Padgett Powell for 2017
January 8, 2017 § Leave a comment
Now reading: Cries for Help, Various by Padgett Powell.
Padgett Powell writes unclassifiable things that mostly get classified as “short stories” or “novels.” His newest book of short Powell-things contains a story, two pages long, called “Dizzy.” It’s a wonder, this very short piece of writing. It contains multitudes. To me, it feels a lot like being alive at the turn of 2016 to 2017.
I knew several distinguished older men who have died who had a better grip on things than I do. I wonder if they can see me floundering…. They had the astute capacity not to deign, presume, meddle. They hunkered down within the castle walls of their particular potency, whatever it was, and did not send loose emissary of themselves about the uncharted ground of their purlieu.
It seems to me that if you do not deign, presume, and meddle, though, that the forces of the world at large, sometimes in the form of a kind of anonymous aggregate power, will pile up on you in an ambient deigning and presuming and meddling that will render you helpless. It is this way today: I am helpless here, dizzy and looking through badly fouled glasses at the bright, challenging world.
That’s just the middle. Somehow this three-paragraph “story” also interjects an imagined discussion with the reader (also involving deigning, presuming, and meddling, which get interesting treatment throughout) and develops an inimitable voice that is distinctly Powell’s own: a succinct and cryptic mix of working-class syntax (“I need to drink me some…”), vocabulary b0th broad (aerie, purlieu, deign) and scatologically deep, eclectic but distinctly American and often Southern subject matter, humor from unexpected angles and unforeseeable juxtapositions, and a goggling disbelief at our infinite human absurdity that somehow leaves this overwhelming sense of loneliness and sadness lingering under everything.
Padgett Powell is, I’m afraid, the writer who most strikes me as laureate for this moment, in which it seems as likely as not that “loose emissary” from a thin-skinned old confidence-man with a Twitter feed and an a-bomb will get us all killed. Sorry, Padgett.