MACHINE

Teenagers spend a hazy summer at the shore. One girl comes to terms with both her emerging independence and the mysterious death of a girl just like her.

Steinberg (Spectacle, 2013) writes in small, interconnected, and poetic fragments. She follows one unnamed teenager through a summer of partying that results in the drowning death of another local girl under mysterious circumstances. This is “a story about salvation,” she says, “but that doesn’t mean this girl was saved; and it doesn’t mean that we were saved; or that anyone was, or ever would be; it only means that something, in this moment, needed saving.” Through Steinberg’s poetic prose and chapters that braid together different timelines from the same summer, we come to learn of the girl’s feelings of guilt about her friend’s death. The same summer, the girl discovers her parents’ shortcomings and begins to fight against the stereotype of the drunken party girl that she sometimes embraces. Steinberg’s observations of the delicate workings of interpersonal relationships are astute. Her protagonist says, “What I mean is, girls, there is no love the way you think of love.” Love is the mysterious promise that hangs over all the sexual encounters at the shore; adults and teens alike allow the promise of love to draw them away from sensible behavior. Through her reflections on the night of the drowning and her conversations with her family following a shocking discovery about her father, the girl is both discovering her power and the gendered expectations that cage it. She begins to find her own voice, and she questions the culture that allowed her friend to drown—even though she is a complicit participant in that culture. “And that’s what happens when you drink,” she tells us, parroting the town’s gossip. “And that’s what happens when you fool around.”

Heartbreaking, eerie, and acutely observant.