It can be hard to imagine writers writing. Paraphernalia so often gets in the way – Hemmingway and his drinks or Montaigne and his château – but with Wimhurst I can be almost certain a slight wry smile was involved. How else do you write about Buddhist wolves and rabbits who have grown weary of pacifism?
For An Orchid in My Belly Button might well be undoubtedly entertaining, but there is always a cutting edge to the wit. From ‘The Ghost of Crabs’ that in its use of childlike wonder at and reverence of the natural world highlights the haunting impact of events written off as localised die offs to ‘Vanity Vines’ with its almost hubristic ideas that biology itself can be subverted for the sake of influencer viewing figures, this is a collection of short stories that forensically pulls our world into the spotlight.
These stories could be described as dystopian, although they merely take present reality and extrapolate a few years onwards. In the main this is done in an oblique way that for all the surreal details, maintains a grounding in the logic of reality, although there are a few direct nods to the playful way narrative is taken, such as a character asking, “Do you fancy talking about the death of realistic narrative?”
Having reviewed Wimhurst’s last two short story collections, Let Them Float and Snapshots of the Apocalypse, it is interesting to note a development. Throughout these works there is a consistent tone, and clear sense of lightly-worn skill – Wimhurst writes with the assured comfort of one deeply at home in both the genre and form – alongside a building sense of urgency. The lightness of touch is still present, and humour is woven through, yet An Orchid in My Belly Button feels more direct than her earlier work.
However, that is not to say the stories ever feel strident or didactic. Stories like ‘The Mushroom Lovers’ and ‘Fox Freak’ are perhaps more overt in their sense of romance and empathy, yet that emotional sensitivity underlies the whole collection and tempers any edges the urgency might have left unpolished.
That balancing act that gives voice to the vital issues are so often absent from much of literature without sacrificing the warmth of tone that makes these stories so enveloping, is a hard one, yet Wimhurst treads it well.
I have an urge to press this book into the hands of those high office holders of late – the sort who jovially resurrect phrases like “Drill, Baby, Drill” or puerilely take chainsaws to regulations – with ‘The Blink Ark’ highlighted in neon in the hope they might learn before our world sinks due to their ignorance.
Words by Ed Bedford
Want more Books content from The Indiependent? Click here