FFF Competition Twenty-Four Judge’s Report by Caroline Greene
19th November 2024
It really isn’t a cliché to say that it’s an honour to be entrusted to read through a longlist, to see into different ways of telling stories and to select ones that stand out and linger, long after first reading. I was struck by how many of the longlisted stories featured themes of parentage, or parenting, reflecting perhaps some deeper anxiety that we may all be feeling about authority figures in our wider worlds.
The shortlisted story, ‘A Beautiful Bruise’, covers just this territory of parenting that has failed the narrator. It covers a world of pain and family dynamics, of adolescent anguish and personal frailty. And the failing is one we could all be guilty of – that of trying to convince a child that the world is ‘yellow-sunned’, where sad, bad things don’t happen. There is a wider truth, too, in that we often reduce the idea of bullies to ‘comic strip tormentors’, when in fact the persecution is much uglier and harder to define. What gives this flash a particular strength is the self-awareness of the narrator – the knowledge that ‘grief makes me cruel’. The narrator will lie too, when asked how the bruise – ‘a beautiful blend of dark blue and purple’ – came to be caused. The sense of grief stretches on beyond the story’s end.
The shortlisted story, ‘Chalma’, is almost a kind of active tableau – a scene that seems changeless at the start. The tyre repair shop is described in vivid detail with Chalma sitting like a statue, while life outside goes on at a different pace. But tucked inside this scene is a long history – and a mystery. The reference to the husband who ‘was whisked away’ suggests a family tragedy, even a national crisis, but this is described in very few words before the focus moves again to the ageing Chalma. And now we see that her stillness is hiding a personal grief, that the world she knew has changed ‘into something she doesn’t recognise’, that she, like the chair at the end, ‘is out of place amongst the grease.’ The writer takes the apparent simplicity of this street scene and with quiet steps moves us through a long, patient, life that has endured unexplained loss.
In the shortlisted ‘Bubble Man’, the visual representation of the parent and child – ‘her left hand resting on my right thigh’ is, literally, touching. It is a trusting and gentle gesture that encapsulates the poignancy of what is a heartbreaking situation. But the writer swerves away from sentimentality with the unflattering description of the children’s entertainer – ‘paunchy and bald’. And then we are caught, as the narrator is, by the child’s view of the man as ‘a Sorcerer’. The writing changes, with a fabulous description of the bubbles created. They are ‘oil-shimmering organisms’, ‘momentarily permanent’ – and we understand the girl’s enchantment. Through her, the narrator is transformed, just as the ‘Bubble Man’ is, and finds joy in the passing life of each ‘new miracle’. It is a moment of escape from the difficulty of the setting, and of the facts behind it that, like the girl’s bed, are ‘too-big’.
The highly commended ‘Don’t Look Away, Don’t Look Back, Don’t Look’, has a very original opening. Are we in a re-telling of the myth of Sisyphus? Who is the narrator? How is it Biblical? You are unsettled, floundering in the obscurity of the ‘crepuscular light’. You read on. There is ‘creeping’, there are ‘woods’ and there’s ‘Momma’. It’s not looking good. Sissy and the rock become creepier, almost shapeless. And then, in the last paragraph, we understand – and the story is truly grim. Going back to the beginning, we read the ghost story for what it is, and we are forever haunted. The skill of the writer here lies in creating a successful balance between the sense of uncertainty, and the horror of the final revelation. The reader is taken on a journey. The ghosts, trapped within the perpetual re-telling, will be victims for eternity. And eternity packed into fewer than 300 words is a mighty achievement.
In the highly commended ‘Things You Can’t Say at Your Sea Scouts Tryout’ we again see the gulfs between fantasy ideals and more banal realities (as well as references to unsatisfactory parenting) – told with a wit and lightness of touch that makes the final sentence all the more powerful. This flash is full of bright images – the ‘inflatable flamingo’, the ‘leather-faced mariners’, the pirate’s ‘sparkling jewels’, the ‘Orange Tango’. The story is a whole condensed autobiography, told through visual milestones from childhood memories. But the images also range through a history of heroic seafaring lore, set against the reality of the narrator’s personal limitations. The fact that the narrator finds he loves the sea scouts’ meetings and appears to rise to the practical challenges is a heartwarming surprise, until the harshest of realities hits him, and tragedy overwhelms us.
The second sentence of the winning story – ‘When The Results From The Ancestry Site Come Through, Dilly’s Mother Admits She Didn’t Use a Sperm Bank After All’ – made me laugh. The rarefied nature of the ‘doctorate on high altitude eremite constructions’ is so at odds with the domesticity of the first sentence, and with the brevity of a flash, that it worked as perfect comic timing. And it does, of course, beg the question – is Dilly’s mother making this up too? The doubt is beautifully captured in the writer’s use of ‘question marks tumbling down mossy crags’ – and this surreal image is again echoed in the ‘tall grey megaliths on the mountainside’. The writer shows a wonderful skill in moving from illusion to reality and back again. Dilly’s imagined journey to find her father is beautifully captured and you feel she really is watching the old man gathering figs and turning to her with a revealing smile. But of course, she is making up the paternity story, just as her mother does. With ‘but for now...’ we are brought back to her kitchen, where she sets about polishing the crack running through a favourite mug. We come full circle and leave the imagined truth behind.
Congratulations!
Caroline Greene