Book
A Collection of Writings by Joseph K.
For more information write:
Joseph K.
P.O. Box 720
Carthage, TX 75633
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I have a soft spot for struggling writers. I'm not going into detail, but let's just say I have a mole's eye view of what it takes to go down to the computer every day and write dangerous, lyrical, imaginative prose without any encouragement, monetary or otherwise. I know that great stuff gets written and never sees the light of day. I observe that publishing contracts go mostly to people who know important editors, rather than those who write the best. I respect talented people who grind their work out anyway. So when I received a hand-painted manila envelope, decorated with fuzzy white clouds and blue skies, and enclosing a set of three xeroxed collections of short stories, my reaction was not entirely and immediately negative.
At least, not until I started reading.
Joseph K. (which is either short for Kyle or a Kafka reference) is a young man in his late 20s, currently living in a small town in Texas. Or perhaps his Reflections 28, the source of all that I know about the man, is a work of fiction, and he is none of those things. He is, or at least his fictional self is, a fish out of water in sleepy, churchified East Texas. He writes, "This is the world of Saturday night baths and dances and sitting on the front porch and watching the world do absolutely nothing. The world where kids get in their cars and cruise around the Sonic and hang out." Ooh, stop, I'm bored already.
Okay, let's just get this out of the way. An awful lot of great books have been written about places where nothing much happens. My personal favorites include Huckleberry Finn, Pride and Prejudice and pretty much all of Faulkner. But Joseph K. does not dig nearly deep enough into the weird, pulsing life that makes really dull places fascinating settings. There are very few specific characters or situations, just ruminations and descriptions. These stories would make passable letters home, but they do not transform the subject matter into anything artistic or meaningful.
Actually, Joseph K. comes closest to getting somewhere in his most surreal collection, the pink-covered Simple Stories. Here his encounters with a six-foot tall breast, a broken chocolate bunny and a psychotic teenager named Derald take on a bizarre and original cast. The writing is still a little flat, but at least the subject matter is entertainingly off-center.
For example, from "Derald Rides Perniciously":
"I bought this totally cute chocolate bunny at the grocers across the street. It was called Choco Hoppily hop-hop. On the wrapper, he was dressed up in hip-hop attire, complete with pierced ear and sunglasses and clock necklace. he was displayed in a box that was, of course, your typical ghetto scene. At first, I was so impressed by this little oddity that I was almost convinced that FUBU had started making Easter candy."
Great writers, I am almost convinced, do not use phrases like "totally cute" or "typical ghetto scene" or "almost convinced". Joseph K. is not a great writer. But he does have an eye for the absurd which, with a little copy-editing and discipline, might turn into something.
Or he might just keep sending bizarre packages of hand-illustrated books to e-zines rash enough to say they'll review anything. I don't blame him. I know it's tough out there.
-- Jennifer Kelly
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