“The Grotesques” & Something Remonstrative
Image credit from the BBC, George Thwaites.
Story: “The Grotesques”
“The Grotesques” by Sarah Hall (winner of the BBC National Short Story Award 2020, published in The Guardian) is an excellent example of sameness in difference and a call to empathy. It’s a very English story on the surface, in its tone and voice, but beneath those obvious differences hums something true to many in these difficult times and having to do with self-doubt and judgement, with the internalized expectations of others, and our own self-denied claim to joy. Generally, the story looks at anxiety and depression, and how some suffer in silence. Specifically, though, “The Grotesques” speaks to the expectations shackled to women regarding their looks, success, motherhood and the right to choose, the need to be “useful”, and to do it all without complaint. It’s a message, though, that can resonate with anyone feeling lost these days, cast adrift in an uncertain political and existential sea, the future a dark shroud of starless sky.
If she’d been someone else, the prank might have seemed funny.
In the very first sentence we’re immediately thrust into a sense of ironic dread, the sort of sarcastic, sardonic tone easily identifiable with meme culture and the need to be seen and feel connected. The story continues to unfold and expand to an unfathomable size as it follows Dilly on her birthday—though you don’t know it’s her birthday until much later because Dilly thinks so little about herself and her needs that the information is buried and only mentioned in passing at first, her birthday in a sentence on its way to explain what she’s been lead to think is truly important, which is about her mother’s tea party.
Dilly’s thoughts portray a sad, impotent empathy—she feels many things, for herself and others, but is unable to act on those feelings. Her actions, too, betray an underlying depression beside her own ignored desires, a subtle, interesting tension that is quite easily missed in a first reading. For example, the story opens with Dilly looking at the passed-out body of Charlie-bo, a “vagrant…who was quite famous around town, a kind of filthy savant” that we find out later was someone like Dilly, a failed college student with every chance to succeed. Sleeping Charlie-bo has had a mask of fruit placed on his face by freshman students returning to college: lemons for eyes, a banana smile, a carved piece of melon for a nose, and corn cobs arranged as hair on-end in a halo above him. As the opening line suggests, this might be funny to others who were “walking past …. making unkind comments…. [and] a few laughs, and some clapping”, but because of her deep empathy, her own self-pity regarding her life and perceived failures, the prank isn’t humorous. Instead, it’s sad.
For a moment, Dilly thinks about acting, about helping, that she can remove the mask of fruit and wake Charlie-bo up, and that if she did he would “revert to his old self, smile and speak articulately, as he hadn’t for years. [That] he would thank her.” Unfortunately, she’s unable to do so, her hand out-stretched for a moment until she thinks otherwise and pulls it back into a pocket at which point Charlie-bo wakes up and the opposite of what Dilly had imagined possible is revealed; instead of a transformative act of compassion she’s faced with the harsh, underlying truth of reality as the “banana and corncobs fell away and the real face was revealed: discoloured skin with reefs of eczema and cold-burns, a sore, sticky mouth.” In such a short frame of writing we’re exposed to the inherent sadness and depression Dilly feels, the disconnected nature of it being identified in the world but unrecognized as something familiar within herself, and the hopelessness she feels regarding it, how no matter what she thinks possible there remains the internalized feeling that there’s nothing she can do to make it better, for herself or anyone else.
…the world was full of grotesque, frightening, ridiculous things. It was full of meaningless sorrow and contradiction. Like a sick little baby, with a perfect soul. Here – didn’t he see? – they could all help each other. Failure could be forgiven, good things shared. They could all be each other. Who you were, really, was who else you were.
Hall weaves so many intricate, necessary threads regarding Dilly into this story that, to pull them out and discuss properly, it would take a great deal of words and space to do them all justice. It would also make it less enjoyable as they are more powerfully felt than thought. It is important to highlight the chiastic structure of the story, however, how you can almost “fold” it in the middle and see the arc on either side of the fold echoed in the other. And where the first half of the fold is about Dilly looking outward at others, seeing her own sadness and cast-aside-ness, the second half sees her recognizing it in herself, allowing herself small nibbles of happiness, however slight the recognition and relief is, and the shape of resignation it her feelings finally take.
This isn’t a story about a character reaching enlightenment or about a comeuppance in the character’s environment, it’s not about getting even or rising above. It’s a story of ironic distance in which the reader is made painfully aware of something pervasively toxic in the world and the harm it causes. In “The Grotesques” final movements, I’m reminded of Hemingway’s “A Clean, Well-Lighted Place” in which there’s no solution presented only the problem itself laid bare—like Charlie-bo—all of it’s soft, glistening parts exposed and vulnerable. In a conversation with Tessa Hadley in Granta, Hall talks about how “stories often leave a reader at that moment when acts have occurred and characters have reacted, but the reader is then asked to imagine the fuller picture, to contemplate our nature, our flaws, our possibilities, existence, meaning”, which, it seems, is the aim of this story as well, though it has the same problem that “A Clean, Well-Lighted Place” has in that while the story accurately depicts and draws attention to the issue at hand but it’s a passive act, like pointing, or hitting the like button on someone’s post. The reader is presented in terribly realistic terms an issue with society the world over and yet there is no call to action, leaving the reader to solve the puzzle.
Perhaps, though, that’s the sign of great fiction. It reveals the hidden. It unearths an issue or problem and presents a starting place from which to begin, which is where “The Grotesques” leaves its reader, at a beginning of sorts. This story, and all good stories, asks us to suspend our judgments and to listen and to feel; it asks that we suspend the “otherness” of those unfamiliar to us so that we can better understand their problems and to join in the process of helping. And with not too fine a point on it, we’re left with our empathy readied to ponder the issues laid before us, left thinking—left realizing—that there’s more we can do for each other, for ourselves; that we’re not so different after all.
Cocktail: Something Remonstrative
Mummy had only sent Dilly out for a few items – teabags, cream, jam. It had taken a long time to decide on the jam. Dilly couldn’t remember if Mummy had asked for a particular kind, and she’d begun to fixate on the seeds in the raspberry jam jar. They’d seemed like a million prickly eyes.
I wanted the cocktail for this reading to fit nicely within Dilly’s immediate world of the story, but I also wanted it to reflect the moment when Dilly began succumbing to her desires, no matter how small that act of succumbing was. Small victories are still triumphs, after all. When she finally allows herself to speak about her birthday it’s when she’s at Mummy’s tea party, thinking about scones, and, despite her mother’s close watch of her food intake, once a plate with a scone, jam, and cream finds its way into her hands Dilly almost chokes on the pleasure of it, and allows herself a second serving. The scone, the jam and cream—it all rang as pivotal and important.
Something Remonstrative is built with raspberry tea-infused vodka, Aperol, grapefruit and lemon juices, and a scone orgeat with a cream float. It’s a bright and rich cocktail with a layer of decadence, a small blanket of comfort, perfect for a weekend brunch or post dinner nightcap, or shared with friends over scones and cookies. The cream can also be left out and the drink can be made up, as a martini, or served over ice. After all, not everyone takes cream with the scone. Whatever the occasion, make it a treat and a joy.
Recipe
2oz Tea-Infused Vodka (I used Ketel One*)
0.5oz Aperol
0.75oz Grapefruit Juice
0.25oz Lemon Juice
0.5oz Scone Orgeat (or Simple Syrup)
Pinch of salt
0.5oz Heavy Cream or Half & Half (Optional)
Make the Scone Orgeat: In a sealable container crumble one large scone (~2.5oz by weight); add 8oz white sugar and 8oz boiling water. Stir until sugar is mostly dissolved. Seal, and place in refrigerator over night or for 12 hours. Strain the mixture to remove the scone and crumbs using a fine mesh strainer or nut milk bag. Add 0.5oz Amaretto and store orgeat in the fridge for up to a month. It’s a great sweetener for tea as well as cocktails.\
Infuse the Vodka: In a sealable container, pour off 8oz of vodka and add two tea sachets; you can choose whatever flavor you like (I used a raspberry zinger) though black teas and fruit teas work best. Let steep for two hours, shaking periodically, then remove the tea sachets. The vodka will take on a deep color associated with the tea; for the raspberry, a deep red.
Add all ingredients, except for Cream, to a shaker with ice and shake for 10-15 seconds. Strain into your glass. Using the back of a spoon, place the tip just against the surface of the cocktail and slowly pour the cream along the spoon. It will pool and float, and you can use the spoon to gently nudge it to cover the entire surface. Garnish with a line of tea leaves or a mint sprig.
Indulge in some self-care, and enjoy.
Notes: You can use the tea-infused vodka in a lot of other drinks, especially if it’s been infused with a fruit tea; it will work well in a classic Cosmo or a (clean) Martini, try it in a Mimosa, or you can make 2oz of it into a highball with 5oz of your favorite seltzer or soda (0.5oz citrus juice optional). Aperol is an Italian liqueur that’s great for mixing but is probably known best for its Spritz with champagne or prosecco; it’s not a bad thing to have around the house!
*At the time of posting, I was an active representative for this spirits brand.