by Don McLellan
Father Michael, in his final assignment, has been asked by his Order to help facilitate recovery of an Asian country blighted by war. On the long odyssey into the interior, his driver and translator Trang tells him a story set in a once-famed traveller’s refuge known as the Inn of Tender Embraces. What starts as a simple tale of ill-fated lovers becomes, for Father Michael, a familiar beacon that guides him through the mists of an exotic landscape.
“Don McLellan is the kind of wise, well-travelled writer we don’t see much of these days. With Angels Passing he earns the right to be included in the exotic tradition of Hemingway, Maugham, and Graham Greene. Like all memorable writing, his story takes us to another world and holds us there. As spare and subtle as it is powerful, Angels Passing will linger in your mind long after the last page.”
— John Lekich, Governor General’s Award Finalist for The Losers’ Club
THE CREW HAD BEEN repairing the dike for weeks without respite, beginning each day before sunrise, stopping only when it became too dark to continue. But then the monsoons swept in from the southwest, washing out the road. The workers were given a much-needed hiatus.
The boss addressed the men as they jostled for their pay packets.
“Those whose names are on this list”—he nailed a leaf of rice paper to a banyan tree—“be back here when the rains stop. The others, return to your farms.”
Choi’s name was near the top of the list. The youngest of the labourers, he not only had enough energy remaining after the evening noodles to compete in the camp’s wrestling contests, but the strength and agility to win them.
He had fallen in with a carefree youth named Soo, who suggested they wait out the downpours at an inn located in a neighbouring district.
“That’s a long way to go for a bed,” Choi said.
“Have you never heard the song, ‘The Inn of Tender Embraces’?” asked Soo. He whistled a few bars from the traditional melody. “Like the lyrics say, ‘One night at the inn will change your life.’”
“I thought it was just a song!”
They set off immediately.
WHEN THE FIGHTING STOPPED and a truce had been signed, the Order instructed me to help facilitate reconstruction in the provinces. Trang was my driver and translator. Woo-ling, his wife, cooked and cleaned. The couple lived in a cottage behind the rectory.
“Have I told you the story about the inn, Brother Michael?” Trang asked me. “People say it’s true.”
I thought at the time that Trang shared such yarns to help pass the hours and to practise his English on our long, bumpy drives into the interior. A few were classic tales my assistant claimed as his own, confident I wouldn’t recognize them. He also relayed bits of gossip from the market, random thoughts that popped into his head—anything, it seemed, to void the silence as our Jeep skimmed over the bomb-scarred landscape of his beloved homeland.
It was during one of Trang’s accounts, his grammar and vocabulary amended here, that I was reminded of Brother Roderick. As part of our preparation for a life of sacrifice, seminarians are required to endure a year of silence. Brother Roderick counselled the novices.
“Occasionally a lull will occur between two people,” I remember him telling us, though I paraphrase here. “Between friends, between man and wife, between strangers who may have struck up a conversation.”
His Irish lilt is as soothing to me in recall as it was decades ago.
“You mustn’t let the absence of words upset you,” he continued. “Silence is a wonder, not a pothole. There’s no urgency to fill it.”
“And why,” asked one of the novices, speaking for many of us, “wouldn’t we offer a word? To move things along.”
“Because when it’s quiet,” replied the cleric, “the angels are passing. Let them.”
I had never before heard such a notion. The phrase has often been uttered in my presence since, of course, over the years, in disparate lands and circumstances. I know now that there’s a poem entitled “Angels Passing.” And a pulp novel. But Brother Roderick’s usage is the one I choose to remember: angels passing, silence sanctioned.
about the author
DON McLELLAN has worked as a journalist in Canada, South Korea, and Hong Kong. He currently edits a trade magazine in Vancouver. In the Quiet After Slaughter (Libros Libertad, 2008) his debut collection of short stories, was a ReLit Award finalist. Of the short story form, his preference, McLellan says, “Coming to fiction from journalism, I have an appreciation of spare expression. Redundancies are jettisoned. Alice Munro was alleged to have said that she’d rarely read a novel that wouldn’t have made a better short story. I couldn’t agree more. Ironically, the loquacious Gabriel García Márquez has spoken similarly.”
from the library
Trigger Finger Blues
by Chad Pelley
Marcel, a sensitive sniper, knew his life was missing something. But he didn't know what until he set his crosshairs on it: Violet Caine. A ginger-headed lover of Thai food, wanted dead simply because her brother messed with the wrong bike gang. It's a story of redemption coming too late, and the ways happenstance can turn a warm man cold. Then warm again. Whether fate wrote his troubled life, or he wrote it himself, he wants Violet Caine to be the end of it - be it figuratively or literally.
by Matt Cahill
Portraits of people marooned within themselves, trapped by their past experiences, by uncertainty and anxiety — individuals for whom each new situation is a grueling journey towards the present, a place where action and choice are possible. In Second World, Matt Cahill illustrates, with honesty and empathy, how the most important breakthroughs are not the life-altering revelations, but rather the minor miracles that get us through each day.
by Jack Bootle
On an isolated English beach a man looks back on his school days, recalling the joy and torment of a secret love affair with a boy full of strange ideas, a boy obsessed with the language of the King James Bible. Moments from their relationship return to him: the hidden meetings on the beach, the first attempts at sex, the boredom of a school assembly in summertime, the cruelty of a young English teacher. But most of all he remembers the boy’s words. They’re words that, years later, will haunt him as he tries to come to terms with the person he has become.
“Psalm 77 is the type of story that one wants to read over and over, searching for meanings previously unseen. It is laced with the hidden, the secret, the sacred. From the sand dunes and their private longings in school to the verses, the imagery, and the final paragraphs, there is so much to uncover . . ." (Read full review)
— Amanda Miller from shortsundone.ca
by Marielle Mondon
At Georgetown University, a music student and part-time nude life model becomes involved with the first true passion of her life, a man who awakens her to the weight of experience she already possesses - as well as the ups and downs yet to come.
by Kirsty Logan
The anarchic relationships holding together a group of teen girls - whose lines between love and hate, jealousy and loyalty, are not so much drawn as they are furiously scribbled - are put to the test at an unforgettable birthday party. This story captures all the angst and uncertainty of adolescence, with prose as sharp and jarring as a smashed kaleidoscope.
“Rarely an author comes along whose work hits you with the impact of a slap. I have had this experience with the work of Jayne Anne Phillips, with Lorrie Moore and Mary Gaitskill; most recently I have felt this on discovering the writing of Kirsty Logan. Her work is elegant, minimal, and innovative, but underlying it all is a great passion. If the world is a place where talent is recognised—in time, I believe, we may come to say her name alongside the aforementioned.”
— Ewan Morrison, author of Swung
by Andrew Forbes
In a suburb that is nowhere and everywhere, Jorgen deals with the feelings of alienation and frustration from his collapsing relationship by getting into his car, putting on Patti Smith, and searching for meaning and belonging anywhere he can — regardless of whether he is welcome or wanted.
by Kelsey Robbins Lauder
A small-time internet scammer is shaken from her somewhat safe new life when an investigator arrives with questions to do with her erstwhile "period of moral decline" — specifically, the whereabouts of a young woman whose brief, bright friendship nearly steered her from the stability she now craves.
by Curtis Snider
A woman wakes up in bed beside her ex-boyfriend and is at loss to explain how she got there. Inexplicably drawn to stay, she scours every square inch of the apartment they used to share, noting the traces of her presence that linger on, as well as the empty spots that conspicuously mark her absence. The deeper she digs, the more she understands how imperfect her relationship was – and the less willing she is to come up for air.