from the editor's desk
Review of ‘Greater City Shadows’ by Laurie Steed
Steed, Laurie. Greater City Shadows. Crawley: UWA Publishing, 2024. RRP $29.99, 220pp, ISBN: 978176080269.
Jen Bowden
Husbands, fathers, friends, lovers, parents, mothers, people who are lost and those who find themselves in unexpected places; the cast of Laurie Steed’s collection of short stories, Greater City Shadows, may seem fairly ordinary but that is where the beauty of this gentle, thought-provoking compilation lies.
Steed has a knack for hitting you right in the feels. Though his ordinary characters may seem to be dealing with difficulties that are familiar and ubiquitous, the way he explores this ‘ordinary’ makes his stories extraordinary.
There’s the almost disastrous birthday cake that breaks the tense relationship between a bickering mother and daughter, and two friends who try to support each other as they each face unrequited love from their respective crushes. In another story, a man contemplates public art while battling his own inner demons. All of this is set against the backdrop of a city known for brightness and heat, that brings with it its fair share of shadows and challenges.
Perth is a big character in Steed’s stories. From the sprawling northern suburbs to the high-rise aspirations of the CBD, to the glittering ocean and the deep wildness of the hills. Steed characterises Perth precisely in ‘The Heart and the Moose’, with the simple line, ‘Imagine that: such sweetness of balance in a city that so often seemed more like a country pub than a thriving coastal metropolis’ (54). It’s clear that for Steed and the characters within these stories that this place is home. The sense of community, connection and the six-degrees-of-separation vibe that defines Perth is rendered in astute detail within Greater City Shadows.
It’s Steed’s gift for the unexpected that gives his collection its edge—even for making observations that nobody would think of, but that simultaneously make perfect sense when you really consider them. This is partly a skill with language and partly a tendency to think outside the box, and it makes these stories brilliantly original. In ‘The Punch’, Aaron reflects on the breakdown of his parents’ marriage, describing interactions with his mother after he has spent time with his father: ‘Mornings with Mum asking “Did he ask about me?” like she was a new movie coming out, as opposed to a mid-menopausal nurse keen on brie cheese and the books of Ruth Rendell’ (6). This characterisation gives us a clear view of the mother’s desperation to be extraordinary and relevant, alongside the very ordinary truth of what she actually is—just another person trying to navigate the trials of a failed relationship. It’s poignant and a little heart-breaking, as are most of Steed’s stories in some way or another.
It would be remiss to ignore the theme of masculinity and the reflections on male experience that permeate this collection; they come in depictions of men, boys, brothers, fathers, uncles, sons and friends, and seek to unravel why so many men struggle to communicate, to ask each other if they’re okay, or to even admit to themselves that they might not be:
Fraser asked for a week in York, to hang at what was once his family home. Bree—Richie’s sister and Fraser’s wife—knew nothing of this, most likely because for Fraser, to admit he needed time out would mean admitting he was struggling in the first place. (‘Two-Part Lullaby’ 163)
Steed takes us deep into that unspoken struggle that so many who feel the pressure to be ‘masculine’ face. In his stories, we’re privy to thoughts that aren’t spoken, emotions that aren’t released and regrets that eat away silently at those who bear them. In ‘Shotgun’, Mal is struggling with memories of a car accident but won’t admit that to his friend:
And then, quite by surprise, he thinks again about the accident. It’s almost as if it shows up on purpose whenever it seems he’s found a path out of that memory.
‘You okay?’ asks Adam.
‘Awesome,’ says Mal. ‘Was just thinking about my lifts. Like maybe I could smash my PB, next trap-bar deads, go 170.’ (103)
Mal’s response in reeling off his ‘thoughts’ comes out almost as nonsense—a stream of words only intelligible to anyone familiar with weightlifting at the gym. Steed’s characterisation of this show of bravado as absurd and nonsensical shows how easy it is to hide emotions and trauma (unhealthy) with bragging about gym workouts (healthy). The masking of emotional and mental health through focusing on the physical is another strong theme in Steed’s collection, one that urges men in particular to open up, to accept and to let loose their fears and failings. This shows an urge to come out of the shadows and to bring to light the things we need to face as humans in order to live, not just survive.
Greater City Shadows’ nineteen stories may vary in plot, character and content, but they’re cohesive in one sense: their distinct message, to live for the moment. This is a collection about understanding our humanity, and accepting our flaws and failures. It’s heart-warming and heart-breaking, tender, funny and vulnerable, and cements Steed’s reputation as a perceptive and talented storyteller.
Jen is a writer, editor, podcast host and event moderator based in Brisbane. She lived and worked in Edinburgh, Scotland and has written for a number of UK newspapers and magazines including The List, The Guardian and The Scotsman. She previously worked for Fremantle Press and now teaches writing, journalism and publishing at Curtin University, where she’s also doing her PhD in creative writing.
