An excerpt from the novella:

A PORTRAIT

OF A

WOMAN

AND A

STILL LIFE

OF HER BURGER

by Candelaria Saenz Valiente

LOOKING FOR AN AGENT TO HELP PUBLISH THIS

about Brenda’s humanity, stripped of ideology and opinions, or any redeeming sense of humour; I am referring to Brenda’s humourless shred of decency. Brenda sucks. You can’t say that anymore, it’s not Nice to pass hard judgment like that anymore, but you can’t un-see it, can you? Can we un-see these little core sins? The cracks in our ethos. Back in the day, it used to be fun to acknowledge that someone sucked, cause in many ways we could all be Brenda. We all suck at times and that is fine.” Mother downed her whiskey in one gulp and stretched out her hand for more, but no one dared to top her up. Something about her persistence was endearing though. Finally, an unwilling arm came through with a bottle. So she continued, now with her voice unwinding steadily as if in orbit, forcefully draining her words and gesturing heavily. “Under this new mode of kindest behaviour, we don’t tolerate old school rhetoric, the generally repugnant behaviour of Thomas Bernhard—the kind that still goes on outside our island of cuteness—where people don’t mince words when talking to others or about others behind their backs with sportsmanship akin to Larry David; it used to be funny to laugh at ourselves, to dissect ourselves psychologically. I don’t mean the fermented evil that spews from the cauldron that is the Internet or while driving a car; and I don’t mean calling out, criticising ideology, politics, or public matters; I mean speaking freely on matters of someone’s character, intimately… What’s the word I’m looking for? Chamber-ly! Face to face we lost the edge.  Because we had to! It was a by-product of stepping up to a grander kindness and tolerance. It was necessary and good! It’s like the time when no one wanted to split hairs with poststructural feminism. Well, our blood is uniformly lukewarm now, we’re good at setting boundaries. But some of us bite our lips, a trait remnant from the old biting dog, from the indomitable woman whose words cut like a knife. She was sexy going down those marble stairs. Yes, I bite my lip, sometimes I bite my pillow! But that’s old news. What I want to know is, has the tepid, bureaucratic cuteness affected love? Can anyone answer me?

HOW MOTHER GOT EVERYONE TOGETHER AND SPOKE WITH GREAT POISE, SLIPPERY WORDS

Mother stood in her socks on the carpet in the living room holding onto a glass of whiskey; she began cautiously: “Considering our latent “dog-eat-dog” mentality, our radical individualism, it is remarkable that we’re all here drinking and talking and getting along as if we were a functional, loving family.” For an instant Mother looked at them appreciatively, then her head tilted down and her eyes became fixed on a dead spot as if lost in meditation; perhaps she was letting the words ring in their ears: “But I don’t fully believe in the security of our new-found cuteness, our pastel haven… something’s got to give. I’m not talking about us, particularly, I’m talking about all of us, the ethos of the (her voice suddenly lowering to a whisper) sweet people in this town. There are those of us who may do unspeakable things, little sins, while others will stand to the side watching the crack progress up the wall and say nothing because we’re all flawed and it’s the safest we’ve ever felt so far. But imagine a person, true story: Brenda, who recently dumped Alex, kicked her out, and had her new lover move in instead. Brenda then hires Alex—a couple of weeks after the breakup, in the middle of Alex’s most harrowing heartbreak—they hire her to clean their apartment… Because Alex is a cleaning lady. And Alex accepts cause she needs the money, but it’s real painful to have to clean the bathroom floor of the hair of this new lover who is super nice to her. Well, I think it’s pretty obvious that Brenda is insensitive. Is she always this insensitive? I am talking

Cos love used to be pain and misery and bloodshed, wasn’t it? And possessive and all sorts of ugly. Wasn’t love a dangerously edgy thing? People killed and died for love! It was filthy and it cut you…” She suppressed a gag. “Sliced you…” She downed the remainder of the whiskey and immediately began to wobble like a trapezium that was to suddenly shift its angles. With teeth clenched she turned a more cryptic corner: “… I […non-paraphraseable ramble] dredge up a porous rock…years of Lilly cologne and dandruff shampoo… sprinkle it over a fuckin’ meadow.” More words dribbled down the side of her mouth as she collapsed onto the carpet. They were unintelligible. 

Father picked her up and took her to bed where he tended to her for a few minutes while the rest remained silent in observance and respect for her Motherhood.