Dog Versus Sandwich, June 2008

Dog Versus Sandwich begins the month of June with Mari Ness’s “Glass Dancing.” A flash fiction take on “Cinderella,” this offering is complete with a daughter, a mother, and more than one glass slipper. This story is so short I don’t want to give anything away, except to say there is a shattering of glass and a cutting of feet. And it is well written.

Next up is another flash piece, this one a mere 500 words. In Aaron Benson’s “Finding the Prince of Hearts,” Harry sleeps with Lizzie and finds himself lost, literally. He’s alone in a strange city that has its own set of rules. You can’t look backwards, so when he fails to walk across a pedestrian crossing, missing the light, he has to walk backwards. Then when he trips, he finds the pavement behind him is nothingness. Finally, he meets another woman and sleeps with her and his problem is…

I was really caught up in this one, as I tend to like tales where reality has gone askew. But what bothered me most was that it’s so short. Much suspense could’ve been built with the multitude of techniques at any writer’s disposal. I like flash fiction, but this one might have worked better as a short-short or even a short story.

One of my favorite authors, and returning contributor to Dog Versus Sandwich, is Sarah Totton with “Jim-Bob Fleasy, Professional Escort.” Poor, butt-ugly Jim-Bob is in need of a job when he gets one as a professional escort. The agency is very impressed with him, and he’s under the false assumption he’s being hired to have sex with women. Jim-Bob gets upset when he discovers the truth. Consider:

If you’re a guy, have you ever been out on a date with an attractive woman only to have your best friend show up and steal her away from you? Enter Jim-Bob Fleasy! He’s the perfect third wheel. His job description also involves smacking the waiter if your date starts making eyes at him. While there’s no speculative element to this story outside of a comedic world gone askew, this is quite funny.

Patricia Russo’s “Happyfacing” is an odd piece. It concerns a woman afraid to leave her apartment. When a knock comes at the front door, terror grips her, and she reminisces about the past—about Rippy, a man she once knew. Is it Rippy at the door now? Why won’t she open it? Either there is some sort of cataclysmic world gone awry outside her door, or this is all in her imagination. It’s difficult to tell because of the subjectivity of the narrative. There are some fine descriptions here, but overall, “Happyfacing” didn’t work for me. I assume that the staccato sentences that move the story in fits and starts are supposed to show this woman’s fractured mind, but the style is too erratic for my taste, and I found myself focusing too much on the language. Also, I realize that a fair amount of fiction today tries to reveal the anxious times we’re supposedly living in, but this was just another morbid tale about a weak protagonist I couldn’t relate to or care about. When in the end she meets her fate, I only shrugged. Not that all fiction has to have characters interacting with one another, but the lack of them here gave the story a claustrophobic feel and reminded me of fictional devices seen too often before. While memorable, it makes its heavy-handed point by pushing the reader’s dark sentimental buttons without having anything noteworthy to say.