← It Could Happen Here
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Call Zone Media Book Club Book Club Book Club Book Club it's the Cool Zone Media Book Club. Welcome to Cool Zone Media Book Club, the only book club where you don't have to do the reading because I do it for you. Host Margaret Killjoy and this week I'm going to read you a story by one of my favorite authors, Sophia Samatar. The story is called Selkie Stories Are for Losers, and it was published in 2013 by Strange Horizons. And you can also get it in Sofia's 2019 collection, Tender. This story was nominated for just a fuckton of awards in 2014. Basically, the big ones. The Hugo, the Nebula, the World Fantasy Award, and the BSFA Award, which is the British award, basically. And it's a selkie story, as you might have guessed, because the title is Selkie Stories Are for Losers. And I guess we're all losers, because this is a selkie story for us. And selkies are a part of Celtic and Norse myth originally. And selkies are people, usually women. They're seal people, and they can transform between seal and human form by putting on their seal skins. In a classic selkie story, a guy will see, like, a hot seal lady and steal her skin, forcing her to be stuck as a human. And then usually he'll marry her and she'll be sad and lonely and miss the sea. And if she manages to get back her skin, she'll disappear and ditch her husband, captor and her kids and fuck off to the sea. There's a lot there. Obviously, from a feminist point of view. One of the things that I find really interesting is that there's this sort of medieval European conception of women where it's not that women are, like, docile, like the way that the Victorian woman is presented, but instead that women are naturally wild and untamed. And, you know, there's this been complete switch of what misogyny looks like. It used to look like calling us wild and untamed, and now it accuses us of being docile or whatever. So the selkie myth ties so well into this idea that, like, women in their original state or these. These wild creatures, okay, that's the basic outline of what a selkie story might be for context, but it's not this story. This story is called Selkie Stories Are For Losers by Sophia Samatar. I hate selkie stories. They're always about how you went up to the attic to look for a book and you found a disgusting old coat and brought it downstairs between finger and thumb and said, what's. And you never saw your mom again? I work at a restaurant called La Pacha. I got the job after my mom left to help with the bills. On my first night at work, I got yelled at twice by the head server, burnt my fingers on a hot dish, spilled lentil, parsley soup all over my apron and left my keys in the kitchen. I didn't realize at first I'd forgotten my keys. I stood in the parking lot, breathing slowly and letting the oil smell lift away from my hair, and when all the other cars had started up and driven away, I put my hand in my jacket pocket. Then I knew. I ran back to the restaurant and banged on the door. Of course no one came. I smelled cigarette smoke an instant before I heard the voice. Hey. I turned and Mona was standing there, smoke rising white from between her fingers. I left my keys inside. I said, mona is the only other server at Lapacha who's a girl. She's related to everybody at the restaurant except me. The owner, who goes by Uncle Tad, is really her uncle, her mom's brother. Don't talk to him unless you have to, mona advised me. He's a creeper. That was after she'd sighed and dropped her cigarette and crushed it out with her shoe and stepped into my clasped hand so I could boost her up to the window. After she'd wriggled through the kitchen and opened the door for me, she said, madame in a dry voice and bowed. At least I think she said Madame. She might have said my lady. I don't remember that night too well because we drank a lot of wine. Mona said that as long as we were breaking and entering we might as well steal something, and she lined up all the bottles of red wine that had already been opened. I shone the light from my phone on her while she took out the special rubber corks and poured some of each bottle into a plastic P. She called it the house wine. I was surprised she was being so nice to me, since she'd hardly spoken to me while we were working. Later she told me she hates everybody the first time she meets them. I called home but dad didn't pick up. He was probably in the basement. I left him a message and turned off my phone. Do you know what this guy said to me tonight? Mona asked. He wanted beef couscous and he said, I'll have the beef Conscious. Mona's mom doesn't work at La Pacha, but sometimes she comes in around 3 o' clock and sits in Mona's section and cries. Then Mona jams on her orange baseball cap and goes out through the back and smokes a cigarette and I take over her section. Mona's mom won't order anything from me. She's got Mona's eyes, or Mona's got hers, huge angry eyes with lashes that curl up at the ends. She shakes her head and says nothing. Nothing. Finally, Uncle Tad comes over and Mona's mom hugs and kisses him, sobbing in Arabic. After work, Mona says, got the keys. We get in my car and I drive us through town to the Bone Zone, a giant cemetery on a hill. I pull into the empty parking lot and Mona rolls a joint. There's only one lamp, burning high and cold in the middle of the lot. Mona pushes her shoes off and puts her feet up on the dashboard and cries. She warned me about that the night we met. I said something stupid to her, like, you're so funny, and she said, actually, I cry a lot. That's something you should know. I was so happy she thought I should know things about her. I didn't care. I still don't care. But it's true that Mona cries a lot. She cries because she's scared her mom will take her away to Egypt, where the family used to live and where Mona has never been. What would I do there? I don't even speak Arabic. She wipes her mascara on her sleeve and I tell her to look at the lamp outside and pretend that its glassy brightness is a bonfire and that she and I are personally throwing every selkie story ever written onto it and watching them burn up. You and your selkie stories, she says. I tell her they're not my selkie stories, not ever, and I'll never tell one, which is true, I never will. And I don't tell her how I went up to the attic that day, or that what I was looking for was a book I used to read when I was little, Beauty and the Beast, which is a really decent story about an animal who gets turned into a human and stays that way, the way it's supposed to be. I don't tell Mona that beauty's black hair coiled to the edge of the page, or that the beast had yellow horns and a smoking jacket, or that instead of finding the book, I found the coat and my mom put it on and went out the kitchen door and started up her car. And do you know what? I think she was leaving the house to go. Do I think she was leaving the house to take advantage of of these products and services? I think that's the most likely thing. I haven't finished reading this story yet, so I don't know what's going to happen, but I assume that what happened is that she went out because she heard these ads.
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And we're back. One selkie story tells about a man from Merth, or Thaler. He was on the cliffs one day and heard people singing and dancing inside a cave and he noticed a bunch of skins piled on the rocks. He Took one of the skins home and locked it in a chest. And when he went back, a girl was sitting there alone, crying. She was naked, and he gave her some clothes and took her home. They got married and had kids. You know how this goes. One day the man changed his clothes and forgot to take the key to the chest out of his pocket. And when his wife washed the clothes, she found it. You're not going to Egypt, I tell Mona. We're going to Colorado, remember? That's our big dream, to go to Colorado. It's where Mona was born. She lived there until she was 4. She still remembers the rocks and the pines and the cold, cold air. She says the clouds of Colorado are bright like pieces of mirror in Colorado. Mona's parents got divorced. And Mona's mom tried to kill herself for the first time. She tried it once here, too. She put her head in the oven, resting on a pillow. Monona was in seventh grade. Selkies go back to the sea in a flash, like they've never been away. That's one of the ways they're different from human beings. Once my dad tried to go back somewhere. He was in the army, stationed in Germany, and he went to Norway to look up the town where my great grandmother came from. He actually found the place and even an old farm with the same name as us in the town. He went into a restaurant and ordered lutfishk, a disgusting fish thing my grandmother makes. The cook came out of the kitchen and looked at him like he was nuts. She said they only eat lutfishkin at Christmas. There went Dad's plan of bringing back the original flavor of lut fish. Now all he's got from Norway is my great grandmother's Bible. There's also the diary she wrote on the farm up north. But we can't read it. There's only four English words in the whole my God, awful day. You might suspect my dad picked my mom up in Norway where they have seals. He didn't, though. He met her at the pool. As for mom, she never talked about her relatives. I asked her once if she had any, and she said they were no kind of people. At the time, I thought she meant they were druggies or murderers. Maybe in prison somewhere. Now I wish that was true. One of the stories I don't tell, Mona comes from a dictionary of British folklore in the English language. In that story, it's the selkie's little girl who points out where the skin is hidden. She doesn't know what's going to happen, of course she just knows her mother is looking for a skin and she remembers her dad taking one out from under the bed and stroking it. The little girl's mother drags out the skin and says, fareweel Peary butto. She doesn't think about how the little girl is going to miss her or how if she's been breathing air all this time, she can surely keep it up a little longer. She just throws on the skin and jumps into the sea. After mom left, I waited for my dad to get home from work. He didn't say anything when I told him about the coat. He stood in the light of the clock on the stove and rubbed his fingers together softly, almost like he was snapping, but with no sound. Then he sat down at the kitchen table and lit a cigarette. I'd never seen him smoke in the house before. Mom's gonna lose it, I thought, and then I realized that no, my mom wasn't going to lose anything. We were the losers, me and dad. He still waits up for me. So just before midnight I pull out of the parking lot. I'm hoping to get home early enough that he doesn't grumble, but late enough that he doesn't want to come up from the basement where he takes apart old TVs and talk to me about college. I've told him I'm not going to college. I'm going to Colorado, a landlocked state. Only 20 out of 50 states are completely landlocked, which means they don't touch the Great Lakes or the sea. Mona turns on the light and tries to put on eyeliner in the mirror, and I swerve to make her mess up. She turns out the light and hits me. All the windows are down to air out the car and Mona's hair blows wild around her face. Peary butto, the book says, is a term of endearment. Peary butto, I say to Mona. She's got the hiccups. She can't stop laughing. I've never kissed Mona. I've thought about it a lot, but I keep deciding it's not time. It's not that I think she'd freak out or anything. It's not even that I'm afraid she wouldn't kiss me back. It's worse. I'm afraid she'd kiss me back but not mean it. But do you know what we say but don't mean that? We love our sponsors. Here they are. We love them.
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Going on in Hollywood. How are you supposed to stay on top of it all? Variety has the solution. Take 20 minutes out of your day and listen to the new daily Variety podcast for breaking entertainment news and expert perspectives.
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- [21:31]
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And we're back. Probably one of the biggest losers to fall in love with a selkie was the man who carried her skin around in his knapsack. He was so scared she'd find it that he took the skin with him everywhere when he went fishing, when he went drinking in the town. Then one day he had a wonderful catch of fish. There were so many that he couldn't drag them all home in his net. He emptied his knapsack and filled it with fish, and he put the skin over his shoulder and on his way up the road to his house he dropped it. Gray in the front and gray in the back is the very thing I lack. That's what the man's wife said when she found the skin. The man ran to catch her. He even kissed her, even though she was already a seal. But she squirmed off down the road and flopped into the water. The man stood knee deep in the chilly waves, stinking a fish, and cried. In selkie stories, kissing never solves anything. No transformation happens because of a kiss. No one loves you just because you love them. What kind of fairy tale is that? She wouldn't wake up, Mona says. I pulled her out of the oven onto the floor and I turned off the gas and opened the windows. It's not that I was smart. I wasn't thinking at all. I called Uncle Tad and the police and I still wasn't thinking. I don't believe she wasn't smart. She even tried to give her mom cpr, but her mom didn't wake up until later in the hospital. They had to reach in and drag her out of death, she was so closed up in it. Death is skin tight, mona says. Gray in front and gray in back. Dear Mona, when I look at you, my skin hurts. I pull into her driveway to drop her off. The house is dark, the darkest house on her street, because Mona's mom doesn't like the porch light on. She says it shines in around the blinds and keeps her awake. Mona's mom has a beautiful bedroom upstairs, with lots of old photographs and gilt frames, but she sleeps on the living room couch beside the aquarium. Looking at the fish helps her to sleep, although she also says this country has no real fish. That's what Mona calls one of her mom's refrains. Mona gets out, yanking the little piece of my heart that stays with her wherever she goes. She stands outside the car and leans in through the open door. I can hardly see her, but I can smell the lemon scented stuff she puts on her hair, mixed up with the smells of sweat and weed. Mona smells like a forest, not the sea. Oh my God, she says. I forgot to tell you. Tonight, you know. Table six, that big horde of Uncle Tad's friends. Yeah. So they wanted the soup with the food and I forgot. And you know what the old guy says to me, the little guy at the head of the table? What? He goes. Vous ete bette, mademoiselle. She says it in a rough, growly voice and laughs. I can tell it's French, but that's all. What does it mean? You're an idiot, miss. She ducks her head, stifling giggles. He called you an idiot? Yeah. Bet. It's like beast. She lifts her head, then shakes it. A light from someone else's porch bounces off her nose. She puts on a fake Norwegian accent and says, my God, awful day. I nod. Awful day. And because we say it all the time, because it's the kind of silly, ordinary thing you could call one of our refrains, or maybe because of the weed I've smoked. A whole bunch of days seem pressed together inside this moment, more than you could count. There's the time we all went out for New Year's Eve and Uncle Tad drove me, and when he stopped and I opened the door, he told me to close it and I said I will when I'm on the other side. And when I told Mona, we laughed so hard we had to run away and hide in the bathroom. There's the day some people we know from school came in and we served them wine even though they were underage and Mona got got nervous and spilled it all over the tablecloth. And the day her nice cousin came to visit and made us cheese and mint sandwiches in the microwave and got yelled at for wasting food. And the day of the party for Mona's mom's birthday when Uncle Tad played music and made us all dance and Mona's mom's eyes went jewely with tears and afterward Mona told me I should just run away. I'm the only thing keeping her here. My God, awful days. All the best days of my life. Bye, Mona whispers. I watch her until she disappears into the house. My mom used to swim every morning at the ywca When I was little she took me along. I didn't like swimming. I'd sit in a chair with a book while she went up and down, up and down, a dim streak in the water. When I read Ms. Frisbie and the Rats of NIMH, it seemed like mom was a lab rat doing tasks, the way she kept touching one side of the pool and then the other. At last she climbed out and pulled off her bathing cap. In the locker room she hung up her suit, a thin gray rag dripping on the floor. Most people put the hook of their padlock through the straps of their suit so the suits could hang outside the lockers without getting stolen. But my mom never did that. She just tied her suit loosely on the lock. No one's gonna steal that stretchy old thing, she said. And no one did. That should have been the end of the story. But it wasn't. My dad says mom was an elemental, a sort of stranger. Not of our kind. It wasn't my fault she left. It was because she couldn't learn to breathe on land. That's the worst story I've ever heard. I'll never tell Mona. Not ever. Not even when we're leaving for Colorado with everything we need in the back of my car and I meet her at the grocery store the way we've already planned, and she runs out smiling under her orange baseball cap. I won't tell her how dangerous addicts are, or how some people can't start over. Or how I still see my mom in the shop waiting windows with her long hair the same silver gray as her coat. Or how once when my little cousins came to visit, we went to the zoo and the seals recognized me. They both stood up in the water and talked in a foreign language. I won't tell her. I'm too scared. I won't even tell her what she needs to know. That we've got to be tougher than our moms, that we've got to have different stories, that she'd better not change her mind and and drop me in Colorado because I won't understand. I'll hate her forever and burn her stuff and stay up all night screaming at the woods because it's stupid not to be able to breathe. Whoever heard of somebody breathing in one place but not another? And we're not like that, Mona and me. And Selkie stories are only for losers stuck on the wrong side of magic. People who drop things, who tell all, who leave keys around, who let go. The end this story was picked out by my friend Hazel, who said this about it. Selkie stories are for losers like they're for suckers. But Selkie stories are also for losers. People who lose people and need to make sense of that loss. And we asked Sophia if there's anything she wanted to include in this reading. And she had this to say about the piece. Quote. I think what I'd want to say about this story is that it marked a turning point in my writing practice. Writing it, I understood for the first time what a short story was I learned this by studying Karen Joy Fowler's excellent story King Rat, which also uses a mixture of realism and folklore. And that makes sense to me because, honestly, I am blown away by the craft of this story. I think that this story is. Well, I've already been saying for years that Sophia Samatar's story, the Ogres of East Africa is my favorite short story. And it's true thematically and prose wise. But also just on this craft level, I'm just really blown away by how Sofia writes. I think that the way that this story, the selkie story, is telling two parallel stories at the same time with these brilliant overlaps and parallels that are still remarkably different. Like, culturally different. Like, you know, I'm afraid I'll be taken back to Egypt versus, like, I'm gonna move to a landlocked state. And obviously, the parallel about the way in which both of their mothers have attempted to leave. And it's interesting because by default, when I think of selkie stories, I really think about, you know, the running back to the wild and sort of abandoning the family. But then this story is. While there's a little bit of that, it's also just, like, clearly about death and being sort of too wild to be alive in some ways. And, you know, when I hear a selkie story, traditionally, my thoughts are like, fuck, yeah, she got away from that guy, right? But then positioning in it from the point of view of the kids, it deepens a feminist understanding of what it means to feel trapped by a family, you know? And it complicates it in this way that I think is. Is necessary and makes it no longer so black and white. So, yeah, I've enjoyed the story every time I've read it. And I will probably come back to it just from a craft level to study it further. I really can't say enough about it, but I will say that Sofia's most recent books, if you want to read more of her stuff, are the science fiction novella the Practice, the Horizon and the Chain, which was a finalist for the Hugo, Nebula, Philip K. Dick and Locus awards and Opacities on Writing and the Writing, a meditation on writing, publishing and friendship. And I'm going to go out and get both of those books. And I have a thing where I really like books about writing, but most of them aren't very good. And I suspect that this one will be very good. And I really like how different. Every author who writes books about writing is going to write a book. You think it'd be a very Standard kind of textbooky thing. But everyone's books are so completely different. Jeff Vandermeer has two different books on writing and they're night and day different from each other. One's called Wonder Book and it's esoteric and feels like you're on lsd, but it also teaches you about story. And one's called, I think it's called the Writing Life or something. And it's just about how to not lose your brain while writing. Anyway, I don't know what I'm talking about that. But if you want to keep up with Sophia Samatar's work, you can do that. I believe she's not on social media. I believe she is free. But she has a website, sophiasamatar.com, which is s O F I a S a M a t a r.com and I'm Margaret Killjoy and you can find me@birdsbeforethestorm.net, it's a website that I never obtained. I don't know why I'm telling you to go there. I have an author website. I've had it for a very long time, but I don't use it. I am on social media because I am not free. You can find me at either Margaret or Magpie Killjoy on various things. I don't know, search my name, you'll figure it out. I believe in you and I write a substack that comes out every week and I have another podcast, it's called Cool People who did Cool Stuff. And also I hope all of you are doing as well as you can during this moment. I say this all the time, but it's not like things are. It's always a. Always a complicated time and that's why we have stories. All right, bye everyone.
- [33:40]
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It could happen here as a production of Cool Zone Media. For more podcasts from Cool Zone Media, Visit our website coolzonemedia.com or check us out on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts or wherever you listen to podcasts you can find sources for. It could happen here. Updated monthly@coolzonemedia.com sources. Thanks for listening. Ah, come on. Why is this taking so long? This thing is ancient.
- [34:04]
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Still using yesterday's tech Upgrade to the ThinkPad X1 Carbon Ultra Light, ultra powerful and built for serious productivity with Intel Core Ultra processors, blazing speed and AI powered performance that keeps up with your business, not the other way around.
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Stop hitting snooze on new tech. Win the tech search@lenovo.com Unlock AI experiences with the ThinkPad X1 carbon powered by Intel Core Ultra processors so you can work, create and boost productivity all on one device.
- [34:38]
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Stop settling for weak sound. It's time to level up your game and bring the boom. Hit the town with the ultra durable LG X Boom portable speaker and enjoy. Enjoy vibrant sound wherever you go. Elevate your listening experience to new heights because let's be real, your music deserves it. The future of sound is now with LG XBoom and for a limited time save 25%@LG.com with code fall25 bring the.
- [35:04]
E
Boom XBoom there's a lot going on in Hollywood. How are you supposed to stay on top of it all? Variety has the solution. Take 20 minutes out of your day and listen to the new daily Variety podcast for breaking entertainment news and expert perspectives.
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Where do you see the business actually heading?
- [35:24]
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Featuring the iconic journalists of Variety and hosted by co Editor in Chief Cynthia Littleton.
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The only constant in Hollywood is change.
- [35:33]
E
Open your free iHeartradio app, search daily Variety and listen now.
- [35:38]
A
This is Julian Edelman from Games With Names.
- [35:41]
C
Fantasy football can be exhausting.
- [35:43]
D
I mean that literally. You're so anxious over your lineup you can't fall asleep.
- [35:48]
A
Best way to deal with it is unisom.
- [35:51]
D
There's a reason it's the number one.
- [35:53]
A
Doctor recommended over the counter sleep aid brand. It helps you fall asleep faster, wake up less and feel refreshed in the morning. Plus, unisom sleep tabs are clinically tested and proven effective and completely non habit forming. So make the ultimate sleeper pick and.
- [36:13]
C
Put it to bed with unisom.
- [36:15]
A
Use as directed. This is an I heart podcast.