‘Gutsy’ was the first adjective that sprang to mind when I first received Sentiments of Blue. An even mix of five poems and five short stories is, in my experience, pretty unconventional. Despite the book’s brevity Garasamo Maccagnone manages to blend the ingredients together into a surprising course of appetizers and main dishes.
Key to any reading experience is the ability of the author to connect with the reader, regardless of the form presented. I am not much of a poet, mostly because I don’t understand the esoteric complexities of a properly written poem—that’s not to say I haven’t written a few of my own, but they are, by my definition, more aptly described as exposition in short form, thoughts or emotions expressed in a deeply personal, first-person scheme. More succinctly, I have simply tried to put the right words in the right order, but that’s what writing is all about. If I connect with a reader because the content was meaningful then I see my efforts as successful; Maccagnone starts his collection off with the same approach.
The Careers of my Mother is a wrenching paean to his mother, a laser of a Mothers Day card, one which at once tugs and rends the maternal instinct. Uncle Nardo’s Store is evocative in its solemnity, a haunting reflection of our current economical state-of-affairs. Drives with Dad and My Father’s Foot swing the pendulum hard in the opposite direction, both capable of eliciting a laugh and grimace—a little something in both these poems for the little boy in all of us.
Maccagnone can certainly tell a story. The sooty, unscrupulous confines of night shift in a blue-collar Michigan factory are conveyed in the story that gives the book its title, Sentiments of Blue. This one is a bit of a bumpy ride, as the storyline banks left then right. He presents a couple of truly intriguing characters in the narrator and Little Ricky, dresses them up and then doesn’t do much at all with Ricky until the end of the story, even then in an almost disappointingly passive manner. Little Ricky is so well presented initially that I felt the story would have been stronger with him as a larger figure in it. Of course the story isn’t about Little Ricky, it’s about the narrator, and as such the author does a nice job of bringing his story around.
The Conversion begins as a fun, character and dialogue driven story revolving around a couple of minor league hockey players being sent up to the majors. Again, Maccagnone does a wonderful job of letting us be a fly on the wall, and sets up what promises to be some real testosterone-fueled action—somebody’s going to get their a** kicked! I’d taken the bait and the author’s hook dangled free in my mouth, and just when I expected a tug to set the hook the line went slack. The story changes tack and, while still about the secondary character Animal, it suddenly moves into a different direction, a surprising one at that. Great banter and dialogue rev up the characters again until the end comes up and hits you in the face like a brick.
The Note Giver and Holy Thursday provide more evidence of Maccagnone’s ability to move a first-person story along with ease. But I believe the overall best told story is The Perfect Game—it’s fun, engaging, compelling all the way through, and there is a true satisfaction to the ending. I took particular delight in the cleverness of the title.
As a lover of words I am sensitive to the pitfalls and hurdles which any writer must be ever vigilant of. No one persons style will be appreciated by everyone; such matters are gilded in subjectivity and should be expected—that’s just the way things are. Mechanics and editing are concerns of crucial importance because they objectively impact the reading experience. I found a few of these while on my way through the book, and I believe any honest review needs to include mention of such instances. These things have the potential to completely derail me as a reader; if I have to back up and reread a passage two or three times then the author is in danger of losing my interest, of having me close the book and reshelve it. This is why editing should be done with a fine-toothed comb and not a garden rake.
A mixed metaphor caught my eye almost from the beginning of the title story, an instance where a breakroom is described as having “dirty yellow tile dripping with soot.” That slowed me to a crawl as I tried to rationalize the description in my head. I knew what was being implied, but dripping soot—the mere action of a dry particulate dripping as water from a leaky faucet—shook me from the developing storyline. In The Note Giver appears this line: “The image of those woman . . .” Another item I tripped over. These occurrences were not many, but given the quality of the author’s storytelling I, frankly, felt bad that these types of inconsistencies hadn’t been caught.
Conversely, I am resolute in my conviction that Maccagnone indeed has the literary chops to fashion an engaging story and keep a reader attached to his characters. He provides an almost visceral desire to interact with his characters, to pry yet more nuggets of color from their hard-lived circumstances. These stories are not about celebrity or heroism in their most contemptible sense, rather they’re about the roughness of being an individual, of being accountable for our own actions.
The world his characters inhabit is unabashedly male-centric, earthy, without the least whiff of romantic pretense. Relations between male and female characters are drawn so as to expose the gritty, even violent, nature of masculinity, the tacit foundation upon which their atmosphere coalesces—ultimately closer to Hemingway than Twain or Steinbeck. The copy on the back of the book nails it, describing the contents as “intended for mature audiences”, which contain “scenes that convey the fear, violence, lust and joy of real people living imperfect lives.”
Could there be a more plausible expression of what it means to be human?
Review copy of this book was provided by Pump Up Your Book/Cheryl Malandrinos and Garasamo Maccagnone — my genuine thanks to both!
If the review piqued your interest you can get the book online at:
• Amazon
• Barnes & Noble
J.W. Nicklaus' Blog 