Daddy's

Daddy's

5.0 1
by Lindsay Hunter
     
 

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You ever fed yourself something bad? Like a candied rattlesnake, or a couple fingers of antifreeze? Nope? You seen what it done to other people? Like while they’re flopping around on the floor you’re thinking about how they’re fighting to live. Like while they’re dying they never looked so alive? That’s what Daddy’s is like. In

Overview

You ever fed yourself something bad? Like a candied rattlesnake, or a couple fingers of antifreeze? Nope? You seen what it done to other people? Like while they’re flopping around on the floor you’re thinking about how they’re fighting to live. Like while they’re dying they never looked so alive? That’s what Daddy’s is like. In this collection of toxic southern gothics, packaged as a bait box of temptation, Lindsay Hunter offers an exploration not of the human heart but of the spine; mixing sex, violence and love into a harrowing, head-spinning read that’ll push you a little further toward flopping.

Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher

“Lindsay Hunter makes drunk teenagers dry-humping in Cheeto dust compelling literary fare.” —The Boston Phoenix

“The stories in Daddy’s don’t flash. I think it’s more accurate to say that they poke. These are wicked little works of fiction with sharp edges and unpleasantly squishy middles. This is the kind of fiction I can’t get enough of.” —Bitch Magazine

“How even to speak of these tiny gothic gems? With adjectives, perhaps: mean, lewd, fierce, unapologetic.” —St.Louis Magazine

“Each tiny, diamond story—precise, comic, poised at the edge of surreal—contains one brutal life force tearing itself off the page. You can hold Daddy’s in your hands and feel it breathing.”
—Deb Olin Unferth, author of Vacation

“Lindsay Hunter won’t be caught lie-telling in the name of nice. The miniature stories in Daddy’s are fierce and unapologetic. When the We’s she voices say the axblade was bloody with dirt, what they mean is the neighbor’s swingset creaked and moaned next door and we heard a child’s voice say Never ever. When I’m looking again for my next undoing, I’ll crack open Daddy’s, and get the true news they tell us we’d be better off not hearing.”
—Kyle Minor, author of In the Devil’s Territory

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9780982580806
Publisher:
Featherproof Books
Publication date:
09/01/2010
Pages:
340
Sales rank:
981,787
Product dimensions:
4.38(w) x 6.00(h) x 1.00(d)

What People are saying about this

From the Publisher
“Lindsay Hunter makes drunk teenagers dry-humping in Cheeto dust compelling literary fare.” —The Boston Phoenix

“The stories in Daddy’s don’t flash. I think it’s more accurate to say that they poke. These are wicked little works of fiction with sharp edges and unpleasantly squishy middles. This is the kind of fiction I can’t get enough of.” —Bitch Magazine

“How even to speak of these tiny gothic gems? With adjectives, perhaps: mean, lewd, fierce, unapologetic.” —St.Louis Magazine

“Each tiny, diamond story—precise, comic, poised at the edge of surreal—contains one brutal life force tearing itself off the page. You can hold Daddy’s in your hands and feel it breathing.”
—Deb Olin Unferth, author of Vacation

“Lindsay Hunter won’t be caught lie-telling in the name of nice. The miniature stories in Daddy’s are fierce and unapologetic. When the We’s she voices say the axblade was bloody with dirt, what they mean is the neighbor’s swingset creaked and moaned next door and we heard a child’s voice say Never ever. When I’m looking again for my next undoing, I’ll crack open Daddy’s, and get the true news they tell us we’d be better off not hearing.”
—Kyle Minor, author of In the Devil’s Territory

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Daddy's 5 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 1 reviews.
Author_RichardThomas More than 1 year ago
The following review was originally published at The Nervous Breakdown. Chuck Palahniuk said something about writing that echoed in my head while reading the debut collection of dysfunctional short stories in Daddy's (Featherproof) by Lindsay Hunter. I paraphrase, but it goes something like this: "Teach me something, make me laugh, and break my heart." And that's what Lindsay Hunter does in this gut-wrenching collection of short fiction, with a sprinkling of hot sex and familial violence on top. Set in primarily rural areas (inspired by her time in Ocoee, Florida from the years 1986 to 1996), these stories ring true in horrifying detail. If you've ever spent any time in the south, tipped some cows, maybe sniffed your sister's panties out of curiosity, puked in a raggedy hotel room, seen your mama naked, or taken a backhand from your daddy, then you know what I'm saying. And that's what gives these powerful stories of abuse, longing, and depravity their power: the authority in them. Lindsay Hunter is fearless in her storytelling, no subject taboo, no moment from the past too dark or questionable to put down on paper. It makes me want to give her a hug, and then I remember, it's fiction, dummy. She's making worlds here, worlds where she doesn't turn the camera away from the dirty parts, the naughty moments with a conquest, or perhaps alone, as in "The Fence," one of my favorite stories from this collection. In "The Fence," the narrator gets off on an electric dog collar, placing it between her legs, slowly inching up to the edge of their property where the invisible fence lies buried, until the shock goes off: "I wind the vinyl part of Marky's collar around my hand, holding the plastic receiver in my palm, and then I press the cold metal stimulator against my underwear, step forward, and the jolt is delivered. Like a million ants biting. Like teeth. Like the G-spot exists. Like a tiny knife, a precise pinch. Like fireworks. I can't help it-I cry out; my underwear is flooded with perfect warmth. I lie back in the grass and see stars." (TO READ THE FULL REVIEW GO TO THE NERVOUS BREAKDOWN DOT COM)