Vinyl Cafe Unplugged (Book Review)

     Stuart McLean Vinyl Cafe Unplugged (2000) Number six in McLean’s series of Vinyl Cafe stories. A good read. Mclean is a very studied writer-narrator, he doesn’t have that air of spontaneous reminiscence that Garrison Keillor has. But like Keillor, he has a location and a cast of characters whom we get to know better every time we hear another story. Both have a knack for starting slow and presenting a series of events and choices in what at every step seems reasonable and logical, until we arrive at a bizarre scene that defies belief. Both also give shape to what at first seems a random series of events, but which lead to a satisfying conclusion. Both make us understand the importance of the insignificant. And both are able to make us feel part of the community whose history they chronicle.
     This kind of story has a long and honourable history. Many folk tales have the same structure. Charlie Chaplin and the comic duos of early film like Laurel and Hardy use the same device, as does nearly every sit-com. It’s a very flexible form, it’s really just one thing after another. This apparent randomness gives even the most outlandish anecdote an air of reality that suspends disbelief. It also enables assembling a group of seemingly unrelated events into a thematic whole, whose shape is often not seen until the end of the story. McLean’s popularity rests on his skill in using the form, and on his ability to infuse his tales with the ordinary virtues and vices of our common humanity.
I could summarise a couple of the stories here, but I won’t. You’ll get far more pleasure out of reading them yourself. ***