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A review by synkopenleben
Sinkhole by Leo X. Robertson
5.0
Robertson's sophomore effort is a collection of short-stories, which are, as he says, full of "postmodern silliness". This is certainly true. His first novel, [b:Findesferas|20877276|Findesferas|Leo X. Robertson|https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1392925234s/20877276.jpg|40216902], dealt with a number of topics, including Revolution in Latin America, space travel and a dystopian oil crisis. In his new collection, the scope is somewhat smaller, but also more nuanced: There are confessionals, pseudo-scientific examinations of breakups, a choose-your-own-adventure story, hypochondric compulsive liars, gay-only cities, biting satires about millenials and shirtarians, a lengthy work on the use and misuse of caffeine, Scottish vernacular, and the Badass London Ex-Bitches. This is a scope that can please nearly everyone.
The Good:
As is normal with every short-story collection, I enjoyed some of them more than others. The London Bus just works particularly well. Robertson vividly describes a woman who goes to great length to get sympathy from the people on a bus, and finally at her workplace. As she yearns for more, her methods become more insensitive:
Her downward spiral is both humorous and appalling. Histopia is a take on a dystopian world, where heterosexuality is outlawed in the protagonist's city. In a way, it is a repetition of a well-known trope, but Robertson's dialogues are hilarious enough to make up for that:
How clichéd can it get? - And I mean that in the best way possible! The Badass London Ex-Bitches and the Case of the Creepy Revenge Porn Guy tells exactly what is said in its title. The story is by far the longest in the collection, and it's good to see Robertson return to some longer pieces. It effortlessly mixes several genres and is a terrific satire on the dangers of social media and nude pictures. The Ex-Bitches are an excellent bunch of gals, drinking, kicking and tweeting their way to the climactic finale of this speedy romp. Sinkhole, the title story, sucks the reader down into its tragedy: The narrative is written as a mock-up choose-your-own-adventure, with every choice eventually being futile and pulling the reader deeper and deeper. There is no way to escape.
In the end, most stories are good, or even great. They remind me a lot of the stories of George Saunders, with the obvious difference in setting and vernacular; one can feel Robertson's Scottish roots in his stories.
The Weird:
Both #Awkward and 100% Pure Pharmacy are highly experimental pieces: The first is written in texting speech ("So deres dis big prty @ d weeknd dts @ gay matts house cz hs prnts wnt n dere hunymn #Romance #Old n m ded xcitd cz deres liek soo mch drma dts gna hpn dt im gna xpln bt frst i strtd lkn @ dreses n pintrst n deres dis lvly liek 80s srta #Vintage #Dress dt lks liek teh 1 dat whitney hoostun wore n dat vdeo fr i wuna dnce w/ sumbdy #Inspiration so mee n lucy n maddy n dalia wnt 2 da mall 2 see if we cd fnd it n evry1 in skl cllz dem d bitchz bt i thnk dats well unfr cz u nd 2 srnd urself w/ ppl hoo belve in ur drmz n dey wntd 2 hlp me fnd a niec dres." is just the first line..) and the latter is composed of 55 spam e-mails. Both of them are more or less unreadable. It's not that you cannot read them, but in this case style is bigger than content, and I felt nauseous trying to wrap my head around the somewhat thin remainders of plot.
The Bad:
This is less of a negative point, but more of an addition to what I wrote before. While I appreciate some cliched dialogue, some people might not - and this is where Robertson's stories ultimately are problematic. His world-building predominantly relies on contemporary society, with a few things borrowed from the drug novels of Irvine Welsh - this is done immaculately. Some dialogues on the other hand feel forced - "why would characters say that?" I asked myself on several occasions. I think that he needs to work on that. Apart from that, he is on a great way: His prose is original and enjoyable; his expertise in the subjects he writes about is definitely there; his work is experimental enough to not be labeled "just another self-published author". In short, his work is recognisable. And that is awfully important in today's literary world.
The Good:
As is normal with every short-story collection, I enjoyed some of them more than others. The London Bus just works particularly well. Robertson vividly describes a woman who goes to great length to get sympathy from the people on a bus, and finally at her workplace. As she yearns for more, her methods become more insensitive:
‘I’m going to visit my sister’, I said.
‘I don’t give a-’
‘She has cancer. My sister has cancer.’
His mouth contorted into a grimace. I knew I hadn’t gotten through to him! I knew that there was no way to penetrate the wall of people like this young arrogant wanker. It shut him up though.
Her downward spiral is both humorous and appalling. Histopia is a take on a dystopian world, where heterosexuality is outlawed in the protagonist's city. In a way, it is a repetition of a well-known trope, but Robertson's dialogues are hilarious enough to make up for that:
‘But Patricia, we can’t do this’, I said. I let go of her and squared my shoulders, standing straight. ‘The book of Zak explicitly discriminates against heterosexuality. We can never be together.’
She scoffed. ‘Chad, you can’t believe all the messages you hear every day. Those guys are just a cabal of dicktators.’
How clichéd can it get? - And I mean that in the best way possible! The Badass London Ex-Bitches and the Case of the Creepy Revenge Porn Guy tells exactly what is said in its title. The story is by far the longest in the collection, and it's good to see Robertson return to some longer pieces. It effortlessly mixes several genres and is a terrific satire on the dangers of social media and nude pictures. The Ex-Bitches are an excellent bunch of gals, drinking, kicking and tweeting their way to the climactic finale of this speedy romp. Sinkhole, the title story, sucks the reader down into its tragedy: The narrative is written as a mock-up choose-your-own-adventure, with every choice eventually being futile and pulling the reader deeper and deeper. There is no way to escape.
In the end, most stories are good, or even great. They remind me a lot of the stories of George Saunders, with the obvious difference in setting and vernacular; one can feel Robertson's Scottish roots in his stories.
The Weird:
Both #Awkward and 100% Pure Pharmacy are highly experimental pieces: The first is written in texting speech ("So deres dis big prty @ d weeknd dts @ gay matts house cz hs prnts wnt n dere hunymn #Romance #Old n m ded xcitd cz deres liek soo mch drma dts gna hpn dt im gna xpln bt frst i strtd lkn @ dreses n pintrst n deres dis lvly liek 80s srta #Vintage #Dress dt lks liek teh 1 dat whitney hoostun wore n dat vdeo fr i wuna dnce w/ sumbdy #Inspiration so mee n lucy n maddy n dalia wnt 2 da mall 2 see if we cd fnd it n evry1 in skl cllz dem d bitchz bt i thnk dats well unfr cz u nd 2 srnd urself w/ ppl hoo belve in ur drmz n dey wntd 2 hlp me fnd a niec dres." is just the first line..) and the latter is composed of 55 spam e-mails. Both of them are more or less unreadable. It's not that you cannot read them, but in this case style is bigger than content, and I felt nauseous trying to wrap my head around the somewhat thin remainders of plot.
The Bad:
This is less of a negative point, but more of an addition to what I wrote before. While I appreciate some cliched dialogue, some people might not - and this is where Robertson's stories ultimately are problematic. His world-building predominantly relies on contemporary society, with a few things borrowed from the drug novels of Irvine Welsh - this is done immaculately. Some dialogues on the other hand feel forced - "why would characters say that?" I asked myself on several occasions. I think that he needs to work on that. Apart from that, he is on a great way: His prose is original and enjoyable; his expertise in the subjects he writes about is definitely there; his work is experimental enough to not be labeled "just another self-published author". In short, his work is recognisable. And that is awfully important in today's literary world.