Pat King and I go back at least a decade, to the Outsider Writers Collective. What strikes me about his writing is the way that he turns the lens on characters, and then magnifies their most interesting characteristics. His characters are memorable, and he examines them each like exhibits. King is an observer of people, while documenting alienation. In “King Acid and Other Essays”, he starts us off with King Acid- a reckless, hedonistic party type who has lost touch with the reality curtain. Contrast him with James Fish, the character who repeats in the second essay, the small town heavy equipment operator who is the subject of an obituary and who forces the narrator to confront his “forgettable” imprint on the town. What little we know about Fish is repeated, defining his life:
“James Fish was a heavy equipment operator in Freeville. He had a wife. Now his life was a few pages in an obituary. For me the question was, “Could he have become anything else?”
According to the narrator, no. His life was predestined as a natural progression in Freeville, where you got a house on a quiet street and got a job and raised a family and died without much else to say. His job is repeated, because, unlike King Acid, he doesn’t stand out as remarkable. There isn’t much more to say about the guy. We return to him as we encounter others, and it is pointed out that the narrator sees himself as forgettable. Later, we learn that he does “escape” the ordinary, to try out a less conventional life with a poet in Philadelphia.
So what does it take to be memorable? He mentions the victims of local crimes in his hometown, and how the act elevates the victims to brief notoriety. “Nobody beat fate in that town and everyone knew their place. Nobody dreams themselves out of Dryden. I’ve grown into a ghoul and James Fish grew into whatever he was meant to become and then he died and everyone else became who they were meant to be, because the Unreality Machine must have its fuel. And so it feeds.”
In the next short, the reader gets a glimpse into a psychiatric ward, a brief sketch of inpatients and just enough detail to peek into an episode, both in the sense of detached fiction and the writer, emotionally. He is different from the others in that we expect him to return to his life, still intact. The stories continue their biographical tone, examining lineage and substance abuse, health and trying to straighten up, friendships and relationships. The fascination with characters continues, through an encounter with JP Marin, guitarist and vocalist for childproof, and the piece “childproof in Brooklyn” which originally appeared in Red Fez five or so years ago, a woven interview/narrative. He is encouraged by JP Marin, that “maybe the freaks really are winning”. Winning, or negotiating the terms to persist, developing models that can withstand their surroundings?
King has political commentary as well, (an essay on Syrian refugees) although one could argue that there are undertones in his fiction too, although less explicit. He doesn’t shy away from personal recollections, and self examining. The second half of the collection focuses mostly on his own life, (presumably) past and closer to the present and the family, relationships, emotional and existential terrain that he explores mindful of his “formative” years.
The question stays with us, however. What does it take to have a remarkable life, an artist life, a life with the freedom to create while coping with the need for stability? He points out that even King Acid settles down and gets married. King has settled down, with a mortgage in the suburbs. He has matured into an appreciation of his partner. And yet, we think back to the JP Marin interview and we imagine that there is a longing still for that world and for a way to reconcile it all.
Get it here.
