what price, insight?

if a slowly ripening cynicism, recognizing that life has jagged edges and glossed over cracks in unexpected places is a sign of growing up, then i am yet to attain it. if the test of good writing is in its capacity to jolt one out of mental and moral complacence, then lisa moore's collection of ten short stories 'open' more than sufficiently does so.

i uncover each sentence like a secret bar of chocolate, to be savored till it melts away. i don't want the book to end. the sharpness and uncomfortable honesty of her prose threatens to distort the benign image of the adult world that i still defend. yet, all the cruelty and sadness and flashes of love and tenderness that she writes about with unsentimental detachment, is what makes this unforgettable. reminds me of a nell freudenberger story 'the tutor' that i had read in Granta-82 once and could not get out of my mind hence. an interview here.




from 'Craving':


i realise now, totally zonked that i have always believed the flaws of men are born of a stupidity for which they, men, can't be held accountable. i recognize in a flash that all my relations with men have been guided by this generous and condescending premise. i see now that the theory comes from the lack of courage required to face the truth, which is that men are pricks.
they're aware women like me exist, women who believe they have been shafted in terms of a moral spine, and these men welcome these women's low opinions of themselves, and capitalize on it.


and later;


i have forsaken the promises of our adolescence; hiding near the warm tires of parked cars while playing spotlight at dusk, holding still while curling irons burn our scalps, splashes of silver raining from the disco balls in the parish hall, mashed banana emollients, face scrubs with twigs and bits of apricot, ears pierced with an ice cube and sewing needle, and the disquieting loss of a belief in God. the saturated aura, a kinetic field of blue light, that surrounded a silent phone while we willed it to ring. our periods. dusk, all by itself, dusk, walking home from school after a volleyball game and the light withdrawing from the pavement. 
i look at my husband, i try to feel dissatisfied but i can't, he is a beautiful man.