“The New Arrivals” is, quite frankly, a bit of a mess. I like the basic idea of the thing, but if I had it to do over again I'd make the lead up to the (un)expected twist at the end a little more consistent with the source material.
Like “Creation,” it's a story that takes place in a land of myth, with archetypes rather than truly human characters. There's an underlying religious or spiritual theme at work in the way these stories are ordered–somebody told me at one point that short story collections usually front load the best stuff and let the quality taper off, but I've gone and put the best stuff near the end.
Excuse me if I prioritize my own personal artistic vision over mercantile concerns.
Anyway, the story is about a curmudgeonly tenant who has multiple complaints about the land Developer who built the place he's living in. The story is mostly a laundry list of resentments, criticisms, and recriminations the narrator has against the Developer who actually went and built the place.
At the time, I think I identified with the narrator more than I do now. That aspect is still there in me–we all carry around that never-satisfied critic who wants to whine about everything without accepting the burden of actually trying to improve things. That thing in us that wants to drag down the great and powerful, not for the sake of any real justice, but basically out of spite and a feeling of inferiority. The part of us that's a hypocrite who revels in pointing out the hypocrisies of others.
I identified pretty strongly with the narrator at the time I wrote this. Which wasn't a pleasant state to be in, let me tell you.
Anyway, the Developer could just as easily stand in for the creative part of our nature. The part of us that tries to make things better, invent useful or beautiful creations, and generally bring the goods of life to fruition. The narrator points out a few of the Developer's flaws, and perhaps justifiably so. But no human being is God. The best in us is still imperfect, and ought to be nurtured, encouraged, and helped to bloom.
But there are reasons for the narrator's bitterness, aren't there? In life, if not in the silly little story I wrote years ago. There's a deep, overwhelming pain that drives the narrator and leads inevitably to the ending.
If only because life is hard. If only because change is hard. If only because facing forthrightly the changes we need to face in order to become who we need to become… well, it's the hardest thing of all. And it's different for every one of us. There's no fixed roadmap to tell us how to become who we have it in ourselves to be. And if anything, the narrator is the voice of one who gave up on that journey.
I hope you'll forgive me if any of this sounds preachy. I don't know anything, I'm just some indie writer trying to sell some books.
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The Invisible Woman and Other Stories is available on Amazon.
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