Review: “The Paper Wasp” by Lauren Acampora

Posted on January 27, 2019 by ghostvillehero

 

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Publication Date: June 11, 2019 by Grove Press. Nothing is better in this world than a preorder:

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I. Synopsis

An electrifying debut novel from the acclaimed author of The Wonder Garden, The Paper Wasp is a riveting knife-edge story of two women’s dark friendship of twisted ambition set against the backdrop of contemporary Hollywood In small-town Michigan, Abby Graven leads a solitary life. Once a bright student on the cusp of a promising art career, she now languishes in her childhood home, trudging to and from her job as a supermarket cashier. Each day she is taunted from the magazine racks by the success of her former best friend Elise, a rising Hollywood starlet whose life in pictures Abby obsessively scrapbooks. At night Abby escapes through the films of her favorite director, Auguste Perren, a cult figure known for his creative institute the Rhizome. Inspired by Perren, Abby draws fantastical storyboards based on her often premonitory dreams, a visionary gift she keeps hidden.

When Abby encounters Elise again at their high school reunion, she is surprised and warmed that Elise still considers her not only a friend but a brilliant storyteller and true artist. Elise’s unexpected faith in Abby reignites in her a dormant hunger, and when Elise offhandedly tells Abby to look her up if she’s ever in LA, Abby soon arrives on her doorstep. There, Abby discovers that although Elise is flourishing professionally, behind her glossy magazine veneer she is lonely and disillusioned. Ever the supportive friend, Abby becomes enmeshed in Elise’s world, even as she guards her own dark secret and burning desire for greatness. As she edges closer to Elise, the Rhizome, and her own artistic ambitions, the dynamic shifts between the two friends–until Abby can see only one way to grasp the future that awaits her.

The Paper Wasp is a thrilling, unexpected journey into the psyche and imagination of a woman determined to fulfill her destiny from one of our most unique and incisive writers.

II. Review

Abby sees her childhood best friend, Elise, at their ten year high school reunion. They spent their friendship with Abby drawing and making up stories and Elise acting them out. Now Elise is in Hollywood, just one big role away from breaking through and Abby is not doing much–living at home, working at Meijer, and pouring over the films of their favorite director, Auguste Perren. Her parents worry about her, and her mother is excited that she is going to her high school reunion. From the very first page, we understand that there is something not quite right about Abby and her relationship with Elise and her relationship with the works of Perren. From that moment at the high school reunion, when Elise tells Abby in a drunken, “Give me a call when you’re in town,” invitation that we all give those old friends and acquaintances we bump into again when we have been drinking, Elise had no clue that Abby was going to take her up on the offer, nor does she know that Abby wants to do things to destroy her.

This is the character of Abby, and what I find interesting and off-putting about her. She does not know nor care what she does to the people around her. Anyone that genuine reaches out to her to try to help her or love her means nothing to Abby. The true problem is that Abby does not see it. In her mind, everything she does, from theft to hurting people who try to help her to just being conniving and ugly toward the people who try to help her, is justified in her mind. There is no guilt, no remorse, and no concern about the destruction that she causes. This makes the entire novel, after it had been finished, more memorable because you rarely find a character that makes mistakes and does not learn from them.

If I had my way, I would have had another 100 pages of the story. I would have had more about their childhood together and more little things that put even more darkness in the relationship between Abby and Elise. As it is, the novel moves fast, reckless, and draws the reader into this world that feels like watching a disaster unfold.

 

III. Random thoughts

Abby’s hometown is in Michigan. Living in Indiana, I have been there many times. Acampora talks about Abby being close to Lake Michigan, and in on part, she tells about how her sister has moved a few hours north on Highway 31. This struck me as interesting because 31 also goes all of the way through Indiana, and in fact, cuts straight through my city (now we have a bypass from South Bend to Indianapolis but it used to be the only way from Michigan to Indy was hitting every single stop light in my town). I spent a little bit of time looking at maps of Michigan after I read this part, hypothesizing what town Abby is from. There are a few suspects, and it is narrowed down because Abby works at Meijer. Meijer is a regional grocery/department store, like a Walmart but much nicer, especially their produce, that was started in Michigan. They are in the Midwest with stores, in Michigan, Indiana, Ohio, Kentucky, Illinois, and Wisconsin. For Abby to work at one, unless she drove to a nearby city (which is not indicated), the major suspects are, according to the map of Meijer stores in Michigan on the Lake Michigan side and along Highway 31, we have Holland, South Haven, Grand Haven, Benton Harbor, and a couple in Muskegon. I am able to narrow down the setting of the story enough to places where I have been, places I have vacationed or shopped, and I this is one of the things that connected me to this story. I know where Abby came from. I actually could have met a girl like her before, and the familiarity to the location, the stores, and the mentality really connected me to the story more than it might connect others.

 

 

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Derailed and Rerailed

Posted on January 23, 2019 by ghostvillehero

Sometimes as soon as plans are decided, life takes a look at them, smirks, and says, “Watch this.” I planned to have a new post at least every Tuesday, trying to get some consistency in my writing, even had the next post outlined, ready to start. A few major things happened in a matter of days to derail all of this.

On December 31, while I was working on the next post for the next day (which is still partially done in my draft folder), I caught the sickness that is tearing through the country, causing hospitals to have flu restrictions, and killing those who are elderly and/or have compromised immune systems. I received the flu shot in the fall as part of a mandatory measure for most hospital employees, so the duration was a little shorter than many, but still on Tuesday, New Year’s Day, I was dead. I slept all day, sipped little bits of water, and by the time Wednesday came around, I went to work armed with two bottles of Gatorade and two packages of crackers. By the end of the day, I was not 100%, but I was feeling much better and able to function. Even still, my stomach was flipping and flopping the entire next week. I did not tell anyone at the hospital because I did not want to get kicked out of the delivery of my twin girls.

They decided to come January 3rd, two days after I was dead from sickness. They were more than a month early, and I know I should not have been there, that I could have gotten everyone sick, but there was also no way I would miss the birth of these girls. My wife had spent some days the week before in the hospital to stop contraction and for observation, but after five more days being at home and miserable on bed rest, the girls were going to come at 34 weeks and 5 days. Everything could have been drastically different; many babies this age end up on a ventilator and in the Neonatal ICU, but these girls, Elliot and Maddox, were strong, breathing, crying, pooping, and eating all on their own. They weighed 4 lbs 14 oz each, and even though the doctor and nurses told us before they were born that they would most likely spend a few weeks in the NICU until they get older, they were able to come home with just one extra day’s stay.

Having newborn twin girls is quite a bit of work. I do not consider myself to be the Dad of the Year by any means, but I have been helping out as much as I can, getting up in the middle of the night to help feed them, taking over for our two- year- old daughter so that my wife does not have to worry about feeding or changing her too, and trying to get their mom out of the house and away from them occasionally for her mental well-being. Even still, there are times when I feel as if I could do more, even though my wife does not want to bother me. The entire dynamic is difficult sometimes. Before I knew it, weeks passed since I have thought about writing anything.

Once I was starting to get into the groove of these two new girls, my dog, Rascal, started acting like he didn’t feel good. He was having trouble standing and going to the bathroom. I could tell he had been losing a little weight before this, but now he could not get up to go outside, and we had to carry him. He had to go to the vet. We were hoping that the diagnosis would be dehydration or something that could be cured with a pill wrapped in lunch meat and a few days rest, but the vet said it was a GI bleed, and a pretty severe one. There were two options: send him to Purdue Animal Hospital for blood transfusions, and an interminable length of stay. If they were able to stop the bleeding, there was no likelihood that he would be better because they did not know what caused it. I got from the pound when Rascal was already eight from the pound, and he was going to turn 10 in May.

He was my dog, and I was always yelling at him because I constantly was tripping over him. He always wanted to go on runs with me, and he was notorious for digging food out of the trash and pulling it off of the counter. One time we were waiting for some tilapia to cool a little from the oven, and we turned out backs too long. A loud crash from the kitchen was evidence that Rascal was going to have all of the fish that night. He also was skittish during storms and had a tendency to run off. We learned that this was also a game. He ran back and forth in front of the house a few times before taking off down the street. The whole point was to get chased. When we first got him and he ran off, I followed him around town in the car. Rascal eventually would stop and look at me long enough for me to think he was done. I would open the door, and he would take off running again. It got to the point where I would just come home because our phone number was on his collar, and when he got tired, he found someone to call us, and we came to pick him up. He was good with the kids. He let Oliver pull his tail and Spencer sit on him while she watched TV. He did not seem to have a care in the world outside of food and humping a large stuffed bear in the boys room. He seemed to enjoy most of his short life with us, and sometimes I wonder if I should try to find his previous owners, to tell them that Rascal is gone. Part of me thinks they would want to know.

My wife called from the vet crying when she told me the options. I said that there was no real option. We had to put him to sleep. We did not have the money to pay for blood transfusions and hospital stays. We had the twins medical bills already on our plate. I miss him dearly, every minute of the day, but I also know that he is no longer in pain. I know that he is running neighborhoods in Doggy Heaven, eating Burger King chicken nuggets, and getting all of the pets that he deserves. We miss him here, but I think that we made the best but hardest decision.

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So 2019 has been weird so far. Joy and pain already, but now that things are slowing down a bit, I should be able to get into the routine of posting when I plan to post. As it is, I still welcome the new additions to the family and mourn the loss of another family member. Hopefully February slows life down some more. Yeah right.

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100 of 100

Posted on December 25, 2018 by ghostvillehero

My life has had a new restart date about 100 times. This date is the day that I say, “I’m going to start doing all of the things that I want to do, accomplish all of my lofty goals, and be as successful as I know I can be.” This date is usually my birthday or New Year’s Day, but sometimes they are other holidays–July 4th, Thanksgiving, Christmas, etc, that I pick for a new start date. (I do realize this is being posted on Christmas Day, but it is not because I mark this as a day for a fresh start as much as I plan to keep a schedule when I post to this blog, Tuesdays and Fridays, and Christmas happens to be a Tuesday.) This time I just picked a Monday, one of the last Mondays of the year to start. What is different this time versus the last 99 times I told myself that today will be the day I will start accomplishing things? There is a list.

1. I plan to keep my goals realistic. In the past, I came up with these great ideas, writing 10000 words a day, running a half marathon every weekend, holding every baby, petting every puppy, and generally saving the world. These goals are fantastic, but not realistic, unless you have built a strong foundation. The foundation starts small, one cornerstone, and builds and builds. So these things are achievable, but not from day one. My goals are going to keep me uncomfortable so I do feel a sense of accomplishment instead of just going through the motions day in and day out. I don’t want to be one of those people that are comfortable, like the men and women at the gym that do the same workout, with the same weights, in the same order, every single day. This is exercising, but it is not working out. It is not working toward growing stronger and stronger and sometimes amazing yourself. I want to work out and not exercise. All goals need to be like this.

2. I plan to be successful by being more organized. Throughout the years I have learned that I do not work well without a schedule. If there is no structure to my week, to the things that I plan to accomplish, none of it will happen. I am not a person that can micromanage every second of my day because I also do not adapt to change quickly, which means if I already have too many plans, I get angry and irritated if those plans change. Having some scheduling is important but having some leeway in my scheduling does not work either. There has to be some balance.

3. There will be repercussions to not meeting the deadlines. Many times, I spend time doing nothing, scrolling on my phone or playing FIFA 19 on the Xbox. There will be times that I need to sacrifice these things for my goals, maybe it is not watching TV that night or getting up an hour early to get things done, simple things really when you think about dedication to the goals you want to accomplish. On the flip side of this, if I do not do these goals, if I do not meet the deadlines, some penance needs to occur. This can be as simple as not having a phone for the day or some sort of food or money deprivation. The purpose will be that there are many things that I do not want to do.

4. I need to stay out of my level of comfort. This does not mean that every day has to be impossible. Every day just has to be productive. That productivity will snowball and eventually this comfort level will grow and grow.

I do not have to set goals for myself anymore. I am pretty much at peace with my  life. I have many blessings. A great wife, five wonderful kids, a fantastic career, and all of my bills get paid, but I want to set these new goals. The motivation now is teach my children, to let them see their father as a giant, with success and strength, and this giant is the shoulders they have to stand on to achieve more. This is why I show up my 100th time starting over, this is why if I am unsuccessful this time, there will be a 101st. I want to show my kids that they can do whatever they desire, because I did it too.

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Ghostville Chronicles #1: This is the New Year

Posted on January 1, 2018 by ghostvillehero

Ghostville is cold, frozen over with high temperatures in the single digits. After snow a few days ago, the fresh snow has turned into a crisp layer of ground, crunching under your feet. It is much too cold to be outside panhandling, but there is a man on the corner in a snow suit, held together with duct tape, holding a sign asking for work or donations. It is much too cold to be riding a bike, but another man slides down the street, balancing a case of Natural Light beer on the bar between his legs. No kids are outside building snowmen or having snowball fights. Nobody is shoveling the sidewalks but letting the snow lay where it may. Most of the Ghostville residents are hiding under blankets in their homes, binge-watching movies from the library or Netflix, and those are the fortunate. Even though there are a few people driving to and from work, many are on an extended vacation from Christmas Eve until the first of the year, so many are just hunkering down and bracing themselves against the cold.

This cold gives me anxiety. Not in the general way that something gives me anxiety, like the type of anxiety that snakes or being late or traveling gives me. The anxiety from the bitter cold runs deeper because there is genuinely something to be afraid of outside. When I am outside during the summer, in the middle of the heat, I know that all I need to do to find survive is drink water and find some shade for a minute or two. I do not worry much about dying due to the elements in the summer (though many people have died, in their flower gardens or in a houses with no electricity and no fans), but dying in the winter is all of our problems. Outside is death. Nothing is living, movement is slow, the sky is gray, and the cold could be enough to cause hypothermia in minutes if you are not prepared. If you do not have a plan, the cold will cause trouble. Nobody goes out when it is this cold just to get fresh air. All movement is done only by necessity. Even the man getting a case of beer home is motivated by a need more than by a desire. And even he did not leave the house without some preparation. He wears cold weather clothes, a hat, gloves, and facemask, anything that can keep the cold away. This cold is unforgiving. This cold has nothing but murder on it’s mind.

I am surprised that we do not hear about more deaths because of the cold. There have been a few fires because of individuals using more electric heaters and dry Christmas trees not yet thrown out of the house, and a handful of people have died this week because of it. The question I have is more concerned with deaths due to people just walking away from their houses in this kind of weather, a depression that does not end and the cold snap has turned the person around his final bend, so he walks from it all. When I consider this, I think about the sad person standing at the window, the same person that has stood at the same window weeks ago, watching the world die slowly with the falling leaves and rain, only to end in this state, the total disappearance of anything remotely alive. Whether everyone is hiding or burrowing away from the weather, the person realizes that he is mostly on his own, and it would be simple for him to slip out the door, maybe even wearing a coat and hat to look proper, and wander around the city until the cold gets him. He could just sit in the backyard so that his family and friends would know that he froze on purpose, but he could also walk around the city, stop in the park, maybe even buy a few things at the local convenience store so that his family would say that he must have had someplace to go, and they would never know the wiser of the thought process behind his frozen death. This is the scenario that I am shocked does not happen more.

The cold is a disturbing topic, something that I do not like to think about too deeply, but it is always on my mind because the cold will kill me as quickly as it will kill anyone else, without even flinching. We are all equals in the eyes of the winter, and we have to be humbled by it. Ghostville will live on into the spring and the thoughts of winter will eventually subside. This season change cannot happen soon enough.

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