Online literary journal Prick of the Spindle recently published my review of Traci O’Connor’s short story collection Recipes for Endangered Species. The book–a dark goulash of zombie armadillos, prosthetic hands, crazed ghost-butchers, cocktail bar crooners and infanticidal cannibalism–often lapsed into hypnagogic beauty despite (or perhaps because of) the surreally magnified, occasionally self-animate flaws of its protagonists. The review wasn’t so bad either. An excerpt:
Traci O’Connor does not write about pretty things, but she does write them prettily. Or are the things themselves pretty in a way that takes the writing of them to reveal? Are mangled dogs pretty? Are pink prosthetic hands? Are beautiful monsters—to whom Recipes for Endangered Species, her first collection of short fiction, is dedicated—beautiful? Despite their monstrousness, or because of it?