling.
What’s impressive is he doesn’t start making excuses of why he has a day job. It’s purely strategic, he needs it to fund his art career. Any stupid shame about jobs considered “beneath” is self-generated—as is all shame.
One of the first books I read in 2023 was Alison Rumfitt’s novel Tell Me I’m Worthless. There’s a small subset of books I’m fond of that seem to follow a traditional narrative path, right up until the point that they don’t. Brian Evenson’s Last Days is one, as is Percival Everett’s Assumption. Rumfitt’s debut fits in here as well: it’s something of a haunted house story, but as the novel continues on towards its conclusion, it got weirder; Rumfitt moved away from the tropes of haunted house narratives to push towards something deeper and scarier about trauma and inheritance.
We’re not going to lie: we’re pretty excited for what February has in store for us, books-wise. (We’d even think this if one of our editors didn’t have a novel due out in the second month of 2024.) This month has it all: new books by longtime favorites, a terrific example of punk lit, and a thoughtful work on the state of labor to cap it all off. Here’s a glimpse of what we’re excited about circa now.
The guiding principle of Six Ridiculous Questions is that life is filled with ridiculousness. And questions. That only by giving in to these truths may we hope to slip the surly bonds of reality and attain the higher consciousness we all crave. (Eh, not really, but it sounded good there for a minute.) It’s just. Who knows? The ridiculousness and question bits, I guess. Why six? Assonance, baby, assonance.
It’s unlike that you’ve ever read a graphic novel quite like Dave Baker’s Mary Tyler MooreHawk before. This sprawling adventure tale is both a heady pulp adventure and a formally inventive work with more layers than you’d expect. (It would fit comfortably beside the work of James Stokoe and Tom Scioli on your shelves.) We’re pleased to present an excerpt from the book, along with Baker’s thoughts on making prose and comics work in harmony.