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I was first exposed to Mr. Powell's writing in a class I'm taking called "Progressive Fiction." Though the book was a bit difficult to find, the pursuit was well worth it. I'm not sure the best way to do this author justice, actually. He has a bit of Beckettian absurdity, but also a Raymond Carver sense of the downtrodden. Putting the two together results in some idiosyncratic insights. I also appreciate that he seems to be a "geographical" writer. His short-short stories with titles like "Texas", "Kansas", South Carolina" evoke a sense of place that really doesn't need more than the 2 or 3 pages he takes to convey it. My favorite stories were the title story, "Mr. Irony" and "Wayne's Fate," but the story "Texas" actually inspired me to write something of my own along the lines he set out. A must-read for any fiction writer as well as any reader who appreciates formal and linguistic play.

In every cheesy horror or sci-fi movie involving aliens or demons or pod people, there's the almost-obligatory scene where the hero(ine), having successfully slain the last(?) of the evil critters, falls into the arms of his or her sidekick/romantic interest/significant other, only to come to the sickening realization that the person they are embracing has been taken over by the forces of darkness. The music crescendos in ominous cacophony; the camera zooms in as the horrifying realization dawns across the protagonist's face ....

As I read this collection of stories, the third book by Padgett Powell, I experienced that exact same sinking feeling. Here's an author whose first novel, "Edisto", was one of the most enchanting books I had read in 1984, the year it was published. So when I came across this collection in the second-hand book store, buying it seemed like a no-brainer. Caveat lector! As it says in those indigestible mutual fund prospectuses that clog my mailbox daily, "past success is no guarantee of future performance".

In this case, the warning signals were loud and clear. Had I just taken the time to do a little skimming in the store, I would have surely seen the warning signs. "Stories" with titles like "Mr. Irony Renounces Irony", "Dr. Ordinary", "General Rancidity", "Mr. Nefarious", "Miss Resignation". These sound like homework assignments from a graduate writing workshop in hell, and that's pretty much the way they read as well. Mr. Powell apparently thinks this kind of thing may be passed off as writing:

"Dr. Ordinary found solace in nothing. He found his shoes untied during surgery. He found his mother once, when she was in her sixties, naked in the bathtub calling for a fresh martini. He found bluebirds too far south. He found pies too sweet to eat. He found God with no difficulty, but locating his belief another matter. "

And so on, for a total of three wretched pages, and sixty repetitions of the phrase "He found..". If this kind of thing strikes you as insufferable, you are unlikely to find "General Rancidity", which is just more of the same with the verb `run' instead of the verb `find', any better.

It gets worse. Four of the `stories' are named for states: Kansas, Texas, South Carolina and Florida. Here is the first 30% or so of `Texas':

"I fell off the lightning rod. I entered the sweepstakes. I lost control. I became beautiful. I charmed a queen. I defied gravity. I moved mountains. I bowled. I wept, mourned, moped, and sped about town in a convertible, progressively irascing the gendarme until I was charged with exhibitionist speed."

Progressively irascing the gendarme? What a crock!

My feelings about this toxic insult to the intelligence may be summed up as follows:

Dr. Giltinan found this book to be worthless dreck.

Or, if you prefer:

I wanted my money back.