Nervous Dancer
Nervous Dancer
carol lee lorenzo
Series: The Flannery O'Connor Award for Short Fiction
Copyright Date: 1995
Published by: University of Georgia Press
Pages: 184
https://www.jstor.org/stable/j.ctt46n7fv
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Book Info
Nervous Dancer
Book Description:

The lives on view in Nervous Dancer are complex and precarious. Speaking their familial idioms in tones and cadences determined well before they ever appeared in these stories, Carol Lee Lorenzo's characters surge into moments of change for reasons initially not apparent. In the quirky, hard-edged ways in which they stumble, beg, come of age, fall apart, and reunite, they reveal no simple notions about life. The way women and children see men is often the focus of these stories, and female voices are the most numerous in Nervous Dancer. Singularity of character can be found in anyone, however, such as the nameless father in "Unconfirmed Invitations," whose guilt over his drinking and marital infidelities leads to a bizarre hunter-gatherer compulsion. Lorenzo's women are often mothers, like LuAnn Wilson Hunter in "Something Almost Invisible," who says of herself and her son that they are "divorced from everything, we are all living in slow motion, not at home anywhere." Others find themselves in double binds with generational friction compounding their troubles, such as Eulene in "Nervous Dancer," who informs her mother, "Just because I'm in your house doesn't mean I've lost the right to fight with my husband." Lorenzo says that her characters are "in the throes of love with its impurities or as sterling as it comes, and sometimes they trip the spring and the hard face of hate appears." She believes that "it's not always the outside force, someone else's doing, that changes things or brings confrontation. It's our stranger within--our unspoken self that frightens and engages us. That's what story allows us to see."

eISBN: 978-0-8203-4199-6
Subjects: Language & Literature
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Table of Contents
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  1. Front Matter
    Front Matter (pp. [i]-[vi])
  2. Table of Contents
    Table of Contents (pp. [vii]-2)
  3. two piano players
    two piano players (pp. 3-26)

    The old blue afternoon air sticks to the roof of my mouth. My cousin, Jewel, dogs me all the way through the Florida heat to the back of the church. Our feet stir a breeze, but it stings. I’ve been pointing out new sights to Jewel all day. My hands feel too tired for a piano lesson.

    “I don’t want to go in the back door of any church,” she tells me. Jewel is on her vacation from up in Georgia. She pulls her skirt so tight I can see the split between her legs. She does not trust me...

  4. something almost invisible
    something almost invisible (pp. 27-41)

    The highway is never clean of sounds. We have moved to live by this road so we won’t be afraid. If anything happens to us, surely somebody will see it and stop. But I don’t expect anything to happen to my son and me. I am hoping for nothing new.

    Inside all morning, busy with silly things, I have come out for a change of light. I stand in my yard and part the grass with my new boots. I’m going to wear these boots till they fit. Can new shoes make you feel sick? A wide wave of sound...

  5. the night instructor
    the night instructor (pp. 42-58)

    Drewanne hurried over. Her father, David, had bought another present for himself, and her mother and father were fighting about it. It was a boat that was due tomorrow, and her mother, called Honey because it was David’s name for her, was afraid of water. Honey felt unsafe on anything that floated. David said the boat was the biggest prize ever and that he’d earned it. Honey said he didn’t need one because he drove their car like a boat. That was when she’d started riding in the back seat with her eyes closed and taking seasick medicine with her....

  6. unconfirmed invitations
    unconfirmed invitations (pp. 59-79)

    Most of the day, Sophie MacEvoy had been taking a nap with the dog in her dead grandmother’s bed. Her grandmother had given her the bed and then died last year; the bed was one hundred years old. The burl in the wood looked like her grandmother’s huge fingerprints. With her arms around her dog, Sophie hung half in sleep, her heart feeling loose. The afternoon heat made her feel too heavy to stand up and be awake.

    All summer, she’d stayed home doing nothing except falling in love with somebody in the newspaper. She had collected the newspapers under...

  7. peripheral vision
    peripheral vision (pp. 80-100)

    We’re from the city; we’ve been out here for about a year. We felt we were ready for a change, that out here in the woods we could find what needed to change about us.

    This morning, I awakened in the dark and found my husband lying beside me snoring without being asleep. He does that when he’s sure it’s going to be a rough day. While I was brushing the wrinkles of sleep out of my hair, William explained what his day would be. He’s a lawyer so there’s lots of trouble and tight places he’ll be in today....

  8. the one-armed man
    the one-armed man (pp. 101-116)

    It was the morning of the vacation. “Mother, Una’s out there throwing a tantrum at herself,” said one of the sisters. “She’s beating her head on the car hood,” said the other.

    Una could hardly hear them. They were behind her like they were in a jug and she was the one who was out because of her temper.

    The car hood was cool; her head was hot. “You just give yourself such awful hurts,” her father said. He stopped her, held her with his right hand, and soothed her with his missing left hand. This made them both look...

  9. the boogieman
    the boogieman (pp. 117-129)

    They were halfway through when they saw behind the window in the air-conditioned house Great-Aunt Birdsey’s sweating face. She was sweating because she wanted out.

    Evelyn was twenty-eight and just back home, and her grandmother, Jackie, who was Birdsey’s youngest sister, was trying to teach her how to tie a bush back with twine and nail it against a wall. The bush was a pyracantha, as old as Birdsey, heavier, its limbs loaded, sometimes with berries, always with thorns.

    “Get away from that window,” said Jackie, not making much sound because Birdsey couldn’t hear through the double window. “She’s as...

  10. nervous dancer
    nervous dancer (pp. 130-153)

    We do not leave the ocean’s side, but follow the thin, worn-out highway on the hard ridge of shells and sand cliffs. We see, over the swells of the ocean, night trying hard to come down. Still a crack of white light stays between the ocean and night. It is as if someone keeps reaching up and tearing night off at the bottom.

    For a minute, I feel lonely in the car with Julien, my husband. We should not have come here—to my mother’s house—for vacation. I am not feeling so good away from time schedules, crowds of...

  11. new eggs
    new eggs (pp. 154-172)

    Dee was out in the fog. A fat girl, popping a clutch, with baby-fine hair, one ear knifing through, riding around in her little red torn-up car. She’d been chasing herself around town—waiting for her parents to come out and catch her and bring her on home. That is, precisely, back inside their house, because they had given her a house of her own, hell she didn’t want it, called it a birthday present. Something else she’d received that was wrong.

    Dee sagged and stuck to the seat, moist and warm as being born again. Her boyfriends—she had...

  12. Back Matter
    Back Matter (pp. 173-174)
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