Amazon.com Review
In his debut story collection,
Short People, Joshua Furst presents a thoughtful, haunting look at the lives of children experiencing emotional and psychological growing pains. From a born-again son coming to grips with puberty ("[w]hy shouldn't he have looked at the
Playboy the tough boys in the bathroom tried to force on him before they gave him a swirly?"), post-baptismal blues, and his parents' casual disregard of sin-free living, to a nerdy Boy Scout's public humility at camp and the sexual politics among high school girls, Furst follows kids as they try to find acceptance from their peers, as well as themselves. Interspersed are snippets of the weak, abused and neglected; children with succinct and poignant fates. While these interjections interrupt the pace, they are not superfluous, and Furst ties them together rather nicely.
While Furst occasionally breaks out of character and some of the children and families seem a bit too dysfunctional, issues perceived to be of critical importance--like TV watching in "The Good Parents"--captivate young minds:
It didn't matter what we were watching, the momentous thing was that we were watching, breaking the taboo--and without any negative psychological effects. No, TV was helping us. Though we wouldn't have been able to put it this way, we knew, we just knew that if we logged enough surreptitious hours, the massive assimilating force behind them would shove all our weirdness and eccentricities into a cellar where no one could see them. We'd put an end to the whispers, the jeers, the abrupt pointed silences.
Furst's Short People contains stories that linger on, and the playground down the street will never seem the same. --Michael Ferch
From Publishers Weekly
Like medical case histories put through a mangle, Furst's 10 stories are detached, distorted chronicles of the vicissitudes of childhood. Often narrated from an obtuse angle-first-person singular, future tense; first-person plural, present tense-they seem to freeze their subjects in place, stripping them of their defenses. Furst turns the literal-mindedness of childhood into a stylistic quirk, with decidedly mixed results. This tactic is on full display in "The Age of Exploration," in which two six-year-old boys while away a summer day. Any echoes of Bradbury's Dandelion Wine are soon dispelled by the plodding earnestness of the prose: "Billy would deny it, but he wishes he were as silly as Jason. Life can't be all books. You have to go out and play sometimes." Few children do play in Furst's stories, and when they do, their games turn into painful Darwinian struggles. In "Merit Badge," Evan finds himself on the wrong side of the adolescent divide at Boy Scout camp, when a treacherous friend lures him into a humiliating act and then exposes him to general ridicule. Black comedy takes center stage in "Red Lobster" when a deadbeat dad buys his kids dinner, and one of his sons takes his edict to clean his plate a bit too literally. Brief vignettes between stories give the collection extra structure. Their provenance is cleverly explained in the second-to-last story, "Failure to Thrive," in which a maternity ward nurse writes reports fantasizing about the futures of the premature infants in her charge-and decides to save them from their cruel fates, with tragic results. This is an ambitious debut, but Furst is at his best when he abandons his prosy experimentation with voice and perspective and tunnels directly into the unpretty minds of his young protagonists.
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