THE
UNIVERSAL PHYSICS OF ESCAPEElizabeth Gonzalez. Press 53, $14.95 paperback (151p) ISBN: 978-1-941209-31-8
I’ve
always had a thing for the octopus. When I was in second grade, I fell in love
with Jacques Cousteau’s Octopus, Octopus and
wrote one of my first short stories about a friendly little cephalopod and his
adventures in the sea. I’ve always wanted an octopus for a pet, one named
Victor, fully expecting him to escape (as the octopus is wont to do) and roam
across my bookshelves, changing colors over every volume.
Perhaps
this is why I was so drawn to Elizabeth Gonzalez’s recently published story
collection, The Universal Physics of
Escape. A whimsical octopus on the cover is in the midst of an escape,
poised on a slingshot contraption of sorts, aiming for the moon. I was
expecting something surreal, anthropomorphized creatures escaping from the evil
clutches of oblivious humans, or something along those lines.
Instead,
these pages took me on a deeply sensitive, highly intellectual examination of
the human condition. With stories tied together by the overarching theme of
science, and the more subtle themes of loneliness, death, religion and
self-discovery, The Universal Physics of
Escape is an exploration of how the natural world can be a conduit for
understanding complex human emotions. The stories vary widely in length, but
all use their space to quietly build towards a final excavation, an unearthing
of sentiments that are often too complicated to express in any other way. Bats
and moths, eels and octopuses, geodes, black holes, birds and mathematical
ratios: all are used not as symbols, but as voices. As a language for
navigating the often terrifying loneliness of trying to find your place and
your relationship to others in the world.
Not
all of Gonzalez’s stories are filled with such a heavy weight, though. They are
quirky at times, and tender. Claire, the central character to the title story,
is an astronomer, but also a frustrated suburban mother. She seems strange and
distant at first, fixated on an octopus, but as the layers of the story peel
back, she is revealed to be a relatable character. She makes school lunches,
deals with her husband’s job and tries to fit in with
church groups and dinner parties. The layers continue to shed and slowly we
become aware of something profound happening. Claire is awkward and vulnerable.
She is confused, unsure, grasping at something to hold on to as she tries to
understand her marriage, her role as a mother and herself. Suddenly the line,
“Arms. Not tentacles, not legs, he said, just arms. For holding on” develops a
new gravity in the story.
It
is this continual development, I think, that makes Gonzalez’s collection so rich
for me. Nothing is surface level. Everything is connected. So many things are
not what they seem as they shift, expand and retract with all the possibilities
of scientific discovery and all the temperaments of human fallibility. “The
Universal Physics of Escape” is my favorite story in the collection, but “Here”
provides the touchstone for understanding and appreciating Gonzalez’s prose:
“How
do you know, she wonders, when you’ve found what you were looking for? She has
been a stranger on this road forever, hunting after things that shine; she
still can’t tell from the cast and fall of a thing whether it is food, whether
it is stone.”
(October 2015)
Purchase The Universal Physics of Escape HERE.
Reviewer bio: Steph Post is the author
of the debut novel A Tree Born Crooked. Her short fiction has most
recently appeared in Haunted Waters: From the Depths, The Round-Up
and Stephen King’s Contemporary Classics. She currently lives, writes
and teaches writing in St. Petersburg, Florida.
