Intern Comments on Miracle Boy

Commentary by Catherine Anderson

Many times throughout the process of reading Pinckney Benedict’s Miracle Boy and Other Stories I wanted to put the book down and stop, but I’m glad I didn’t. In a few of the stories, the violence, horror, and creepiness was so heavy that it was difficult for me to parse through, but by the end of the collection, I had developed a tolerance (and maybe even a sort of appreciation) for Benedict’s use of the strange and shocking as a means of presenting the reader with meaningful commentary on the ordinary and the very real and meaningful. Initially, I also found the use of Southern farm settings to be repetitive, and it kind of left me feeling like an outsider since I don’t share this background with Benedict and his characters. However, I can now recognize some merit in the pairing of this ordinary, farming world (which became familiar even to me after several stories) with the mythical and fantastical world that his stories also enter into. This juxtaposition seems to link reality and impossibility in an important way, so that readers can accept the meanings in Benedict’s stories without being too shocked or confused to absorb them. Overall, with the exception of a few stories that just didn’t fit with my personal taste, this collection was definitely worth the read. It didn’t leave me feeling warm and fuzzy inside, but it certainly left me thinking.

Commentary by Tracy Richardson

Miracle Boy is a collection of stories that is very region specific, and utilizes cultural references from a distinct part of the United States. I was wary at first that, because the collection is so focused upon an area I am unfamiliar with, I would be unable to relate to the characters or find moments for introspection within the stories. However, after the first story, I was immediately pulled into this world, and Benedict’s carefully articulated spiritual allusions and almost psychological commentary really helped me connect with the work. Miracle Boy shines as a collection that, while very specific in setting, has a persuasive universality that appeals to a broad readership. Anyone curious about the human spirit will be provoked by this book that constantly surprises. Ultimately, I found myself both immersed and challenged in Benedict’s world that is intriguing, haunting, and often beautiful. This collection is certainly no light read, but it is great example of writing that can lead to insightful discussion with others as well as quiet contemplation within an individual.

Commentary by Mary Olive Keller

Benedict’s Miracle Boy contains scenarios so peculiar, they are almost unimaginable. Talking dogs, horses that roll their eyes, living robots, and human-to-animal transformations are simply a few of the irregular storylines. Once my frustration from continual bewilderment subsided, though, I realized that beyond their bizarre exterior, these stories address universal themes. Heritage, morality, disloyalty, faith, and discrimination are some of the collection’s recurrent topics. After I began to recognize the core underlying issues, I ultimately came to appreciate the inventiveness of these stories. My favorite story, “The Beginnings of Sorrow,” is arguably one of the collection’s most peculiar works (and that’s really saying something). The author manages to depict a stirring, rather than overwhelmingly unappealing, portrayal of such a disconcerting and foreign scenario. Ultimately I say read this work because Benedict breathes a breath of fresh air into popular literary topics. Regardless of the sometimes unappetizing storylines, his ability to provide fourteen distinct and innovative stories truly distinguishes his creative skill.

Commentary by Barbara Knipp

I was caught off guard by the success of Benedict’s collection in terms of its breadth, depth, and variety.  The author managed to weave in strong, specific themes into stories with different characters, settings, and plot developments.  He captured psychological complexities using carefully crafted sentences, diction, and imagery.  Some stories appealed to the heart and others to the imagination.  He opened the doorway into scenes of rural homes and families, painting pictures of farms and fields.  Family history and father/son relationship were resonant themes for me while reading this book.  My favorite story was “Mercy” because of the joyous ending and portrayal of a young boy’s inspiration and determination.  I would recommend this book to those with an appreciation for language and without a fear of the grotesque.

Commentary by Paige Willey

Some short stories I’ve read fall by the wayside, while some stick to you like honey, others rattle around in your brain, demanding your attention. The stories in Miracle Boy are the kind that rattle. Ranging from the tender, to the intriguing, to the unusual, these stories can neither be passively read nor remembered. Pinckney Benedict’s deft language and thought-provoking subjects must be approached with time and care, if only to revel in a fine turn of phrase or meditate over a surprising story line. While the range of stories ensures no one will like every piece, it does ensure everyone will like a least one, if not a handful.  I particularly enjoyed the title story for its theme of redemption, suspense, and the sympathy I felt for the characters. From the heart-catching story of a boy who loses his feet and has them reattached, to one of an alien trying to imitate humans, there is something to appreciate and admire in every story.

Commentary by Tim McAleenan

I respect authors who take risks. Far too many writers tell contrived stories that display a lack of imagination and an unwillingness to express any vulnerability, so I appreciate the fact that Pinckney Benedict’s collection of short stories, entitled Miracle Boy, abandons the safe path in favor of bold risk-taking. But unfortunately, I think that the absurdity of Benedict’s story-telling structure dominates the underlying themes of his stories. He typically blends stories of the Southern pastoral with that of the grotesque otherworld, most likely to convey the Faulknerian notion that certain Southern values are immortal and endure regardless of the context. But Benedict’s settings and asides of domestic violence often overshadow his salient points, to the detriment of the reading experience. Reading Pinckney Benedict is like eating a lobster–you have to crack your way through the shell to get to the meat inside. To be sure, Benedict offers some relevant insights on the frailty of human relationships and the difficulty of finding truth, but often, these lessons become blurry and obfuscated by the relentless barrage of absurd images and preternatural plot twists.