Author: ChristianFennell
Publisher: Firenze Books
ISBN: 978-1-7772810-1-7

Flash fiction, accordingto Reedsy, "isn’t just a pared-down short story. Itsfocus isn’t necessarily on plot or characters, though it shouldstill have both. Instead, the emphasis is placed on movement: eachsentence must peel back a new layer that wasn’t visible at first.If a line (or even a word) doesn't progress the story or reveal moreabout a character, it probably won't belong in this medium."

A prose poem, according tothe Poetry Foundation, is "prose composition that, whilenot broken into verse lines, demonstrates other traits such assymbols, metaphors, and other figures of speech common to poetry."

I'm starting with thesetwo definitions in an effort to place many of the 22 stories inChristian Fennell's debut book, Torrents of Our Time. Hiswebsite says that he writes literary fiction, essays, book reviews,and offers manuscript editing services to a select few clients. Hewas a columnist and the fiction editor of The PragueReview (which no longer has a website), and he has worked "asa screenwriter, commercial director, and as a producer and executiveproducer of extreme sports."

The stories are all short,some no more than a page and a half, which is sent me to the flashfiction definition. They are pared down to almost nothing, requiringthe reader to fill in place, time, motivation, and more. BecauseFennell offers so little, it is difficult to care about the people inthe stories or what they do. 

The second story is titled"Introduction: Why I Write Fiction" and begins "How dowe use this space—this time, you and I, best. What do we have tosay? Because that's what it is, isn't it? Like a train on a track ina needle—running. Time. Understanding. This place and love. We allhave this and we all want this." I do not understand "atrain on a track in a needle," Nor do I understand what "this"is, and the second paragraph does not help me: "For the longestI couldn't write directly about mental health. I still can't, notreally, not comfortably, and most certainly, not particularly well.Not as someone who suffers from it [mental health?], but as someonewho lived and loved next to it."

Which is why I wonder ifsome of these pieces are really prose poems; they're not supposed tobe read as short stories. They are incidents, anecdotes: Twobrothers, drinking beer, sitting on "blocks of dried crackedwhite oak" decide a way to quit smoking is to have your mouthsewn shut. (Apparently it doesn't work.) A guy is traveling with toomuch cash and connects with a Russian girl. A girl meets a guy who isabout to kidnap a cash machine. A guy builds a ship 43-feet bow tostern, 13-feet wide, 10-feet high in the middle of the Canadianprairie; it doesn't go anywhere.

Much of the dialogue isdrastically pared down. Here in "On My Way to Sunday" aretwo women in a coffee shop (Fennell does not usually use quotationmarks.)

Rebecca sipped her coffee.We've seen each other here now for how long?
I'm not sure?
Sixor seven months? Perhaps longer?
Yes, at least that.
Whyshouldn't we get to know one another? What is this world otherwise?Although, it is true, one must be careful. But only to a degree.
Yes,true.
You don't know who I am, do you?
You? No.
Jelinek.
ThatJelinek?
Yes.
Oh.
And what is it you do?
Realestate.
That can be rewarding . . . .

According to thepublishing acknowledgements in the back of the book, a slightlydifferent version of that story was published in the HCEReview, a University College of Dublin literary magazine. Inall, 15 of the 22 stories that appear in Torrents of OurTime have been published in international literary magazines.

While these are not to mytaste, they are each interesting in its own way. Readers who arelooking for something different—the literary magazine editors whofirst published the stories—will find it in Fennell's collection.