After three series focusing on a central author, Short Stop is taking a bit of a turn for the next run. Sometime last year, I found a copy of “The Vintage Book of Amnesia” that was compiled and edited by Jonathan Lethem. The theme is simple. He looks at authors throughout time and explores how they approach the subject of memory. Whereas previous series focused on exploring a writer finding their voice, I thought that it would be interesting to try and find something more thematic across the centuries. It’s a lengthy ordeal and one that will probably have more highs and lows than ever before. The hope though is finding a few diamonds in the rough that are worth committing to memory.
Now that I’m formally familiar with the approach that Lethem is taking with this anthology, I think that this is going to be a mixed experience from here on out. While this was sold on the promise of exploring “amnesia” personally, I think that the selections capture wider phenomena around what it means to be alive and interacting with this world. While Shirley Jackson’s “Nightmare” may be the only one so far to fully embrace that idea, I think that Brian Fawcett’s “Soul Walker” gives us a sense of direction that I am excited to see develop in the stories ahead.
In a lot of ways, Robert Sheckley’s “Warm” feels like it’s in conversation with this piece. I have to believe Lethem ordered them this way so as to provide an even greater subtext for “Soul Walker” than what is discussed between the central characters. When looking through the lens of a man suffering from anxiety and searching for any sign of hope, suddenly the messaging comes together indirectly. There is a duality of the soul between these two stories especially and whereas I think that “Warm” is very much an introverted tale, “Soul Walker” does a fantastic job of transitioning the reader into exploring the soul in a real-world context full of ideas that are aspirational even if they’re sold like a cynical cure-all advertisement.
Something that I find interesting is that this is a first-person story that opens with the writer discussing his attempt to “dig my way out of the vague depression.” As a traveler, it’s likely that he doesn’t feel rooted in anywhere he visits. Without knowing exactly what the protagonist does, the ambiguity builds a sense of spiritual absence. The locale is a bar at La Guardia Airport, itself symbolic of a place people go to drown their sorrows. Had the story played out a little differently, it’s likely that the protagonist would’ve simply had a few shots before catching his flight. Instead, he had a chance encounter that might go a long way to break him out of his depression. He is stuck in a haze that is understandable, surrounded by strangers who he can’t help but resent because he has nobody that he’s connected to.
I love the vividness of this opening sentence because of how recognizable it is. Maybe readers haven’t been to a bar in La Guardia, but there’s a good chance that they’ve been in a foreign city just trying to find a purpose for being. To the world here, you are a stranger and whatever accomplishments you make won’t matter to anybody. There is no future or history in an airport. It’s a transitional location that exists in the story almost like purgatory. The lingering hurts just as much as the isolation. There’s a need to find comfort in anything, though odds are that it’s going to be at simplest a flight away or at worst impossible to retrieve.
Which is why it’s fun to see Fawcett contrast this insular sentence with something that a lot of people who feel alone do: people watch. In this case, he’s annoyed at “two men in business suits” because they’re only reminding him of how alone and miserable he is. Predictably, the protagonist decides to make some pithy observations about these people. They look like salesmen that have this rich environment. To him, they’re likely operators of a more ideal or conforming world. There’s a jealousy mixed with fear of them because they symbolize a function that he can’t achieve. Why do they get to laugh with their mysterious suitcases? It’s not fair.
With very little commentary directed at the protagonist, the brilliance slowly unfolds once the two men disappear. Having basically described every facet of their being, the reader is honed to think that everything will matter. Fawcett’s choice to emphasize a book called “In Search of Excellence” also suggests some subtext that he’s trying to insert into the meaning. Maybe it’s an excellence in career but, given his emotional state, one has to believe he’s more interested in people reading on to find some answer for an excellent equilibrium. There needs to be a greater sense of self than this corporate environment. From what Fawcett suggests, the men haven’t actually found excellence, and yet they’re happy.
On the one hand, I think that this is one of the more underwhelming stories. Even if it’s far more effective than a few entries, the moment is so abrupt that its meaning only exists in the reader’s mind. For those willing to buy into this spiritual sense that soul and body must be in harmony, it might lead to a profound conclusion. For everyone else, it’s got a potential emptiness akin to somebody stopping you at the mall to try and sell you some chintzy garbage that’ll only make you happy for two minutes. Sure, the soul is theoretically a more substantial thing to sell, but I’m convinced that the brilliance of the piece is in how Fawcett allows the reader to determine if the following pages helped dig the protagonist out of the depression.
The story transitions into its main plot with small disorientation. After several stories mean to throw readers off their axis, it’s interesting to see it used in a manner that impacts the larger text. Maybe the part of memory loss that the story is exploring is the protagonist’s disconnect from the second party. Had they met before? Anyone who has experienced depression will know the difficulties of recollection sometimes and if this man is far enough in his past, then it makes sense that the second man is able to recall so much about the protagonist. Otherwise, it’s a bit of a head trip that this man knows so much. Is he a spy who has been collecting information on him? Something’s got to give.
A detail that I think helps to develop a more spiritual read of the text is the intentional choice to set this at La Guardia. The name alone suggests something akin to “the guardian.” In religion, the guardian angel is a figure who helps to protect a person on their journey through life. Given where things go from here, it’s easy to read this man as his version of one. Having already discussed the two men talking next to him, the reader can begin to imply that only one of them is real and that the other is helping to guide them along this journey. Based on the overheard exchanges, words like, “energies,” “hell,” and “volatile” along with “Can’t you handle this by yourself?” all point to something more implicit going on.
Immediately, the reader is at a distrust of this man walking up to the protagonist. If he’s as unappealing as the others, the following pages could all be a waste of time. With his briefcase in hand, there’s the suggestion that he’s selling something. Again, nobody wants to be bothered with a pitch, especially when they’re just waiting for a flight.
However, I think what follows is a compelling spin on the idea. As much as this is still a sales pitch, I’m left with the sense that this isn’t one of material worth. At no point does the protagonist need to open his wallet and pour out the big bucks. All he needs to do is listen. Given how lonely he is, maybe being distracted from his remorse will do him some good. For as odd as it that this man knows so much about him, it’s still intriguing to understand just what he’s going on about.
The combative nature between them suggests that the protagonist is not game for the conversation either. However, it slowly begins to turn as the second man breaks the animosity by talking about planes and the idea that the soul can’t fly.
Perking up, the protagonist wonders what this is about and the remaining pages detail a sense of metaphysical being that the reader will either go for or reject. The greater sense is that the protagonist needs to return home because a soul can’t fly. It lives at home and only can be carried. There’s a connection to a place that cannot ever be removed.
Maybe this is the grander reason that the protagonist is depressed. He is missing that connection. I’m not doing a good job summarizing every development that happens over these pages, but it’s a persuasive enough argument that makes the reader believe that it parts the protagonist with a sense of hope. Somehow, he’ll arrive at his destination and have the clarity necessary to be happy again. If nothing else, it’s a palpable way of explaining where he is in life.
Given that the final words of the story mention that the protagonist finally has “a soul to believe in,” there’s a sense that he has found what he’s looking for. It’s a silly enough premise that spiritualists might appreciate. The way it uses a conversation to detail its themes may be droll, but it still has this capability of drawing those curious enough in. Like a good sales pitch, it hangs on the build and twists of the rhetoric. Others may find the idea of this speech ridiculous, but I still argue it works to convey the protagonist doing some soul searching. Even if the reader sees these more as excuses, he’s still left with some comfort and purpose.
The question from there becomes whether the man in question was real at all. Maybe he was the guardian angel and was needed to fix things. This could all be even more coincidental than that. What I love about Fawcett’s writing here is that he never treats it as fanciful and instead creates something so real and recognizable that there’s room for speculation. There have been many times where a stranger walks into a life and changes small perceptions of my world. However, is this one of them for the protagonist? Maybe he just went down a train of thought that lead to some grander conclusion. Given his sense of isolation, it’s a good enough excuse.
I’ll admit that this story feels a bit too understated to be a great one, but it does leave the reader with plenty of thought. It takes the realism idea and moves beyond the novelty of doubt. Instead, it asks what answers are we seeking for in life. There needs to be this memory of why life is worth living, and depression is antithetical to that. I love that Fawcett is able to convey the complications in a way that speak to many schools of thought often within the same page. I also think that the choice to make the man German maybe speaks to the Wim Wenders film Wings of Desire (1987) which was also about guardian angels overlooking a disparaging world, though that may be more coincidental.
At long last, Lethem’s greater intent with this anthology is finally starting to come together. For the third story in a row, I’m left with plenty to mull over. It helps that this is a contained work that doesn’t need outside text to fully appreciate. All it needs is a moment of loneliness to relate to, allowing the reader to feel like they’re eavesdropping in on the protagonist in the same ways that the protagonist is on the two men. It’s often through others that we better understand ourselves, and Fawcett does a great job of exploring why that is. Whether or not the environment this story exists in is real, I’m left with enough appreciation of how even in a droll setting, he’s able to find an epiphany waiting to be plucked.
Coming Up Next: L.J. Davis’ “Cowboys Don’t Cry”
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