PURITY

Wry and heady short stories.

Many of the stories in this collection—Tichý’s first to be translated into English—begin seemingly midbreath. The effect is like emerging from underwater to a series of manic, monologuing strangers. Tichý was born in Prague to Czech and Polish parents but lives and works in Sweden. This geographical sweep is present in his characters—a thief, a janitor, a neo-Nazi—who nearly all feel mismatched with their cities, their occupations, or modernity. “I wish there was a scene I could call upon to illustrate my experience of class,” confides one. But no climax comes to mind, only the cumulative indignities of daily life. Most characters submit to their circumstances, even as many, especially men, imagine or threaten violence. After enduring a stranger’s verbal abuse on a bus, one speaker goes home and serially rewrites the encounter: One version wonders, “Is the monster going to beat the shit out of me?”; in another, they “fight, in silence…over the little armrest between the seats” on a train. Tichý has a gift for evocative juxtapositions, though his prose-poetic tone can sometimes trigger a double take. When a paragraph nests a story within a story, one speaker’s abrupt recollection of someone else’s experience, it’s easy to lose track of whose thoughts are being voiced. Grotesque descriptions of the human body further flatten the experience of being alive. One character pictures “the digestive tract, this, like, system of organs, that goes from the mouth to the anus and I wonder if this is the essence of a human.” Another lists a vivid series of possible methods for dying by suicide: “The plastic bag, seen from the inside, the moisture.” Don’t forget to come up for air.

A dizzying look inside the heads of people at the margins.