Book
Reviews
|
|||
|
Go to Executive Times
Archives |
|||
|
Goodnight,
Nobody by Michael Knight Rating: ••• (Recommended) |
|
||
|
Click on title or picture to buy from amazon.com |
|
||
|
|
|||
|
Mesmerizing The nine short stories in Michael Knight’s
new collection, Goodnight,
Nobody, all pack a wallop. Treat yourself to nine nights of fine reading
by reading this book. Make it eight nights, here’s an excerpt of one complete
story, “The Mesmerist” (pp. 67-69): Moody
boarded The Silver Star bound for DC, where he would hop The Crescent and
ride it through the night. There was a dinner theater in New Orleans looking
for a mesmerist to open the show and he had played well there in the past. In
the seat opposite his, a girl was reading a fashion magazine. She was wearing
a sweatshirt (Boston University Chamber Music Society), and every few seconds
she tucked the same wayward strand of hair behind her ear. Moody had a gift
for reading people and, in this girl, he recognized a sadness, something
familiar and close to his heart. He saw it in the slump of her shoulders. He
saw it in the hint of wear and tear around her eyes. She was hopeful and
afraid. She had been unlucky all her life. This girl would have a broken
heart before too long. "Are
you watching me?" she said. "I hate being watched." She
closed the magazine and leveled a glare at Moody. In one motion, he reached
into the pocket of his coat, withdrew a penlight, and flicked the beam across
her line of sight. He said, "Every muscle in your body is limp now. I am
pulling your eyes closed with silken threads." The girl opened her
mouth, but instead of speaking, she slumped in her seat. He counted down from
ten to one and when he was finished, she was perfectly asleep. Her hands
upturned and pendulous beside her. Her head bobbing as they rocked across a
trestle. She looked vaguely surprised. In
Philadelphia, Moody steered her along in the tide of exiting passengers. He
bought a pair of tickets in a sleeping berth to Cleveland. While they rolled
cross-country in the dark. Moody described the life they would have
together. He said she would never be lonely. He told her she would be
possessed of grace and charm. He rambled until morning. "I’m going to
count again," he said. "This time, when you wake, you will no
longer be acquainted with unhappiness." Moody
found day work and they rented in a neighborhood sumptuous with brick and
shade. They were happy for a while. Penelope took piano lessons from an
elderly woman on the block, Mrs. Berryman, who often stopped Moody on the
street and said, "That Penelope
of yours is the most confident beginner I’ve ever had. It's like she knows piano
in her bones." If the weather was right for open windows, Moody could
hear her practicing when he walked home at night He would stand in the yard
marveling at the simple bricks and elegant maples and surprise himself with
the notion that this was the life he had been looking for all his days. One
evening, already within earshot of Penelope's piano, Moody spotted a stranger
peeking in the windows. It was fall, leaves chameleoning on their branches.
Moody hurried up the street, called a friendly hello, wondered aloud what the
man was doing on his porch. The man smiled in what Moody guessed was meant to
be a reassuring way. "I'm
a private investigator," he said. "I've been looking for a
girl." He retrieved a photograph from his briefcase—Penelope with a green
ribbon pinned to her shoulder. "What
did she win?" Moody said. "Second
prize in the Fairfax County Piano Recital," he said. "She did
Chopin. Her name's Penelope." Moody
slipped his penlight from his pocket, flicked the beam in his practiced
manner. He lowered his voice and said,"You have made a mistake. There is
no Penelope here." "I
have made a mistake," the man repeated. "There is no Penelope
here." His
eyes were glazed, his mouth hanging open. The photograph fluttered from his
fingertips. Moody
said, "Perhaps she has run off to Honduras. You should go down and have
a look." "Perhaps
she has run off to Honduras," the man said. "I should go down and
have a look." Moody
watched him stagger up the sidewalk to his car and drive away. He bent and
picked up the picture, stood looking at it until Penelope's music came back
to him, a melancholy sound on the fragile air. At
Christmas, they invited lonely Mrs. Berryman over and after dinner she sat beside Penelope
on the piano bench and they played duets of holiday songs. When she was
tired, they bundled Mrs. Berryman into her coat and walked her home. They
stood at the curb and watched the snow gathering on the hood of Moody’s car. Penelope
said, "I love how the snow muffles and magnifies everything at the same
time. My voice sounds so loud just now.” Moody
slipped his arm around her waist, let the deepening silence drift back in
behind her words. He kissed the top of Penelope's head, her hair cold and
brittle and dusted with snow. He
said, "You should have worn your hat" I’ll
be fine," she said. "You mother me too much, Moody." She
leaned her head on his shoulder and drew him against her. Christmas trees
shone through parted curtains. The snow sparkled. Moody wondered if their
footprints would be covered by morning. “The Mesmerist” is the shortest story in
the collection, and the others are equally imaginative and well written, with
just enough character development to bring pleasure to a reader. Enjoy
reading Goodnight,
Nobody. Steve Hopkins, March 25, 2003 |
|||
|
|
|||
|
ã 2003 Hopkins and Company, LLC The
recommendation rating for this book appeared in the April 2003
issue of Executive
Times URL
for this review: http://www.hopkinsandcompany.com/Books/Goodnight
Nobody.htm For
Reprint Permission, Contact: Hopkins
& Company, LLC • 723 North Kenilworth Avenue • Oak Park, IL 60302 E-mail: books@hopkinsandcompany.com |
|||
