In 1993's dynamic "Bats Out of Hell," Barry Hannah claims to both push Grit Lit toward the end of the millennium while keeping early 20th-century Modernism alive. This is a high-wire feat considering that Hannah is also trying to settle into a less wildman lifestyle and still maintain his reputation, as Truman Capote succinctly put it, as "the maddest writer in the U.S.A."
The lengthy short story "Hey, Have You Got A Cig, the Time, the News, My Face?" sounds as the Nineties as Literature could be. Hannah, perhaps in the form of his protagonist E. Dan Ross, is slightly obsessed with the minutiae of everyday life. As a man with everything, his inner monologues tell the true story of how observant he is that the world is changing and sadly leaving him behind.
Ross' haven is his Point Clear, AL beach home and his ongoing succession of Buick Rivieras. His wife, Nabby, is not growing old gracefully. She is struggling with an implied Bette Davis-ish obsession with a sinking face. On the other hand, Ross, at fifty-two, only struggles with the consistent nightmares he has where he relives the horror of a poor decision he made as an Intel officer in Vietnam. (NOTE: All of Hannah's Vietnam stories are riveting - even though he never served.)
Ross is a biographer. Apparently a good one, who can almost effortlessly turn interviews and stories into low-rung best sellers. Looking at himself in the mirror, Ross regards himself as a "hack." Further complicating matters, his son Newt is a poet. Apparently a good one as well. However, his talent for writing cannot outpace his talent for trouble. "Fired from the state cow college," Newt has acceded to the slacker-era desperation of playing in a band while marrying one of his students.
The problem here in Hannah's unwavering eye is Newt has barely made it to 30. So, he stages their long-simmering reunion like Samuel Beckett (a playwright he admired but would never admit to equalling.) Ross quickly admires the student/wife Ivy for her devotion and warmth. Newt runs in the other direction being aloof, confrontational, and screaming on stage that night with his freshly shaved head. For a man who hears a lot of condensed stories to turn into biography (which again he regards himself as "glib to the point of hackery,") Ross' patience with his son is admirable. For the life of him, he cannot understand Newt. At one point, he even tries to read several of the books that Newt cited as inspiration. Even though he makes the unfortunate wrong turn that leads him to see Ivy in the nude after a shower, Ross only sees the sadness radiating from her.
Nonetheless, Ross is consistent with his wife, his life as a writer, and his son who is quickly losing it. How does he relieve this stress you ask? Unknown to anyone, Ross has carved out a secret compartment in the door of his Riviera where he stores a Daisy BB gun. When he feels all the weight of performing and succeeding on his shoulders, he sneaks it out and pops an innocent bystander in theirs. Is this admirable? Hardly. Is this necessary? By no means. However, Hannah is not asking us as readers to understand this aberrant behavior. Instead, it is a dark card that he plays not to inflict pain (or relieve it for that matter) but to induce thought about random events that might make us more aware that we could be residing in a world with an omniscient presence.
This is a strange tale of a man "tolerating" everything life throws at him. Ross is coming to terms with his mortality and the inevitability of constantly living with some form of erosion. Yet, he is eager to draw lessons from this frame of life - even when they do not necessarily involve him.
"Hey, Have You Got a Cig?" is no "flight path" story like "The Tennis Handsome," so none of what we present truly acts as spoilers. In addition to this, and in opposition to our observation about the aforementioned novel, "Cig?" contains a generous portion of narration on Ross' friends and son Newt that would have made dynamite chapters. Hannah's writing is beautiful and inviting - which is enough to push you along through veiled levels of self-doubt. Like other volumes of Hannah, this is a journey. Unlike early Hannah and those cynical Nineties (and those Modernist 'Teens,) we have no idea where we are going.
There is cruelty in the heart of those who love like this. There is a mean selfishness that goes along with being so deplorable...Beware of occasions that call for a change of clothing, take no heed for the morrow.
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Mik Davis is the record store manager at T-Bones Records & Cafe in Hattiesburg.
