Laura Besley, 100neHundred (Arachne Press, 2021)
In her second micro collection, Laura Besley weaves together one hundred stories of one hundred words to create one neatly jumbled narrative web. Arranged into four equal sections (to represent the seasons of a year), she uses a clear framework to complicate the seeming simplicity of the cycles that underpin our lives. Under Besley’s masterful control, the seasons are simultaneously signs and silence, fundamental but inadequate.
A sense of absence haunts many of these micro narratives. The narrator draws our attention to words in the margins, to an unrecorded note, a discarded notebook and words left unspoken. Voids can appear in busy settings and absence is shown to be liberating. In ‘Empty Nest’, a woman delights in the opportunity to be (by) herself: ‘For a couple of hours, I’m not a wife, not a mother. I’m just me.’ Motherhood is a recurring theme, whether individual or collective, and Besley presents the joys and challenges of being (or not being) a mother in a sensitive and balanced way.
The most poignant season is “Spring” in which Besley portrays a menagerie of missed opportunities. The section chronicles a series of countdowns and failed cycles that culminate, fittingly, in a warning from Mother Earth: ‘I tried to warn them, and/ they grumbled about the clouds of ash which/ grounded their planes…’ (‘Early Warning’). In this story, Besley makes use of poetic shape to contrast the signs available with human inaction. After reading the chilling final lines, the reader feels obliged to flick back through the whole section with a more attentive eye.
I only needed to post a letter, but managed to make the errand last all morning
‘Invisible’
An important aspect of 100neHundred‘s composition is the combination of past, present and future. Futuristic scenes of robots taking over homes share the stage with blasts from the past (Blockbuster makes an appearance in ‘Five Digit Pin’). These conflicting temporalities meet head-on in a complicated present that can’t leave the past behind despite being aware of the need to move on. In this context, Besley plays an interesting temporal game in ‘Don’t Look Ahead’ where the present-day character supports the future self. The story subverts the traditional carpe diem message by infusing it with a more subtle and responsible quality. A new (less succinct) mantra could be: don’t obsess about the future and make sure you enjoy the journey, but don’t forget that today’s decisions create tomorrow’s world.
Besley writes with sensitivity and an acute awareness of what to include in the frame and what to omit. In ‘How the camera lies’, she stages the limitations of the snapshot to remind her reader to look beyond surface appearances. Every story in 100neHundred is worthy of a re-read; the entire collection deserves many more. The careful reader will be rewarded with new connections each time: the dynamic, shifting images feed off one another to deepen meaning and trouble our superficial interpretations. Besley’s mini cycle is a huge success.
Laura Besley, 100neHundred (Arachne Press, 2021). Available here.
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