Review
Title: Revolver
Author: Heidi Naylor
Publisher: BCC (By Common Consent) Press
Genre: short story collection
Year of Publication: 2018
Number of Pages: 177
Binding: paper
ISBN13: 978-1-948218-00-9
Price: $10.95
Reviewed by Julie J. Nichols for the Association for Mormon Letters
In 2017, “By Common Consent,” the fifteen-year-old faithful-but-fearless blog for thoughtful Mormons, inaugurated its very own nonprofit press.BCC laid out its foundational philosophy in a post introducing its new venture. Though social media is (are?) the communication venue of the hour, books, because they allow for long-form argument and sustained consideration of multiple points of view, are essential for religious community. With an existing network and a nonprofit mindset, BCC Press means to expand its reach and scope by producing affordable books in a wide variety of genres, voices, and styles. Revolver, Heidi Naylor’s excellent collection of short stories, is one of BCCP’s 2018 publications—one you shouldn’t miss. The stories’ characters and plot are unexpectedly varied, ranging around and beyond Mormon themes, and all are beautifully-crafted. The book has been nominated for an AML award, deservedly so.
The title story presents three scenes in the life of Hal Klink: a Memorial Day service, oblivious to Klink’s buried past as a German soldier; a flashback to a terrible (though all-too-common) war moment involving a beautiful woman, a commander, and a revolver; and a sweet exchange between Klink and the daughter who cares for him now, a daughter who is not beautiful but kind. Nothing about Mormons. Everything about humans, and war, and family, and redemption. Composed of such lovely clean paragraphs as this:
“Some rows ahead of them [at the Memorial Day service], the senator’s words blow back from the dais and over the graveyard. No matter, he’s not much of a senator, has put the state through a round of grief and embarrassment. People look away. A small phalanx of horses is sat by men in the varied uniforms of armed service branches. [This “phalanx” plays an important part in the final scene as well.] The horses’ tails are tidy, braided and tucked, their bridles glossy, no blinders, and especially at such distance, they seem not even to blink. Horses and men—wait, he thinks, one of the mounts is a young woman—all straight and still as sculpture. Klink’s gaze lingers a moment. The breeze revives, thick enough to make his eyes water, but its wash of cold fresh. So many of his pleasures have become small, fugitive and beckoning. Little sensory favors.” (1-2)
Note the rhythm of the prose, the precise selection of words, the power of the details. It’s a quiet story, with only one flashback moment of drama, itself chillingly quiet. But the final line goes straight to the heart.
“The Language of Desire” is another quiet story, but of a very different sort. Another set of threes: Larkin, Silas, Charmaine, all on a summer evening. Naylor surrounds them with ethereal details in their solitary self-reflection, connects them (though they’re miles apart) as ordinary, flawed people with desires and a past—and possible shared futures. But only possible. Not guaranteed. The beauty of this story is the accumulation of detail, the poignancy of cumulative hopes, the inevitability of enduring, “the unintelligible…yearnings…regrets…doubts…–how was a body to know she would survive?” (25)
Similarly, “A Season of Curing” works by means of lists, imagined futures, remembered pasts, encountered during a mostly unsuccessful visit between Ripley McCord and his ex-wife on his fifty-eighth birthday. Naylor’s writing is mature, thoughtful, aware of the moody gap between wish and fulfillment and of the skill needed to create that mood through concrete, evocative detail.
“Name” is a story of sexual assault and its consequences. “The Hardness of Steel” bites into the difficult taste of privilege, its inappropriate responses to trouble which is more than individual in its sources and outcomes. “Jane’s Journey” takes place in early nineteenth-century Great Britain and America, a fictional account, perhaps, of true ancestors. Like “Name” and “Home Teacher,” “Jane’s Journey” needs a Mormon setting and doesn’t need it—the issues are human, the characters pushing through confusion toward some kind of right action. Mormonness is an occasional background structure, neither sole cause nor sole resolution when conflict appears.
This kind of writing persuades me that Mormon authorship can continue to map wide uncharted territory, in terms of both theme and style. BCC Press says, “[We are not] quite like existing LDS publishers, though there’s probably some overlap in what we find interesting. We’re here to encourage Mormon writing in new ways…” Naylor’s collection fits the profile exactly: these are stories from the heart of a gifted, mature writer who sees her characters as desiring humans first, humans in a world where war, work, and love motivate and drive us. Naylor knows the language and she knows the psyche. We couldn’t ask for a kinder, more gently- and honestly-written collection. Look for more from this source—it’s sure to be a gift.