Bad Boys, Medusa's Daughter, and Microfiction Microbrew

Pir Rothenberg’s short story “Medusa’s Daughter” is a fascinating and fanciful elaboration of that very conceit—what if Medusa had a teenaged daughter who had to wear a cloche hat and oversized sunglasses to high school so that her hair (with the capacity to turn into baby corn snakes) would remain hidden and no one would stare into her fatal eyes?  

The girl’s name is Mona Carr. She’s a senior. Nathan Frock is a boy in her homeroom. Their relationship, which forms the plot, began in third grade, when she turned him to stone before he could throw a rock at her during recess.

“It took Mona half a year to figure out how to undo the spell, and during that time and for years later, she dreamed of Nathan Frock.” The separateness, the self-consciousness Mona feels is one many high-schoolers can relate to (to a lesser degree). The same can be said for the fears and dangers inherent in a girl’s first romance, particularly that first kiss:  “Shivers grooved up her spine and down her legs so that she didn’t at first notice her hair beginning to coalesce, undulate, swarm.” This is a highly original and captivating work.

There is something called the 2010 River Styx Schlafly Microfiction Microbrew Contest. Jessica McCann won the Third Prize for “Night Window,” about a man and woman awakened by three boys who are throwing live mice at their window. I found this to be the best “microstory” of the three, the most memorable. 

The man in the house, Jack, a Vietnam vet, confronts the boys and describes in excruciating detail just what a living thing goes through when it’s hurled against a blunt object. He suggests, as an alternative to live mice, eggs, tomatoes, or toilet paper. 

Now I want you to read the final paragraph of this story carefully. It’s the last piece of writing in the issue, and I don’t think I have to insert “[sic]” for you to see what I see. I really don’t think McCann was trying to make some sort of ironic point here. I think the editor dropped the ball.

“In the morning, he would sweep up the tiny carcasses with a dustpan and dump them in the trash. And, the next weekend, I would wash yoke from our windows and trim.”