by Joe Meno
More Critical Praise for Demons in the Spring
*Finalist for the 2008 Story Prize
*Kirkus Reviews Best Books of 2008
*Time Out Chicago Best Books of 2008
“An inspired collection of twenty stories, brilliant in its command of tone and narrative perspective … Creativity and empathy mark the collection … Illustrations enhance the already vivid storytelling.”
—Kirkus Reviews, *starred review*
“The strongest stories in this collection (with accompanying illustrations by different artists) don’t try too hard to dazzle with formal virtuosity but let Meno slowly pull his characters out from their own peculiar inner worlds into the one we recognize, for better or for worse, as the ‘real’ world. Loss seems to be the lingua franca that unites these souls; Meno’s sympathy for them is acute, and he never lets fictional pyrotechnics blind him, or us, to their humanity.”
—New York Times Book Review
“Meno knows just how to press a variety of emotional buttons ranging from giddy delight to not-quite-hopeless despair. Highly recommended for all public and academic libraries.”
—Library Journal
“Mr. Meno’s fiction pops with the energy of youth, its purity and heart … Mr. Meno has a finely tuned grasp of the fumblings—romantic, existential and otherwise, that make up the first twenty-five years of our lives.”
—New York Observer
“These playful, postmodern stories find the Chicago author’s artistry reinforced by illustrators who provide divergent perspectives on his prose … The range of illustrations adds to the volume’s appeal, but Meno’s writing is strong enough to stand on its own … There’s a profound empathy in Meno’s work that makes it more than just a stylistic exercise.”
—Time Out New York
“Meno shows his mastery of the short form with his twenty latest tales of whimsy and loss. Meno’s best stories fuse together postmodern ideas with subjects that have concerned literature through the ages, such as love, heartbreak, death, and malaise … Intriguing and eccentric, Meno’s stories never distract with their surreal flights of fancy but instead draw the reader in deeper to their magical reconfiguration of the modern world. Twenty different graphic artists provide idiosyncratic illustrations that perfectly complement this daring collection.”
—Booklist
“Nothing like getting inventive. Local author Joe Meno continues to push the limits of traditional lit with each of his releases … Meno’s tales are funny, heartbreaking and in-sightful, most of the time all at once—he’s getting better with age.”
— Newcity (Chicago)
“Demons is a beautifully crafted collection and benefits greatly from the illustrations of twenty diverse and well-matched artists from around the world. Consider also that a portion of the book’s proceeds are being donated to 826CHICAGO, a nonprofit tutoring center in the Windy City, and you’ve got a great book that’s giving to a good cause.”
—Philadelphia City Paper
“In Joe Meno’s newest collection, even the table of contents reads like a story, each title an evocative verbal starburst [and] the stories don’t disappoint. They pop and bristle with the tender, with the weird and with great appreciation for the limitless resources of storytelling.”
—Time Out Chicago
“The twenty clever and sometimes surreal stories in Joe Meno’s new collection, Demons in the Spring, reveal the workings of a curious and inventive mind. The pieces are diverse in style and setting, but for the most part their characters are all trying to navigate a world that’s at best indifferent and more often bewildering or downright cruel.”
—Chicago Reader
“These tales have the feel of whole novels distilled into tone poems and lyric fragments of natural dialogue, lucid dream states, and pure, all-too-human existential ludicrousness.”
—ELLE
“The first enticing element about Demons in the Spring is the sheer beauty of the book … The volume itself has the irresistible charm of a bygone charm. The stories are thoroughly modern—at once quirky and accessible.”
—Chicago Sun-Times
“Prolific South Sider Meno is the closest thing we’ve got to a literary ambassador … No one has captured the odd blend of grit and fantasy, community and danger, that comes with an urban upbringing quite like Meno.”
—GQ
Grateful acknowledgment is made to the following publications, where these stories first appeared: “Frances the Ghost” in TriQuarterly; “Stockholm 1973” and “People Are Becoming Clouds” in McSweeney’s; “An Apple Could Make You Laugh” in Ninth Letter; “Animals in the Zoo” and “The Boy Who Was a Chirping Oriole” in THE2NDHAND; “Architecture of the Moon” in Mule Magazine; “Ghost Plane” in The Art of Friction; “Miniature Elephants Are Popular” in Demo; “What a Schoolgirl You Are” and “I Want the Quiet Moments of a Party Girl” in Other Voices; “Art School Is Boring So” in Verbicide; “Oceanland” in Swink; “Airports of Light” in LIT; “Clara” in Other Voices; and “Children Are the Only Ones Who Blush” in One Story.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, as well as events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Book design by
Cover art by Chris Uphues
Back flap art by Cody Hudson
Published by Akashic Books
©2008, 2010 Joe Meno
eISBN: 978-1-936070-87-9
ISBN-13: 978-1-936070-09-1
Library of Congress Control Number: 2009939084
Printed in China
First paperback printing
Akashic Books
PO Box 1456
New York, NY 10009
[email protected]
www.akashicbooks.com
Also by Joe Meno
The Great Perhaps
The Boy Detective Fails
Bluebirds Used to Croon in the Choir: Short Stories
Hairstyles of the Damned
How the Hula Girl Sings
Tender As Hellfire
Some of the author’s proceeds from this book will be donated to 826CHICAGO, a nonprofit tutoring center, part of a national organization with branches in San Francisco, Los Angeles, New York City, and Seattle. Founded by Dave Eggers, best-selling author and the creator of McSweeney’s and the Believer magazines, 826 is an organization dedicated to supporting children ages six to eighteen with their creative and expository writing skills, and to helping teachers inspire their students to write. From 826’s mission statement:
Our services are structured around the understanding that great leaps in learning can happen with one-on-one attention, and that strong writing skills are fundamental to future success. With this in mind, we provide drop-in tutoring, after-school workshops, in-schools tutoring, help for English language learners, and assistance with student publications. All of our programs are challenging and enjoyable, and ultimately strengthen each student’s power to express ideas effectively, creatively, confidently, and in his or her individual voice.
For more information on 826CHICAGO and what you can do to contribute, please visit 826CHI.org
Title Page
Copyright Page
Frances the Ghost…. illustration by Charles Burns
Stockholm 1973…. illustration by Evan Hecox
An Apple Could Make You Laugh…. illustration by Geoff McFetridge
It Is Romance…. illustration by Ivan Brunetti
Clara…. illustration by Lauren Nassef
Animals in the Zoo…. illustration by Jay Ryan
People Are Becoming Clouds…. illustration by
Nick Butcher
Ghost Plane…. illustration by Jon Resh
What a Schoolgirl You Are…. illustration by Kelsey Brookes
Miniature Elephants Are Popular…. illustration by Todd Baxter
The Boy Who Was a Chirping Oriole…. illustration by Archer Prewitt
I Want the Quiet Moments of a Party Girl…. illustration by Caroline Hwang
The Architecture of the Moon…. illustration by Souther Salazar
The Unabomber and My Brother…. illustration by Cody Hudson
Art School Is Boring So…. illustration by Steph Davidson
Oceanland…. illustration by Anders Nilsen
Get Well, Seymour!…. illustration by Paul Hornschemeier
Iceland Today…. illustration by Rachell Sumpter
Airports of Light…. illustration by kozyndan
Children Are the Only Ones Who Blush…. illustration by The Little Friends of Printmaking
About the Contributors….
FRANCES THE GHOST
illustration by
Charles Burns
Frances the ghost is going to school: She is dressed in a white sheet with two holes for her eyes and that makes the people who see her riding in the passenger seat of her mother’s station wagon smirk. Of course, Frances becomes a ghost whenever her mother does not know what else to do. Today was too much already so her mother decided, fine, fine, if she was going to behave like this, fine. The phone would not stop ringing and the baby was colicky again and Frances was pretending she could not buckle her shoes, so Janet, her mother, began to shout, and Frances threw herself on the ground and would not get up. She started holding her breath and crying and the only way to get her to calm down was to pretend she was a ghost again, draping the white sheet over her face and humming, Janet placing her soft lips against the fabric where Frances’s forehead was crinkled up, and slowly, slowly, the tears began to stop. Too many minutes later they are all piled in the front seat of the brown station wagon, the muffler dragging as they drive, and Janet suddenly remembers the baby’s car seat is once again unbuckled.
* * *
An ice cream truck has collided with a van at the intersection up ahead. The station wagon slows to a crawl as Frances sits up and stares at the damage. The vehicle is white and green and lying on its side. All over the road are melting popsicles, Dilly Bars, and Nutty Buddies, growing softer by the moment in the April heat: every kid’s best dream. A hundred bumblebees, excited by the prospect of so many melting sweets, hang above the ice cream truck in a glittering cloud. From beneath the white bed sheet and from behind the two small holes her mother has cut so she can see, the little girl stares at the mass of bees suspiciously. Frances does not like bees. She thinks they are her enemy. One day last summer, she was stung inside her mouth when she surprised a bumblebee hiding under the rim of her soda pop can. Frances places her hand against the outside of the sheet just above her lip remembering. She watches the truck grow smaller and smaller until it is just another strange, uncertain memory.
Oh, oh, oh. Come and see:
See the girl. See the boy. See the pony.
Come and see:
Beneath the ghostly white sheet, Frances is very pretty. She has soft brown eyes and a face shaped like a dandelion: Her hair is blond and curly. For some five months now, Frances has refused to speak. She is reading her school book which is all about horses. In the book, a black mare nestles with a small white pony. The baby, in the car seat behind her, is blowing spit bubbles and smiling at her. While her mother is fooling with the radio, Frances turns and pinches the baby for absolutely no reason.
In the station wagon, in front of the school, Janet turns to face her daughter. Slowly, making sure Frances can read her lips, she says, “Okay, honey, it’s time to take off the sheet.”
The ghost does not move.
“Frances.”
The ghost is silent.
“Frances, I want you to take off that sheet right now.”
The ghost makes a small move and Janet can see that Frances has folded her arms in front of her chest, pouting.
“It’s time for school and it’s time for you to take off that blanket.”
The ghost shakes its head.
“Frances, right now.”
The ghost shakes its head again.
“Frances, take off that blanket or you’re going to be on punishment.”
The ghost does not move. Janet quickly makes a grab for the flimsy fabric, but Frances, small, ruthless, quick, is already gripping it too tightly.
Janet is exhausted and it is not even 8:00 a.m.
“Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay!” Janet shouts, letting go of the white blanket, sheet, whatever it is. “If you want to go in there like that, fine, be my guest.”
The ghost is still for a moment, then one solitary pink hand reaches up and finds the door handle. Frances hurries from the front seat of the station wagon across the empty schoolyard, before her mother can change her mind, the white sheet still covering the girl’s head. Janet does not even protest. It is now 8:01. It is totally out of her hands. Janet sits and watches the schoolchildren all standing in line, clapping, singing, shouting. Frances is doing well at school, mostly. She has known how to read ever since she was three. Frances loves to read but struggles to speak, or to make many sounds at all due to her hearing impairment. She can say a few words: No, Yes, Hello, Goodbye, but she’s gotten lazy and does not really try to talk anymore. Janet can’t remember the last time she heard her daughter mumble anything like a word. Frances is good at spelling and her vocabulary comprehension is very high. She has a hearing aid but doesn’t like to wear it in her ear. She does not like to wear it because it makes the other children stare.
Sitting there, like every morning, Janet wonders if they are doing the right thing, letting Frances go to the regular public school. There is a special ed school but it is an hour and a half away and the school here has been very accommodating. The biggest problem is Frances, because she gets frustrated and she can be pretty, well, mean.
* * *
In line, the first grade class is whistling. Frances whistles along, hers a bright dizzying sound like a small bird doing figure eights in the sky. Frances knows how to whistle. She does not exactly hear the sound but feels the small, bright vibrations along her lips. She measures the sound and pitch using her fingertips. Some of the kids laugh, staring at the deaf girl dressed as a ghost, trying to whistle along. An older girl from the fifth grade who wears a green dress and a small, coy smile, points and laughs at Frances and says her name in a way which Frances hates. She can tell by the looks their mouths are making how terribly they are saying it. But soon all of the fifth graders begin to chant it. Fran/ces. Fran/ces. Fran/ ces. Frances lunges at the closest fifth grader, a dark-eyed boy, and tries to bite his arm through the sheet. Miss Dove appears and asks what the commotion is, and very soon Frances is, once again, crying.
In the station wagon, Janet pulls away, the baby now asleep. Her fingers are aching for a cigarette. She allows herself only two a day, one after Frances has been dropped off at school, and one when both children are in bed. Their daddy is now only a photograph of a young man with boyish good looks, blond hair, soft eyes, who is holding a machine gun at his side, a mosque rising behind him in a sand-colored background. Liberator, my ass, she thinks. How about “big, dumb target”? How about “imaginary husband”? When the cigarette lighter in the dash pops out, Janet struggles to find her package of menthols in time. The traffic light changes too quickly and the jerk in the Volvo behind her begins to honk. The baby dozes behind her. Janet is thinking. She has decided Frances is too old to be hiding under that sheet. She inhales the minty smoke and composes an imaginary letter to her husband in her mind: Your daughter is acting up again. She scratched another kid at school last week and today won’t go anywhere without her blanket. Wher
e are you, you jerk? Do not get killed or I will never forgive you.
Often, Frances must sit in the time-out corner at school. She must sit in the corner for drawing pictures of horses on her worksheets or for leaving her seat without permission.
Up and down. Up and down. Go up, up, up. Come down, down, down, Miss Dove is saying.
Frances, once again in trouble, sits in the corner of the room. She sits on a small wooden stool. There is a great silver spiderweb hidden in the silent angles of the classroom where Frances finds two dead flies. She names one Fritz and one Ferdinand. She decides they are soldiers. She decides they are her dear friends, but unhappy at war, and far, far away from their homes. What adventures the two of them will soon have. Look: Fritz has found a motorcycle with a sidecar. Ferdinand does not want to ride in the sidecar; he is afraid of riding in it. Ferdinand is afraid of everything. Fritz and Ferdinand are now arguing. They better hurry. The enemy is drawing near. The enemy’s evil feathered helmets are getting dangerously close. They fire their muskets in the air, and Ferdinand, suddenly finding the courage, hops into the motorcycle’s sidecar, and the two brave soldiers speed off. The duchess has been kidnapped! Fritz has decided they will rescue her and become heroes. Fritz is the brave one. Ferdinand likes looking at flowers and is not so brave.
Before work, Janet drops off the baby at her mother’s. Her mother is watching a TV game show and puts the baby in his crib, answering the question the game show host has asked. “Jayne Mansfield,” is all her mother says to her that morning.
Parking behind the VA hospital, Janet digs her hand beneath the driver’s seat and searches for a small cigarette case, which contains four tightly wound joints and a small roach, which she lights and inhales from deeply. She checks herself in the rearview mirror, decides she has somehow become her mother overnight, squeezes some eye drops into her eyes, and straightens her nurse’s uniform once she is standing.
