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I Am the Bird
by TM Wright
(PS Publishing, 2006; 143 pages.)
Review by William P Simmons
 An
explorer of experiences out-of-joint with preconceptions of normalcy,
specializing in characters neither quite belonging to this world or
the next, T.M. Wright creates terror by unearthing the surreal mystery
and nightmares of the everyday. He does this with deft descriptions
of this seemingly banal world, emphasizing such with a dream-like, highly
personal style and textual structures that mirror the insanity of his
anti-plots. It is precisely this uneven, terrifying balancing act between
the recognizable and subversively fantastical that lends his fictions
such emotional authenticity. What the heart says, and the soul suspects,
is more honest, more terrifying than logic! And logic itself
is challenged in Wright's universe, most particularly in I Am the
Bird, his latest assault against objective reality. In this newest
novella Wright crafts a world of shadow and substance, waking dream
and sleeping reality, asking us to question which is which before finally
asking us ... does it matter? Does it truly matter in an existence where
being dead or living are simply different sides of the same malignant
phenomena?
The characters in this refutation of commonly accepted reality --
ghosts of mind and consciousness as well as the supernatural -- are
no different than your neighbors. No different than the face you peer
at in the mirror. The real source of haunting in this attempt of a man
to understand a world of nightmares is the continual suggestion that
there is no one objective way to understand anything. Wright's
characters and sense of the uncanny open up for our reflection shadowlands
between the expected and the unknown, objective reality and the subjective
perception which defines the wider mysterious world around us, our possible
place within it. Perhaps the truest ghosts in this brazenly original
novella are our very own memories and faulty perceptions. Repressed
desires, past traumas, and, most frightening, the very act of living
is the 'Haunted House' that this philosophically intense manifesto walks
us through. A teller of ghost stories where human beings are often more
frightening than specters (assuming there IS a difference), Wright
creates in this scathingly emotional, intellectual freeze-frame of suspended
logic and time yet another of his trademark unconventional supernatural
stories where the supernatural element and commonly defined reality
are blended into one another.
In a plot that often denies the very rationale/purpose of the aesthetic
tool, Max Gorshen, a writer lives in a perpetually dark, sweltering
apartment in a smallish North American city that is never named (lending
further ambiguity and a sense of uncertainty) with ... Someone. Maybe
... He refers to this roommate as "the other (man)," who,
lives in the hallway. Never encountering one another in the apartment
itself, Max does spot him interacting with neighbors on the street while
he works on a novella. Both Max and the enigmatic, wraith-like stranger
live with "Langley," a mouthy African parrot. From the shifting
perceptional devices of Max, the shadow character, and Langley we are
teased with the presence of still something else, a presence ominous
and vile, whose malignance and primal mystery serves as the story's
principal source of dread.
The terror summoned by the Wright's lyrical word-play in I Am The
Bird, and in such themes as heartbreak and the questionable nature
of reality, are both exhilarating and horrible precisely because Wright's
understanding of human nature and his compassion for his fellow Outsiders
bleeds from behind the words. We're in the dark, he seems to
whisper, and life is a confusing maelstrom, but, for just a little
while, I am here to hold your hand. The nature of existence is not
only questioned in this modern, scathing condemnation of culture, it
is wormy in its heart. Yet even in the midst of emotional filth and
desperation Wright can find a smattering of hope.
Long recognized as a bold experimentalist in structure and narrative
style, original in his choice of subjective supernaturalism and his
dream-like voice, Wright's narrative structure is a refutation of traditional
story logic, paralleling the disturbing uncertainty of the themes. Characters
struggle to survive in an illusory, un-fulfilling, repetitive cycle
of blindness, dissatisfaction, and waste in a scenario far more frightening
than the chain-rattling of simple sectors. The purposefully convoluted,
dizzying physical structure mirrors the thematic integrity of his decidedly
serious, emotionally draining subtexts.
An economically written and deeply felt nightmare of atmospheric subtlety
and stark spiritual horror, suggesting a refined sense of occult powers
and supernatural mysteries lurking at the very edges -- or, more often,
within -- the fabric of "reality," I Am The Bird exposes
borderland moments in the lives of characters who through their own
folly or, worse, through no fault of their own, discover that preconceived
notions of existence are a surface illusion, and that the truth, whatever
that mystifying presence may indeed be, is a thin onion peel away from
the woken mind. Moments of intellect or emotional overflow, those times
when the supernatural is encountered, provoke awe and invite a new sensitivity
to the sublime possibilities anchored in the everyday. Max Gorshen,
the main character (if he can truly be called that, as his identity/POV
is constantly challenged), is in a limbo of self doubt and confusion
that defies logic. He may be a parrot who is a writer or a writer dreaming
to be a parrot, dead or alive, fictional construct or the flimsiest
of dreams ... The protagonist's shifting POV is itself the key, if any
exists, to understanding this hallucinatory celebration of chaos. I
Am The Bird is a challenging, confusing book that makes no apologies
for playing with conventions of literature and our own abilities to
interpret it.
Elsewhere in infinity plus:
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