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A review by left_coast_justin
Safelight by Shannon Burke
5.0
Back in January, I predicted that Black Flies, by Shannon Burke, would be the best book I would read in 2021. I just finished Safelight by the same author. By God this man can write.
I felt a lot of things at the end of Black Flies, but at the conclusion of this book I only feel sad, and mortal, and sorry for people who end up in bad situations. This book has more heart, in the traditional sense, and didn't leave the hollowed-out ravished feeling that the other book did.
Burke's primary strength is the near-poetic muscularity of his writing -- poetic in the sense that every word is chosen for maximum impact and so the book is not one word longer than it needs to be. In this book, like his previous one, there was an almost electric thrill running through the base of my skull during the first few chapters, like listening to a virtuoso performing music. None of this would matter if he didn't have anything to say, but he has plenty. He does not waste his time on inconsequential themes.
We meet Frank Verbeckis, a pretty profoundly fucked-up twenty-three year old, and follow him for three years. During this time he suffers, he changes, he learns, he perseveres and grows. That's the gist of it. I don't want to give away one single plot point in this book because half the pleasure is learning to come to terms with the plot according to Frank's worldview rather than your own.
That said, I felt at times that Burke was straining to reign himself in and write a conventional story. This impulse was abandoned completely in Black Flies, which I felt was the stronger book as a result. This one took a little longer than necessary to get to the end -- or, more accurately, to get to the beginning of the real story. But he is competing only with himself here -- both books are strong, brilliant and will haunt me for a long, long time.
I felt a lot of things at the end of Black Flies, but at the conclusion of this book I only feel sad, and mortal, and sorry for people who end up in bad situations. This book has more heart, in the traditional sense, and didn't leave the hollowed-out ravished feeling that the other book did.
Burke's primary strength is the near-poetic muscularity of his writing -- poetic in the sense that every word is chosen for maximum impact and so the book is not one word longer than it needs to be. In this book, like his previous one, there was an almost electric thrill running through the base of my skull during the first few chapters, like listening to a virtuoso performing music. None of this would matter if he didn't have anything to say, but he has plenty. He does not waste his time on inconsequential themes.
We meet Frank Verbeckis, a pretty profoundly fucked-up twenty-three year old, and follow him for three years. During this time he suffers, he changes, he learns, he perseveres and grows. That's the gist of it. I don't want to give away one single plot point in this book because half the pleasure is learning to come to terms with the plot according to Frank's worldview rather than your own.
That said, I felt at times that Burke was straining to reign himself in and write a conventional story. This impulse was abandoned completely in Black Flies, which I felt was the stronger book as a result. This one took a little longer than necessary to get to the end -- or, more accurately, to get to the beginning of the real story. But he is competing only with himself here -- both books are strong, brilliant and will haunt me for a long, long time.