by Courtney McDermott
At the Chickasaw Motel, three generations of the McGuinness clan are led by their elderly and overbearing patriarch. Only little Riley, “the smartest f-ing kid”, is spared the brunt of Grandpa McGuinness’s cruelty; ironically, it is his encouragement that provides her with a way out.
OFF THE MAIN HIGHWAY of Chickasaw, resting in front of a backdrop of soybean fields and an auto parts garage blackened by the touch of an old fire, lies a motel with eight rooms.
I’m not here for a room. I’m not a stranger to the town. The Chickasaw Motel is where I grew up with Grandpa McGuinness and the rest of the clan. I guess it would’ve once been called my home, but only in name, not in definition.
It doesn’t live up to my mind’s memory. Maybe it’s because the paint on the shutters is peeling and the roof has caved in or because the four southern rooms have been turned into apartments and the building next door was torn down. Or maybe I’m not really seeing it because too many memories cloud my mind.
I sit down on the front stoop of the motel entrance, watching the occasional car go by. The highway used to be busy, a few years ago. Before the bypass was built. Back then, we all lived here: Grandpa and Grandma, Papa and Mom, Morgan, Uncle Chet, and me. Yeah, it seems like a long time ago.
THE MOTEL WAS BUILT in the sixties, when the only thing on Grandpa McGuinness’ mind was not the war or drugs or the feminist movement—though that worried him a bit—but how to make money when his business was just taking off and he was $10,000 in debt.
Grandpa McGuinness was the sort of businessman who would charm you with a clever joke about the current president, shake your hand firmly, and wink at you as though you were sharing a funny secret. He could put anyone at ease. Though he was a tough haggler, he was always honest. When it came to business, he never cheated anyone in his life.
“That’s the difference between me and them English bastards,” he would tell me. “Never trust an Orangeman.” Grandpa McGuinness was always giving advice like that—advice that only applied to some old-world beliefs. I remember the first thing he told me by way of advice. “You’re not too young to be reciting the rosary every night. Every good Catholic should do it. Sacrifice every once in a while—that’s the key.”
“The key to what?” I asked.
Grandpa McGuinness didn’t answer. He just nodded, a cigarette cradled between his lips. At times like that, my papa would sit silently by, smoking and coughing, watching my grandpa and me.
Grandpa McGuinness and Grandma Eva had nine children. I suppose that made Grandpa McGuinness the child expert, though they hadn’t had much luck. One died when she was four months old, and I don’t even know her name. Ian and Thomas were declared MIAs during Vietnam, at which time Grandpa McGuinness decided to start over and moved across town to buy the motel.
The other six had been slight disappointments. Cari died in a tractor accident before too much was expected of him, and the four eldest left the McGuinness clan to do the sorts of things that Grandpa McGuinness disapproved of. Mary Elizabeth married a Protestant minister; Brian moved to New York to become an actor; Chet left home only to come back; and Kathleen joined the circus. That left the youngest—my papa, Shay—to be Grandpa’s protégé.
Not fit for the big cities or college, Papa stayed on with the motel. He started his own business in foreign auto parts in the backyard.
My sister, Morgan, and I were the third generation to live in the motel. Grandpa McGuinness and Papa had converted two of the motel’s rooms into living quarters and added a kitchen and a bedroom off the back for Papa and Heather, my mom.
I never minded the suffocating size of my home, not until I was eleven and I brought home Jamey Schwickerath. The next day, she went back to school telling everyone that “Riley McGuinness is one step up from trailer trash. The only difference is her trailer has a basement.”
Everything in our home was worn and suffering. The tile in the bathroom was missing, and the sink dripped to the beat of an Irish pub song. The carpet of our living room was thin and speckled brown, like leaves fallen on the ground in autumn. If I pulled really hard on threadbare patches, the carpet would tear and Mom would scold me.
There was a time when the stray cat that we took in, Muriel, had fleas, and then Morgan and I got fleas. I prayed to Jesus that no one at school would find out. It was miserable sitting in class trying not to scratch the red bumps, but eventually I gave in and had to rub my ankles together to relieve some of the itch. Mom bought the special red shampoo for our hair and burned the rug from our bedroom.
On days like that, Mom would go to her bedroom and cry.
“I never wanted to live like this!” she would sob into her pillow, as Morgan and I eavesdropped from the other side of the door. I didn’t know who she was talking to, but Morgan was pretty sure it was God.
about the author
from the library
by Caroline Adderson
Coming out of an unhappy relationship and a stint at an artist colony, Charlotte, a writer, takes a job teaching at a private ESL college. There she befriends Renata—audacious, sexy, and as changeable as Proteus. “I have a story for you,” Renata says to her one day over lunch. She doesn’t elaborate further, but Charlotte soon discovers that she has found in Renata an unexpectedly passionate and compelling subject.
“Caroline Adderson is such a graceful and intelligent writer that the work that must surely go into creating her hilarious, prismatic stories is never betrayed in the language. There is no strain on the page, not a bead of sweat. I think of her as a writer’s writer. I envy her talent and learn from her sentences. The short story, Obscure Objects, is, I’m happy to report, Adderson at her glorious best.”
— Barbara Gowdy, author of Helpless and The White Bone
“Obscure Objects, Caroline Adderson’s fierce and affecting workplace comedy, is a deadpan gem: droll, moving, snapping-smart.”
— Meg Wolitzer, author of The Uncoupling, The Ten-Year Nap, and The Position
Deep Breaths Underwater
by Meghan Rose Allen
June's mother is getting married and there's nothing June can do about it. Counting down the days to the wedding while trapped with a sort-of friend and unwanted family-to-be at their lakeside cottage in the Kawarthas, June searches desperately for a way to make the world - and her life - stand still.
The Psychology of Animals Swallowed Alive:
by Kirsty Logan
Embark upon these twenty short, scrumptious flights of fancy from the unmistakable pen of Scott Prize-winning author Kirsty Logan, and you will be astounded, titillated, disturbed, amused, heartbroken, and above all, astonished.
“Logan crafts an exquisitely wrought diorama full of tenderly compelling characters; observations about grief, worship, social order, and human nature, and a love that transcends definition.”
– NPR on Logan's debut novel The Gracekeepers
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 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 Pauline Holdstock
Inspired by true events, this story by Scotiabank Giller Prize-nominated author Pauline Holdstock tells of the incredible bond between a mother and daughter, and with gut-wrenching poignancy reminds us of the little things that make life worth living.
“Hers is the kind of prose you get lost in.”
— National Post on The Hunter and the Wild Girl
“Holdstock’s writing manages to be both heartbreakingly poetic and densely detailed ... sad passages, ghostlike recollections, written almost from the vantage point of the present, establish the book as a great work of fiction.”
— The Globe and Mail on Into the Heart of the Country, longlisted for the 2011 Scotiabank Giller Prize
“Holdstock, with a few deft strokes, pulls the reader into the tumultuous life of an alluring rabble of characters: painters, sculptors, patrons, fools, and slaves ... In Beyond Measure, she proves herself a master of pacing. Her lively, macabre plot trips lightly along in spite of its dark elements.”
— The Globe and Mail on Beyond Measure, finalist for the 2004 Giller Prize and the 2004 Commonwealth Writers' Prize
In Our House
by the Sea
by Kirsty Logan
Romance is candlelight on cheekbones, blurring gazes and the press of heels on strange sheets. But what happens a year later? You’re sharing bath towels and bickering over who forgot to buy a light bulb. There is beauty in a familiar hand on the nape of your neck. There is love in waking up under a shared blanket. This story is about the romance of domesticity.
“Kirsty is one of the best and brightest . . . when I read her stuff I feel like I could taste it, chew it, roll it around on my tongue, the language is so delicious and sturdy and musical. She also has a knack for getting relationships exactly right in her writing, whether between parent and child or lovers or friends.”
— Amber Sparks, Fiction Editor at Emprise Review