My Jockey by Lucia Berlin, 1984
The magic trick:
An odd response to an odd scene
We have a weekday double for you of masterpieces of super-short fiction. Today’s Lucia Berlin story is a mere five paragraphs long.
I’m not sure what to make of it, to be honest. Which itself I suppose is a compliment – it’s impressive to confound in five paragraphs.
Berlin locks in on an odd moment – a jockey in the emergency room. And her attitude in describing the situation is perfect. It’s certainly distinct. In short, she’s enchanted. She sees her jockey as a vulnerable, heroic, little baby.
And that’s quite a trick on the Berlin’s part.
The selection:
I like working in Emergency—you meet men there, anyway. Real men, heroes. Firemen and jockeys. They’re always coming into emergency rooms. Jockeys have wonderful X-rays. They break bones all the time but just tape themselves up and ride the next race. Their skeletons look like trees, like reconstructed brontosaurs. St. Sebastian’s X-rays.
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