In Matthew J. Trafford’s first collection of stories, The Divinity Gene, the uncanny sits comfortably alongside the mundane.Trafford frequently and matter-of-factly injects a fantasy element (a mermaid, zombies, even old-school science fiction) into his narratives.
So, an emotionally distant father, a fisherman, shows his young son what to do with an unusual catch in “Gutted.” And “iFaust” is a trendy update on bartering souls for worldly success.
Trafford is also fond of some textual sleights-of-hand. Things like side-by-side narratives, for example. One of the stories, “The Grimpels,” not only has footnotes, the notes are tagged to specific characters.
This is all snappy and attention-getting, and it is entertaining, but Trafford has more on his mind than surface flash. There’s a real sensitivity at the base of these stories, and some very profound emotions on display.
One of the themes that runs throughout the collection is loss. Sometimes, it’s something intangible like innocence. But several of the most emotionally-resonant stories deal with grief, from the point of view of people who’ve lost lover, wife, or child.
The fusion of metaphysical and the all-too-human culminates, fittingly, in the last story, which gives the collection its title. “The Divinity Gene” combines Resurrection and genetics. (The gene belongs to Him, if you catch my drift.) It’s thirty pages of God, history, extreme science, and depravity that raises questions about the spiritual and the human.
Another theme that of many of the stories is sexuality, particularly the gay male sort. Half the stories have gay men as main characters and their sexuality is an issue of one kind or another.
Thus, the main character in “Past Perfect” is a young man with a dying partner. He frets that his Church Street neighbours will think that his lover is stricken with AIDs.
“Forgetting Helen” is a coming-of-age story as well as a coming-out story, a tale of embracing life instead of experiencing it once-removed.
I took a look at the National Post review by Steven W. Beattie. It’s curious that Beattie doesn’t mention the gay theme that’s prominent in so many of the stories.
In fact, one of the stories that Beattie highlights, “Camping at Dead Man’s Point,” focuses on the sexuality of the narrator, a writer named “Matthew Trafford.”
In the story, “Matthew” goes on his annual camping trip with his brother and his buddies, all of whom are straight. But he notices that the atmosphere has changed since he came out to them and he’s a little more apprehensive this time around. His unease is increased with a last-minute addition to the camping crew, a zombie. (They prefer to be called “Undead,” actually. He’s still a nasty piece of work.)
Although Beattie calls the story “a parable of intolerance,” it seems almost perverse not to note one of the targets of that intolerance. The critic admits, though, to finding the message somewhat too obvious.
Writing about another story, Beattie amusingly and rather primly refers to the establishment run by “The Renegade Angels of Parkdale” as “a dance club.” That’s true, but’s it’s more accurately a gay bar and the angels are all muscles and sexy scars. The angelic twist that Trafford adds to a jaded milieu is one of the delights of the collection.
I realize that I’m in danger of turning this review into a review of another review but I think that’s it’s something Trafford would appreciate, something in line with his book. After all, the character “Matthew Trafford” in “Camping at Dead Man’s Point” is the subject of a poem called “Matthew J, Trafford” by someone called Linda Besner.
In real life, poet Linda Besner has published a poem called “Matthew J, Trafford.” Matthew Trafford notes the poem in his Acknowledgments. It’s as delightfully playful as a Hall of Mirrors.
In the end, what we’ve got with this very strong collection is the different and the normal, for want of better terms. Moreover, it’s the strange, the abnormal, the abject, that gives the situations Trafford has created their richness. It’s a symbiotic relationship. The physical needs the metaphysical, the narrative needs the metanarrative. It’s not a question of tolerance, it’s a matter of necessity.
And that’s what makes so many of these stories powerful. The science of craft alone isn’t enough for fiction. You’ve gotta have heart, as the old show tune goes, miles and miles of heart (Damn Yankees, 1955).
Trafford has previously published in The Malahat Review and Matrix, and Zsuzsi Gartner chose the title story from this book to close out her new anthology, Darwin’s Bastards: Astounding Tales from Tomorrow. Most importantly though, Trafford has craft and heart.
Douglas & McIntyre | 192 pages | $22.95 | paper | ISBN #978-1553656036
‘The Divinity Gene’ by Matthew J. Trafford
Book Reviews
In Matthew J. Trafford’s first collection of stories, The Divinity Gene, the uncanny sits comfortably alongside the mundane.Trafford frequently and matter-of-factly injects a fantasy element (a mermaid, zombies, even old-school science fiction) into his narratives.
So, an emotionally distant father, a fisherman, shows his young son what to do with an unusual catch in “Gutted.” And “iFaust” is a trendy update on bartering souls for worldly success.
Trafford is also fond of some textual sleights-of-hand. Things like side-by-side narratives, for example. One of the stories, “The Grimpels,” not only has footnotes, the notes are tagged to specific characters.
This is all snappy and attention-getting, and it is entertaining, but Trafford has more on his mind than surface flash. There’s a real sensitivity at the base of these stories, and some very profound emotions on display.
One of the themes that runs throughout the collection is loss. Sometimes, it’s something intangible like innocence. But several of the most emotionally-resonant stories deal with grief, from the point of view of people who’ve lost lover, wife, or child.
The fusion of metaphysical and the all-too-human culminates, fittingly, in the last story, which gives the collection its title. “The Divinity Gene” combines Resurrection and genetics. (The gene belongs to Him, if you catch my drift.) It’s thirty pages of God, history, extreme science, and depravity that raises questions about the spiritual and the human.
Another theme that of many of the stories is sexuality, particularly the gay male sort. Half the stories have gay men as main characters and their sexuality is an issue of one kind or another.
Thus, the main character in “Past Perfect” is a young man with a dying partner. He frets that his Church Street neighbours will think that his lover is stricken with AIDs.
“Forgetting Helen” is a coming-of-age story as well as a coming-out story, a tale of embracing life instead of experiencing it once-removed.
I took a look at the National Post review by Steven W. Beattie. It’s curious that Beattie doesn’t mention the gay theme that’s prominent in so many of the stories.
In fact, one of the stories that Beattie highlights, “Camping at Dead Man’s Point,” focuses on the sexuality of the narrator, a writer named “Matthew Trafford.”
In the story, “Matthew” goes on his annual camping trip with his brother and his buddies, all of whom are straight. But he notices that the atmosphere has changed since he came out to them and he’s a little more apprehensive this time around. His unease is increased with a last-minute addition to the camping crew, a zombie. (They prefer to be called “Undead,” actually. He’s still a nasty piece of work.)
Although Beattie calls the story “a parable of intolerance,” it seems almost perverse not to note one of the targets of that intolerance. The critic admits, though, to finding the message somewhat too obvious.
Writing about another story, Beattie amusingly and rather primly refers to the establishment run by “The Renegade Angels of Parkdale” as “a dance club.” That’s true, but’s it’s more accurately a gay bar and the angels are all muscles and sexy scars. The angelic twist that Trafford adds to a jaded milieu is one of the delights of the collection.
I realize that I’m in danger of turning this review into a review of another review but I think that’s it’s something Trafford would appreciate, something in line with his book. After all, the character “Matthew Trafford” in “Camping at Dead Man’s Point” is the subject of a poem called “Matthew J, Trafford” by someone called Linda Besner.
In real life, poet Linda Besner has published a poem called “Matthew J, Trafford.” Matthew Trafford notes the poem in his Acknowledgments. It’s as delightfully playful as a Hall of Mirrors.
In the end, what we’ve got with this very strong collection is the different and the normal, for want of better terms. Moreover, it’s the strange, the abnormal, the abject, that gives the situations Trafford has created their richness. It’s a symbiotic relationship. The physical needs the metaphysical, the narrative needs the metanarrative. It’s not a question of tolerance, it’s a matter of necessity.
And that’s what makes so many of these stories powerful. The science of craft alone isn’t enough for fiction. You’ve gotta have heart, as the old show tune goes, miles and miles of heart (Damn Yankees, 1955).
Trafford has previously published in The Malahat Review and Matrix, and Zsuzsi Gartner chose the title story from this book to close out her new anthology, Darwin’s Bastards: Astounding Tales from Tomorrow. Most importantly though, Trafford has craft and heart.
Douglas & McIntyre | 192 pages | $22.95 | paper | ISBN #978-1553656036