If I Had Two Wings: Stories

Many of the characters in Randall Kenan’s If I Had Two Wings are haunted. Whether by the memory of dead lovers, echoes of the slave-holding past, or mysterious hogs, something uncanny follows the people populating this memorable and smoothly written short story collection. Sadly, haunting too is the fact that Keenan died in late September 2020 at the age of 57, not long after the book was published.

Longlisted for the National Book Award, the ten stories in If I Had Two Wings center around the people of Tims Creek, North Carolina, the place where all of Keenan’s fiction is set. Even if they are not in Tims Creek – the first story in the collection takes place in New York City – they are still of that mythical area of eastern show more North Carolina. Some, like the miracle-working Velmajean Swearington Hoyt, are apparent saints. Others – the wealthy but hog-haunted Percy Terrell – are closer to being sinners. The gay men Two Wings are more preoccupied by the past. In “I Thought I Heard the Shuffle of Angels’ Feet” architect Cicero Cross, returns to Tims Creek after the death of his famous Brazilian lover and runs into Tony, a friend from high school with whom he had, “[o]ne of those dread, hormone-filled, adolescent, penis-driven, oh-so-happy happenstances.” The character 'Randall' must deal with the remnants of the past still inhabiting his newly renovated home in “Resurrection Hardware or, Lard & Promises.”

The famous also make unexpected appearances in the lives of Tims Creek residents: a retired plumber on vacation gets caught up in rocker Billy Idol’s entourage; while a son discovers his mother was once visited by the reclusive Howard Hughes with an unusual proposition.

Another thread that wafts its way through If I Had Two Wings is food. As befits the editor of The Carolina Table: North Carolina Writers on Food, one encounters such Southern delicacies as ham, grits, collard greens, butter beans, red-eye gravy, and “The Eternal Glory That Is Ham Hocks” in these stories. Even one of Velmajean Swearington Hoyt’s miracles, in a twist on Jesus’s loaves and fishes, involves an endless barrel of turkey barbecue. In remembering his mother’s blueberry biscuits, a character remembers:

For a boy with no knowledge of sex, this basic sensual experience, firing off every nerve ending with sunshine and delight, taught me everything I would need to know about orgasms long before I had need for the word.

According to his friend and editor, Alane Salierno Mason, an Executive Editor and Vice President at publisher W.W. Norton, on the website LitHub, Randall Kenan had been working on a “Chapel Hill novel” for a number of years [https://lithub.com/the-joy-of-editing-and-knowing-randall-kenan/]. One hopes that the book is sufficiently finished so the book can be published. Readers need to enjoy more of Kenan’s funny, poignant, delicious, and mystical fiction. show less

Funny, informative, powerful - the way Mr. Kenan spoke when sitting directly across the table. One of the things I always appreciated - going back to The Fire This Time and Walking On Water, was Randall Kenan's determination to push back against stereotype - not letting the lives of Southerners or African Americans be reduced to a 'single story.'

The voices in this collection are memorable in their complexity, being both frail and heroic, i.e. fully human.

Sadly Randall Kenan left us far too soon with many great stories left untold - but this collection is a great representation of his work and his place among Southern storytellers.

I liked this, though maybe not loved it. Kenan cheerfully inflicts a variety of visitations on his characters, from rock stars to Howard Hughes, the ability to perform miracles, old flames, and the ghosts of escaped slaves and boar hogs. His characters are bemused by these happenings but never quite lose their equanimity—a byproduct of faith, maybe, or a grounding in home, both of which most of them have to some extent or another, and the story titles echo spirituals and folk songs. Kenan's fictional town of Tims Creek, NC, reminds me of Edward P. Jones's familiarity with Washington, DC, though without Jones's grit or urgency. This is an agreeable, kindly collection with a little otherworldliness dogging it; the writing and dialogue show more are lovely and go down easy. I was very sorry to hear he died in September—he's someone I would have gladly read more of as he kept writing, and I'll probably go back and check out his earlier work. show less

These stories lacked energy somehow. Maybe it was me, but they just didn't reel me in the way I like with short stories. Oh well, can't win 'em all!