The Archivist by Claire Vaye Watkins, 2012
The magic trick:
Working on a conceptual metaphorical level
We did a weekend double of Claire Vaye Watkins earlier this year, and I enjoyed it so much, I decided we needed to return to Nevada for another round.
Today’s story, “The Archivist,” is that rare piece that functions at whatever level the reader cares to engage. Drilling in on the details, you can follow the story for what it is – a sad tale of loneliness and self-sabotage. But if you’d prefer, you can also zoom out and examine the story from a higher level. You’ll see that the title’s concept provides an intriguing overarching metaphor. Our protagonist is carefully curating the museum of her failed relationship, while going out of her way to destroy everything else in her life.
And that’s quite a trick on Watkins’s part.
The selection:
That afternoon – after I’d abandoned poor Liam – Carly called me four times. I ignored her. I walked around my apartment, lightly touching the artifacts Ezra left behind in the year we were together. They were pathetic and few: a bag of white tea gone stale, a screwdriver we meant to use to fix a window screen but never did, some books, a toothbrush I bought him. I decided I would preserve these just as he’d left them, convert my apartment into the Museum of Love Lost. I envisioned other exhibits. An installation of all the clever, evasive text messages he ever sent me, a replica of the bar where we met, handmade dioramas of our finest outings.
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