Shame and Wonder

Starred review from August 24, 2015
Hangdog dejection and unlikely epiphanies infuse these offbeat, beguiling essays by novelist Searcy (Last Things). He rattles around the Dallas hinterland (with an overseas excursion to Turkey’s St. Nick tourist circuit) and stumbles across oddball stories and subjects: a rancher who uses a recording of his crying baby daughter to lure a troublesome coyote within rifleshot; a giant boulder topped by a scraggly tree covered with pocketknife-carved hearts; the barely-remembered tragedy of a Jewish tightrope walker crushed in a fall in Corsicana, Tex., in 1884. Many pieces recall a sunlit Eisenhower-era boyhood filled with baseball, paper airplanes, woodland excursions with a homemade slingshot, and TV space operas. Others explore Searcy’s lifelong fascination with the emotional valence of hard science, which he indulges by repurposing the 1887 Michelson-Morley experiment, which tested the speed of light, as a symbol of the quest for meaning. Searcy’s writing is by sharp turns goofy, wry, and melancholy, tentative at times but always curious and superbly evocative. (An Internet pop-up sex ad “drops down like a rubber spider on a string. As clear and simple and alarming and imperative as schizophrenic voices probably are.”) His essays meander along wisps of metaphorical connection, leaping from tooth-flossing to 17th-century housing, from Zuni religious rituals to cereal box prizes, from his mother’s still-life painting to medieval Platonism. The result is a funny, haunting journey through mysterious enlightenments. Photos. Agent: Nicole Aragi, Aragi Inc.

Starred review from October 1, 2015
A Texas essayist goes looking for meaning in all the right places. The essays in this debut collection by Searcy, who previously published two novels of sci-fi horror (Last Things, 2002, etc.), suggest what might happen if Stephen King somehow morphed into David Foster Wallace. Though there are none of the latter's signature footnotes, the author's allusive and elusive writing seeks connections beneath the surface of appearance and the alternatives to conventional wisdom. His mother was an artist, as is his girlfriend, as is his late friend, and their work provides plenty of perspective on the creative impulse, which also permeates these essays. In the opening "The Hudson River School," a visit to the dental hygienist inspires a visit to her father, a rancher in West Texas, who has been targeting a coyote (or more) that has been attacking his sheep, using a tape of their baby's cries as a lure. "Out here, you probably need to know a lot more clearly what you're doing," writes Searcy. "How to situate yourself. You've got your basics here to deal with after all. Your wind, your emptiness, your animals, your house." Clarity, emptiness, and whatever the basics are remain touchstones throughout these essays, whether the writer is exploring the lunar landscape of Enchanted Rock, touring Turkey in search of Santa Claus, trying to find meaning in his lack of connection with baseball, or rediscovering a piece by his late mother while rummaging through "twenty years of stuff diverted here. Not quite tossed out. You never know." Searcy also spends plenty of time revisiting childhood experiences never quite resolved, snapshots and notebooks that provide a different perspective on the experience he's relating, and occasionally discovering, "How cool and dark and clear it is, right here at the heart of things. How clearly things reveal themselves. Who knew?" Ultimately, meaning and mystery coexist in Searcy's mind, and his offbeat, exciting writing will resonate with readers for whom "you never know" and "who knew?" might be mantras.

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November 15, 2015

While Searcy's earlier work (Last Things; Ordinary Horror) has been gothic or horror fiction, the 21 essays in this collection are autobiographical stories whose leitmotif is the mystery and elusiveness of "meaning." The entries are dominated by recollections of Searcy's early childhood and adolescence, when the fundamental meaning of things was communicated to him in the carefree happenings of everyday events and objects (e.g., "Mad Science, "A Futuristic Writing Desk," "Cereal Prizes," "Always Shall Have Been"). Since the author's inadequate sensibilities were unable to recognize or comprehend the signs and signals, true meaning passed through him as do neutrinos through matter. Entries such as "Santa in Anatolia," "Nameless," "Love in Space" demonstrate that as adults, our apprehension of meaning is obstructed by conscious thought and our elaborate scientific and philosophical constructs in the pursuit of knowledge. Searcy's idiosyncratic, conversational style is punctuated with asides, interjections, and allusions that suggest that he may be talking to himself. VERDICT While the narrative style may not be for everyone, readers who appreciate it will enjoy this collection.--Lonnie Weatherby, McGill Univ. Lib., Montreal

Copyright 2015 Library Journal, LLC Used with permission.

November 1, 2015
This collection of nonfiction pieces by novelist Searcy (Last Things, 2002) is teasingly powerful, though inconsistent. They are often striking in their descriptive passages, especially of the West Texas landscape and, particularly in the oddly titled opening piece The Hudson River School, of people. But characters, action, and story lines are secondary, often absent. Several pieces read like excepts from longer fiction. One set in old Corsicana, involving a peg-legged Jewish tightrope walker carrying (to his death) a stove on his back, is tantalizing. When fleshed out or expanded upon, much here could be compelling book-length fiction; as is, it is alluring but frustrating. The writing is quirky; seemingly out-of-nowhere connections (one peculiarly invoking Jimmy Durante) or science fictionlike excursions pop up unexpectedly. The book is blurbed by John Jeremiah Sullivan, and those who enjoy his equally quirky narrative nonfiction may be drawn to Searcy's similar approach.(Reprinted with permission of Booklist, copyright 2015, American Library Association.)