CANOES

A searching story collection considers the meaning, textures, and echoes of language.

French author de Kerangal’s eight stories—seven very brief tales and one novella—constitute a sensitive group marked by vocal suggestions, impressions, and reverberations. Several listen closely to the timbre of a voice, as in “Stream and Iron Filings,” where a woman lowers her tone to sound less fragile, more trustworthy, for her new radio job. In “Nevermore,” the narrator is reading the titular Edgar Allan Poe poem in a sound studio, part of a recording project combining many voices, hers described as “light canoe on dark ocean.” In the touching “A Light Bird,” a father and daughter argue over the deletion of the answering-machine message spoken by their wife and mother, now dead for more than five years. For the father, the voice exists in an “infinite present” while he and his child resemble “two blind people in a canoe, paddling countercurrent.” Teasing canoe references crop up widely, from the nucleus of Halley’s comet in “Arianespace” to an actual craft, hovering, wedged between walls, in “Ontario.” While several stories have a French setting, the novella, Mustang, describes the strain of a French woman’s temporary relocation to Golden, Colorado, tolerating her partner Sam’s wish for a change of course after a tragic event. Sam’s voice becomes louder and slower in this foreign setting as he more deeply absorbs a U.S. culture with which they are not unfamiliar, having heard much about the States—or the “stets”—back home. Yet this is “another planet” to the narrator, where she shifts and roams, gathering up experiences to take back. Cerebral, dotted with unusual vocabulary—“cadastral,” “ruderal”—the stories capture fleeting ideas and moments, sometimes hazily. Above all there’s an appealing tone of exploration, of reaching for the ineffable in the past, present, and future.

An accomplished braid of explorations into sound and significance.