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Thesis (943.4Kb) University of Calgary PRISM: University of Calgary's Digital Repository Graduate Studies The Vault: Electronic Theses and Dissertations 2017 Penetralia Nelson, Brandon Nelson, B. (2017). Penetralia (Unpublished master's thesis). University of Calgary, Calgary, AB. doi:10.11575/PRISM/27282 http://hdl.handle.net/11023/3576 master thesis University of Calgary graduate students retain copyright ownership and moral rights for their thesis. You may use this material in any way that is permitted by the Copyright Act or through licensing that has been assigned to the document. For uses that are not allowable under copyright legislation or licensing, you are required to seek permission. Downloaded from PRISM: https://prism.ucalgary.ca UNIVERSITY OF CALGARY Penetralia by Brandon Nelson A THESIS SUBMITTED TO THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE STUDIES IN PARTIAL FULFILMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF MASTER OF ARTS GRADUATE PROGRAM IN ENGLISH CALGARY, ALBERTA JANUARY, 2017 © Brandon Nelson 2017 Abstract Penetralia is a short fiction collection that occupies the fissures between the minds and bodies of its protagonists. Each story involves an uncanny disruption of identity that results in personal, social, and sexual convulsion and collapse. The convulsions are many: a man finds wisdom in silence when he is numbed and unable to speak during a tooth extraction, a woman uses cuddle parties to escape her anxiety and obsessive rituals, Marlene Dietrich converses casually with a marketer licensing her image posthumously, a confused revolution strikes its first blow after a fertility clinic refuses to inseminate across racial lines, a renowned writer plagiarizes from a schizophrenic homeless man, and a stand-up comedienne listens for echoes of herself from the other side of the spotlight. The mundane combines with the bizarre to disorient and unnerve bodies that have palsied in the grip of a modernity circling back to feed on itself. ii Table of Contents Abstract………………..……………….ii Table of Contents……………..……….iii Ha Ha……..……………………………1 Soft Serve………....………………….14 Wisdom…………….…..…..…………54 Rear Projection……..….…….……….73 Mid…………….…….…….…………95 Idiolect………..……….…………….103 Feature……….…..……..…..……….147 Refract……..……………………….169 Plane Faces………..……….……….206 Critical Afterword………...……….226 Bibliography……………...………..243 iii HA HA She was losing them before she even started. A swelling clamor, only in her ears, peaked and began to subside with the leveling cadence of her heart. She grinned through the spotlight to her audience, unseen and unheard. Against the fall of her face, Selma pushed up her happiest frown, or her frowniest smile, a rictus of relentless, doomed positivity. She didn’t really care which direction her mouth curved, so long as it did. “Hello. How are you?” It was a polite question, and an unthreatening opener to her set, delivered with a slight, courteous bow, but her small voice quavered terribly the way it had the first time she stood in front of people with a microphone, and the many times since. She had continued to warble and yowl on the first words of each performance over the subsequent years despite her efforts to warm up first and draw a steady timbre. It all felt new to her, still. Even so, she had a responsibility to make her audience feel at ease knowing that she was firmly in control for the duration of the evening. “…Everybody…?” came the dangling addendum to her initial question, far too late. This was not going well. The spotlight listened impassively. Through it, she could hear the shifting of limbs and the clearing of a throat. “As you know, since you’re here, my name is Selma. Do you like my name? I think it’s a good name.” No response. 1 “This girl named Judith told me one time in sixth grade that it was a beautiful name. At first I thought that was a really nice thing to say, but then I realized that I didn’t name myself, so it’s not really a compliment for me, is it? Oh well. I’ll pass the compliment along, be the bearer of good news.” Selma smiled pleasantly before continuing. “She also said my face looked like I caught typhoid and shit myself to death – I actually prettied up the language, in case you were skeptical that Judith would say such a thing, like my teacher was – so take the good with the bad. But, joke’s on her, my face isn’t my fault either. So, I guess I’m technically still neutral in her books. Jury’s still out with Judith. And, more importantly, I looked it up, and diarrhea is not a symptom of typhoid. Point Selma.” Silence. Selma shifted the microphone from one hand to the other in a practiced motion that she had become particularly proud of over the years. “But my name is in fact Selma, as I said a moment ago, and as you already knew when you got here. And yes, in case you were wondering, I was named after the famous civil rights march led by the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., fighting for the right of every African- American to participate in the democratic processes of their nation, thereby affirming their essential human dignity, which is a lot to live up to for a kid with a permanent Kool-Aid mustache that eats her own hair. Pretty lofty expectations, Mom and Dad. Yeesh. I don’t even recycle.” Selma showed her teeth as an offering of good will to her unseen audience. Silence greeted them in spite of their pleasing, peroxidic whiteness. She would have to get serious and jump straight to the A-material. 2 “I was alone eating lunch at a breakfast diner because I’m so cool, and I made the mistake of ordering a glass of grapefruit juice to go with my scramble and hash. Whoops, my bad! Why was it a mistake, you may be asking? Well, it cost almost six dollars, for one, and the glass was small enough that if there was a country where juice was illegal, I could smuggle it through customs in my butthole without spilling a drop, and I don’t even do butt sex that much. It got me to thinking…got me thinking, why does G.F.J. – I call grapefruit juice G.F.J. – why does G.F.J. cost so much at diners? What’s with that? That’s a bunch of B.S., am I right? Come on!” She was losing them – go to the voices. “Hi there, hon, what can I get ya? Yeah, hi, stereotypical 50s diner waitress, you can get me a fork that doesn’t look like it’s been scraping gum off the floor until ten seconds before you set it on my fucking napkin, you stupid bitch.” Selma heard her first laugh, a woman’s voice. It wasn’t a laugh, quite. More of a nervous titter. They liked it blue. “She tried coming back at me with her period-appropriate patter, but I’m like, ‘bitch, fuck you, and let me speak to the waitress in the next section.’ She thought I wanted another server, but I actually had her come over to my table just so I could say ‘fuck you’ to that bitch too. Then I asked for the next waitress, and the next one, then the fry cook, then the dishwasher, and yeah, then the fucking manager, and I told all of them, one-by-one, ‘fuck you, cause I ain’t gonna take it anymore, bitch-asses.’ And then you know what they did? They apologized and gave me the meal for free. But I had to eat it with my hands. What a country.” Silence. She came on too strong – more voices. 3 “Selma, please. Can’t we get through one meal in public without you making a spectacle of yourself? Mom, that’s what I do for a living. You’re not getting paid to eat breakfast, are you? Then can you please let us enjoy our meal without any more humiliation than we’ve already had to endure with you and your supposed career? Sure, Mom, no problem-o. I’ll finish my scramble and hash in peaceful, repressed silence, just the way you like it. Excuse me, waitress? You again? What is it this time, hon? Hi, yes, instead of sending my utensils back to the kitchen, could I send myself back so I could put my hand in a pot of boiling water and hold it there until my screams are louder than my mother’s voice? Thank you for accommodating me. I know it’s an unusual request.” Selma lurched suddenly, as if her viscera had seized. Both hands went cold and gripped the mike in tandem. “Okay, sorry, I think I screwed up. I said I was alone…uh…the diner…” Selma looked beseechingly into the glare, her face palsied by fear and embarrassment as she waited for some agreeable murmur to reassure her that her mistake hadn’t shattered the meticulously calibrated verisimilitude she had established. “Fuck…” she quivered involuntarily, barely audible, still staring forward. This elicited a short male laugh. The response from her audience renewed her courage. Licking her upper lip once, she managed to let go of the mike with one hand and regain her casual posture. “Actually, I said I was eating alone when I was eating with my mom because I might as well have been alone, because she’s completely empty and narcissistic and doesn’t hear anything I say. Hence, the story remains consistent, hence no error. Career saved!” 4 Selma half-heartedly imitated the ebullient cheerleader hops she recalled Judith and Tanya and Brenda doing in high school.
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