Наслаждайтесь миллионами электронных книг, аудиокниг, журналов и других видов контента

Только $11.99 в месяц после пробной версии. Можно отменить в любое время.

What the World Will Look Like When All the Water Leaves Us

What the World Will Look Like When All the Water Leaves Us

Читать отрывок

What the World Will Look Like When All the Water Leaves Us

3/5 (46 оценки)
221 страница
3 часа
1 окт. 2009 г.


"What the World Will Look Like When All the Water Leaves Us is a lovely, remarkable book, full of people who strive mightily to believe in thingsBigfoot, the Lochness and Lake Michigan monsters, a tunnel leading to the other side of the world, husbands, wives, lovers, parentsthey shouldn't. But Laura van den Berg lets her characters believe, and believes in them, and makes us believe, and care, too. Calm, wry, and compassionate, somehow all at once, this book is impossible to resist, and I'd bet big money that we'll be talking about Laura van den Berg and her fiction for years to come." - Brock Clarke, author of An Arsonist's Guide to Writers' Homes in New England

"In her first collection Laura van den Berg creates a series of remarkable characters each of whom is striking out for territory unknown, plunging into an uncharted sea. I love the exhilarating sense of adventure in these stories, how they make the world seem larger, and how van den Berg maps our familiar pains in strikingly new ways. What The World Will Look Like When All The Water Leaves Us is a dazzling and original debut." - Margot Livesey, author of The House on Fortune Street and Eva Moves the Furniture

"There is a special kind of magic in the writing of Laura van den Berg, a damp-eyed sorceress who blends the mythological with the everyday, buoyant playfulness with lacerating sadness. Each sentence reads like a beautiful bruise smeared across pages as pale as the bodies that so often strip off their clothes and tangle together in these tender, elegant stories." - Benjamin Percy, author of Refresh, Refresh and The Language of Elk

"Discussions about debuts often allude to promise, as if to imply that better things will come, but in this particular case, there’s no need to wait. Laura van den Berg’s talents are already fully formed, and spectacular. This collection has searing emotions, a technical virtuosity, and a lyrical ferocity that dazzle us with undeniable force. Breathtakingly, we follow her characters as they seek escape in far-flung locales, both real and imagined, searching for that rarest of speciesthe feeling that they belong." - Don Lee, author of Wrack and Ruin and Yellow

Laura van den Berg finds the tension between science and magic and walks it like a tightrope. . . . It is a fantastic and fascinating world, full of discoveries and moments of wonder, a book meant for the explorer in all of us.”Hannah Tinti, author of The Good Thief

Containing work reprinted in Best Non-Required Reading 2008, Best New American Voices 2010, and The Pushcart Prizes 2010, the stories in Laura van den Berg's rich and inventive debut illuminate the intersection of the mythic and the mundane.

A failed actress takes a job as a Bigfoot inpersonator. A bontanist seeking a rare flower crosses path with a group of men hunting the Loch Ness Monster. A disillusioned missionary in Africa grapples with grief and a growing obsession with a creature rumored to live in the forest of the Congo. And in the title story, a young woman traveling with her scientist mother in Madagascar confronts her burgeoning sexuality and her dream of becoming a long-distance swimmer.

Rendered with precision and longing, the women who narrate these starkly beautiful stories are consumed with searching -- for absolution, for solace, for the flash of extraordinary in the ordinary that will forever alter their lives.
1 окт. 2009 г.

Об авторе

Laura van den Berg is the author of the story collections What the World Will Look Like When All the Water Leaves Us, The Isle of Youth, and I Hold a Wolf by the Ears, which was named one the ten best fiction books of 2020 by TIME, and the novels Find Me and The Third Hotel, which was a finalist for the New York Public Library Young Lions Fiction Award and an Indie Next pick, and was named a best book of 2018 by more than a dozen publications. She is the recipient of a Guggenheim Fellowship, a Strauss Living Award and a Rosenthal Family Foundation Award from the American Academy of Arts and Letters, the Bard Fiction Prize, a PEN/O. Henry Award, and a MacDowell Colony Fellowship, and is a two-time finalist for the Frank O'Connor International Short Story Award. Born and raised in Florida, Laura splits her time between the Boston area and Central Florida, with her husband and dog.

Связано с What the World Will Look Like When All the Water Leaves Us

Похожие Книги

Предварительный просмотр книги

What the World Will Look Like When All the Water Leaves Us - Laura van den Berg

where we must be


Some people dream of being chased by Bigfoot. I found it hard to believe at first, but it’s true. I was driving back from Los Angeles in August, after a summer of waiting tables and failed casting calls, when I saw a huge wooden arrow that pointed down a dirt road, actors wanted painted across it in white letters. I was in Northern California and still a long way from Washington, but I followed the sign down the road and parked in front of a silver airstream trailer. It was dark inside and I felt the breeze of a fan. The fat man behind the desk said he’d never hired a woman before. And then he went on to describe exactly what happens at the Bigfoot Recreation Park. People come here to have an encounter with Bigfoot. Most of their customers have been wanting this moment for years. I would have to lumber and roar with convincing masculinity. I can do that, I said, no problem. And I proved it in my audition. After putting on the costume and staggering around the trailer for a few minutes, bellowing and shaking my arms, I stopped and removed the Bigfoot mask. The fat man was smiling. He said I would always be paid in cash.

Today I’m going after a woman from Albuquerque. She’s small and sharp-shouldered, dressed in khaki shorts and a pink sweatshirt. I’d be willing to bet no one knows she’s here. For a brief time, this woman will be living in another world, where all that matters is escaping Bigfoot. People say the park is great for realigning their priorities, for reminding them that survival is an active choice. I’m watching her from behind a dense cluster of bushes. The fat man has informed me that she wants to be ambushed. This isn’t surprising. Most people crave the shock.

My breath is warm inside the costume. The rubber has a faintly sweet smell. I like to stroke my arms and listen to the swishing sound of the fake fur. The mask has eyeholes, but blocks my peripheral vision, so I can only see straight ahead. The fat man says this is an unexpected benefit of not having more advanced masks. According to him, Bigfoot is a primitive creature, not wily like extraterrestrials or the Loch Ness Monster, and only responds to what’s directly in front of him. Two other people work at the park, Jeffrey and Mack, but our shifts never overlap. The fat man thinks it’s important for us to not see our counterparts in person, to believe we are the only Bigfoot.

I wait for the woman to relax, watching for the instant when she begins to think: maybe there won’t be a monster after all. I can always tell when this thought arrives. First their posture softens. Then their expression changes from confused to relieved to disappointed. More than anything the ambush is about waiting the customer out. I struggle to stay in character during these quiet moments; it’s tempting to consider my own life and worries, but when the time comes to attack, it will only be believable if I’ve been living with Bigfoot’s loneliness and desires for at least an hour.

The woman yawns and rubs her cheek. She bends over and scratches her knee. She stops looking around the forest. Her expectations are changing. She checks her watch. I start counting backwards from ten. When I reach zero, I pound into the clearing and release the first roar: a piercing animal sound still foreign to my ears.


Jimmy and I are sprawled out in his backyard, staring through the branches of a pear tree. Earlier I found him sitting on the front porch, trying to stop a nosebleed. I told him to tilt his head back, then pressed the tissue against his nostrils and watched the white bloom into crimson. It’s not love. Or at least not what I thought love would feel like. It hurts to be near him and it hurts to be away.

What do you dream about? I ask.

Of a time when the world was nothing but water.

I spread my legs and arms and imagine floating in an enormous pool. Jimmy lives across the street from the bungalow I’ve been renting since August, a long structure with low ceilings and chipped turquoise paint. When I first moved into the neighborhood, he dropped by and offered to give me a hand. I didn’t really have anything to unpack, but invited him inside anyway. He grew up in Oregon and, after high school, drifted over to California, where he took a job as a postman. He was willowy and pale, with dark hair and green eyes and long eyelashes. He didn’t look like anyone else I knew. I pulled a bottle of Jim Beam out of my suitcase and he ended up staying the night.

He rolls toward me, leaving a silhouette of flattened grass. What about you?

I don’t remember my dreams, I say. I can’t get them to stay with me.

A hawk with white-tipped wings crosses the sky; I wonder where the bird is headed. It’s mid-October. The weather is cool and breezy. I wish we could keep winter from coming, I tell him.

Yeah, he says. It’s a real shame.

Jimmy told me he was sick the morning after we met. We were sitting on the floor of my living room, drinking water to ease the hangover. I raised my glass and pointed at the grit pooled in the bottom. He shrugged and said the water has always looked that way. Then he told me about the cold that lasted for three months and the clicking sound of the X-ray machine and the spot on his lungs. When I asked if he had help, he said he’d lost touch with his friends in Oregon and hadn’t made any new ones in the postal service. His father was dead, and his mother married a carpet salesman and moved east a few years back. His mother tried to arrange a nurse once his outcome became definite, but he refused, saying he didn’t want a stranger in the house. He stopped delivering mail months ago and was collecting disability checks.

He told me all this and then said he’d understand if I minded and we could just go back to being neighbors. But I told him I didn’t mind at all. My older sister, Sara, used to have seizures, though I didn’t mention that to Jimmy. As a child, I saw her collapse on tennis courts and roller-skating rinks, in the school cafeteria and on the carpeted floor of our bedroom, her chest heaving like something terrible was trying to get out. My mother made her wear a red bicycle helmet whenever she left the house. My mother, who raised us on her own, worked night shifts at a hospice center. Sometimes, out of nowhere, I remember the scent of rubbing alcohol and ointment on her hands.

How was work? Jimmy asks.

Not bad. I stretch my legs and bump against a browning pear. At the end of the summer, the branches were heavy with fruit, but halfway through September, the pears began rotting and falling to the ground. I gave a woman from Albuquerque a good scare.

You can practice your roar today if you want, he says. Since we’re already outside.

I can only do it when I’m in costume. I kick the pear and listen to it roll through the grass. It’s impossible to get into character if I’m not wearing it.

He moves closer and presses his face into my neck. You would’ve made a wonderful actress, he mumbles into my skin.

Whenever Jimmy asks about my months in Los Angeles, I tell him how difficult it was to make enough money, how alien I felt carrying trays through a chic bistro that boasted a fifteen-page wine list and thirty-dollar desserts. How I used to dream of fame, of seeing my face staring back at me in magazines and hearing the echo of my voice in dark theaters and never being lonely. When he wants to know about the acting, I tell him the casting directors said I wasn’t talented enough. I don’t tell him that they often praised my poise and personality, but in the end all said the same thing: you just aren’t what we’re looking for. I don’t tell him this felt worse than having them say I wasn’t pretty or gifted because it gave me a dangerous amount of hope.

I touch the back of Jimmy’s head. His hair feels damp. In my mind, I list the things I need to help him with over the weekend: wash the sheets, mop the floors, gather all the rotten pears. Just when I think he has gone to sleep, he looks up and asks me to stay with him tonight. I tell him that I will. He lowers his head and we both close our eyes. The late afternoon sun burns against us.


I wake to the boom of a loudspeaker. A truck from the water company is inching down the street. We are running tests. Do not be alarmed if your water is rusty. The water has never looked right here. People complain and the company comes out for an inspection, but it never seems to get any better.

Jimmy is still asleep, a spindly arm draped above his head. I don’t wake him before I go, even though I know he’d like me to. I want to be alone now, although as soon as I’m on my own, I’ll only want to be back with him. I leave a glass of murky water and his pills on the bedside table. He doesn’t stir when I kiss the side of his face and whisper a goodbye.

Across the street, I find a letter from my mother in the mailbox. As I open the envelope, a picture of my sister’s pepper plants falls to the floor. My sister is married to an architect and lives in Olympia. She hasn’t had a seizure in years. She works in a library and has a garden that produces vegetables of extraordinary size: cucumbers big as logs, eggplants that resemble misshapen heads, pepper plants like the ones in the photo, bright green and the size of bananas. In her letter, my mother reminds me that I won’t be young forever, that the longer I go without a real job, the more my employability will decrease. I slip the letter and the photograph back into the envelope and tuck it into a chest drawer, which is crowded with other letters she and my sister have sent. When I write back, I end up talking about the arid heat and the blue lupine that grows on the roadside, with only a vague line or two about having found acting work and a house to rent. They know nothing about my Bigfoot costume, about Jimmy.

I undress and take a shower. The water is a cloudy red. The color makes me queasy and I get out before rinsing away all the shampoo. My hair is light without really being blond and the dry climate has made the skin on my knees and elbows rough. I have an hour before work, although I wish I could go in early. I’m starting to realize I can’t stand to be anywhere, except stomping through the forest in my Bigfoot costume. That’s the reason I always wanted to be an actress: when I’m in character, everything real about my life blacks out.

In the living room, I turn the television to General Hospital. I scrutinize the women, golden-skinned and tall, who are playing the minor parts I once auditioned for—the nurse, the secretary, the woman lost in a crowd—then start doing lunges in preparation for my current role. It’s essential my muscles stay long and supple, so I can skulk with persuasive simianness.

The phone rings and it’s Jimmy. He wants me to come over for breakfast. I tell him I’m late for work, which is about thirty minutes away from being true, and that I have to finish rehearsing.

I thought you just do stretching exercises. The connection is bad and his voice pops with static.

It’s more complicated than that, I reply. Any actor will tell you it pays to do your homework.

He relents and makes me promise to come over after work. When I ask what he has planned for today, he says he’s going through the jazz records in his closet.

There’s a guy from high school I’d like to mail some of them to.

Don’t you want to talk to him or try to visit? I ask. If you’ve already gone to the trouble of getting his address.

No, he says. I really do not.

I walk over to the window and look across the street. Jimmy is standing by his living room window, waving and holding the phone against his ear. He’s only wearing his boxers and through the glass, his figure is pale and blurred.

I was wondering how long it was going to take you, he says.

Doesn’t it feel weird to see the person you’re talking to? I ask. The whole point of the phone is long distance communication.

Talking to you isn’t the same when I can’t see your face, he says. It’s impossible to tell what you’re thinking.

Do I give away that much in person?

More than you know. He presses his face against the pane, so his features look even more sallow and distorted.

Okay, I tell him. Now I’m really going to be late for work.

After we hang up, we stand at our windows a little longer. His hair is disheveled and sticking up in the back like dark straw. He gives me one last wave, then disappears into the shadows of the house. I wait to see if he’ll come back, but the sun shifts and the glare blocks my view. I imagine him watching me from another part of the house, through some secret window. I return his wave to let him know I’m still here.


The fat man says my client wants to kill Bigfoot. The customer is a man from Wisconsin, who came equipped with his own paint ball gun. He tells me not to ambush, but let the man sneak up on me and then moan and collapse after he fires.

I didn’t know killing Bigfoot was part of the deal, I tell him.

The fat man is sitting behind his desk. He leans back in his chair and picks something out of his teeth with the corner of a matchbook. It’s a recreation park, he says. They get to do whatever they want.

When I first started at the park, my costume had to be specially sized, with lifts in the feet and extra padding sewn into the body. As the fat man took my measurement in the trailer, I asked how people found this place, and he told me about taking out ads in magazines for Bigfoot enthusiasts and about the sightings that had happened in this part of California. Just last fall, his cousin had seen Bigfoot in the woods behind his house, pawing through an abandoned garbage can.

I open the closet and take out my costume. My initials are written on the tag in black marker. So this guy is going to shoot me with paint balls?

To be honest, you might feel a little sting, he says. But I’ve banned any other kind of weapon after an old Bigfoot got shot in the face with a pellet gun.


It was at close range too. He was covered in welts for days. He runs a hand over his head. If the weapon doesn’t look like a paint ball gun, then shout your safe word.

I step into the costume. I have a safe word?

I don’t like to tell people when they first start the job, in case they scare easily.

I don’t. I seal myself inside the rubber skin. What’s my safe word?

"Jesus, he says. It’s really more for the customers, but this is a different kind of situation."

"How’d you come up with Jesus?"

You’d be surprised at how religious some people are, he says. "I always thought screaming Jesus would get their attention."

I lower the Bigfoot mask onto my head and inhale the sweet scent of the rubber. Through the eyeholes, I can only see the fat man and his desk.

And what if this guy doesn’t believe in God?

Then you’ve still got the element of surprise.


I’ve been pretending to not see the man from Wisconsin for over an hour. He’s positioned in the branches of a cedar: back pressed against the tree trunk, nose of the paint ball gun angled toward the ground. He’s wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap, so I can’t see his face or eyes. He paid for two hours and most of our time has passed. He must be saving the killing for the very end.

In the meantime, I’ve been trying to do the things Bigfoot might actually do. I ambled around, rubbed my back against a tree, ripped up some wildflowers. I sniffed the air and gave two magnificent roars. But the whole time I felt myself slipping out of character and soon I was only a person in the woods, waiting for something painful to happen. I wonder if this is how Jimmy feels when he wakes in the morning—alone and waiting to be hit.

One evening, when it was still summer, we made a picnic and drove to the lake down the road. We ate pears and ham sandwiches and had a long talk about the days when he was first diagnosed and receiving treatment in a hospital a few hours away from our houses and the Bigfoot park. He’s young—thirty, only four years older than me—and says he’s never even held a cigarette; it wasn’t until the hospital that he began to overcome

Вы достигли конца предварительного просмотра. , чтобы узнать больше!
Страница 1 из 1


Что люди думают о What the World Will Look Like When All the Water Leaves Us

46 оценки / 10 Обзоры
Ваше мнение?
Рейтинг: 0 из 5 звезд

Отзывы читателей

  • (3/5)
    Several of the stories felt very "same-y." Overall, these stories about morose, aimless women felt tired.
  • (4/5)
    Absorbing stories. All involve a woman at a crossroads, and many--peripherally--a mythical monster: Sasquatch, Loch Ness, the Congo's mokele-mbembe, mishegenabeg (a legendary aquatic creature of the Great Lakes). Bear in mind, these are not science fiction or horror stories. The characters dwell in our world, and the monsters remain mythical. Yet there are real-world people who have encounters with such monsters because, in one way or another, people exist to whom these monsters play a role.

    I can imagine the author sitting down and making a list of such monsters, then thinking, "How might each one of them play a role in a real-person's life? Ground rule: nothing supernatural happens."

    And as our protagonists negotiate the murk of their lives, there are other elements: submarines, dark jungles, mysterious phone calls . . .

    All very well done. I'd look forward to reading more of Ms. van den Berg's work.
  • (4/5)
    Don't read this book if you're looking for stories with happy endings. On the other hand, do read this if you want to read about everyday people who have a strong belief in something, a mythological creature, perhaps, such as the Loch Ness Monster or Mokele Mbembe, or perhaps a magical tunnel that leads to another world. The common theme in the stories is that of loss. Each one of the central characters in the stories have suffered a loss of some kind in their past, be it the loss of parents,friend, husband, or boyfriend. They are stories of the coping mechanisms that each employs to move forward with their lives. Some will find new inner strength, perhaps loaned by a new fish, a tribal mask, an endangered flower, or in believing in a fabled monster. All will grow in quiet, resolute acceptance.
  • (5/5)
    Laura van den Berg's debut collection of short stories is a stunning examination of how loss impacts life changes. To say that all of the main characters of the eight short stories are female and have experienced loss of a family member in some manner - by death, separation or merely drifting apart - would be too simplistic a connection. Not only have the narrators encountered loss that they are trying to understand, their lives are impacted by others that have encountered recent losses and life changes of their own. The stories are multifaceted layers of characters and events that resonate pain, and hope for the future, while depicting coping mechanisms employed to face these life changing events. Each narrative, while searching for answers sweeps the reader along with travels to exotic locales in the quest for answers to larger world puzzles - deforestation impact on the lemur population of Madagascar, searches for the mythical creatures Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster and the search for a rare flower.I finished all stories in one short afternoon and was saddened to find myself at the last page of the last story. I can only say that I hope to see further stories by van den Berg published in the near future.
  • (5/5)
    I started this book by reading, "We Are Calling to Offer You a Fabulous Life," and fell in love with the lyrical prose.

    The rest of the short stories are equally enchanting. With exotic locales, interesting characters, and a variety of themes, WHAT THE WORLD WILL LOOK LIKE WHEN ALL THE WATER LEAVES US, is a startling short story collection worth savoring.
  • (5/5)
    The stories in What the World Will Look Like When All the Water Leaves Us are marked by a quiet, delicate, beautiful melancholy. Many of the characters are searching for something elusive or imaginary—the Loch Ness monster, a rare flower, a monster living in Lake Michigan—and this forces us to wonder what other, more tangible things they might be looking for (or studiously avoiding) and what real connections they’re missing out on while they devote all of their time and energy to the search for something they will never or can never find.Read my full review at The Book Lady's Blog.
  • (5/5)
    what the world will look like when all the water leaves us is a book of short stories by Laura van den Berg. The stories are set in locations ranging from Boston to the Congo, from Paris to Madagascar. In eight stories, van den Berg's heroines deal with loss, disappointment, and other obstacles.Despite the fact that this was a book of short stories, van den Berg quickly establishes her characters and their worlds in each. For example, in the opening paragraph of goodbye my loveds, I was amazed at how quickly she established an atmosphere and character, immediately making me interested in the story.You can read my full review at Rantings of a Bookworm Couch Potato.
  • (5/5)
    The Short of It:What the World Will Look Like When All the Water Leaves Us is a gem of a little book. Filled with stories about women who don’t settle, yet struggle to find their place in society. Honest and thoughtful in her delivery, van den Berg creates a world where beauty exists in everyday things.The Rest of It:How do I share the feeling that I am feeling right at this moment? Well, let’s give it a shot.There are many wonderful stories in this collection and although each story contains its own set of memorable characters, they are all tied together by a common thread, people who are searching for that special “something” that sets them apart from the rest. The world is filled with people yet if you take a moment to really reflect on people in general, you’ll see how different and unique each person can be. This is what I noticed with this collection.The author takes normal people, puts them in unusual situations or locales and then we see what they do with the cards that are dealt them. To me, this is an incredibly personal journey. A journey of discovery, yes, but it almost felt as I was lurking in a corner somewhere within these people’s lives. Listening to their conversations, anticipating their next move, etc. It’s a wonderful feeling to escape life for a minute and to just observe someone else.My intent was to finish this book in one day. You can surely do that as it’s very short, but why would you? After reading the first story, you’ll figure out ways to make it last, as you won’t want it to end. I’ve been reading it for several weeks now and although I’ve finished it, I still find myself flipping through its pages.What I especially appreciate, is that these stories are so different from what I’ve read before. Many of the stories center around monsters. Yes, Bigfoot and Loch Ness to name a few. Imaginary beings and things such as a tunnel leading to the other side of the world. Reading this book is almost like being a kid again. For a brief while, you can immerse yourself in the story and not think about what is real and what isn’t it.I can’t pick a favorite story as they were all wonderful in different ways. There’s science and art and the beauty of language and foreign places. Oh, and the writing is wonderful too. I caught myself re-reading sections just because they were so well-written. You’ll just have to take my word for it. The book is great and it deserves a spot on your shelf.This book was a Barnes and Noble Discover pick and I have to say that I’ve never been disappointed with one of their picks and this is her first book!Source: This copy was sent to me by the author, Laura van den Berg.
  • (4/5)
    This debut collection of short stories shines. Van Den Berg’s protagonists, mostly young women, are on quests ranging from the absurd to the dangerous. Often they are reeling under the impact of a life tragedy and using their quests or projects—playing Bigfoot in a theme park; searching for a rare, nigh-extinct flower near Loch Ness; swimming for long distances in the oceans off Madagascar—as a way through the grief to the other side. Each story is highly polished and finely crafted, and each character—quirky and damaged as they all are—is believable and sympathetic. Standouts include “Where We Must Be,” “Goodbye My Loveds,” and the title story.
  • (4/5)
    I most say that Laura van den berg has an strange effect in me. At the beginning I felt disappointed and I gave a 3 starts review to the book. But after a while the stories started to make a different effect in me and I saw them under a different perspective, that is why I change my rating from 3 to 4 there magic became later. I love to read short stories, and these ones started good, the main theme of all of them are broken women, having to take decisions that will change their lives 180 degrees. Sound good they had a good start a good shape, but most of the time they leave a sense of emptiness, that they are not complete, that they stop in a point when they can give more… I was disappointed, I was feeling that the author did not give me enough to really settle the story in my mind. But after a while I started to understand, I started to see the connections and the reasons behind these cuts, My favorite stories are “The rain season” and “What the world will be when all the water leave us”. From the other stories, I must say that I do like "Inverness" a lot, but again, I felt that it was a little bit more to discover. In contrast to all these stories of broken women that seems to create broken stories I do like a lot the ending of the last story, is the more complete and it let me a good taste of ocean in the air with her description.