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Relationships between men and women, especially sexual ones, are subject to a veritable grocery list of the seven deadly sins, and few topics are more compelling to explore. Montreal-based author Steven Manners knows this, and in the 15 very short, very dark stories in
Wound Ballistics, it's Mars and Venus all over again. Alas, Manners forgot a golden rule of fiction: people don't read simply for detail but to go somewhere, and so
Wound Ballistics ends up being too little of a good thing. We get lots of colour and some fantastic turns of phrase: "I would like to believe that her words lie buried inside me, like old bones and bits of pottery in the earth beneath the nursing home," Manners writes in "Thinking I Would Remember Those Words Forever." But just as we feel momentum, the story ends, rendering all foreshadowing and detailed description useless. "That Last Day in Paris" and "Commitment" offer, respectively, beautiful scenery and eerie possibility, but neither is developed beyond mere suggestion. Also distracting are the facts that virtually every character smokes cigarettes and that Manners endlessly describes their skin-- it's alternately "cool as glass," "clammy to the touch," "paper smooth," and, well, you get the picture. There is no doubt that Manners has a way with words, but judging by the dearth of meat served up in
Wound Ballistics, he has a way to go with plot.
--Kim Hughes
Quill and Quire
Wound Ballistics is a troubling coroners report on the moribund state of modern North American relationships. Each of the books 15 stories centre on fraying alliances between men and women. Manners could become a major voice here.