Not Only Seen, but Also Desired

A Review of Jim Roberts’ Of Fathers & Gods

By Nick Rees Gardner

In an era that often favors micro- and very short fiction, the nine stories in Jim Roberts’ debut collection, Of Fathers & Gods, are more traditional in length, “long” short stories that range from about 8 to 30 pages. Rather than the lyrical flashes, consumed in mere minutes leaving the reader stunned, Roberts traverses the mindscapes of children and their fathers, picking out, with precision, the scenes and responses that most reveal each protagonist’s character. While some characters are orphans, longing to be reunited with their fathers, others are fathers who will do anything, even resort to kidnapping, to win their children back. This is not to say that Roberts’ stories are long-winded; the pacing and tension, not to mention his rhythmic, lyrical prose, work carefully to not only explain each character’s predicaments, but to make the reader feel their wants and needs, to make them, in a way, expansive as Fathers or Gods. Of Fathers & Gods is an insightful, emotional, and fresh addition to the southern or grit lit canon.

It may seem petty to harp on the length of a story, but, for example, the 22 pages that contain “Sex Lies & Molokai,” do require more than a 15-minute smoke break or metro ride to consume. Not to mention the few minutes of meditation required at the conclusion of each story to ponder and be moved by it. The aforementioned story takes place in Hawaii and features two point of view characters: a wealthy white man, and the Native American carpenter woman he hires to renovate his mansion. A heist, a love affair, and a history of failed fatherhood are at the heart of the story, but Roberts further rewards the reader with what Jerome Stern terms “intrigants,” or that which intrigues. He includes details such as the backstory behind a bar called FAssT Monkey (spoiler alert, the bartender added the “F” and the “T” to please the local government) or the history of a mysterious Basquiat. These are interesting and oddball asides that many writers or editors would leave on the cutting room floor, details that aren’t completely necessary to the plot, some might say, but they flow with the story, enhancing the reader’s experience, immersing the reader into this Hawaiian world.

Whether these anecdotes and asides would appeal to all readers, is beside the point. They are part of what set Roberts’ stories apart from much modern fiction. The asides and anecdotes slow the pace, like an angler toying with a fish, or the slow, stick-by-stick construction of a bonfire. Another stand-out story, “The Jackshit Bastards” dwells quite a bit on the childhood of the two protagonists, a time when they would smear feces around their collars to ward off the advances of older men. However, the tension of the story, the central conflict, emerges right before the end, a short interaction or altercation that springs, seemingly, out of nowhere, but packs no less of a punch. Because of this, it’s impossible to predict where Roberts’ stories are going, but the endings are always worth the ride.

It’s a difficult feat in this fast-paced world where many of us read only in stolen moments, to craft these longer stories well enough to hold a reader in their chair. It’s Roberts’ prose that ropes the reader in initially. Moments such as when, in “Tender, Like My Heart,” Tedi sits on a bench in front of the Cincinnati Reds’ stadium: “It took a long while, but her patience was rewarded. Home run. Fireworks. Red, yellow, blue, and green slashes across the dark skin of night.” The punch of those sentences builds to the crescendo of violence, of something tender like skin being cut.

Beyond the prose, the stakes of Roberts’ stories also keep the reader rapt. At first blush, the stories in Of Fathers & Gods are quiet stories. They follow a character’s mindscape, their justifications. One example is the tearjerker “The Kazminskis” in which a to-be kidnapper reminisces about his grandfather who survived a WWII concentration camp and frets about a boy who he believes might be his son. Similarly, “Tender, Like My Heart” is filled with Tedi’s memories of her father. But both of these stories involve criminal violence: kidnapping in the former; drug addiction and human trafficking in the latter. Another story involves a completely unexpected shark attack. In fact, most of these stories contain at least one event that is so sensational it almost seems unnecessary or over-the-top. But this tact is necessary. Such violence does indeed occur, Roberts seems to be saying, and that violence is nowhere near the loudest part of his protagonists’ lives.

Whether Of Fathers & Gods is labeled grit-lit or Southern lit, or crime fiction, Roberts’ short fiction offers a new voice and fresh perspective. In a world where people, especially those in the margins (the loners, the sex workers, the orphans, the bastards) struggle to be seen, Roberts asks if being seen, whether by a father or a god, is enough. Not merely seen but accepted, not merely noticed, but wanted, desired, needed.

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