I’ve sung the praises of Daniel Braum’s work enough both in
person and on this blog at this point that some of my sentiments might come off
a bit redundant here, but I’m not stopping until many, many more people convert
to the Church of Braum. If you’ve yet to read my thoughts on the genius work of
a writer who deserves to be far more well known than he is, this review will
hopefully serve as a suitable introduction.
The Wish Mechanics is Braum’s second full collection of
short fiction (his first being The Night Marchers). Unless, of course, you
count the much shorter collection Yeti. Tiger. Dragon., which only features three
stories. I’ve read enough of Braum’s work at this point that I’m guaranteed two
things when opening one of his books: 1. I know what to expect & 2. I honestly
have no idea what to expect.
Allow me to clarify. My first statement is regarding
consistency of style. Some writers are chameleons, deciding their prose should
take multiple forms depending on the story’s needs (I count myself as a member
of this particular group). Others maintain a strong, steady voice so invariable
it leaves you breathless at the ability to accomplish such a feat. Now, I don’t
think one approach is necessarily better than the other, but Braum falls firmly
in the second camp, and it works as nothing less than a major strength in his
case. As for comment #2, despite having a pretty good idea of how Braum’s words
will appear on the page (or how they will sound if read aloud), I never know
where those words are going to take me. It is this combination that makes Braum
a true visionary of modern fiction.
The quality of the stories never wavers, regardless if Braum
is attempting magical realism (“Tea in the Sahara”), introspective horror
(“Tetsuya and the Ranagareet”), science fiction (“Resolution Seventeen”), or
whatever else he chooses to write. His stories are always threatening to
transcend genre, skirting around the hallmarks one might expect and instead
opting for an emotional rawness that cannot quite be described. Sometimes the
tales are deceptively normal, then take a turn for the weird when you least
expect it (“This Is the Sound of Your Dreams Dying”). There is always something
not-quite-right going on, almost Twilight Zone-esque, but looking toward the
future. In fact, I’d love to see one (or more) of Braum’s stories adapted into
a Black Mirror episode (the title story, for instance, might be an especially
great fit).
In this collection, Braum’s writing is (as always) earnest,
poignant, dark, and moving. If you’re a fan of literary fiction that operates
on a fantastical level, I can’t think of another living writer who pulls it off
with greater finesse than Daniel Braum.
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