In a Shallow Grave

Do I know, really know, what I just read? Probably not, but I'm super happy I did. Of course I'm blaming this on Nick . And by blame I mean, thank you. The best way to experience this tale, and yes, it is an experience, is to inhale it in one-go, let it subsume you, and float in [a:James Purdy 2273 James Purdy https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1515503789p2/2273.jpg]'s mesmerizing language. For extra effect, I also chose to read it out loud. To my cat. She was lulled to sleep. The bones of the story are whatever the blurb says: a soldier, Garnet Montrose, comes back horribly disfigured from the war in Vietnam, and, due to his physical ailments and ghastly appearance, decides to hire a man (his aspect is too horrifying for a woman) to tend to his needs and deliver love notes to a local widow. The applicants who end up taking the job don't exactly come through the regular channels, or are what Garnet expected. One is Quintus Powell, an 18 y.o. who comes to offer some goats that his momma no longer wants, and Potter Daventry, who just materializes, one day, in the forrest surrounding Garnet's house. The two split the work of caring for Garnet's physical and metaphysical needs, grounding him in the here and now, while releasing his mind.To say any more would be a crime and tell you nothing of what this is about. In spite of the very specific time setting, this is a tale that could be taking place in the 1800's. It very much had that southern gothic Faulkner or O'Connor feel, where “The past is never dead. It's not even past.” That unresolved or unhealed wound that was the Civil War, is barely scabbed over. There is a decidedly queer twist, and there is love between the men in the story, each of a different stripe, but this is definitely not a love story. Or maybe it is? To me, it was a tale of identity, transformation, and becoming. At one point Garnet, who narrates the story, is talking about the nicknames he had in the army, and then says: “But now I am home I want only my own names used, but actually nobody calls me anything because nobody can see me to call me, you might say. I am more vague than the fog, and not even it seems to me as palpable as night.” To be seen. To be known.