Rose Metal Press has just published a chapbook of short short stories by Sean Lovelace called How Some People Like Their Eggs, the winner of their third annual short short chapbook contest.
I helped proofread this book and really liked it then, and now that I have it in a fashionable-looking font inside of pale yellow cardstock I like it even more. I am now going to get mushy and probably a little pretentious about it:
Sean Lovelace writes in a brisk, dry style, describing sequences of events that aren't entirely surreal and aren't entirely lifelike, which is to say that they occupy as fully as possible the world of the human mind. The wryness of his voice sometimes gave me the feeling of reading from Raymond Carver's shroom log.
The book consists mostly of first-person narratives that move and turn a little like James Tate's more fun poems, but one story, for example, is a series of diary entries from an aging Charlie Brown, each of which begins, "I wake, and hear the birds coughing."
"Meteorite," the story about 'meeting with a friend who's dying of cancer and eating bad bar food with her while feeling a little concerned about destiny' that opens the book, seems like the best, but my favorite was probably either "I Love Bocce," a story about 'a medical student mourning an unrequited crush and cathecting the sport of bocce,' or "Molasses," a story about [spoiler alert] 'feeling less motivated and responsible than one's girlfriend and starting to mow the lawn and then talking with the girl who walks through the lake selling junk from a tire on a rope and learning that one's favorite molasses store has gone out of business because of a syrup superstore opening up nearby.'
Generally speaking, Sean Lovelace's stories are hard to sum up; I feel that they are very complete and good.