Amazon.com Review
With titles such as "Dysfunction 101," "Your Husband Is Cheating on Us," and "It's a Funeral! RSVP," it's clear that when you open Jill McCorkle's
Final Vinyl Days, you're not signing up for
Remembrance of Things Past. Still, if Proust grew up in the newly air-conditioned South, listening to Marvin Gaye and sneaking contraband cigarettes in the local graveyard, who knows, he might have produced tales like these. Garrulous, earthy, and firmly grounded in the most mundane details of life, McCorkle's stories strain at the edges of their slight plots. The pleasure here lies mostly in listening to these voices run on--and they do run on, in monologues both withering and affectionate. "He was real handsome, when he was all cleaned up, but I couldn't stop thinking of his head as a maraca, like the ones I loved to shake in elementary school; he had little tiny specks of information rolling around in his head and making enough sound that he didn't seem like a zombie," one narrator recalls of an old boyfriend. McCorkle is a master of both the properly placed italic and the telling pop-culture detail; the mistress of "Your Husband Is Cheating on Us" announces, "I'm the test wife and he tries everything on me first, I mean
everything. Remember when he got hooked on the massage oil that heats up with body temp? Now maybe you liked it, but I sure didn't. I got a rash, but of course, I have extremely sensitive skin and always have. I mean, I am Clinique all the way." Not all of these stories are funny--the divorced mother of "A Blinking, Spinning, Breathtaking World," for instance, runs on little more than fear and adrenaline--but even those that are have strong undercurrents of tragedy. The narrator of "Your Husband Is Cheating on Us" wryly trashes her own big "peasant" feet, tells the wife to make her husband behave, confesses her loneliness, then makes herself disappear: "But don't let him off easy. Pitch a blue blazing fit. Scream, curse, throw things. Let him have it, honey. Your husband is cheating on us. Let him have it. And when all is said and done, please just forget that I was ever here; that I ever walked the earth. After all, I'm Big Foot. Who knows if I even exist." Divorce, sibling rivalries, missing parents, and deathbed advice: only McCorkle could shine a light into these dark corners of the human heart with such good grace and wit.
--Mary Park
From Kirkus Reviews
Nine varied, lively, and beguiling stories from the ever-improving author of, most recently, Carolina Moon (1996). If you still think southern fiction is all about decaying antebellum mansions, miscegenation, and disturbing family secrets, you owe it to yourself to read McCorkle. Not that she shuns such mattersit's just that her amiably unstrung characters keep reminding us that, even while psyches and marriages are collapsing, dishes pile up in the sink, and sometimes dirty laundry is, well, just clothes that have to be washed and hung on the line. She's wonderful with beleaguered or comically resourceful women: a pregnant one trying to quit smoking and shape up generally (``Life Prerecorded''); an entrepreneur who markets funerals for ``the soon-to-be deceased'' (``It's a Funeral! RSVP''); and, most memorably, a single mother obsessed with her own and her young son's vulnerability (``A Blinking, Spinning, Breathtaking World''). If McCorkle stumbles with a monologue addressed by a man's mistress to his wife (``Your Husband Is Cheating On Us''), suggesting the two murder him together, she shines when widening her lens to examine (``Paradise'') the seriocomic chemistry between a New York Jew (Adam) and an Atlanta fashion designer (Eve) hung up on ``the North-South thing,'' or a young clergyman's uncertain ministry (``The Anatomy of Man''). She has a deadly eye for endearingly ludicrous detail (weddings and funerals bring out her best), a genius for piquant first-person narration, and a finely tuned ear for the accents of exasperated domesticity (``If Jesus were here he would take that child outside and wear his butt out''). Her stories meander even when they're comparatively tightly plottedbut its always a pleasure staying with them just to hear her people rattle on. The work of an accomplished comic writer whos continually refining her skills and expanding her range. McCorkle is gradually becoming our contemporary Eudora Welty. --
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