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100 JOLTS
by Michael A. Arnzen
(Raw Dog Screaming Press, 156 pp., tpb, $12.95, 2004)

It should come as no surprise to Hellnotes readers that Mike Arnzen is a consummate idea man. The evidence is displayed here every week, in his brief feature Instigation: Twisted Prompts for Sicko Writers. These one-line cardiac paddles run the gamut from creepy to silly, amusing to thought-provoking, and have probably at one time or another left you with a feeling of gnawing envy, asking, "How does he come up with all of these?"

Only Arnzen can answer that, but the same things - creepy, silly, amusing, thought-provoking - and more can be said of the pieces in this unique collection. There are a few longer entries that run several pages, but most of them fall between a couple of lines and a few paragraphs. Arnzen generally manages to convey everything he wants with an economy of words that makes one-time short-short king Richard Christian Matheson seems like a wallower in excess.

The very brevity of most of these pieces provides an experimental freedom that more traditional narratives wouldn't always allow for: the "Stabbing For Dummies" mini manual (some solid practical advice here!); a tribute to The Gashlycrumb Tinies, Edward Gorey's alphabetically alliterative roster of childhood atrocities; the noirish "Receiver," told solely through a string of answering machine messages.

Many of the very short pieces work, strangely enough, in much the same way as the best of Gary Larson's Far Side cartoons, by compelling you to imagine something that has just happened . or is about to. As well, recurring themes emerge, such as the quintet of "Nightmare Job" entries, which dissect just far we'll go to earn a living (love the help wanted ad for the sewage diver, and the implications of the harpoon gun that comes as a job perk).

If there's one disadvantage to this ultra-short form, it's the unavoidable distancing effect that such terseness imposes. The majority of these aren't - and cannot be - the kinds of tales that draw you in, pull you close, and then put the knife in at leisure. Which isn't to suggest that Arnzen makes no room at all for emotional depth. "My Wound Still Weeps," a two-pager about the lingering echoes of family abuse, takes precisely enough time to hit like a ball-peen hammer. And at just a little longer, the gentle, wistful "Tugging The Heartstrings" is the collection's crowning moment.

The 100 stories are bracketed by an introduction and a concluding interview, but read them both first. They'll give you some additional insight that should help you further appreciate what Arnzen is up to, in this celebration of the power of reducing mortality and morbidity - and their lighter sides - to their bare essences.