By Jim Oaten
Dodging down back-alleys in bomb-torn Beirut. Wheeling prior God and site visitors in Mombassa, Kenya. Slipping round the edges of Alzheime's illness, the Gulf struggle, and the eternity of CNN.
Set someplace among right here and the heat-death of the universe, Jim Oaten's debut assortment serves up random samples of literal and literary fact scooped up at best velocity. even if peeking out from the backseat of mother and Dad's motor vehicle or surveying the dirty wings of psychological wards, Accelerated Paces hurdles that uneasy terrain among artistic truth and sincere fiction. those brief tales and items forget about borders as they jaunt thorough exterior journeys and inner voyages.
This is either inventive non-fiction and inventive fiction, which follows the belief of crossing limitations and blurring borders. This assortment is an particular demonstration of ways the 2 genres interaction, of the way a non-fiction occasion can encourage a fictional piece, and, apparently adequate, the opposite as well.
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Additional resources for Accelerated Paces. Travels Across Borders and Other Imaginary Boundaries
Jaywalking, perhaps. Or skipping Sunday services for thirty-seven years. Instead, I give the Scot the vacant promise I make to myself on every long flight. ” He shrugs. “Suit yourself,” then plugs himself into the seat-back monitor and the fraudulent brogue of Shrek. Constant armrest hopping aside, the Scot’s been pretty good as drunks go. Decidedly not garrulous, thank god, except for a short stint of chitchat after the first few beers. , and I established my Scottish credentials, explaining that my mom and dad were from Sauchie and Rothesay respectively.
Ha! Do I pay you? —No. Pee other line. There you are with no wits about you when you need them most, and only yourself to blame, and yet in the back of your head you still think you’ve done the right thing because you’ve taken the only rational path and self-medicated to escape the nightmare at 35,000 feet that brought to you to this surreal crossroad in the first place. In its soul-destroying arc between fear, boredom, and then more fear, flying mimics the psychological continuum of long-standing conflict, only you have the privilege of paying for the pain.
My father hisses in answer to all as we speed through the flatlands of Alberta. We settle back, satisfied Dad has responded. I stare out the window, wondering why on earth anyone would need so much wheat. “It seems almost a shame to eat them. They look so peaceful,” says my Mom. It’s growing dark as Sinatra signs off “… in my heart you will remain. My stardust melody. ” My father snaps on the headlights. “Sheena, give me a cigarette. ” “I don’t have any. ” “You opened a carton this morning. ” I can see the moon rising, balanced above the crimson farewell of a dying sun.
Accelerated Paces. Travels Across Borders and Other Imaginary Boundaries by Jim Oaten