Big Bad Love: Stories
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Larry Brown caught the rapt attention of readers and critics with the 1988 publication of Facing the Music, his prize-winning first collection of stories. The following year, his first novel, Dirty Work, won national acclaim as a work of uncompromising power and honesty. Big Bad Love, his third book, collects ten new stories. Dealing with sex, with drink, with fear, with all kinds of bad luck and obsession, these stories are unflinching and not for the fainthearted. But as is true of all of Brown's fiction, these ten stories are linked in a collective statement of redemption and hope. These stories come as close to the truth as any human expression can.
granite claw. I looked into his eyes. They were tinged with yellow and red, and they looked a little wobbly. He was a real big guy. I sat there and held my beer, wondering what to do. For all I knew he could have been a henchman, one of hers. I knew to operate like she did she had to have henchmen. I finally told him he wouldn’t believe how much I’d appreciate the shit out of it if he’d get his hand off my leg. I thought Yeah, their goddamn shrimp. Their damn shrimpy minds. Why do you want to
another beer out when that thought hit me. I tried to see how fast I was going once I got straightened out and headed after Sheena Baby, but I was still in low gear and the speedometer was just bumping up and down between o and 5 mph. I figured Sheena Baby was probably walking about 2 or 3 mph. I wondered: Could I shift into second? I did. The tires went to slapping a little faster. The needle rose to nearly 10 mph. I smiled. I knew I’d overtake her before long. I turned on the radio and tried
was counting down all the top 100 hits of 1967. I lit that joint and bumped down the road drinking my beer and keeping time on the steering wheel, holding the smoke in deep. After a while I was just shaking my head over how good it all was. I listened to Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin and Elvis Presley and The Doors and Cream and Grand Funk Railroad and CCR and Percy Sledge, wawa wawa wa. I got to singing out loud and moving my shoulders around and when that joint got short I took little tokes and
said. “I’ll be all right now.” They went on inside, already talking, already forgetting about me, and I watched them for a moment before I ducked out of the rain and back into my car. I thought about things while I drove home alone. I thought about being old, and alone, and drunk and needing help. I knew I might be like that one day. I thought about having to turn to somebody for help. I hoped it would be there. We buried Aaron today. We stood up in the church and smelled the flowers, and sang
yes! Damn you! Yes! Weren’t you laboring along, in the ‘great southern gothic tradition,’ using heavy, frightening imagery? Yes! [Beaten. Whipped. Chastised. Chastened. Cowed. Diminished. Uncertain. Afraid. Tentative. Sick] Ignoring punctuation, running whole pages of narrative together, incorporating colons, semicolons, hyphens, making your characters talk like Beeder Mackey on LSD? [Softly] Yes. All right. What happened after Dr. Evans finished reading your . . . work? [Trying to regain