Canadian born Alix Ohlin’s debut
novel The Missing Person has been widely praised, and with this book of
seventeen short stories she reverses the familiar pattern of the writer who
publishes a collection of short stories as prelude to a longer work. One of
these stories has been anthologized in the Michael Chabon edited Best
American Short Stories (2005) placing Ohlin in the impressive company of Joyce
Carol Oates, Charles
D’Ambrosio, Alice Munro and others. Expectations are therefore high. In the
best of these stories Ohlin delivers, and the book is worth reading for these
gems. But there are stories that suffer from excessive exposition and a
tendency to state in black and white, perceptions that were already adequately evoked.

The opening story, The king of kohlrabi,
concerns Aggie, a 17 year old whose father has left, ruining Aggie’s plans for
a leisurely summer learning to play guitar. When Aggie meets Mr. Dejun at the
supermarket he offers her a job, and a series of events unfolds that sees Mr.
Dejun at Aggie’s house, while Aggie is on the phone to her father. The story is
interesting enough, but in the telling it never rises above an adolescent tone.
In the next story, Transcription, Ohlin hits her straps. Walter is
sixty-five with chronic lung disease. His nephew Carl rescues Walter from a
malodorous nursing home and resolves to care for him. The story is punctuated
by excerpts from Walter’s medical chart, ending with Carl’s reflection on
Walter’s poor prognosis. Throughout, Ohlin feeds in fragments of Carl’s earlier
life, recollections of Walter, and finally the deeper reason for his uncommon
commitment. This is a lovely story, written with economy and close observation.
Another superb story is Simple exercises for the beginning student
(selected for Best American Short Stories). Eight year old Kevin pursues
his interest in the piano as his parents’ relationship disintegrates. His
lessons with Mrs. Tanizaki bring him into contact with Lawrence, Mrs. Tanizaki’s
quirky, fifteen year old son who has impolite eating habits. Kevin is entranced
by the piano, although there is little sense that he achieves a great deal.
Nevertheless Kevin’s mother Rachel insists on his continuing to learn. There is
so much left unsaid in this story, yet Ohlin draws readers into the lives of
Kevin and Rachel. This is a warm and empathic piece of writing.   

Other stories are less
satisfactory. You are here seems flat and uninspired. Like The king
of kohlrabi, the adolescent manner of the characters pervades the narrative.
Iz’s phony and amateurish French accent rapidly becomes tiresome, as does her
father’s stereotypical insistence that Iz study business and commerce rather
than arts. A theory of entropy has its moments. Carson is a scientist
attempting to write a popular work about entropy. With partner Claire he spends
some time in a remote cottage, working on a book that his publisher Jocelyn tells
him "could be the biggest scientific best-seller since Origin of
Species". When Jocelyn arrives at the cottage to help with the editing
there’s a discernable frisson, but is it strictly literary? As a device for a
story this is all quite compelling, but the story never really takes off. Carson’s
dialogue is labored and clichéd ("…a scientific theory is a model, not
some fairy tale"; "Order and disorder are only categories. They don’t
hold up, statistically."). It’s not at all clear why such a high thinking
scientist would agree to write a popular work. The editing accomplished, Ohlin
fastforwards to the following spring when the book is published, and Claire has
taken up with Jocelyn. There is little in the story to suggest a developing
relationship — perhaps the story contains some deep symbolism — but it seemed
more than a little contrived. In Wonders never cease Penny and Tom rent
a house in the country and plan to start a family. Irene proves to be a
solicitous if somewhat intrusive landlady, but a visit from alcoholic former
tenant Guy provides an explanation that changes the complexion of the story.
Guy is unlikable and corny, but Penny is sympathetic and seems attracted to
him. I found the tension of the story dissipated by its rather improbable
ending, and by the convenient way Guy was dropped form the plot.

Ohlin takes risks with her writing.
She avoids tidy endings, leaving several of these stories with major unresolved
questions. That’s a fine thing in a short story, but you have to get it right.
Ohlin gets it right in Trouble with the Dutchman, when Ellen’s
relationship with Phil has taken a turn for the worse, and Ellen is attracted
to Haitian immigrant Jean-Michel. Early one morning the three come together as
a result of Phil’s uncharacteristic and extreme act of violence towards a dog.
Of all the possible reasons for this act, Ohlin does enough to hint at jealousy
without making that overt. The story ends with the three characters in a car
park, and no real indication as to how things will work out. This is a
satisfying conclusion despite its uncertainty; perhaps because of it. We feel
drawn into the story, and engaged in its resolution; our fears for the future
are those of the characters. In Local news, Ohlin uses a similar ploy
and again it works well. Reporter Joanne has spent the night with the loathsome
fire suspect Luther, only to find policeman cum boyfriend Jeff arriving at
Luther’s apartment to make inquiries. Jeff lacks the wits to see the writing on
the wall, but readers are well in on the story. In Land of the midnight sun,
Ohlin creates a nice tension between Russian exchange student Yuri and host
Bat. Perhaps inevitably, Yuri becomes attracted to Bat’s sister Max. But rather
than work this tension out (or leave it unresolved as in Trouble with the
Dutchman), the story lurches forward in time not once, but twice, with the
result that plot devices trump character development.

There are some other great stories
here, such as I like to dance at weddings and The tennis partner.
Ohlin’s characters seldom live uncomplicated lives. Beneath the surface of
family life and relationships there are tensions and frustrations that can be
suppressed for so long, but which are never going to go away. The
eccentricities Ohlin brings to light are more than an observer’s imposed point
of view, they are the believable attributes of characters who are disarmingly
normal. I had the feeling that Ohlin would like to have written some of these stories
into novels. The casting forward, sometimes by years, in the final pages
provided a point of view that in some cases diminished the poignancy of the
moments captured. In the best stories we are left in the present. With the
characters we wonder where it’s all heading.

This is a worthwhile collection,
rewarding reading for the stories that work well, and for the inventive
combinations of character and circumstance.

© 2006 Tony O’Brien

Tony O’Brien is a short story
writer and lecturer in mental health nursing at the University of Auckland, New
Zealand: a.obrien@auckland.ac.nz

Categories: Fiction