“In the Wine Press: Short Stories”
Joshua Hren, Angelico Press (2020)
158 pages, $16.95
Although the image of the wine press never appears in any of the stories, the feeling of being “pressed” – or perhaps oppressed – is the enduring theme of Joshua Hren’s “In the Wine Press: Short Stories.”
The characters suffer, and few of Hren’s stories offer them much of a salve. Mass shootings, suicides, joblessness, overwork, euthanasia and three cases of clergy sexual abuse are among topics addressed. Thus, this reviewer gives the book a content advisory warning.
The author doesn’t draw a veil of artful discretion over these scenes of carnage; beautifully written but with stomach-churning frankness, the reader is left cringing but grimly grateful for the honesty. Hren reserves aestheticization for the music of his language itself, and for the rare instances in which the supernatural world breaks into the natural. Frequently in the latter instances, language seems to break down entirely right at the end of the stories; words and images tumble over each other like water (with the effect of often leaving the reader not quite sure what has just happened).
Until these rare moments of grace or damnation, however, Hren uses his lyricism like beautiful flourishes for a cold iron gate. The final story of the collection, “Proof of the Immortality of the Soul, with Reference to Beeswax Soap,” elevates this to an artform, using a Joycean stream of consciousness to illustrate the fluorescent hell of stopping at a corner store too late at night.
The poetry of the author’s writing is in sharp contrast to his extremely prosaic settings, whether a rickety deck, a corporate bank office, a school gym or an old man’s living room. Only rarely do the characters enter into the liminal spaces of church naves, concert venues and the cosmic light shed by falling stars, where the boundaries between Earth and heaven (or hell) wear thin.
The effect of these settings is both oppressive and illustrative. By forcing the reader to confront the dullness of a modern life in which the supernatural has been stripped, the stories both demonstrate the value of these brief respites of sacred beauty, as well as drive home the collection’s question: In the wine press of this world, what will be poured out of us?
It’s easy to pass along the cliché of “offer it up” when encountering the suffering of others and much harder to do so ourselves. Yet Hren’s characters embody the stakes: Our suffering can be pressed and sanctified into good wine, or it can be left to sour into bitter vinegar and gall.
Though far from the most cheerful of reads, “In the Wine Press” is an excellent reflection on suffering. Like a good wine, its quality is clear from the first taste, and readers will appreciate Hren’s unflinchingly honest study of human pain and the value it can have only when, unified to the cross, it becomes a sacrifice of love for God and others.