Kathryn O'Halloran may not be well known to readers outside her native Australia; but those who have yet to discover any of this gaudily gifted writer's jewel-like erotic short stories are in for a genuine treat. O'Halloran's collection of five short stories, appropriately enough entitled "Desire", is a marvel of the genre.
The first impression one gets on entry into O'Halloran's lavish word-scape is one of sheer rhythmic vibrancy, the frenetic onomatopoeic energy informing structure even as it drives language. We feel it as we spy on strangers making love in time to the incessant motion of a train in the title story; the herky-jerky momentum of acceleration and sex; the braking wheels squealing as lovers stifle their cries, metal against metal, a spray of ozone, and the electric sparks of orgasm. The narrator's memories of the recent past are visited, briefly, like the train's stops along the line. In another tale, O'Halloran employs the manic motion of a rollercoaster at an amusement park to underscore the emotional struggles of her characters; translating the clack and whine of flanged wheels and groaning track into the roaring, full-throated cadences of erotic release.
Yet, there's more than mere quasi-poetic gimmickry to this writing. Reading through the five wonderful short stories in this collection reveals a multi-faceted talent; from the structural tour de force of the title story, to the delicate, jewel-like impressionism of "I Always Cry in the Rain":
"From the bar he can watch her on the balcony. She perched against a table, the lights of the city rooftops behind her. She dresses like a wayward fifties bridesmaid--in red with a froth of petticoats swirling around her legs, a crimson rose punctuating her hair.
Outside the heat is like syrup, thick and heavy. He'll stay indoors.
Inside is white and clean and crisp. Inside, everything floats on the surface.
He tries to ignore her, but she buzzes like an exotic insect at the edge of his vision. She is never totally still. He doesn't need to be close to her to know: her teeth are stained with red wine, her fingernails tap to a tuneless song in her head; and she makes proclamations, swathing and caustic, and when she's challenged her eyes gleam like a chastised child's. She turns through people."
This is marvelous prose by any standard. Kathryn O'Halloran's "Desire" is not to be missed.