A few weeks ago I was asked if I would review the 5th edition of an electronic literary magazine called ‘The Rag’ – a fairly recent publication that is committed to revitalising the olden days of publishing when great authors gained exposure (and got paid) through writing short stories for such magazines. Being a writer myself I accepted the review request simply out of a curiosity to what calibre of writing was contained within its pages. The rising tidal wave of electronic books and indie self publishing contains with it an enormous amount of new writing, but inevitably it also washes a lot of garbage onto our shore, leaving us readers with the difficult task of having to search for quality writing amongst the poorly edited bits of scrap. The purpose of this review is to decide whether the magazine succeeds or not in finding and presenting the cream of the crop of new authors.
What most got my attention about reviewing The Rag was its focus on including short stories and poetry that were gritty, raw, and of a darker nature than most published short fiction. Having grown up watching and enjoying violent and edgy movies I imagined The Rag as some sort of underground space that allowed writers to freely explore the dark recesses of their imagination that the majority of publishers prudishly avoid. I’ll begin the review by displaying a list of the books contents (short stories are in bold, poems are italicised), and then share brief thoughts on each of the stories in order to give you an overall perspective of the quality of fiction presented. I will not comment on the poetry as I haven’t read enough to develop a taste for it. Personally I find poetry is best when read out loud by the author, so it doesn’t have as big an impact on me as when I read it myself. I also don’t write poetry, and therefore know little about the format so don’t feel I’m in any position to critique it.
- “Memento Mori” by Stefanie Demas
- “No Sleep Since 1903” by Nick Mecikalski
- “Monolith” by Petros Karagianis
- “Yes, Officer” by John Woods
- “Not Giving to the Alumni Fund” by David Blanton
- “Putting in the Work” by Steve Russo
- “Karl’s Last Night” by Laura Andrews
- “The Observer Effect” by Matthew Meade
- “The Man Who Wouldn’t Jump” by Isaac Savage
- “The Queue” by Ashley Ahn
- “Citizen of Megabus” by Reina Hardy
- “Passing Through” by Jack Varvill
- “Zeke Stargazing” by Rachel Kimbrough
- “Vibrancy” by Marcus Emanuel
- “Cats as the Meaning of Life” by Misty Lynn Ellingburg
- “Digital Desert Camouflage” by Isaac Pritzker
- “The Girl with Pretension in Her Hair” by Bill Lytton
- “Olivia” by Philip Zigman
The first story, ‘Memento Mori,’ by Stefanie Demas, is a strange but well written piece of fiction. It didn’t take long for me to appreciate the author’s sharp writing ability as her eloquently phrased descriptions helped transport me into the fictional world she had created. Stefanie’s story dives into the taboo waters of necrophillia and somehow does it with grace, never for a moment allowing the piece to degenerate into smut. Memento Mori involves a nameless woman who, through working as an assistant mortician at a hospital, falls in love with a recently deceased and embalmed man named Nicholas. It is certainly one of the weirdest love stories you will likely encounter, but it is also a brave attempt at contextually reframing a very looked down upon activity. The story beautifully juxtaposes themes of life/death and preservation/decay, and offers a glimpse into the secret passion of an anonymous person whose love is layered with guilt due to society’s strict perspective on what is right and wrong.
‘Yes, Officer,’ by John Woods, is written with just as much skill as the one before it and revolves around police officer Brett Hastings who struggles to passively allow a specific case of domestic abuse go unaccounted for. Hasting’s first person narrative contrasts his happy and normal family life to that of the victim’s broken one, which becomes an obsession for the protagonist. His desire to take law into his own hands and attempt to balance the amount of good and evil in the world reminds me of Scorcese’s Taxi Driver, and while it is different enough to be considered as separate to that film the story falls short in comparison due to its lack of setting up good motive for the protagonist. At no point could I gauge why he was so obsessed with the specific case of Randy beating up his wife, and I felt that the ending offered no ultimate catharsis for the protagonist or the reader. Still, with that said it kept me entertained throughout, and the writing was of a good quality.
‘Not Giving to the Alumini Fund,’ by David Blanton, is a high tempo story about an unlikely character who gets drawn into the underground world of credit card fraud. The story follows Joshua, a video game nerd, who is introduced to the criminal lifestyle by a mysterious man he meets online. While I don’t believe for a second how he was introduced into the criminal life the rest of the story was fairly credible and benefits from a fleshed out protagonist and interesting side characters.
‘Putting in the Work,’ by Steve Russo, is about an anonymous man who, like the protagonist in the previous story, winds up in some seedy line of work that is uncharacteristic of his personality. The work, we are told, started off as petty crimes (such as credit card scams), but has escalated into his first real dirty job: assassinating a man… with the help of two gangster sidekicks he doesn’t even know the names of. Of all the stories so far this is the weakest one. It’s written in first person present tense, which is a difficult and jarring tense to read (it would’ve worked much better in first person past tense), and is also too descriptive of minor details, while at the same time too vague about important details. The protagonist doesn’t reveal enough about himself or how he got mixed up with these criminals, which makes it hard to root for or be concerned about him due to his lack of backstory. But, if you ignore the slightly awkward prose and stick it out till the end you will be rewarded with a very tense finale that makes the whole thing worthwhile. I feel that the editors were wise to put this story right after ‘Not Giving into the Alumini Fund’ as it almost reads like a continuation or companion piece. They work well together.
‘Karl’s Last Night‘, by Laura Andrews, is, well… I didn’t like it. It’s a stream of consciousness story about a guy named Karl, and that’s about all I remember. It reads like a meth induced rambling you would hear from a bum on the street and quickly forget. Thankfully the author decided to keep it really short so it’s over before you need to reach for the panadol.
‘The Observer Effect‘, by Matthew Meade is much better, but then again it wasn’t a hard act to follow. Matthew’s story is about a married woman named Lyla and her affair with a young boy. Most of the story takes place inside a hotel room where they meet up for sex, and also inside Lyla’s head, as she reflects on her relationship with the boy who has fallen hopelessly in love with her. The story is original but unfortunately too repetitive and circular, like a dog trying to eat its own tail. On that note the author overused analogies. Analogies are powerful literary instruments but if used too much they lose potency, which they certainly did. Some of the analogies were clever and imaginative, but others were just strange – ‘She felt his cock press against her. It was crass and unsolicited like a self-indulgent Christmas newsletter.‘ Seriously? My main problem with The Observer Effect is the characters are very flat and unrealistic – Lyla was too disconnected in her thoughts and behaviour and ultimately wasn’t very likeable, her boyfriend lacked substance, and very little is revealed about her husband – which is a shame because a character driven story such as this one obviously needs to have good characters. The way Lyla reacted at the climax was not believable and a bit of a let down and to top it off the story also unsurprisingly ends with an analogy. I think this one had potential but sadly fell short of the mark.
‘The Man Who Wouldn’t Jump,’ by Isaac Savage, is about a chubby and anxious man called Charles who is coerced into going on a blind date by one of his friends. It is easily the worst story so far, and maybe even the worst story I have ever read. I wish I was exaggerating. Not only is it poorly written with lots of lazy word repetition (it seems like every second sentence Charles either shrugs, frowns, stares, or sinks into his chair) but it also has blocky characters, awkward dialogue (the dinner scene where Ian rattles on about how he wanted to be an archaeologist for almost an entire page is cringeworthy) and most importantly a boring protagonist who shows no change whatsoever and is in the exact same situation at the end as he was in at the start. There was zero chemistry between Charles and his blind date Hadley and so the twist at the end where it’s suggested she was murdered had absolutely no impact, and to top it off Charles is totally oblivious to it having happened in the first place. The title ‘The Man Who Wouldn’t Jump’ references a side story about a man who Charles sees every now and then at the train station who tries to jump in front of the train to kill himself but always backs down at the last second. ‘The man must have noticed Charles watching him, because he turned and looked at Charles. It was definitely him: the man who wouldn’t jump. He stared at Charles until Charles looked away, and then went back to eying the tracks.’ Note the clumsy repetition of ‘Charles’, this happens a lot. The man who wouldn’t jump eventually does jump, thus making his nickname and the title of the story moot, and Charles describes the incident like it were a clipping from a newspaper, showing absolute minimal care for having witnessed the suicide, his only thoughts being that he would have a valid excuse for turning up late to work. The side story has virtually nothing to do with the main plot and clearly has no effect on the protagonist either, so I really wonder why the author included it, and more importantly, why he decided to name the story after it. The author bio at the end states that he’s had two other stories previously published in The Rag. I really hope for The Rag’s sake that those ones are of a much better quality, because stories like this suggest a ‘we’ll accept anything we receive’ policy. At the very least the editors could’ve actually edited the story before publishing it.
‘Passing Through,’by Jack Varvill, is my favourite of the bunch so far; it is the most honest and believable and also contains truly likeable characters whose lives are presented with a remarkably minimalistic prose. Passing Through is about two homeless twin girls named Lux and Tekker who are struggling to find any meaningful connection to the world they are a part of. Their entire existence is each other’s company, but this soon changes when they have a chance encounter with another pair of female twins, April and Finn, who they fall for romantically. The story outlines a bleak existence blotted momentarily by hope and fulfilment that comes from finding a connection, however temporary, with another human being. The twins are alienated from themselves and others and though they find a glimmer of happiness somewhere amongst the ruins they cannot hang onto it for long as they are fated to solitude. This story handled repetition very well and used it intentionally, for stylistic and artistic purposes, rather than unintentionally out of lazy writing. The imagery is sharp and detailed, and the descriptions wonderfully written, especially of Lux’s knife wound, which remained a powerful motif throughout.
Contrast
‘The local twins disregarded their near full beers and got to their feet. Lux and Tekker followed suit. Finn swung a small rucksack over her shoulder and the small troop exited, climbed the few steps up to the pavement, and scanned up and down the ink-coloured street. Darkness had bloomed heavily and the streetlights rained sepia tones.’
with
‘Tekker woke up in Finn’s bed. She was curled onto her side, and looking through the venetian blinds. Pastel blue filled the sky. Morning had come.’
The way the twins perceive the environment changes depending on how they are feeling internally, and so the imagined dystopic world they live in becomes more vibrant and alive once they find a sense of personal fulfilment. Without even realising it they construct the world they live in just by their thoughts alone, and so the way the story ended with the description of the environment transforming radically was a great choice (note, neither of the two above passages are the ending of the story).
‘Zeke Stargazing‘ by Rachel Kimbrough, is a fingernail biting story about two young boys, their obese mother who cannot move, and her dachshund puppy Zeke. I won’t reveal any more about the plot because I wouldn’t want to detract from the reading experience, but I will say that certain passages made me cringe… not in the way I did reading ‘The Man Who Wouldn’t Jump’, but in the way when something grotesque is described so vividly that it makes your stomach churn. This is seriously good writing. Funnily enough my only gripe with the story is that the writing was too good for the context – the vocabulary simply doesn’t match that of a kindergartener, which the protagonist is supposed to be. The narrator, who is also the protagonist, should not know the meaning of, yet alone use, words such as ‘akimbo, agape, or despondent.’ Hell, I’ll be honest and admit I had to look up two of those words in a dictionary. He also shouldn’t know about the things that he knows about, such as the Neuropathy in his mother’s hands and feet, when he is only just learning about basic things such as when to say please and thank you. ‘My class has been learning about manners that day in Kindergarten. I asked Dad, “Why doesn’t Mom ever say ‘please’ when she tells you to do things. He regarded me intensely, eyes doughy and bloodshot, brows bunched together.’ The language just doesn’t fit and it hindered me from becoming fully immersed in the story as I couldn’t help but question its believability. I think it would’ve worked better if either the language was toned down or if the child protagonist was a few years older, but still young enough to be naive about his actions. Aside from this the story was very well written and structured, and it certainly left a lasting impression on me. I would definitely read more of the author’s work.
‘Vibrancy‘ by Marcus Emanuel, is an intricately woven story about a high school physics teacher Mr Goodchild and his fascination with an asian student Emily, whom he begins a platonic relationship with. Vibrancy is poetic in style and is written in a second person perspective, a point of view that is rarely seen in fiction, but works very well with this story. The author effortlessly intertwines two narrative threads – the present narrative with Mr Goodchild and his relationship with his student, and a seemingly future narrative, in which the teacher abandons his possessions and lives as a hermit in the woods – and leaves the reader wondering how the future narrative came to be. It is a prime example of great story telling, and its power lies in what it chooses not to reveal, compared to most stories that try to explain everything and wrap it all up with a pretty bow. Vibrancy is a simple story on one level but also carries a lot of depth. Its use of second person perspective is fresh and invites the reader to enter the shoes and mind of the protagonist. Easily one of my favourite stories so far.
‘The Girl With Pretension in Her Hair‘ by Bill Lytton is also written in the second person, though it fails to utilise it to the same effect as Vibrancy. I feel that the only reason the two were paired together was because they shared the same uncommon narrative perspective, because apart from that they are completely different in terms of theme and quality. This is the second shortest story next to Karl’s Last Night, and involves a male protagonist watching a girl on the train and judging her personality based on her appearance. I felt this was one of the weakest stories and it’s a shame for the author it was paired with Vibrancy as it cut this one to ribbons.
‘Olivia‘ by Philip Zigman, is a satirical exploration of how far a person is willing to go to achieve physical ‘perfection’. It’s about a girl who has a perfect nose, but thinks it is slightly too large and disproportionate to the rest of her face. Instead of making the nose smaller her doctor instead chooses to make the rest of her face, and body larger, thus beginning a mad medical journey where every part of her body except for her nose is augmented. The story is written in first person present tense but handles the perspective much better than Putting in the Work before it. The narrator describes the surgeries as they are happening to her and writes in a very distorted stream of consciousness style, where we can almost sense the drug stupor she is in from all the painkillers, and the absurdity of the whole situation. Olivia is a terrifyingly innocent story about how easy it is to be swept up in the endless pursuit of modifying ourselves. It is a great climax to the collection of stories.
The 5th edition of the Rag shows a lot of promise as it has managed to locate and compile a wide variety of styles and great new writers. To recap: the collection started off strongly with Memento Mori, a progressive story that really helped set the tone, and was followed by the somewhat cliche but still well written Yes, Officer, and then the exciting Not Giving to the Alumini Fund. From here the magazine had a bit of a dry streak, with the awkwardly written Putting in the Work, the headache inducing Karl’s Last Night, the weak characters in The Observer Effect, and the weak everything in The Man Who Wouldn’t Jump. However, it seemed that the best was saved for last, at least in my opinion, with Passing Through until the finale Olivia (excluding The Girl With Pretension in Her Hair) being a tour de force of excellent writing and engaging stories.
The amount of good stories outweighs the bad, and I am sure there will be readers out there who enjoyed the stories I disliked, and disliked the stories I enjoyed, so I am confident that there is something here for almost everyone. Hopefully once more writers discover this publication and the editors receive more stories (they pay decent money) the future editions will be more consistent than this one, but as it is still early days for The Rag, I can look past the few bad stories presented here and instead see the potential for something great.
* * * 3 stars