Raphus Press – Borderless

Title: Comfy Rascals: Short Fictions

Author: Rhys Hughes

Publisher: Raphus Press, Gibbon Moon Books

DON’T SHOOT THE MESSENGER

He who was King in the land of Booshooba ordered his most trusted messenger to deliver a sealed envelope to another ruler, the King of far distant Zazkhaban. The messenger set off on the dangerous journey and was never tempted to open the envelope and read the message within. He knew he would face terrible dangers on the path, diversions, bandits, doom pits. One diversion might lead him into a dimension of woe. Another might not. As for bandits, there were a great many of those. For countless ages they had been terrorising the lonely passes of the mountain ranges that lie between Booshooba and Zazkhaban. The messenger had to be agile and astute to avoid their clubs, spears and nets. He crawled past their sentries and soon was up and hastening again. He never tired, this most trusted messenger. Little wonder that the King of Booshooba had favoured him!

But the doom pits are worse than the bandits. No one who has fallen into them has returned, nor have even their screams risen out of those grim holes in the gruesome ground. Will the messenger be fit enough and light enough to leap them all in mighty bounds? They fall still, those unfortunates who fell into them, and now they are loose bones tumbling like jugglers’ clubs down and down through phosphorescent infinity.

But the messenger is safe beyond them. After months of hard travelling, he finally reaches the palace of the King of Zazkhaban, who takes the envelope from him and opens it. The King reads the letter with a frown that grows deeper. Finally he reaches for a loaded musket and points it at the messenger‟s head.

“Clearly you have received some bad news,” the messenger says, “but I am not responsible for what has happened. Don’t shoot the messenger! For I have simply completed my assigned task.”

Silently, but with a stern expression, the King of Zazkhaban offers the letter to the messenger. It says simply, “My dear brother, I have one favour to ask of you. Please shoot the messenger who delivers this letter.” The king pulls the trigger of the musket. There is noise and smoke and the most trusted messenger slumps to the ground and his blood flows quickly.

BALDNESS

Baldness in men is not natural but a result of civilization. It probably comes from wearing tight hats or eating processed foods. In our original condition evolution would never choose baldness because the moonlight reflecting off the shiny scalp would give away our position to predators in the jungle. Men with thick heads of hair are less likely to be pounced on by tigers. They are more likely to be used as a paintbrush by gorillas, yes, but pounced on by tigers, no! And yet, maybe we need more light at night. Could it be that bald men are necessary? The reflections of the male heads of an entire tribe might provide sufficient illumination for late sessions of applied mathematics to take place. Or for the continuance of guitar lessons.

WHEN I DISCOVERED LAZINESS

When I was young I was full of energy. I read in a book that if every man, woman and child in China jumped up and down at the same time, a tidal wave would be created by the vibrations that would engulf the United States of America. I remember thinking: so why don‟t they do that? If it’s possible, why not make the attempt? Later, I read in a different book that every man, woman and child could fit onto the Isle of Wight standing up straight like skittles, tightly packed together, and that the island would sink. Once again I asked myself: so why don’t we do it?

Even later I was told by a teacher at my school that if every man, woman and child in the world stood on the equator facing east in a long line and took one step forwards, pushing back with their foot, the globe would stop spinning. So why aren’t we lining up and stepping forward, I demanded to know? Then the answer occurred to me. Laziness! That was why there were no human-generated tidal waves, sinking islands or planetary brakes. It was because people were too lazy to make them happen. That was the precise moment when I discovered laziness and what it really meant and its importance to the daily workings and evolving history of the human race.

IDENTITY

Our identities can never survive death because they barely even exist while we are alive. They are not constants but variables. Our identities are constantly changing but so gradually that we do not perceive the changes and thus assume we are a single entity all our lives. In fact we are so far removed from the way we were, and the way we will be, that if our past or future selves were suddenly killed, we (the present “we‟) would feel nothing at all. And we do die sometime in the future without feeling a thing now, which would hardly be the case if all our selves through time were connected and merged into one unit. This is what I think and I thought it.

About the Book:

Many rascals are too tense to be comfortable. Real life rascals have much to worry about. But rascals in fiction can afford to relax a little in the waves of prose that surround them, gently swirling on the wit and wisdom, bobbing on the contrivance, floating on the syntax. It is nice to be a comfy rascal. The language and its ambiguity are the territory where Rhys produces his best in fiction. In the flash fiction format, the stories by Rhys at Comfy gets a full language ambiguity game, in the words of the superb author Brian Evenson:

“Each of these stories is a shimmering whimsical fleck which not only satisfies in and of itself but, taken with its compatriots, builds an image of life and language that is pure play and discovery. Like Kafka’s parables, if Kafka’s sense of humour was less dark and had more puns.”

About the Author:

Rhys Hughes has been writing fiction from an early age. His first book was published in 1995 and since that time he has published fifty other books, nine hundred short stories and many articles and poems, and his work has been translated into ten languages. He graduated as an engineer but currently works as a tutor of mathematics. Having lived in Britain, Spain and Kenya, he is now planning to move to India. His poetry tends to be humorous light verse and offbeat lyrical fantasy, influenced mainly by Don Marquis, Ogden Nash, Edward Lear, Richard Brautigan, Ivor Cutler and Spike Milligan.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Book Review by Rakhi Dalal

Title: Comfy Rascals

Author: Rhys Hughes

Publishers: Raphus Press, Gibbon Moon Books

“The moon was a tomato in the sky, then it was an orange, then a grapefruit, then a metaphor, then it was exactly like a simile, then like some other comparison, then finally it was itself, the moon. The comfy rascals reclined on loungers on the beach and watched it change and pretended it was a weak sun they had tricked out of sunbeams…..”

Thus begins the title story of the collection, which with its brilliant wordplay, focuses on the imagination of things, on moon and Baudelaire, thus first transferring awareness to the realm of uncanny and then almost quietly turning it back to the real world. It is peculiar and subtle, the way it happens. A tale of palpable human helplessness in a cold and dark world as the comfy rascals first laugh and “then shiver at night in their own last desperate resort, an abandoned seaside town”.

Comfy Rascals is Rhys Hughes’ recent collection of experimental short fiction where the stories constantly shift/ permeate to the realm of fantasy from real world and vice-versa, blurring the binary categories of human/nonhuman and natural/material world. Hughes was born in Wales. His first book, Worming the Harpy, was published in 1995. Since that time he has published fifty other books, more than nine hundred short stories, and innumerable articles. He graduated as an engineer but now works as a tutor of mathematics.

Hughes, who sees himself as a comedic writer, uses fantasy and humour to explore unusual concepts which compel readers to re-visualise the accepted ideas of reality, challenging their understanding of the certainties this world offers and the possibilities it may, when seen in a manner unaccustomed to the mind. While some of the stories may unsettle –

“I have destroyed the world, but what of that? Light a candle in my memory and that will be more than enough.” (‘A Deep Breath’)

Some bring a vivid element of the fantastic, like —

It is so cold that the candle flame just froze solid and I was able to snap it off and put it in my pocket for later. When it thaws out I will use it as a hand warmer and then put it back on the wick. In fact it is so cold that the flames of the fire have frozen solid and can be snapped off and used to cut butter, if cutting butter is something you need to do.” (‘How Cold is It?’)

And some others just amuse by virtue of their humour/satire:

“One Socrates in the market square is not a heap of philosophers. What happens if we add another Socrates? Still, this is not a heap. It is two philosophers, that is all. Add another Socrates and keep adding them.” (‘Sorites Speculation’)

Hughes works with human anatomy, sometimes in tandem with non-human forms, and challenges the anthropocentric worldview where everything human has more value over others. The elements of grotesque that he thus makes use of, subvert the notions of ‘real world’ and ‘materiality’ while being playful. He also makes use of spaces inhabited by humans, like homes to question the extent of boundaries we willing create.

One important space that is difficult to overlook in this collection is author’s use of the concept of libraries (Four stories in all), especially in the wake of a tyrannical rule. He employs it to drive home the point that tyrannies succeed when people become subservient to the rule. We witness books being burned but not always.

“Tyrants burn books, but sometimes the books fight back and vanquish the inferno.” (‘The Library’)

Science fiction and mythology are brought into play by Hughes. His stories swerve socio-political understanding and narratives to the realms of the uncanny, the grotesque and the fantastic while displaying a vibrant play on words, thereby alluring with unconventional reads and hence, unimagined revelations.

In the author’s own words –

“Many rascals are too tense to be comfortable. Real life rascals have much to worry about. But rascals in fiction can afford to relax a little in the waves of prose that surround them, gently swirling on the wit and wisdom, bobbing on the contrivance, floating on the syntax. It is nice to be a comfy rascal.”

Rakhi Dalal is an educator by profession. When not working, she can usually be found reading books or writing about reading them. She writes at https://rakhidalal.blogspot.com/ .

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL.