{"id":105873,"date":"2016-12-15T14:35:13","date_gmt":"2016-12-15T19:35:13","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=105873"},"modified":"2016-12-15T14:56:40","modified_gmt":"2016-12-15T19:56:40","slug":"rapid-fire","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2016\/12\/15\/rapid-fire\/","title":{"rendered":"Rapid Fire"},"content":{"rendered":"<div id=\"attachment_105875\" style=\"width: 822px\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/12\/teacupballet.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" aria-describedby=\"caption-attachment-105875\" class=\"wp-image-105875 size-full\" src=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/12\/teacupballet.jpg\" width=\"812\" height=\"592\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/12\/teacupballet.jpg 812w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/12\/teacupballet-300x219.jpg 300w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/12\/teacupballet-768x560.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (min-width: 62.5em) 67vw, 100vw\" \/><\/a><p id=\"caption-attachment-105875\" class=\"wp-caption-text\">Olive Cotton, <i>Teacup Ballet<\/i> (detail), 1935.<\/p><\/div>\n<p><em>Our\u00a0complete digital archive is available now.\u00a0Subscribers can read every piece\u2014every story and poem, every essay, portfolio, and interview\u2014from <\/em>The Paris Review<em>\u2019s sixty-three-year history. <a href=\"https:\/\/ssl.drgnetwork.com\/ecom\/TPR\/app\/live\/subscriptions?org=TPR&amp;publ=PR&amp;key_code=ENAPRFX&amp;type=S&amp;gift_key=GATPRFX\">Subscribe now<\/a> and you can start reading 0ur\u00a0back issues\u00a0right away. You can also try <a href=\"https:\/\/ssl.drgnetwork.com\/ecom\/TPR\/app\/live\/subscriptions?org=TPR&amp;publ=PR&amp;key_code=TA10FX&amp;type=S\">a free ten-day trial<\/a>.\u00a0<\/em><em>We\u2019ll use this space to feature recommendations from our staff. This week, our intern Taylor Lannamann recommends Colum McCann.\u00a0<\/em><!--more--><\/p>\n<p>Colum McCann\u2019s \u201c<a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/fiction\/6024\/aisling-colum-mccann\" target=\"_blank\">Aisling<\/a>,\u201d from our <a href=\"http:\/\/store.theparisreview.org\/cart\/54324972:1\" target=\"_blank\">Summer 2010 issue<\/a>, is a small thunderstorm of a story. The narrator\u2019s life attacks rapidly, a barrage of associations and pathos and delight: \u201cmade more tea, rifled the cupboards, found the gin, opened the freezer, broke the ice, mixed the tonic, shook a cocktail, drank it down, recalled my husband, mutilated him twice, fair is fair, what he deserves, wept an aria, made another drink, iced it up, held the sink, poured it down, heard it gurgle, guilt and grace \u2026 \u201d McCann swerves and ducks within his own rhythms, disrupting the forward momentum and redefining the story\u2019s constantly shifting focal point. Between the many commas stand immaculate phrases with some\u00a0<em>serious<\/em>\u00a0verve. And as one remark turns to the next, we\u2019re left to track the narrator\u2019s ever-changing tenor; we fall into something of an invigorated hypnotism, lulled and enthralled by the rhythmic narrative. Whatever this piece is (short story, prose poem, literary listicle), one thing is certain about McCann\u2014dude knows how to swing. The story begins:<\/p>\n<blockquote>\n<p>I woke up, opened the curtains, found my nightgown, made the bed, tightened the sheets, fluffed the pillows, donned my slippers, turned the tap, filled the kettle, hit the switch, boiled the water, brewed the tea, stirred the milk, climbed the stairs, woke the boys, combed their hair, straightened their curls, brushed their teeth, buttoned their buttons, zipped their zippers, checked their homework, poured their cornflakes, ladled the milk, toasted their toast, packed their lunches, checked their satchels, fixed their collars, tied their laces, wiped their noses, kissed their cheeks, unlocked the chain, crossed the threshold, tapped their bottoms, waved them off, ran the driveway, called their names, held their shoulders, kissed their foreheads, trudged on home, keyed the lock, climbed the stairs, brushed my teeth, washed my face, slipped on sandals, filled my clothes, ignored the mirror, jumped out the window and developed two huge wings on the way down. Of course I didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/fiction\/6024\/aisling-colum-mccann\" target=\"_blank\">Read \u201cAisling\u201d in full here<\/a>; and <a href=\"https:\/\/ssl.drgnetwork.com\/ecom\/TPR\/app\/live\/subscriptions?org=TPR&amp;publ=PR&amp;key_code=ENAPRFX&amp;type=S&amp;gift_key=GATPRFX\" target=\"_blank\">subscribe now<\/a>\u00a0for digital access to every short story, poem, portfolio, and essay from\u00a0<em>The Paris Review<\/em>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>I woke up, opened the curtains, found my nightgown, made the bed, tightened the sheets, fluffed the pillows, donned my slippers, turned the tap, filled the kettle\u2026<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1115,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1188],"tags":[26257,16304,370,473,25912,71,90,354,7845,8811,7783,15043],"class_list":["post-105873","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-from-the-archive","tag-aisling","tag-archive","tag-back-issues","tag-colum-mccann","tag-digital-archive","tag-fiction","tag-issue-193","tag-recommendations","tag-short-stories","tag-stories","tag-subscription","tag-summer-2010"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO Premium plugin v25.4 (Yoast SEO v25.4) - https:\/\/yoast.com\/wordpress\/plugins\/seo\/ -->\n<title>From the Archive: Colum McCann\u2019s Rapid-Fire \u201cAisling\u201d<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Taylor Lannamann recommends a short story from our Summer 2010 issue: \u201cI woke 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