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Laura Kunzelman
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Short Story Review for THE YELLOW by Samantha Hunt
Samantha Hunt is a writer and artist. According to Random House Australia, Hunt has just won the new “5 under 35” award from the 2006 National Book Awards. She has been published in The New Yorker and McSweeney’s among others, been featured on “This American Life” and has had her short fiction nominated for a Pushcart Prize and included in the anthology “This is Not Chick Lit”. Hunt currently teaches writing and bookmaking at Pratt Institute, and is a graduate of The University of Vermont where she studied science and English.
The Yellow was published in the New Yorker on November 29, 2010.
The Yellow:
The reader is introduced right away to Roy, a 42 year-old loser who still lives at home. We get a glimpse of what this sexy man is like as he eats a cheese and onion sandwich, and abandons it to watch TV.
One night, sick of too much TV, Roy, like a little kid decides to paint his bedroom to improve himself. I do not see how painting his room will help him, but I humour him and read on. Roy thinks to himself that he doesn’t need sleep, who needs sleep? Obviously not him because he is a dead beat who mooches off his parents and doesn’t have a job to wake up to. Go on Roy.
“And by eleven the next morning his work was done. He sat cross-legged on the floor inhaling heady fumes.” That explains a lot. Roy painted his room bright yellow using the paint his dad uses to paint the curb. Smart Roy.
After Roy wrecks his parent’s walls, he goes for a drive. Fiddling with the radio like an indecisive teenager, Roy hits a dog. Like anyone would do, he resolves to carry this bloody carcass to every house until he can find the owner of the mangled mutt. This is actually pretty decent of him, but who knows why he was really doing it. He might have just not had anything better to do. After all, he had already finished painting his room, so his schedule was wide open.
Luckily the first house he goes to is where the carcass belongs. Naturally Susanne Martin, who is on the verge of a breakdown, allows a stranger carrying her dead dog into her home and lay the dog, Curtains, on the carpet. For some reason Roy offers to pay for a replacement dog even though Curtains was an old mutt. He writes a check for $200 when he only has $216 to his name.
You may be thinking, what happens next. Well, let me tell you. Roy and Suzzie proceed to commit adultery next to Suzzie's dead dog on the floor while her husband and children are out to a movie.
While Roy is still inside Susanne, Curtains comes back to life and starts licking Roy’s scapula. I mean, we've all been through this. Roy and Susanne are dumbfounded. They now act like lovers; he calls her Anne and she kneels in front of Roy resting on his knees.
Naturally Anne tells Roy that he has to kill the dog all over again. Of course! She was upset before and making him pay for a new dog and now that she has her beloved dog back, she wants the damned thing dead? This lady is of her rocker for sure.
It may sound as if I disliked the story, but the thing is, I actually found it quite enjoyable and Hunt told the story extremely well and even managed to fit in what is apparently a zombie dog. It caught my attention straight away and maintained it throughout. There are two very dysfunctional characters and their stories appealed to me. Well written and worth a read.
What crossed my mind as I read The Yellow:
1) Roy sounds like a real winner. I know how this all ends for him. He will go back to his mom and dad’s, eat a plate of nachos even though his mom tells him to stop eating all the cheese and watch infomercials until four in the morning. I’ve seen it all before.
2) Now that his room is painted yellow, Roy doesn’t feel so confused? Really? Confused about what? As to why he decided to have an onion and cheddar sandwich for lunch rather than make some soup or something?I guess you would be confused. I mean, I would feel confused too if I was a fat slob with nothing going for me. He should be confused about what your mother and father are going to do to him once they find out that he used their bright yellow curb paint to paint his room.
3) You have sex next to your dead dog? Real classy Susanne.
4) That dog is a champ. His head was floppy, he was "certainly dead," and there was blood everywhere. Where did this zombie dog come from? There is no use trying to kill Curtains again because it looks like he ain't goin' nowhere.
Read this for yourself. I couldn’t make this stuff up.
http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/features/2010/11/29/101129fi_fiction_hunt?currentPage=all
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Laura Kunzelman
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Audrhea Lande, Winnipeg author of Annie’s Bright Idea, is a former teacher and principal with a knack for writing.
About five years ago Lande started to write a story that her mother used to tell her and her siblings when they were young. At the time, she didn’t know it, but the story that her mother told her had been a true one.
The back cover of the book describes it as "a true Christmastime adventure. It is about 9 year-old Annie and her little sister Olly who set out on the morning of November 18,1933 to find Santa Claus. Making their way through unknown parts of the city to the Eaton's department store, Annie and Olly discover Santa in unexpected places. Using actual photos and newspaper clippings from 1933, Annie's Bright Idea draws a picture of Winnipeg during the Dirty Thirties and proves that with the unwavering faith of children we can all find the magic in Christmas - even in the darkest of times."
Annie’s Bright Idea is geared towards children ages 7-9 as the two characters in the book are aged seven and nine. “When I was a teacher, I noticed that children are most interested in reading about children their own age.”
“It wasn’t until I was older that I realized it had been a true story and began to wonder if it could be turned into a children’s book. I started mapping it out about five years ago and wrote it as a historical article for a magazine. Then I had been asking mom for details exactly where they went started research and walked the route.”
Lande went to children’s author Sarah Ellis and went through the book with her making the first edits. “She told me what was fine, what to add, and what to leave out.” Heather Nicol, a publisher in Regina helped with the second edit, helping to fit it on 32 pages.
“Everyone who was involved was great and we worked like crazy to get it out by Christmas.”
When asked to describe her writing style, Lande couldn’t put her finger on one particular style and says she writes a whole variety of things. “Because I am a retired teacher I feel I am not aiming to be a writer I just have these stories to tell.”
Though Annie’s Bright Idea is Lande’s first published work, she enjoys writing in different genres.
“I have finished a manuscript aimed at adults about a Icelandic Manitoban pioneer teacher named Miss Sigurbjorg Stefansson. I write true stories of real lives of real people. Normal lives that are in some aspects heroic.”
Something interesting about Annie’s Bright Idea are the photos and newspaper clipping shown that were gathered from the University of Manitoba archives and the Provincial Archives of Manitoba. “What makes this book unique is that it was my mother’s story she told me, and now she is gone. What else makes it unique is that it is unique to Manitoba. It draws a picture of Winnipeg in 1933.”
To get this soon-to-be Christmas classic, you can pick up a copy at McNally Robinson, Chapters, Prairie Sky Bookstore in Wolseley, Toad Hall Toys, and at the gift shop at the Manitoba Historical Society.
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Laura Kunzelman
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I have sent out Christmas cards for eleven years but that ends now.
What crossed my mind when I decided to not send Christmas cards anymore.
1) Are my family and friends who have been receiving cards from me for eleven years think that this is my attempt at being a Scrooge?
2) I shouldn't worry about it. Maybe I'll just have some egg nog.
3) Mariah Carey might consider stop singing Christmas carols.
4) Or any song for that matter.
5) That's about it.
Now let me tell you why I am not sending cards this year, or any year after this. It isn't because I am lazy even though I am, it isn't that I dread updating my address book which I do, it isn't about the money even though the costs ad up, and it isn't that I have nothing more to say to these people, which may or may not be true.
It is because I have decided I want to decrease my contact with family and friends. I figure not sending Christmas cards is the first step. They will get the hint by 2012.
No, that is a lie. The real reason is because they are very impersonal and I want to save the paper.
When a card is received, it is displayed on a table somewhere in your home, hung up, or if you are fancy, on your mantle. After Christmas they get thrown away unless you are the Martha Stewart type who repurposes them to make next years tags for gifts. These cards end up in landfills unless they are recycled, and lets face it, most people won't recycle them; I have been an accessory to this heinous crime for far too long now and I refuse to any longer.
About 3/4 of the cards I send, I only send because I have been sending them for eleven years. If I care about you, you will see me during the holidays for dinner, coffee, or at a party, I can wish you happy holidays in person and I will phone other relatives and friends and actually speak with them. By sending cards, I have been avoiding contact. If my family and friends are upset about something as insignificant as receiving a card, I don't know why I have been sending them one anyway.
I will buy one card though. It is for my mum because she is a freak about cards. I mean, a complete card monster. In this case I will just mosey down to a store in Osborne Village and find one made out of recycled materials. Mum keeps them so I don't have to worry about them ending up in the Inwood dump.
I have also decided to stop buying wrapping paper because the biggest source of waste at Christmas time is wrapping paper. Thousands of tonnes of wrapping paper get dumped into landfill which is equivalent to approx. 45,000 trees. I will use the paper I have from last year only to get rid of it and that's it.
If for some insane reason I do need to buy wrapping paper, I will opt for a recycled kind, not the shiny kinds. Bags and boxes are always options too.
And if you are reading this, please do not send me any cards or wrap my gifts in shiny paper and consider a greener Christmas.
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Laura Kunzelman
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1. This gown isn't exactly flattering.
2. After not being able to eat for a day my roommate gets beef barley soup? Come on.
3. At least my roommate says funny things when asked to lay down. Things like, "what do I look like, some kind of whore?
4. All I want is a burger and all I get is water.
5. At least I am by a window. Oh wait, that's a view of another building. Super.
2. After not being able to eat for a day my roommate gets beef barley soup? Come on.
3. At least my roommate says funny things when asked to lay down. Things like, "what do I look like, some kind of whore?
4. All I want is a burger and all I get is water.
5. At least I am by a window. Oh wait, that's a view of another building. Super.
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Laura Kunzelman
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I blog to you mildly outraged at the service of Winnipeg's bus rapid transit. I know, join the club. But hear me out.
I take a 65 at 8:05 to school which usually stops at the doors of Red River College; today the bus stopped two blocks before the school where I was informed that it was the last stop. I wouldn't usually complain about walking the two extra blocks to school, except I have a broken ankle and am on crutches, which makes it extremely difficult to get around anywhere.
As I waited for my walk sign, the bus took off with it's Not In Service sign on. I witnessed the bus roll in front of the school and stop for a red light. The bus stopped right in front of the stop that I would normally get off at which bothered me because I asked the bus driver if he would drive by the school.
When I finally arrived at the school I was a baffled, exhausted, sweaty mess as I talked to Steve Vogelsang who suggested that I blog about this incident and write a letter to the Winnipeg Free Press which I will do.
I will keep you posted.
What crossed my mind as I got off the bus and hobbled to school:
1) Really? That just happened?
2) Is it because I am not pretty enough that he didn't give me a ride the extra two blocks?
3) Is this policy?
4) He definitely didn't give me a ride because I was a hot mess.
5) What will I do next Friday when I take that same bus and he tells me to get off?
6) I wish Emily, John, or Mike were here to fill up my water bottle for me.
I take a 65 at 8:05 to school which usually stops at the doors of Red River College; today the bus stopped two blocks before the school where I was informed that it was the last stop. I wouldn't usually complain about walking the two extra blocks to school, except I have a broken ankle and am on crutches, which makes it extremely difficult to get around anywhere.
As I waited for my walk sign, the bus took off with it's Not In Service sign on. I witnessed the bus roll in front of the school and stop for a red light. The bus stopped right in front of the stop that I would normally get off at which bothered me because I asked the bus driver if he would drive by the school.
When I finally arrived at the school I was a baffled, exhausted, sweaty mess as I talked to Steve Vogelsang who suggested that I blog about this incident and write a letter to the Winnipeg Free Press which I will do.
I will keep you posted.
What crossed my mind as I got off the bus and hobbled to school:
1) Really? That just happened?
2) Is it because I am not pretty enough that he didn't give me a ride the extra two blocks?
3) Is this policy?
4) He definitely didn't give me a ride because I was a hot mess.
5) What will I do next Friday when I take that same bus and he tells me to get off?
6) I wish Emily, John, or Mike were here to fill up my water bottle for me.
Posted by
Laura Kunzelman
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Disintegration - Luke Chueh
Paramjeet put on thick itchy woollen socks and too much Old Spice to cover up other smells. His apartment smelt like cat piss and curry even though he didn’t have a cat or eat curry.
Paramjeet Bhatnagar, meaning ‘highest success,’ came from Haryana, India to Winnipeg in August and had not found a job the entire two months. This cold day Paramjeet was going to Wilson Lee Brown Accounting Services where he heard they have a good reputation of hiring newly arrived immigrants. He could tell just as sure as the shit he was taking.
The hem on Paramjeet’s pants was too short, making them look like they belonged to his bastard cousin who threw rocks at him as a child and used to tell his parents that he fingered the cat. His cousin was a high profile journalist now.
The only tie Paramjeet owned didn’t go with his too small suit. He put it over his unironed shirt anyway. His thick itchy woollen socks, hard to fit into his size-too-small shoes, bothered him constantly. The bottoms of his size-too-small shoes were worn and Paramjeet noticed that the shoelace on his right shoe could break at any moment. The haircut Paramjeet’s wife Bala gave him last night that was too short left irritating little hairs on his back.
Paramjeet pulled all five blankets off the bed to make it. The bedroom didn’t get warm because the window never did close when he opened it when he first moved in to air out the smell of cat piss and curry.
Esmeralda, or ‘Ezzie,’ that lady who lives in the hallway of 10110 Arnold Avenue, was sleeping. Paramjeet locked the door to apartment 69, which is supposed to be 66. Paramjeet made a mental note to speak with the landlord about the missing screw on the second six for the second time that week. It was Monday.
The bus schedule Paramjeet keeps on the side of his fridge read the number 47 to City Hall comes at 8:32. A glance at his watch with a broken second hand shows him that he is two minutes early.
The three other people waiting for the bus got on. The bus driver closed the door, waiting at the red light. Knocking at the door, Paramjeet was finally let on. He paid his fare hearing “I didn’t even see you.”
A child cried near the front of the bus. Paramjeet thought that the kid must be crying because he didn’t get to choose his parents; just like him. Paramjeet cried a lot as a kid. Or were these the child’s aunt and uncle? The boy’s father, or uncle said, “I’ll give you something to cry about.”
Paramjeet’s never did think his father liked him very much. He never did say so, but Paramjeet could tell. Fathers who like their children don’t make them sleep on the floor and throw rocks at them when they have malaria.
“You’ll never make it,” was all his father said to him before Paramjeet and Bala’s plane left for Canada.
A middle aged man was seated in the section reserved for handicapped individuals and mothers with small children. An Aboriginal woman came on with a stroller. The man wouldn’t move when asked. Instead he cursed the native woman and her small child. An African American lady came on the bus with her baby in a stroller at the stop in front of Safeway. There were two strollers in the aisle the entire bus ride. The bitter man did not move.
Paramjeet closed his eyes to think of his possible new job. His bastard cousin wouldn’t pick on him anymore, Bala could go grocery shopping and not shop from the reduced for quick sale racks, and he could purchase new shoes that were not a size too small.
Traffic was heavy for a holiday. Probably because of the event that was being held at the Forks. The bus was delayed. Riders bickered and yelled “back door!” A woman who talked to herself sat beside Paramjeet and spoke of how a man in Georgia married a goat; it wasn’t even his goat. She mumbled something about how she has four cavities but won’t go to the dentist because he’s actually a serial killer and wants to touch her in the chair.
Scanning the bus for a new seat, Paramjeet found one at the very back of the bus. “Hi, my name is Ernest, but you can call me Ernie,” said the older gentleman beside him who smelt like pickles.
“I don’t have any mirrors in my house, how about you? “ asked Ernie. Even by pretending to not speak English, Ernie kept rambling on about how he thought iPhones were actually robots who spied on people while they were going the bathroom.
Paramjeet got off the bus three and a half blocks before his destination. Tripping on his nearly broken shoelace, Paramjeet found a penny on the sidewalk. Like his father used to do, Paramjeet picked the penny up and put it in his right shoe that was too small for him. His feet were itchy and sweaty. He would buy new socks too when he got the new shoes.
Lucky penny in shoe, Paramjeet arrived in front of an impressive looking building. A large sign outside the building read Wilson Lee Brown Accounting Services in bold capital letters.
Paramjeet Bhatnagar, meaning ‘highest success,’ felt like he could kick a dog when he saw the building was not open. He had never heard of Louis Riel Day. They didn’t have it in India.
Letting himself fall on the bench at a bus stop, Paramjeet stared blankly at City Hall on the other side of Main Street for 27 minutes.
Paramjeet bent down to tie his shoelace, it snaps. Paramjeet allows three tears to fall down his cheeks. Images of his father swam in his head. ‘I’ll give you something to cry about.’ Tears dried, Paramjeet waited for the number 47 but it didn’t come.
Paramjeet started his 35 minute walk home. Two and a half blocks into the walk, he went to cross Donald Street to the Food Fare to pick up red peppers and onions for supper when he tripped. The number 47 didn’t even see him.
Posted by
Laura Kunzelman
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Facebook is everywhere. Chances are that all of your friends have a Facebook account. There may be one or two that don’t, but you wonder why they don’t when your dad has one.
I wasn’t sure what to expect when I sat down to watch The Social Network but I didn’t expect the movie to portray Facebook co-founder and CEO Mark Zuckerberg as an asshole; the movie showed a selfish Zuckerberg ruthlessly backstabbing his only friend, Eduardo Saverin. It was a bad move on his part, but the way I think of it, he does own the company and did come up with the idea. So he can do whatever the hell he wants, even be a dick.
Facebook is so immensely popular that it just makes sense that there would be a movie made about it. Though the movie shows Zuckerberg negatively, it will have no effect on Facebook’s popularity. I have heard of a couple instances where some people deleted their accounts after watching the movie, but I doubt Zuckerberg will shed any tears over it.
Zuckerman has characterized The Social Network as fiction, and has said that one of the most accurate things about the movie was that they got his clothes right. His response is appropriate as he seems like the kind of guy that wouldn’t like a whole lot and is critical of everything. Frankly, I think he can say and do whatever he wants and he does. Even though he screwed over his best friend, millions of people will continue to use Facebook daily and he will still be a billionaire.
What crossed my mind while watching The Social Network.
1) Are those twins actually twins?
2) Mark Zuckerberg is the nerdiest badass ever.
3) They are for sure twins. You can just tell.
4) Is this movie good enough to see twice in theatres?
