8: A Memoir Issue #32

By Amy Fusselman (Counterpoint Press, $17, 120 pages)

By Sarah Coffey
Published: June 1st, 2007 | 12:00am

Amy Fusselman submitted her first novel, The Pharmacist's Mate, to a McSweeney’s contest for the best book about electrical engineering on boats. When Fusselman’s manuscript (which had little to do with sea craft or electromagnetism and much more to do with pregnancy and punk rock) won a publishing contract, the little-known writer of the Bunny Rabbit fanzine was suddenly an indie favorite. Her second novel, 8: A Memoir, deals with time’s unexpected twists and turns and the way the past sticks like Silly Putty to the present. In genre, 8 mixes anecdotal memoir with a dash of self-help.

Fusselman’s subject has evolved from pregnancy to child-rearing, and her voice contains the simultaneous wonder and fatigue of motherhood. I read 8 in one long sitting on a cross-country plane, which made me feel as if I were having a conversation with a garrulous friend. Fusselman navigates between the first and second person with such ease that it seemed as if I was chatting with her over coffee, but the inherent danger of this style is that — like the best meandering conversations — key points and connections are easily forgotten afterward.

Fusselman covers a lot of ground, from pedophilia to motorcycle-driving to the Beastie Boys. Her fascination with the therapeutic power of touch surfaces throughout the book, weaving together her childhood experiences of sexual abuse with her present-day attempts to heal. It’s an enjoyable read by a writer with an unmistakably clever voice, but, to borrow an analogy from the author, the words float like sea creatures, twisting their tentacles in and around thoughts. It’s a pleasant dip in the ocean, but the liquid format of 8 leaves the reader floating, without an anchor.