Fiction Collective Two is an author-run, not-for-profit publisher of artistically adventurous, non-traditional fiction.

Saw

Saw

Saw
by Steve Katz

Paperback
1999
Price: $16.00

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Saw is a milestone novel of the seventies. It is the first work of fiction ever to hide a hippopotamous. For the first time what has come to be recognized as a common modern neurosis, astronaut angst, gets full play in the fictional universe. For the first time anywhere in the history of fiction, in one of the most passionate encounters ever written, Eileen mates with a Sphere. Solid geometry finally has a face. The Cylinder is a nemesis, and its terrifying accomplishments rill on like a nightmare for this astronaut. This is a work of science fiction, geometric fiction, irrefutable fact, and gourmand fantasies.


Steve Katz, whose Swanny's Way won the American Award in fiction in 1995 was acclaimed for this novel by the New York Times Book Review as a "...witty fantasist who can homogenize pop detritus, campy slang and halluncination to achieve inspired chaos."


 

Excerpt


Eileen grabs a subway and heads for Van Cortlandt Park. What a park. Anything you want is there. Cricket. Lacrosse. Ladies' softball. "So enjoy yourself," mumbles Eileen, as she slides to a seat near the mucky window. The woman in the seat by the door reads the New York Times. Eileen hates that newspaper and all its contents. The pup she has hidden under her sweatshirt is wiggling. "Nice pup you got there, lady," says a black kid, edging toward her along the seats. He is wearing a baseball uniform, and The Marvels is the name of his team. "I've got no puppy here," Eileen replies, knowing pups are illegal on the subway.


The kid sends some gestures and winks back to his teammates at the other end of the car. "You've sure got something that whines and wiggles like a puppy under there."


Eileen ignores the kid. The IRT rumbles on down the track and busts into daylight, heading for the Bronx. The boy tries to pet the hidden pup with his first baseman's mitt. "I told you there is no puppy under there," Eileen insists, turning aside and looking hard out the window. Flat-topped buildings stick up all over the little hills of the Bronx. "If you don't got no puppy in there," says the kid, "with all that whining and whomping around in there, then you something boss, lady; you got the jivingest jugs in the world." The kid goes back to his teammates and they slap each other's palms and roll baseballs up their arms.