Reprinted from Mom Egg Review, Book Reviews, August 26, 2017
Have You Seen CindySleigh? & Other Stories by Diane Stiglich
Review by Lara Lillibridge
Diane Stiglich, a writer and painter in Hoboken, New Jersey, captivates readers with her debut novel. A quick read at 134 pages, it is officially three interconnected stories, but they flow into each other so seamlessly that it feels like one continuous tale.
A dreamlike work of magical realism, Have You Seen CindySleigh? takes us down many unexpected paths, filled with randomly appearing bottles of champagne, iPods, and a truck named Karen. We encounter a priest, gods, demons, and shape-shifting animals. In what feels like a dream within a dream, The Author herself appears to defend Cindy from El Diablo. “I, like you, sir, have no actual spoken name. I am referred to as the Author” (53).
It is as if we have entered a painting and it has come alive:
In her mind, she creates a drawing, a self-portrait, graphite on paper: in a frontal stance, perfectly calm and normal, although her chest is open to expose her heart. No bone, muscle, or skin protect it from all of the feelings and emotions that spin around her like a whirlwind. This self-image make sense. In it, as throughout her entire life, her eyes are askew. (25)
This feeling that we have wandered onto a canvas is refined as the chapter progresses: “Details of Van Gogh paintings have been recreated on each wall; Starry Night swirls across the ceiling” (27).
This is reinforced again further on: “The empty space with a moving shadow, so much like a moving painting. Sand made a great negative space for the shape and figure of Cindy’s shadow as she danced in the desert” (55).
It is a story of transition, acceptance, and desire. As CindySleigh tells Mephistopheles,
I am a virgin of sorts, for no matter how many lovely, sordid sexual things I have done in this lifetime, I could never create a child…Vases are beautiful in and of themselves, but there is something so much better when they are filled with flowers: even one flower would make all the difference. (60-61)
CindySleigh is given a demon child, called D.C., whom she tries to love into domesticity, but he is feral, shape-shifting and untamable. Yet the fulfillment of this desire is not the end of the story, but rather only one path it takes.
The book is a dream-like art-come-to-life world, where there are truths that are as immutable in this reality as in the one on the page, and stumbling across these truths is as if we find something solid to hold onto—grasping a rock after clawing at clouds:
One conundrum in life is that one can simply not go back. You can never go back to the way anything was, and what you remember rarely ever proves to be what was, anyway. (64)
This loss cannot be found; this loss cannot be replaced. When you feel this non-feeling, your body takes on a surreal lightness. That is the numb. Yet, there also is a deep heaviness that gives all movement the sensation of stretching limbs though earth rather than air. (86)
I don’t read much magical realism. I found the story hard to describe but achingly beautiful: “Pieces of pain were scattered about in the form of a broken mirror” (116). I felt a connection to CindySleigh as if I had entered someone else’s dream and dreamt it myself—the swirls of emotion and imagery lingered long after I closed the book.
Have You Seen CindySleigh? & Other Stories
by Diane Stiglich
Poets Wear Prada, 2016, $20.00
[paper] ISBN 9780997981117
134 pp
Lara Lillibridge recently won both Slippery Elm Literary Journal’s Prose Contest and The American Literary Review’s Contest in Nonfiction. Lara’s memoir will debut in fall of 2017 with Skyhorse Publishing. Some of her work can be found on her website: http://www.laralillibridge.com/.
Showing posts with label Mom Egg Review. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mom Egg Review. Show all posts
Friday, September 15, 2017
Friday, July 15, 2016
RZ Wiggins Reviews Remembering Chris by Rosalie Calabrese for MER Book Reviews
Reprinted from Mom Egg Review, Book Reviews, June 21, 2016
by Rosalie Calabrese
Poets Wear Prada, 2015, $12.00 [paper]
ISBN 9780692303795
Review by RZ Wiggins
Mothers are simple,
complex, opaque, vivid, loving, distant, devoted, and neglectful, all in
a lifetime. From its first pages, this slim volume overflows with the
above and with a mother’s abundant love and commitment. Rosalie
Calebrese’s chapbook Remembering Chris is a
memorial to a lost son. But the collection also shows the many sides to
mothering through a voice that is at once surprisingly pragmatic and
refreshingly honest.
Aside from “Mixed Emotions” (3) which centers on mothering concerns (how many mothers haven’t felt these?), Remembering Chris’s
poems ring with joy at both motherhood and grandmotherhood. Given the
absence of any mention of siblings, it appears that Chris, the
collection’s focus (a boy who loved his Lionel trains), is an only
child.
The poems explore a mother
who dutifully nurtures her son and teaches him what is needed. There is
the heartfelt sting of sternly eradicating obscene words and gestures
and the angst of removing the stowaway from the back seat to again
deposit him at sleepover camp. These are a mother’s duties that must be
done even though the heart is heavy.
I wanted more glimpses into
this bond, more details of days spent together in the boy’s younger
years, his falls and scrapes, more about his young mother. What were
their rituals? Cozying together reading books in bed? Baking cookies on
stormy days? Whispering to a favorite teddy bear in the dark?
Where the boy is absent,
there is much of the mother: a divorced parent struggling to adjust to
her new single status; a woman juggling work commitments and the
coexistent guilt:
…I ran the shuttlebetween career and motherhood.So often, our line of communicationfilled with static − almost disconnected;I feared you’d lose your way. (16)
In addition, there is the
struggle to hold onto some of herself, to be the woman who can go to
Europe without her son while carrying a mother’s guilt.
The woman inside these
poems finds it difficult to tell her granddaughter “what Jewish people
believe in” (19) and instead defers to the Internet. Yet, Jewish
heritage bleeds across the pages, particularly in one of Calabrese’s
most poignant poems:
A Memo to My SonYou had no bris,And you had no bar-mitzvah,But make no mistake, my son:You are the flesh of my flesh,And the blood of my blood:When all the scores are tallied,You will still be a Jew. (8)
Time and again Calebrese
reminds us that mothers must be many things: loving yet stern, strong
yet fallible. They must bend to meet life as it arises before and after
their children are born and especially after a child sadly passes on too
soon. Without a doubt, the essence that shines through these poems is
of the richness and devotion of a mother’s love despite all of life’s
varying circumstances. They remind us that mothers never let go, not
when they send you to summer camp, nor when career demands intrude, nor
when you get married and move into your own home. Mothers swell up with
joy and hold on forever— “I reach for your hand/and hold the memory”
(24).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)

