The Rialto Books Review Vol. 015
The Rialto Books Review Vol. 015 includes Harvey Guts, Immersed in Narrative by A. G. Trimes, I Depart a Stranger, pt. 5 by Alexandra Ranieri, Caterwauling by Brendan Mitchell, Essay on Duchamp’s ‘Bride Stripped Bare by her Bachelors, Even’ by Anna Sheffield, and The Sally, Act II Scene I by Russell Block.
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Harvey Guts, Immersed in Narrative
by A. G. Trimes
I worked a knuckle between my lips and inhaled, quietly, self-consciously, but deeply enough to smell the chlorine. I swam laps in the mornings. In the pool I would inevitably forget about the water, become aware of my stroke only as I approached the tiled wall. I might think about mosaics when I reached out, kicked off, the slapping sound from the skimmer repeating in my head for the next lap. And hours later, after a shower, the chlorine lingered on my skin. I wondered if coworkers noticed, if they thought of summer while sleet pelted the windows of the conference room.
I Depart a Stranger
Alexandra Ranieri
When Robert opened the back door of the car, he was embarrassed to notice his hand shook; and, convinced in the manner of all people under a cloud, that his every thought concerning the cloud was readily discernible, he wasted a great deal of energy in attempting to seem calm. He might’ve spared his mind the expense; Duncan evinced no desire to speak, or be spoken to. He fixed his gaze on the road ahead, and did not even turn when, as they were leaving the driveway, a few pieces of gravel clattered against the car’s back window. Robert, quite against his will, turned; but it was impossible to tell whether his imagination supplied the darkness with a darker shade, or if Jack was really there.
Caterwauling
Brendan Mitchell
We were dancing just a minute before. Claws loosely at my collar, little butt in my hand. But within the space-time of a drum and base interlude someone had killed my cat, Pancake. I’d forced him out of the room cause that kinda noise would hurt his ears. If he’d had his way he’d have stayed beside me. Reliable as rhythm itself. I could play you a recording. I could walk the distance, guide you by your shoulders. Moment he’s there moment he’s gone. I found him right outside the door. His front paws were cut off at the wrist, left a few inches away atop one another like forgotten mittens.
Essay on Duchamp’s Bride Stripped Bare by her Bachelors, Even
by Anna Sheffield
The basic problem in attempting an analysis of any facet of Marcel Duchamp or his work lies in the omnipresence of paradox; the bewildering rush of contradictory information blended with the utmost care and levity into a precise and beautiful indifference. The resulting detachment born of this indifference makes it almost impossible to touch, much less grasp firmly the amalgamation of diverse factors in Duchamp’s work. Thus, the process of crystalizing the free-flowing thoughts that are the essence of Duchamp becomes a game of hide and seek with many hidden players.
The Sally Act II Scene I
by Russell Block
Edison. Bertrand, but give the moment breath awhile. Spare it, and in our expirations, wherein we are to discuss what the days after our launch should look like, it will be forever indebted to you.
Bertrand. I will not. Glue is drying. Glue that I applied dries. Whatever mercy I show the moment, the glue will show me none. When this be done will I require no favors from entities corporeal or incorporeal. Favors, rather, will I bestow.
Edison. Let glue do as it will. It is our nature that demands the greater moiety of our concern, not oozing forms. It is in that mold that sets that the misapplication of your willful obstinance will leave malformed forever more. Would it kill you to grant me this request?
