the other place

I just read this strange and wonderful short story in the New Yorker by Mary Gaitskill, a particular favorite of mine, called the other place. At its most basic it is about a man talking about his son and then thinking about his own childhood, but as always with her work it is so much more. Here is a short excerpt from the story

Douglas and I were sitting together in the living room last week, half watching the TV and checking e-mail, when an advertisement for a movie flashed across the screen: it was called “Captivity” and the ad showed a terrified blond girl in a cage, a tear running down her face. Doug didn’t speak or move. But I could feel his fascination, the suddenly deepening quality of it. And I don’t doubt that he could feel mine. We sat there and felt it together.

Naturally, he looks like me: shorter than average, with a fine build, hazel eyes, and light-brown hair. Like me, he has a speech impediment and a condition called “essential tremor” that causes involuntary hand movements, which make him look more fragile than he is. He hates reading, but he is bright. He is interested in crows because he heard on a nature show that they are one of the only species that are more intelligent than they need to be to survive. He does beautiful, precise drawings of crows.

It is funny how my mind associates because of the speech impediment in the story I immediately thought of the film 'the kings speech' and the wonderful office that Geoffrey Rush's character had. I loved the walls it looked like a restoration half finished.