Jill McCorkle's Going Away Shoes

Sunday, November 15, 2009 3:00 AM  |  Printer friendly version | E-mail to a friend | "Going Away Shoes," by Jill McCorkle. Algonquin Books. 2009. 259 pp. $19.95.By Deirdre Parker Smith

dp1@salisburypost.com

Zingers. That's what this short-story collection is full of.

North Carolina author Jill McCorkle shows her skill in telling a tale in "Going Away Shoes," a collection of short stories.

Starting with the title story, McCorkle produces sighs, moments of recognition, tears, laughs. All the stories focus on the trials of women and love — not necessarily in love.

The first story is about Debby Tyler, the sibling left to care for her dying mother. At times it cuts too close to the bone as Debby deals with the thousand thankless duties of her life.

Her irresponsible sisters go off, marry (not happily) and have children and their own endlessly fascinating lives. They feel sorry for Debby, they really do. They just don't do anything about it."She is Sisyphus. All day long she pushes that rock, and when she is almost to the top, something happens to distract her, and it all rolls back to the very place the journey began," McCorkle writes. Then, "She is the cobbler of her own heart, and this will save her soul."

Perhaps you'll enjoy the philosophy of "Happy Accidents," in which an woman calms herself by becoming "a disciple of the television painter Bob Ross."

Sure, he's dead now, "but when I pop in a video it's like poof — resurrection. Bob said you could use your mistakes, like an accidental drop of black paint might become something beautiful or mysterious, the mouth of a cave or the shadow of a mountain."

When her long-term lover leaves, she only wallows a little. After all, she has a wonderful son, a good job as a school nurse and years to perfect the Bob Ross technique.

"Some might say that my life has been one long series of mistakes and accidents, but Bob Ross has taught me otherwise. I can take myself and turn me into something really good."

"PS" is a darkly comic letter to the therapist who never fixed Jerry and Hannah.

Hannah has written several letters, apparently, but gets no reply. So this p.s. is a long one, full of jibes and her analysis of Dr. Love. Hannah is an interior decorator, and she can tell things about people based on their decor. "Yellow really is a hard color to pick and work with."

"Me and Bigfoot" will make you laugh out loud, particularly if your friends are always trying to match you up.

One day, in a blinding snowstorm, a white pickup shows up outside the narrator's house.

It contains no information about its owner, but "a wet note penned on a coffee-stained napkin is under the wiper: You, cute looking owner of the little scrappy dog, please don't tow or complain. I need you. I'll be back soon."

Oh, what a delicious and tantalizing idea.

She finds nothing much in the truck, worn out work gloves, a stained coffee mug, and a "big pair of hunting boots covered in red mud and muck."

Now she has a fantasy lover — the best kind.

She calls her most helpful friend, Sophie, to tell her a friend is staying over for a few days, then puts the boots by the door, so it looks like he's inside.

When Sophie visits, he's sleeping. When the narrator goes out, she roughs herself up a little — "I do pinch my neck and roll around and rub against the indoor/outdoor carpet on my stairs."

As the months wear on, her friends start telling stories about him — "The talkers tell how he always has been a little bit of a loner, and with good reason. He is wanted everywhere he goes. His advice, his expertise, his big strong body and intellect and winning ways."

The perfect man.

McCorkle's stories will save you many hours of watching afternoon talk shows. Try them out and see.

Author visit

Join Jill McCorkle for a reception, reading and book signing for 'Going Away Shoes" on Thursday, 5-7 p.m. at Literary Bookpost, 110 S. Main St.