Status
Checked out
Publication
FSG Originals (2015), Paperback, 224 pages
Description
"A searing new collection from the inimitable Amelia Gray. A woman creeps through the ductwork of a quiet home. A medical procedure reveals an object of worship. A carnivorous reptile divides and cauterizes a town. Amelia Gray's curio cabinet expands in Gutshot, where isolation and coupling are pushed to their dark and outrageous edges. These singular stories live and breathe on their own, pulsating with energy and humanness and a glorious sense of humor. Hers are stories that you will read and reread--raw gems that burrow into your brain, reminders of just how strange and beautiful our world is. These collected stories come to us like a vivisected body, the whole that is all the more elegant and breathtaking for exploring its most grotesque and intimate lightless viscera"-- "Story collection by the author of THREATS"--… (more)
User reviews
LibraryThing member chrisblocker
This was my first run in with Amelia Gray, but I sort of knew what to expect from her: dark, strange, talented. No doubt, all those things are true.
Some of the stories in Gutshot really evoke the macabre of greats like Shirley Jackson and Edgar Allan Poe. There's just enough detail in these stories
Then there are those stories in this collection that are strange, yet beautiful. They had me scratching my head, uncertain and devoid of expectation, yet enjoying the process.
And then are all the others. These stories reminded me of a Mad Lib writer's exercise. They didn't evoke any sense of awe or understanding. These just existed. Mad Lib stories are a hoot, but it's the creation that makes it fun. Reading another person's final story is like watching someone's birthday party through a window.
Some of the stories in Gutshot really evoke the macabre of greats like Shirley Jackson and Edgar Allan Poe. There's just enough detail in these stories
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to make them creepy, yet universal and accessible. I got the sense that Gray really enjoys getting into her stories and characters.Then there are those stories in this collection that are strange, yet beautiful. They had me scratching my head, uncertain and devoid of expectation, yet enjoying the process.
And then are all the others. These stories reminded me of a Mad Lib writer's exercise. They didn't evoke any sense of awe or understanding. These just existed. Mad Lib stories are a hoot, but it's the creation that makes it fun. Reading another person's final story is like watching someone's birthday party through a window.
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LibraryThing member michellebarton
Disturbing, disturbing stories, but I enjoyed reading them, seeing what totally unexpected path each story would take!
LibraryThing member KatyBee
Whew. Perfectly titled. These are better if read in small doses and then read again after some time has passed.
LibraryThing member pivic
This is an interesting collection of short stories, of which "Fifty Ways to Eat Your Lover" is the apex of them all, others are a bit boring and mainly feel like scare tactics, but the experimental feel and sharpness of the stories make this for a worthy read.
From the aforementioned piece:
When he
When he asks you what you do for a living, dig into his spine with a broken juice glass.
When he wonders aloud if you ever get that feeling about someone, bite his tongue out of his mouth.
When he says you have a beautiful body, seize his Achilles tendon.
When he slides his hand under your thigh, sliver off his earlobe.
When he persuades you to spend the night, sink your teeth into his collarbone.
When he asks if you’re on the Pill, squeeze your pelvic floor until his penis pops off.
When he wakes up in the morning, clip his eyelashes and snort them.
When he makes the bed, open up the vein inside his elbow.
When he stops by your place after work, crush his skull with a tire iron and lick his brain.
When he gives you a book he likes, dip him into a deep fryer.
When he asks you out again, stab him with a box cutter and suck the wound.
Some stories are extremely short, others a tad longer, but most are engaging. For instance:
William was a puker. His expulsions—the color, consistency, and volume of a baby’s—occurred after every sentence he spoke. This unfortunate fact of life began innocently enough during his infant coos and babbles, but by the time he was barfing onto his coloring books, the doctors were stumped. He had to carry a paper cup throughout middle school. By high school he didn’t have to worry about direct ridicule any longer, because he had no friends. And then everyone in his peer group graduated and left town and he was blessedly, blissfully alone.
We were in the parking lot of a Dunkin’ Donuts in Beaumont when I told Kyle. I figured I’d rather be out under God as I announced the reason for all my illness and misery. I said Well shit. Guess we’re having a baby. “Lemme see,” Kyle said, frowning at the test for a second before tossing it into a planter. He flipped the double deuce to a stranger who had set his coffee down to applaud. “People these days,” Kyle said. I said my folks would be happy. “Here’s the thing though,” he said. “Your folks are dead. And I have a warrant out for my arrest. And you’re forty years old. And I am addicted to getting tattoos. And our air conditioner’s broke. And you are drunk every day. And all I ever want to do is fight and go swimming. And I am addicted to keno. And you are just covered in hair. And I’ve never done a load of laundry in my life. And you are still technically married to my dealer. And I refuse to eat vegetables. And you can’t sleep unless you’re sleeping on the floor. And I am addicted to heroin. And honest to God, you got big tits but you make a shitty muse. And we are in Beaumont.” I said these were minor setbacks on the road to glory. “And,” he added, “the Dunkin’ Donuts is on fire.”
Some lines are just pretty:
One of the kids at school says You would be cool if you weren’t so stupid, and I think like Yeah, this heart is the same way.
The photographer’s assistant had tried to cover Marcy’s pimple with a concealer before the ceremony, but Marcy waved her off. It would shine as if it contained its own light.
All in all, it's flawed, but pretty enough to keep its light going. It doesn't really wane, and the stories are quite consistent.
From the aforementioned piece:
When he
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buys you a drink, plunge a knife into his nose and carve out a piece.When he asks you what you do for a living, dig into his spine with a broken juice glass.
When he wonders aloud if you ever get that feeling about someone, bite his tongue out of his mouth.
When he says you have a beautiful body, seize his Achilles tendon.
When he slides his hand under your thigh, sliver off his earlobe.
When he persuades you to spend the night, sink your teeth into his collarbone.
When he asks if you’re on the Pill, squeeze your pelvic floor until his penis pops off.
When he wakes up in the morning, clip his eyelashes and snort them.
When he makes the bed, open up the vein inside his elbow.
When he stops by your place after work, crush his skull with a tire iron and lick his brain.
When he gives you a book he likes, dip him into a deep fryer.
When he asks you out again, stab him with a box cutter and suck the wound.
Some stories are extremely short, others a tad longer, but most are engaging. For instance:
William was a puker. His expulsions—the color, consistency, and volume of a baby’s—occurred after every sentence he spoke. This unfortunate fact of life began innocently enough during his infant coos and babbles, but by the time he was barfing onto his coloring books, the doctors were stumped. He had to carry a paper cup throughout middle school. By high school he didn’t have to worry about direct ridicule any longer, because he had no friends. And then everyone in his peer group graduated and left town and he was blessedly, blissfully alone.
We were in the parking lot of a Dunkin’ Donuts in Beaumont when I told Kyle. I figured I’d rather be out under God as I announced the reason for all my illness and misery. I said Well shit. Guess we’re having a baby. “Lemme see,” Kyle said, frowning at the test for a second before tossing it into a planter. He flipped the double deuce to a stranger who had set his coffee down to applaud. “People these days,” Kyle said. I said my folks would be happy. “Here’s the thing though,” he said. “Your folks are dead. And I have a warrant out for my arrest. And you’re forty years old. And I am addicted to getting tattoos. And our air conditioner’s broke. And you are drunk every day. And all I ever want to do is fight and go swimming. And I am addicted to keno. And you are just covered in hair. And I’ve never done a load of laundry in my life. And you are still technically married to my dealer. And I refuse to eat vegetables. And you can’t sleep unless you’re sleeping on the floor. And I am addicted to heroin. And honest to God, you got big tits but you make a shitty muse. And we are in Beaumont.” I said these were minor setbacks on the road to glory. “And,” he added, “the Dunkin’ Donuts is on fire.”
Some lines are just pretty:
One of the kids at school says You would be cool if you weren’t so stupid, and I think like Yeah, this heart is the same way.
The photographer’s assistant had tried to cover Marcy’s pimple with a concealer before the ceremony, but Marcy waved her off. It would shine as if it contained its own light.
All in all, it's flawed, but pretty enough to keep its light going. It doesn't really wane, and the stories are quite consistent.
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LibraryThing member bragan
A collection of short, strange, disturbing, surreal stories. Although calling some of these "stories" almost feels wrong. They're more like... I don't know. Tiny snippets of dreams? They definitely make for a weird reading experience. For many of them, I find myself coming away feeling as if they
It's all very interesting, and there's definitely artistry to it, but I'm not at all sure just how well any of it works for me.
Rating: It's odd, because this absolutely seems like it should be a love-it-or-hate-it collection, but I find myself not managing to reach either extreme, so I'm going to call it 3/5.
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ought to mean something, but that there is no way of telling what. Like some kind of freaky zen koan.It's all very interesting, and there's definitely artistry to it, but I'm not at all sure just how well any of it works for me.
Rating: It's odd, because this absolutely seems like it should be a love-it-or-hate-it collection, but I find myself not managing to reach either extreme, so I'm going to call it 3/5.
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LibraryThing member wagner.sarah35
This book of short stories is somewhat bizarre and haunting, which I suspect is exactly the vibe author was after. An interesting volume, but not really for me.
Awards
Shirley Jackson Award (Nominee — Collection — 2015)
Young Lions Fiction Award (Finalist — 2016)
NPR: Books We Love (2015)
Language
Original publication date
2015
Physical description
224 p.; 7.5 inches
ISBN
0374175446 / 9780374175443