My father never forgave her for this capitulation to The System. This was the late sixties and he’d read his fair share of the fashionable literature. A natural outsider he was attracted to the theme of sedition he read into the work of Vonnegut and Solzhenitsyn, among others—anyone at all who could fuel his anarchic instincts. His appetite for chaos was the reason he’d never been a successful company man. He wore it as a badge of honour, that he’d fled every airline job he’d ever had the minute it became stale and predictable.
I'm really partial to Cory Taylor. I think she has an amazing ability to capture a generation through a singular character. The effect is always moving in ways you don't expect, and her new short story, Unsuitable, over at bumf does this wonderfully by the study of a father's clothes.
You can read Unsuitable over on the bumf website.
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