Countdown: The Top 20 Jack Ketchum Works of Short Fiction--#17

                                 


[For the previous entry on the Countdown, click here.]

#17. "Papa"

Writing a story for an absinthe-themed anthology seems like an exercise in constriction, but with "Papa" (2006; collected in Closing Time and Other Stories), Jack Ketchum manages to produce an admirably original piece.

The story boasts an interesting premise: painter Neal McPheeters (a real-life figure, and good friend of Ketchum) is mistaken as Ernest Hemingway by a stranger in an Upper East Side bar.  Since Papa is "forty years dead," McPheeters suspects Mike Kelly (an editor of Del Rey science fiction books--"Maybe that explained a few things and maybe it didn't") is "either way drunk, putting him on, crazy, or quite a character.  Or all of the above."  This unusual case of mistaken identity, though, helps McPheeters (who has gone to the bar that afternoon in defiance of a looming deadline) pass the time in an entertaining manner, and leads to some amusing conversation (such as when Kelly bluntly inquires, "Hey, you ever fuck Gertrude Stein?").  So in the spirit of fun McPheeters plays along, even accepting an invitation to go back to Kelly's apartment, drink from a bottle of absinthe and "Shoot the shit about the old days."

The illegal alcohol has a quasi-hallucinogenic effect on McPheeters, but turns Kelly's mood suddenly surly.  In the comic climax of the narrative, Kelly berates "Hemingway" for his famous hyper-masculinity ("All that bullfighting, hunting, fishing bullshit."), his history of adultery, even his granddaughters Margeaux and Marielle's choice of movie roles ("You let 'em both get naked for godsakes!").  When Kelly starts ranting that his guest "OUGHT TO BLOW HIS FUCKING HEAD OFF!", McPheeters realizes it's time to head on out of that den of insanity.  In another type of Ketchum story, the protagonist might have been trapped and subjected to grisly punishment, but in this light-hearted piece, McPheeters makes a safe exit, wanders through Central Park soaking up the greenery until the absinthe wears off, then returns home and promptly begins painting.

"Papa" is a standout example of the "New York bar scene" genre of story that Ketchum has repeatedly written (I count at least a half-dozen instances of such tale-types in the author's short fiction oeuvre).  The piece is enjoyable in and of itself, but to me is also noteworthy for all the knowledge of Hemingway's life and work that it flashes.  I've long had the sneaking suspicion that Ketchum's pseudonym isn't merely a nod to the 19th Century outlaw Black Jack Ketchum but also a subtler homage to Hemingway (who lived--and died--in Ketchum, Idaho).  Ketchum's unadorned yet resonant prose certainly suggests a stylistic influence; anyone who doubts a connection between the two writers is advised to take a look at the opening chapter of Ketchum's novel Red.  Neal McPheeters might bear a physical resemblance to Hemingway, but Jack Ketchum can be counted amongst Papa's literary offspring.