At times, when old memories, sharp and serrated, slice his serenity, Enrique Roberto Lopez Sandia recalls when he was a child on his way with his parents to the old country and how he wondered...
This is such a lovely piece of fiction; the pervasive sense of narrative tension throughout; the bifurcation of humanity via each individually held perspective on superstitions - the two protagonists who can see the cause and effect vs "the rest of the ignorant world (who) poured bottled blindness in their eyes to shield themselves from the outrages and dangers"
Love your prose as well - "Even a pink and songful emergence of sunrise caused choleric sandstorms to rasp her mood into rough splintered barnwall." - the choice of words here, along with the rhythmic unfolding of them, is incredible.
I enjoyed the cultish bond between Enrique and Marjorie - there's such intimacy in shared fear. Try as I might, I can't shake off the superstitions I absorbed from my mother as a child. She was a devout Catholic, which meant some things were legitimately ascribed to the devil, and from there it wasn't really much of a leap to looking askance at magpies and cats. Magpies especially have this way of inveigling their way into the corners of your vision. Even now, when I see a magpie, my face becomes a camera and the scene becomes pivotal. For a woman with a weak memory, it's incredible how many moments throughout my life have been burned into the celluloid of my mind owing to the presence of a single black and white bird.
I quite enjoyed this story tracing the evolution of innocent superstition into dysfunctional and harmful behavior. Your stories give us just enough rope to tie a bow around our own interpretations, but not enough to hang ourselves with. It has been so many years since I’ve written fiction that had I bought Apple stock, or barreled some whiskey at that time, I would now be counting my millions or sipping on a buttery smooth spirit; but I do recall that getting that “open to interpretation” balance right is a true art. Thank you for your art, Victor.
Gracias Victor por compartir tus maravillosas historias. Con esta pieza me transportaste de una manera muy vívida a cada escena de tus personajes. Fomentas mi imaginación.
"Dios los hace y ellos se juntan." is a Mexican dicho. God makes them and they get together, is a Mexican saying. I will circle back to share some or all of the thoughts provoked by this writ when I can give them more than 'a thin hour'.. Saludos!
Destructive Effects of Irrational Beliefs on a Mother’s Spine
This is such a lovely piece of fiction; the pervasive sense of narrative tension throughout; the bifurcation of humanity via each individually held perspective on superstitions - the two protagonists who can see the cause and effect vs "the rest of the ignorant world (who) poured bottled blindness in their eyes to shield themselves from the outrages and dangers"
Love your prose as well - "Even a pink and songful emergence of sunrise caused choleric sandstorms to rasp her mood into rough splintered barnwall." - the choice of words here, along with the rhythmic unfolding of them, is incredible.
Great work!
So good, "He had seen in fog and in clear air how all superstition gave birth to itself from the hot phosphorus of fact."
"You could eat his life straight from the sack." Wow. That is some statement.
I enjoyed the cultish bond between Enrique and Marjorie - there's such intimacy in shared fear. Try as I might, I can't shake off the superstitions I absorbed from my mother as a child. She was a devout Catholic, which meant some things were legitimately ascribed to the devil, and from there it wasn't really much of a leap to looking askance at magpies and cats. Magpies especially have this way of inveigling their way into the corners of your vision. Even now, when I see a magpie, my face becomes a camera and the scene becomes pivotal. For a woman with a weak memory, it's incredible how many moments throughout my life have been burned into the celluloid of my mind owing to the presence of a single black and white bird.
I quite enjoyed this story tracing the evolution of innocent superstition into dysfunctional and harmful behavior. Your stories give us just enough rope to tie a bow around our own interpretations, but not enough to hang ourselves with. It has been so many years since I’ve written fiction that had I bought Apple stock, or barreled some whiskey at that time, I would now be counting my millions or sipping on a buttery smooth spirit; but I do recall that getting that “open to interpretation” balance right is a true art. Thank you for your art, Victor.
Gracias Victor por compartir tus maravillosas historias. Con esta pieza me transportaste de una manera muy vívida a cada escena de tus personajes. Fomentas mi imaginación.
"Dios los hace y ellos se juntan." is a Mexican dicho. God makes them and they get together, is a Mexican saying. I will circle back to share some or all of the thoughts provoked by this writ when I can give them more than 'a thin hour'.. Saludos!