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Jolley Prize

Pornwald

by •
August 2024, no. 467
Jolley Prize

Pornwald

by •
August 2024, no. 467

I

In the airless beige office she finds ways to kill time. She spins in her taupe chair until she feels faintly nauseous. She flicks through the papers in the greyish filing cabinet. She kicks the nude heel off her left foot and wedges its leather between her big toe and second-biggest toe. She cradles the putty-coloured phone in her elbow and coos to it like it’s a baby, feeling its plastic coldness. Through the half-open blinds, she stares at the signs for other businesses, reading their names out loud. First with an Aussie accent. Then a British one. Affordable Massage. Life Thrift. MRIs R Us. Poke Town. Inlet Market. Peat Bog Tanning. The Dark Fowl.

‘The Dark Fowl, innit?’ she murmurs to herself.

The fluorescent lights flicker. The air conditioner practically screams. The off-white box of paper clips shudders.

When her boss gets there – you’ll know he’s her boss by the illegible insignia of the company machine-stitched over his left pec – she will knock the box of paper clips onto the carpet. He will ignore her. She will kneel down on all fours. He will ignore her. She will pick up the paper clips one by one, looking up at him and apologising for the great big mess, crawling closer and closer to his knees.

 

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Jill Van Epps

Jill Van Epps is a writer and filmmaker based in Brooklyn. She received her MFA in visual art from Goldsmiths College in London and studied video art in Berlin on a Fulbright fellowship. She was awarded the Margaret C. Annan Award for fiction and has had several poems published in journals, including The Pedestal Magazine, The Hiram Poetry Review, The Oyez Review, and Visions International. She is currently completing her first novel, Teenage Babylon.

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Comments (3)

  • I'm having difficulty pinning down the impetus/meaning of the piece. I feel the claustrophobia, the fatalism- whether external or internal, and/or both- but I'm getting lost in the imagery, causing my grasp on the atmosphere to slip. Considering the fractured narrative, atmosphere is what I figured would be the key, like a David Lynch or Peter Strickland film, but the hook wouldn't sink. I'm not sure what I am supposed to feel for these characters- if anything. Reflective of the porn industry and its focus on gratification over connection? ⯑ I still found myself compelled to keep reading.

    Miss Van Epps, if you could provide some info on your influences for the piece, I'd love to hear it. The title of the piece eludes me too, is it a reference to something else?

    Congrats on winning the prize!
    Posted by Adam Gerekink
    28 August 2024
  • Respectfully, I have to strongly disagree with Kym Houghton's post. Not only do I find the writing (what I assume Houghton meant by "story") far from banal, but I find the subject matter (far more than "drifting towards mycelia") a challenging and nuanced exploration of sexuality, Sisyphean mundanity, gender, and the state of being. It is a triumph.
    Posted by Andrew M
    26 August 2024
  • Thanks to the writer, but her story seems as banal as her subject matter. People drifting towards mycelia.
    Posted by Kym Houghton
    31 July 2024

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