Greek writer Amanda Michalopoulou's spare, graceful, bundle of stories collectively titled I'd Like (translated by Karen Emmerich) does what most American short story collections don't: make each story build and play off the others without the sense of being a haphazard almost-novel. Some of the stories are refreshingly short; Michalopoulou introduces a tantalizing "what if" and that coincidence or possibility is the entirety of the story. In "Dad and Childhood" a sensitive little girl imagines she talks to the adult version of herself. This is a pretty standard writerly conceit; the imaginative child. But Michalopoulou brings the story around in a stunning way that shocks in a reality-warping way. Michalopoulou deftly pulls the rug out on the reader many times in these stories.
There are characters with the same name in each story and they may possibly be the same people--but maybe not. The "maybe not" provides a sense that there is meaning just out of the reader's grasp. This intellectual hunt keeps the mind whirring in a way that redefines the experience of reading a short story collection.
Michalopoulou holds over imagery from story to story for no other reason, seemingly, except to do it. Almond blossoms appear in many contexts, for example, as does the sexual practice of hair pulling. And Michalopoulou's prose style is simple and direct. Here's a passage from the story "Pointe" where a mother tries on the toe shoes that have been hurting her daughter's feet.
First she put on the protective nylon socks, which were stained with dried blood and smelled of girlish sweat. From a distance the pointe shoes looked like huge sugared almonds, but up close they were dirty and very hard at the tips, as if something were living there, something evil and embalmed.
The sex in I'd Like is often of the hungry, desperate variety that makes the participants more anxious and wistful in the dimming afterglow. But the act of reading I'd Like is the opposite of a horny fling: slow to build, thoughtful, and deeply satisfying,
I'd Like by Amanda Michalopoulou
Dalkey Archive Press
www.dalkeyarchive.com/catalog/show/410