Insomniac Press, 2008
Read by Carrie Schmidt
I learned a harsh literary lesson when I was fifteen years old: never read the introduction until the actual story has been read. That was how Lord of the Flies was ruined for me — the ending was revealed in those first few pages of the introduction. is/was does not have an introduction, but the plot description on the back of the book reveals details better left discovered within the story, especially as the entire style of the book is the slow, deadly reveal.
And now, a new lesson to mutter to myself: do not read the backs of books, judge books solely by their cover. Fortunately, reading the descriptive summary on the back of is/was did not ruin the story entirely, but it did dampen the brutal, disturbing magic of this strange book and it’s exploration of loss. is/was is a dark and disturbing first novel, thick with sexual malevolence and unease.
Sampirisi has created an unsettled, murky atmosphere; physical descriptions of people or locations are stark, exacting, morbid; but narrative facts remain wholly or partially hidden. This deliberate narrative confusion is extremely effective at contributing to the overall tone of something-is-festering-and-all-is-not-well. A young girl, Abigail Wren, has gone missing in a small community, but there is more here than just the loss of a young life. Loss hovers over the entire community, but the novel focuses on one specific family dealing with their own private – or not-so-private – losses, at the same time as the larger community is dealing with the loss of a child.
is/was opens with a visceral, almost nauseating description of the mother/wife’s post-surgery pain, as she attempts the once-easy task of descending a flight of stairs. The portrayal of intense physical pain sets the tone for the entire novel — there is much suffering and loss to be witnessed within this family.
The novel’s structure is unique in that the “chapters” are incredibly short — some a few words, others a few pages. The shorter sections are small bursts of staccato poetry, and it takes a little while to realize they are telling another part of the story, the facts of the case of the missing little girl. These odd poetics turn into harsh facts, and are grim, unsettling reminders of multiple forms of emotional and physical loss — what is, and what was.
