Little Pockets of Alarm by Kat Meads Reviewed by Erin McKnight
Across the expanse of life, it is within little pockets that alarm resides. Establishing itself as the underside of normalcy, Kat Meads’ flash fiction collection, Little Pockets of Alarm, probes these often-ignored and feared cavities for meaning. Boasting a wit matched only by her humor, Meads palpates departure and abstraction with rigorous language that informs the reader in no uncertain terms that the less-than-appealing side of life indeed possesses value and is worthy of rendering—that alarm is agitated from within these spots of potential; these pockets of pain, anxiety, despair, and even humor. In her twenty seven “tales short and shorter,” Meads sets her literary sights on the stuff of life. From the sublime to the ridiculous, this collection’s shifting spotlight suggests to the reader that even the author’s revelatory light may have caught glimpses of more than was originally intended. Partitioned into F-A-M-I-L-Y, Real estate, The workplace, Travel, Vehicular transport (specifically), Love and its derivations, Life’s little mysteries, and Notoriety (or the absence thereof), each thematic ‘slice of life’ is revealed by an intense beam of light. The effect of this heat source may prove surprising or unpleasant, but it also renders conventionally overlooked scenes radiant. Yet, at the conclusion of every short short piece of writing, this reviewer perceives that individual stories are relieved to have their last word read and page turned; each of Meads’ microcosmic works is anxious to get back to the business of being, as what is revealed in her harsh light is an often-blinding ordinariness of character and subject matter. For Meads is unrelenting in her portrayal and razor sharp in her language, her insight the kind that the reader may feel is better socketed away in a back pocket. From “Man in Black Raincoat, Waiting,” Meads’ opening piece, in which a man passes the night alone in a bus station as he waits for the arrival of his cousin’s young child that he will either “help or harm” with his unanticipated parenting, to the dead dog with paws “sticking up in the air, rigid as tree limbs” floating past two children in “… And on the Salty Sea Twirls a Dog,” to “‘The Killers’ à la Femme” on stakeout at the Oyster Hut, in pursuit of the woman trolling for husbands, Meads’ characters seem like temporary illuminations of what it means to be alone and afraid, yet hopeful and not without a sense of humor about things like climbing into a sycamore tree to deal with a family member’s “pity visit.” Gleaned, then, at the collection’s conclusion is the notion that Meads is not aiming a stage light on her pockets of life, but is instead acting as usher trampling about in a dark theater, shining a flashlight on suspicious shadows. People and actions trapped in her beam prove fleeting, but even when utter darkness falls and whispering gives way to silence, the reader understands, as a result of Meads’ impressive ability to illuminate an expansive cross section of her audience, that secrecy or ambiguity might be tucked into little pockets of alarm, but with an expert revelation can be teased from obscurity.
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Erin McKnight is a Scottish-born writer now living in Texas. Her writing has been widely published and nominated for Best of the Web, the Pushcart Prize, and W.W. Norton’s The Best Creative Nonfiction. Erin holds a BA in English and an MFA in creative writing and currently teaches fiction writing in the Dallas community college system.
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