Whirl Away

Whirl Away

Russell Wangersky

Language: English

Pages: 115

ISBN: 0887629369

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

Short story collection examines when coping skills slip - denial, pragmatism, or delusion. A caretaker of a prairie amusement park, the lone occupant of a collapsing Newfoundland town, a travelling sports drink marketer with a pressing need to get off the road, an elevator inspector who finds himself losing his marriage amid sensuous food gourmandizing - all spin out of control into new worlds.

In the first, "Bolt", a truck skids off the road into a bright pink field of fireweed. Suddenly "a rusty bolt John had found in the driveway, a bolt that he’d tossed in the back of the pickup with the duffle bags and the mitre saw” — flies up front. His skull cracks “at the midline and just below the hair, hitting that smooth dent where a lover might rest a hand.”

Kicking the Sky

Les Bourgeois de Minerve


Too Much Happiness: Stories

A Good House

















Gambo, and when the battery went dead, it was like I’d gone blind or something. I used my cellphone—not to call anyone, not way out there, but to use the light on the display to get my stuff out of the trunk and wait for a car to come along. “Do you remember coming down a hill,” I asked her carefully, “or did you just walk along the flat?” “Down a hill, I think,” she said, and then she smiled a bit for the first time. A little lopsided, but it sure brightened up her face. In a nice way. “There

had been gone all day on a mission because Madeline had heard on the radio about new fossils found at Mistaken Point, and while they were gone I’d been doing everything. I’d done laundry and dishes in the house, finding my own lunch when they still hadn’t come back halfway through the day. Wrestling with the wrong-sized wrenches in the tower, working on the gear train, barking my knuckles when the wrenches slipped, unable to get into town and find the right-sized sockets because I didn’t have the

it was the last time before the accident that she could recall actually looking—really looking—at his hands. Ten days later, after the accident, she was packing up the last scattered pieces of his things, and almost absentmindedly turned on his cellphone. The police had returned the phone to her, along with his tool belt and the mitre saw and the rest of the tools and bags of clothes from the back of the pickup. Almost immediately, the phone rang. The ringing startled her, but she answered it

the first to notice it felt somehow wrong, because it occurred to Keith all at once that it should have been her recognizing the circles they’d built around each other. It had always been her job to see the shadows long before he did; it was as if she had fallen down on the job. Keith couldn’t decide if he’d fallen in the shower and struck his head or if she’d fallen from the watchtower where she was supposed to be safely overlooking their lives. As he watched, Anna drank, the glass nearly empty

pulling hard on his small white beard. “S’pposed to get yer attention from the highway, and getcha in the lot wit’ the kids.” He said “kids” as if it had a z in it. Reinhoudt was a small, round, compact Dutchman who’d spent twenty years building the amusement park he’d named McNally’s Fair, because, he said, McNally was a more acceptable name than his own. The Zipper first, then bumper cars; a small, brightly lit merry-go-round, and a Ferris wheel that picked awkward times to slip out of gear.

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