Washington Writers Publishing House
2010, 242 pages, paperback, $16.95
Realistic, well-crafted, mysterious, and emotionally resonant, the linked stories in Andrew Wingfield’s debut collection, “Right of Way,” are about people in the midst of change. The setting is the imagined and aptly named D.C. suburb, Cleave Springs, whose gradual gentrification presents an array of complex challenges to a diverse community. These stories are carefully paced, the plots drawn out patiently in meaningful detail, the themes widely relatable, and the characters richly developed. This is traditional story-telling from a distinctly contemporary perspective.
One of my favorites is the title story, in which a young pregnant couple, Nita and Wright, arrive in Cleave Springs to start afresh. Having grown up comfortably in the Bay Area, Nita has been reticent about the move: she misses her pot-smoking parents and the general ease of life in the shadow of Mount Tamalpais. But Wright has bold intentions of shaping Cleave Springs into a vision of suburban perfection. On the day the couple arrives in Virginia, they encounter a mysterious and begrimed teenage boy, Ash, whose junkie mother and her alcoholic boyfriend are, for Nita and Wright, a discomforting aspect of their new neighborhood. Following a coincidental encounter with Ash in Cleave Springs’ right of way—an overgrown and fenced-off area that runs behind the backyards of many of the houses—Nita, from whose point of view the story is told, comes to suspect that the boy is a cat killer. Curious and concerned, Nita hires Ash to dig up a swathe of yard for a garden. When she questions the boy, he more or less confirms her suspicions.
But there’s a greater revelation afoot. With a degree of mystery common among Wingfield’s stories, “Right of Way” realistically illustrates the emotional complexities of gentrification—from both sides of the process. The reader is asked to compare an idealized, cookie-cutter image of Cleave Springs—a combination of sensible zoning, pristine bike paths, large light-filled houses, and a junkie-less population—with the “feral space” of the right of way, which is really its own kind of funky organism qua place. The story leaves one with important questions about the objectifying process of gentrification, namely its typical outside-in approach. “Right of Way,” like other stories in the collection, asks, Is there a better way?
Another fine example of Wingfield’s ability to zero in on contemporary issues is “Air Space.” In it Ward Mooney, a bearded, not-quite-nerdy model airplane enthusiast, begins an unexpected love affair with his attractive, red-haired neighbor, Camille Trevor, on September 11, 2001. They watch on television the destruction of the Twin Towers, then notice, in the distance beyond Cleave Springs, a black ribbon of smoke rising from the Pentagon. The trauma of the morning sends the unlikely couple into frenzied love-making, and Mooney and Camille begin sharing lunch and making love twice a week for more than a year.
The plot becomes complicated when Camille’s aged mother, a French native, decides the political climate in the United States is too unsavory to bear, saying, “I’ve always found this country attractive, though at times it has discouraged and frightened me. I was here for Civil Rights, Vietnam, a great deal of upheaval. Frankly, I’ve never found it as repellant as I do now.” Camille agrees. She plans to move with her mother to France, pleading with Mooney, who is hesitant, to join them. Most interesting in the story, I think, is the compelling way Wingfield sets up a binary between Mooney’s beloved model planes and the actual, life-sized planes used in war. As Mooney must come to terms with what is genuine and what is artificial, “Air Space” raises relevant questions about idealism and practicality. In particular, how do we find community in a changing world?
Winner of the 2010 fiction prize from the Washington Writers Publishing House, “Right of Way” is a pertinent, skillfully written collection of stories about a diverse community of people trying to cope in a world of perpetual transition. While these stories take place in a made-up Virginian suburb, the problems they address are universal and, in Wingfield’s hands, eloquently conveyed.
Josh Collins, Editor
