Mel Bosworth's Grease Stains, Kismet, and Maternal Wisdom: A Review by Martin Macaulay

Have you ever read a real-life story of love? Not one of those decorated love stories, wrapped in adjectives too flowery to connect to any kind of reality, but a love story that grabs you by the hand and drags you sprinting headlong out of town laughing and knowing that this is right, that this is the one? Mel Bosworth‘s novella  Grease Stains, Kismet and Maternal Wisdom does this, so lace up your sports shoes, get running and keep up.

Full of vigour and rapid dialogue, the story zips along. The narrative reflects the clumsy fumblings of two people connecting for the first time—or in this case reconnecting, the first time having been at a drunken party three months previously at 3AM. Will a reunion live up to expectation for either party? David only has a week to find out. Luckily David loves Samantha and Samantha loves David. What unfolds is an amusing and heartfelt tale of two people getting to know each other, getting drunk together, gradually peeling the layers off each other, tasting each other and just generally having a good time.

The story is infectious, partly down to the dialogue and the narrative interplay and partly through the likeable characterisation. It doesn’t take itself too seriously but don’t let that fool you into thinking that is a simple story. This is a playfully experimental piece in which characters understand that they can control and shape their own destiny. Authorial intrusion is subtly incorporated into the text:

‘I know…but get to the part where I spill pizza grease on my shirt, or better, when I ask you if you’ve ever jerked off thinking about me.’

‘But that’s like part four, or something. That’s a long ways away. I still have to do Harvard Square and the tea place and when we rub heads in line.’

‘You’re too sappy. Get on with it already.’

These interventions never distract from what is happening or what will happen. They add an extra layer to the story, letting us briefly slip into an alternative dimension—a parallel universe. We get a taste of what’s to come but never the full flavour:

‘Five?’ I asked.

‘Five.’

‘Okay. Are  you ready for five?’

She nodded.

‘Yes. I think so..’

‘I won’t make it bad, I promise.’

Dialogue intertwines with the imagined but the effect doesn’t confuse; it teases us just as the young lovers flirt. Speech becomes a metaphor for footsie. Just because there are quotation marks around a sentence, don’t take it for granted that those words were uttered. It keeps the reader guessing and gives the tale a vital spark.

In Part 2, where David and Samantha embark on their first proper date, we rattle through words as they get to know each other. We are told David will ‘…write it really fast without punctuation like a free write. That way it’ll still be significant and nothing, nothing big anyway, will be omitted’— almost as if the author wants to skip to some other part of their story. The impression this section gives us is that David and Samantha couldn’t have hit it off any better had they had a wand waved in their direction by a fairy godmother. Fuelled by pizza and alcohol, the night races by like the unrelenting text, just as those unplanned special nights always do. The kind of night you never want to finish, where you do what you can to prolong the moment, even if it means shelling out more than you can afford for a hotel room just to hold on to ‘it’ for that little bit longer. David and Samantha have worn their monster suit with four arms, four legs, two heads and two sets of genitalia for the first time. It shares a huge beating heart. Unfortunately for them the week seems to dissipate too quickly and as the novella builds we are given no clues whether this couple will be able to keep on wearing their monster suit or not.

In Part 5, Samantha and David go on a final blowout. Shots of spirits work their magic, getting our lovers steadily wasted. The writing accurately recaptures a piss up and the drinks are knocked back as readily as the sentences are hammered out:

‘I bought more drinks. Someone else bought more drinks. Everyone’s ears and noses were red and everyone’s lips were wet. We were all drunk. The cute waitress appeared at my side and I settled up our tab from earlier.

‘More green monkey piss!’ someone boomed.’

The alcohol disintegrates David and Samantha’s resolve and self-awareness and they find themselves rolling naked in the leaves, giving the neighbours a show. The alcohol provides a moment of perfect clarity:

‘We’re so fucked,’ I said.

‘I don’t want you to go.’

‘I’m not going anywhere.’

It’s refreshing to read a story where the protagonists can go out, drink, dance, get wasted, get naked and screw in the street, without the hard-hitting hand of morality coming to knock them back into their measly existences. No-one gets injured or pregnant, there are no diseases or cross-infections, nobody dies, no-one ODs, no-one even has their feelings hurt. Fuck it. People had a good time and they might even do it again…the bastards. That’s what I like about Mel Bosworth’s book. It is a book about love, but a book I can relate to despite the occasional transgressions into a parallel universe. It is honest and funny. The affection that Samantha and David share for each other shines through the story. The dialogue crackles and we are swept effortlessly into their lives. The book even has its own soundtrack. Or is it a mix tape especially created to woo the interested other? Whatever. It worked for me.

Grease Stains, Kismet and Maternal Wisdom is available as a free PDF, or $3.95 for a hardcopy from Brown Paper Publishing.