Critique Paper #1

Barry Yourgrau’s “By the Creek”

It is Yourgrau’s tone that makes his story what it is: the idea inherent to the plot is entirely macabre, yet by never treating it as so, he handles the story of surreal decapitation so it is an event whose most extraordinary undertone is poignancy, rather than horror. The narrator-protagonist is a little boy, with little boy motives and something of a voice to match; Yourgrau has his character tell his story in a simplistic way: a child’s short reportings of what occurs, matter-of-factly. He does use “grown-up” words at times: “nonplussed,” “frenetically;” this is operative, actually: it does not detract from the childish voice, but in keeping the story from being too adorable (“Dadda’s head is so big on my wittle body!”), we know that this is not some tyke’s play fantasy. The mature awareness within the young recounting keeps things eerie, “realistic:” we believe this is actually happening, as the source has the qualities of reliability.
That the story is told from a first person perspective is effective: it gives an interior feeling, which is well-suited to the fact that the reader is experiencing this event with the protagonist from “inside” the covering of a huge head; the way Yourgrau’s character describes what is happening to him, we feel we are him, like we’ve slipped into some grotesquely baggy, rubber Halloween mask in a drugstore aisle. We feel gleeful about it, too, referencing once again the young sensibility about the story which deprives it of a sensible impression of horror. There is no other motive here than kids playing, we assured by the running consciousness of the narrator, and by the fact that all the other boys think it’s an idea worth trying, too- clearly, the protagonist is not a solitary inhabitant of derangement, but an exerciser of the normal. The reaction of the mother that Yourgrau has crafted is a give-away, as well: we feel as though the boy has committed nothing more than the classic stunt of bringing a toad or earthworm in to show Mom; her chagrin is present, but not out of the ordinary.
I think the “best” thing to be gleaned by writers from Yourgrau’s story is the potency of his simplicity. The writing is concise and brisk, yet highly descriptive: in two paragraphs, we move from kitchen to bedroom to creek, and from proud excitement to hurt indignation to a certain playfulness, and every step feel entirely complete and rich in detail. I know it would personally do me some good to follow his example on how to pack such a punch in such a short space: I, too, could use instead of a great deal of words, a few, and only the best few.