The Knife Thrower by Steven Millhauser
Title: The Knife Thrower and Other Stories
Author: Steven Millhauser
Published: 1998
Type: Fiction
Pages: 228
In a world dense with understanding, oppressive with explanation and insight and love, the members of the silent sisterhood long to evade definition, to remain mysterious and ungraspable. Tell us! we cry, our voices shrill with love. Tell us everything! Then we will forgive you. But the girls do not wish to tell us anything, they don't wish to be heard at all.
In Brief:
Solid collection of short stories! Not the most consistent – some were meh, others fantastic – but I love the writing style, remarkably quick world-building, and thorough exploration of themes like artistic creation/consumption.
Rating: 4.1
Synopsis:
The Knife Thrower is a collection of twelve short stories, most of which revolve around imagination, as well as art and it’s creation/consumption. Though it’s not one of those short story collections where all chapters share a subject or exist in the same overlapping world, there’s a certain connectedness to them nonetheless, as Millhauser revisits and reiterates on similar themes. Though this became a bit repetitive as I read them all quickly (reminding me of Someone Who Will Love You in All Your Damaged Glory, another quite good short story collection), I sort of respect it (more on that later). Since I can’t summarize all of them, a few favorites:
“The Knife Thrower” is about an enigmatic traveling showman, a knife thrower (shocking) named Hensch. When a town learns that Hensch will be stopping for a single performance, they’re entranced, equally disturbed and fascinated by his thrilling, unorthodox presentation.
“The Sisterhood of the Night” takes place in a town where teenage girls are sneaking out of their houses and meeting with one another in the middle of the night. Rumors swirl about their activities, whether there’s some devilish or even (gasp) lesbian rituals going on. It’s organized almost like a court case, with sections titled things like “What We Know” or “What We Say,” as well as testimonies and confessions. Stories change, a girl dies, and the town grapples with the mystery.
“Paradise Park” is the story of a peculiar and mysterious amusement park, as well as its equally peculiar and mysterious creator. Upon the discovery of limestone beneath the park, the creator begins adding on multiple subterranean levels, each more daring and fantastic than the last, both to the public’s horror and delight.
Where I’m At:
This book was a quick read – most notably, in the days I consumed it, I adopted a kitten! Her name is Matilda (Tilly) and I’m completely obsessed with her, she’s adorable and sweet and perfect. Having her around has really done a lot to lift my mood during the shelter in place – it’s hard to feel lonely with a furry little creature biting your toes or purring in your lap. It was a pretty good compliment to the whimsical style of Millhauser’s writing.
It was recommended to me by Arianna, my best friend from high school. Because most things have been pretty boring and the same, I’ll take a moment here to remark on how much our friendship means to me. I’m writing this on Mother’s Day, and have been spending a lot of today thinking about how motherhood can look a lot of different ways, and how it’s a verb or an adjective as well as a noun. Ari has loved me, looked after me, believed in me relentlessly for the past ten years. She’s the first person I miss when I’m feeling sad or lonely, my favorite person to talk to about dreams or hardships. I respect her opinion probably more than anyone else’s, trust her to always be honest and tender. We don’t talk every day, but a text from her is like a fresh of breath air.
Which is all to say that when she recommended this book, I immediately placed the order. I always love book recommendations, because I feel they bring me closer to the recommender, give us a deeper connection and help me understand them a little bit better. Ten years of friendship with Ari, and I’m still/forever jumping at that chance.
Getting Into it:
Millhauser’s writing style really sucked me into this book, and kept me insanely impressed throughout. Some talented authors write in a way that’s very natural, that just seems to flow out of them beautifully. Not for Millhauser. His writing is exact, careful, deliberate – reading it reminds me that writing is a craft, something that must be diligently worked at rather than something that just erupts onto a keyboard.
He managed to walk a very fine line with his tone, often maintaining both a quality of dream-like whimsy and a darker creepiness layered beneath. He built his worlds quickly, worlds that are similar to ours with just a touch of the absurd, perhaps even magic. His first lines were entirely enthralling without fail, whether they were short –
The summer I turned fifteen, I could no longer fall asleep
or long –
The Prussians surround us; there’s no way out; and so I rise jerkily into the air, one hand gripping the waist-high side of the swaying wicker basket, the other gripping one of the cords rising from the basket to the hoop above, while down below I see the upturned faces, the upstretched arms, the waving hats and kepis, I hear cries of Vive la France! And Vive la Republique! in the windy blue October air.
He could deftly describe characters in a few lines, creating a perfect image for the reader while giving a succinct understanding of their personalities –
Hensch had the vacant and slightly bored look of an overgrown boy holding in one hand an awkward present, waiting patiently for someone to open a door.
He often used “we” as a perspective, which I would expect to hate given my distaste for “you” but I actually loved it – it created a sort of collective feeling, bringing the reader and author together as if in on a secret.
As for the stories themselves: well, like I mentioned, they did sort of feel a bit repetitive. Millhauser explores similar themes, sometimes in similar forms, and some were decidedly weaker than others. Still, I liked those themes, so didn’t mind too much. He structured the collection with a pattern of day versus night, subterranean versus the surface, hinting at an incongruence between how we portray ourselves and our darker, innermost thoughts. He also explores the relationship between artistic creation and consumption, a thinly veiled critique of capitalism and perhaps pop culture. By focusing on these themes throughout stories, Millhauser was able to engage with subtle differences, adding layers to his critique in a way that was ultimately rather richer than if he contained it all in one story.
If you read this book, I’d recommend reading this collection slowly, in a way I certainly did not. Give the stories time to marinate on their own merits, let them build gradually, and really appreciate the brilliance of Millahuser’s craft.
