Reviews

These stories tantalize by bordering the darker sides of human sexuality. In exploring these darker venues, Krause has been able to illuminate humanity in general - through fleeting forays into cruelty and revenge, or, say, uncertainty and masochism. You will find stories ranging from a man falling into an increasingly bizarre relationship with a German couple in their country home ("The Brown Shirt"), to a Japanese man who cannot rid himself of the childhood memory of spying on a pair making violent love ("Taro"), to an orphan intrigued by shoes ("Shoe Polish"). All of Krause's characters share obsession, and while their obsessions may seem "insignificant" to outsiders, they reflect not so insignificant political and religious obsessions that have recently and historically caused so much global harm.

-- Joe Taylor, Livingston Press on Studies in Insignificance

Krause's collection of stories is a haunting exploration of humanity in its weakest but not necessarily most tender moments. The characters Krause explores find their obsessions just sort of crippling. There is the opponent of a chess-playing dwarf and a shortchanged cab driver, both obsessed with size. There is the child of an abusive home, obsessed with bug extermination. There are the true obsessive compulsives focused on toothpaste and cleanliness or completely ridding a town square of pigeons. Breaking through only occasionally are their foils, the spouse attempting to understand, the old woman who feeds the birds. Despite that, Krause's stories—often more detailed character sketches than truly plot driven stories—are at base disturbing, and yet you can't look away. There is the pressing sense that one might learn something, however troubling, from the almost universally pitiful men and women he introduces. This is dense, unsettling fiction--but beautifully wrought.

-- Debi Lewis, Booklist review of Studies in Insignificance

Nothing is as it seems in Richard Krause's second collection of stories, The Horror of the Ordinary.

The 23 stories play with appearances, ironies and mysteries. Some stories deal with masks characters hide behind. Fur coats or good deeds or fat or escape conceal ulterior motives. Sometimes the crimes characters obsess over bringing to justice are the very crimes they fear they commit. Other stories turn perceptions on their heads. A sniper's target is mistaken as Osama bin Laden. A restaurant customer can hardly eat his food imagining it was made by Israeli operatives, when, in fact.... The stories reference Kafka, only, in these tales, animals are personified rather than people turning into animals. The final narratives are longest and most self-reflective and existential, asking questions about identity and the nature of storytelling.

First sentences tantalize. "It was like he was visiting them," one story begins. What is "it"? Who is "he" and "them"? The narrator is often tangential to the main character, a distant yet invested observer. As the stories progress and pronouns become persons, the point is not for the plot to become clear; rather, the point is the act of uncovering layers that obscure and complexify the truth. The texture is rich and thoughtful.

Much contemporary literature taunts readers to deduce the target its symbols point to. Instead, Krause is candid with symbols, fileting them open and exploring their depths. Beetles, cockroaches and splinters explode into infestations. Political and personal atrocities plague the text, from the treatment of animals to concentration camps to orphanages to food hoarding during the Great Depression to the current obesity crisis. Sexual fantasies turn perverse. Pedophiles lurk in plain sight. Victims inflict revenge when perpetrators least expect it. Be ready to confront a disturbing dark side in these stories. The bright side is the book's careful, artistic attention to visceral and psychological detail developed into stories as intricate as a Japanese puppet show.

The Horror of the Ordinary is a collection of surreal, grotesque and beautiful short fiction breaking open the mundane as a carrier for the absurd.

-- Mari's Book Reviews

Richard Krause's 'Optical Biases' makes us redesign our way of asking questions. His epigrams invite us to reconsider the significance of knowing the difference between what we want and what we need, what we ask for and what we get, and what we are and what we think. 'Optical Biases' dislodges our perspectives and we catch our eyes gesturing at life's movements and rhythmical patterns. We wink at our thoughts that celebrate us.

-- Camelia Elias, Professor of American Studies

Eye Exams, by Richard Krause, is a collection of witty aphorisms that will catch you off-guard, make you smile, and pause with new understanding of the world around you and the people within it.

-- Susannah Eanes, Propertius Press

His aphorisms often take the form of 'proverbial play'; i.e. the core of the aphorism consists of a well-known proverbial saying or familiar expression, which the aphorism then tweaks through some ironic reversal or witty gloss. It's a tough trick to pull off, since these types of sayings can easily seem contrived or merely apposite. Krause does it with panache. These aphorisms are published in FragLit, the online journal dedicated to the fragment and all things brief, edited by Olivia Dresher.

-- James Geary, July 27, 2009, All Aphorisms, All the Time (author of Geary's Guide to the World's Great Aphorists & The Word in a Phrase, A Brief History of the Aphorism)

I first blogged about Richard Krause's aphorisms back in 2009, noting that his "aphorisms often take the form of 'proverbial play'; i.e. "the core of the aphorism consists of a well-known proverbial saying or familiar expression, which the aphorism then tweaks through some ironic reversal or witty gloss." This is still Mr. Krause's modus operandi, luring readers into a psychological double take when the expected meaning of the immanent truism is suddenly upended, which leaves you invigorated if slightly uneasy about many of the sayings' darker undertones…

-- James Geary, May 30, 2012, All Aphorisms, All the Time

A British website "Aphorism for Modern Living" by Drew Byrne posted in 2014 a long introduction and then a list of modern day aphorists. There are about 400 of what he calls "the more interesting aphorisms of modern-day aphorists." Krause heads "A Brief List of Aphorisms" and has about ten throughout. His aphorisms have also appeared on tumbler, some garnering almost 5,000 notes or likes.

"Coach"

In deference to the deposed biology teachers/coaches of the world, I write on World Wildlife Fund notepaper. The story begins in a surreal setting, moves to the Globe Theater of small town American, the basketball court; from there into the living rooms and kitchens of small town families; from there into the murky realm of suppressed sexuality and unrequited love; from there to the front page of small-town newspapers, and to the court of public opinion—guilty as charged. Coach Lambkin becomes the scapegoat for the community's sins. Finally he and Crabtree become confused in the newspaper account and in the minds of people. Chilling!

Your description of Lambkin is crystal clear, down to the smoothing of the tie. Your depiction of the girls and their parents is excruciatingly honest.

-- Sharon Whitehead, Professor of English

"Goodness"

This story penetrates—like the awl Jack carried in his pocket. But the nature of good/evil, like sister Mary eludes Jack. The portrait of Mary in her "goodness" is chilling because it is so accurate, but for those who didn't know our "Sister Mary," there are thousands like her, millions even. Jack is Cain, cursed like the rest of us, only he knows it. He is not Lord Jim but he has met Kurtz.

-- Sharon Whitehead, Professor of English

"The Lifesaver"

Now I understand why you had to write this piece while on vacation. The metaphor does make the connection not just for the writer but for the reader. And the metaphor is so rich: the lifesaver, the pez, the "sweetness" that takes the edge off life's bitterness. You capture the dynamic family relationships; the autonomy of the individual, the isolation, alienation; the successive waves that pull us under, like the waves that carry us out, further and further, beyond where we can get our footing, stand, and walk to rejoin those on shore.

-- Sharon Whitehead, Professor of English

"Alumnus of the Year"

"The Alumnus of the Year" makes astute observations about seduction, power, greed, and philanthropic motives. The description of the devastation of explosives is vivid and chilling. I also like the lines, "When we have anyone so firmly in the palm of our hands we withdraw from them to stand in the shadows, ashamed of the control we have over their frailties." And "Numbers comfort us against the vagaries of fate."

-- Betty Peterson, Playwright, Professor of English

"The Betrayal"

O.M.G. This story raises the hair on the back of my neck. Having spent my fair share of time in a nursing home (as a visitor) and with aging people, I'm there with Jack. What or who betrays us paltry moderns? The gods? Our minds? Our families? Was it any better for the aged in primitive cultures who walked off into the frigid wilderness? Are there Rockwellian families that actually revere the aged and gather, hands joined, around the death bed? You do provoke me with the characters in your stories. I love Jack because he cleans for Ollie and because he won't call Social Services.

-- Sharon Whitehead, Professor of English

"Another Zoo Story"

As you may have noticed in our last issue - for which your story was originally scheduled - only one single work of fiction was published. I chose only two stories, from about 120 submissions. There are certain things I look for in writing - and your story has it. I'm not willing to compromise quality over quantity, or even the name value of well-known writers.

-- Jason Snyman, Fiction Editor of "EXPOUND"

"Art"

"Art" is one of your strongest pieces of writing you've done: strange yet accessible. It riveted me. The title character is immediately gripping; you've anchored in minute details of behavior what might have otherwise seem mere "colorful" eccentricities. The conclusion of the story took me by surprise, Yet seemed inevitable too.

-- Frank Kelly, Professor of English, Playwright

Ildiko

I just finished reading Ildiko. I had initially begun it right after I saw you. I remember your saying that the first couple of chapters might be a little hard to read. I dismissed this as false humility on your part, but I did have trouble with them and that put me off continuing for a while. Other things intervened and then I got that call from you, and I pressured myself to do it. Every time I saw the manuscript on my desk, I'd feel guilty. Anyway, yesterday I started reading it again form the beginning and again I found the first couple of chapters hard, but I kept on going this time. Reading all of in the course of the last two days has been very intense.

What I responded to most viscerally was the rhapsodic power of it. It frightened me quite often when the intricacies of the obsession were laid out in such meticulous emotional detail. The richness and clarity of your writing and the incisiveness of your perceptions were not new to me, but their cumulative power in a narrative was new.

Initially I sat at my dining room table with the manuscript lying flat in front of me, but after a couple of chapters I put the manuscript on a dictionary stand and read the rest of it almost upright. I peeled the pages away and placed them face down in a pile to the side. At times I felt as though I couldn't read fast enough—I wanted to engorge myself.

Thank you for letting me read Ildiko. It was a wonderful experience for me, which I regret having postponed …

-- Frank Kelly, Playwright, Professor of English

Ildiko is an intense work. I read it in one afternoon and evening. I wasn't standing up—but I wanted to pace through certain sections (Steve and Sybil's chapters). Then as the end because clear, I needed to be sitting so as the let it settle around me, the sad inevitability of it.

You write with such power and insight especially relating to sexuality—one's striving to make a lasting connection, and then, one's retreating from it, spent by the effort, fearful of the result.

The narrator's analysis of Jack—of the human condition—reminds me of Dostoyevski's Crime and Punishment. It requires great courage and great artistry to lay bare the human soul.

-- Sharon Whitehead, Professor of English

I loved it! I read most of it one night—and finished it the next morning. It very definitely kept my interest—but how much was the fact that I knew the characters—I don't know.

It was very erotic—I found myself breathless at times—it may not be the same for a man—but women will love it.

-- Patricia Fagan, RN

Kneading You

Where do I begin? I read this in one sitting (with an occasional bathroom break). I got sucked in totally by the story. The characters are compelling, though tortured and doomed form the start. I interacted with Jack and Misty, talked back to them, urged them on, reined them in. I was exhausted when I finished and found myself relieved to be in the van with Jack, driving round and round in foreign territory, praying to myself that he'd not find her. Dear God, the suffering has to end!

Your utter and complete faithfulness to telling the story, the whole story, no glossing over, not posturing, not romanticizing, is so brutally honest.

-- Sharon Whitehead, Professor of English

Artists spend their entire life in search of truth and beauty. When they discover it, they're devastated by what they'd found.

This is a truly remarkable and moving work.

-- Steve Cleberg, Director of Theater at SCC

Sequels to Kneading You

Thank you for granting me the honor of reading your remarkable work. I admire the writing—am truly awed by it, and immensely enjoyed the almost Nabokovian tension created by the coupling of aesthetic distance with such intimacy. I read the manuscript with as much objectivity as is possible under the circumstances, always mindful of your request not to read it as an interested colleague but as a disinterested reader. You wanted to know if the novel is a good read. Yes.

-- Betty Peterson, Playwright, Professor of English

The first installment of your "trilogy" was quite impressive, as I believe I expressed to you, but the writing in The End is your strongest to date, becoming progressively stronger with each chapter, so controlled, so measured and sure, preparing the reader for the end, but only just enough, so that it is still a bit of shock when Jack is actually able to gather himself for that final moment and commit such a heinous act.

The novel contains many brilliant passages I wish I had written, and you have allowed us to glimpses some of what occurs in the male psyche at its most vulnerable, which takes no small amount of courage. From one writer to another, you have my admiration, and I have every confidence that you will find the right publisher for the manuscript when you are ready.

-- Betty Peterson, Playwright, Professor of English

I finished the third part of the trilogy. Once again, I tried to pace myself, but once I picked it up on Friday, I had trouble putting it down till I finished it sometime Saturday. And I had a roaring headache by the time I laid the manuscript aside. The story continues to be compelling, heart-wrenching, angst-ridden, excruciatingly honest. It wouldn't work otherwise, but still I understand your compulsion to write it.

Here are my thoughts on the significance of the novel:

The trilogy is an intricate, intimate study of the human heart/mind/will. I relate to the story on many levels. Jack had developed a persona behind which he felt pretty secure, not happy, but firmly planted. A person came into Jack's life who uprooted him and everything he thought he had battened down. Misty becomes the focus of every moment of every day. Jack was living on two levels—one conscious, deliberate, public, the other private, involuntary, chaotic, passionate. The sex plumbed unimagined depths of feeling, primitivism, animalism, connection, significance, profundity. The person became Jack's god, his religion. He was tempted to throw everything else away even those things in his life that were pure and worthy. Jack and Misty's relationship was based on insurmountable, unquenchable need on both sides. Neither of them could make the other whole. Both were incomplete in critical ways, had needs no other human being could satisfy. The match was doomed—not because of society's taboos but because the two were toxic for each other. The union self-destructed.

With that said, it is as if The End concludes the only way it can metaphorically—someone has to die. A blood sacrifice is required to atone for the crimes Jack and Misty committed against each other and against themselves.

-- Sharon Whitehead, Professor of English