December Book of the Month: Hardly Children
Yes, I know. You’re probably thinking, holy shit! The first collection of short stories for Book of the month! I may or may not have said, more than once, that I find short stories pretty much a waste of time. I’m a commitment girl. When I start something, I’m in it for the long run! Short stories, to me, are usually like one night stands. I’m not into it, I don’t want it, I find it pretty exhausting.
When I received a copy of Hardly Children way back in August or September, I decided to give it a fair shot. I receive what seems like hundreds of books each month - and I only tell you about the best ones. Well, this is one of the best ones.
I decided to take it with me to the airport, because even though I’m a constant traveller, I still get anxious and I decided short stories would be the best way to spend waiting time without being too distracted.
Guys! I read this in a couple of hours! It’s so good! You’ll love it. I thought it would be appropriate for December since it’s the holiday season, and you need something to read in between fun/exhausting family time + eating sessions. The collection of stories also deals with the grey area between childhood and adulthood, the concept of being an adult, and a certain loneliness…you know. In theme for the holidays!
“A man hangs from the ceiling of an art gallery. A woman spells out messages to her sister using her own hair. Children deemed “bad” are stolen from their homes. In Hardly Children, Laura Adamczyk’s rich and eccentric debut collection, familiar worlds—bars, hotel rooms, cities that could very well be our own—hum with uncanny dread.
The characters in Hardly Children are keyed up, on the verge, full of desire. They’re lost, they’re in love with someone they shouldn’t be, they’re denying uncomfortable truths using sex or humor. They are children waking up to the threats of adulthood, and adults living with childlike abandon.
With command, caution, and subtle terror, Adamczyk shapes a world where death and the possibility of loss always emerge. Yet the shape of this loss is never fully revealed. Instead, it looms in the periphery of these stories, like an uncomfortable scene viewed out of the corner of one’s eye.”