Let Me Out Here
In her debut collection, Emily W. Pease is at work redefining the Southern short story. Let Me Out Here explores the underbellies and strange desires of our neighbors, our loved ones, ourselves. A co-ed takes up with a mysterious cab driver who’s been calling every night on her dormitory’s hall phone; a family isolated by their faith hikes to a waterfall in search of healing; a mother sets her balcony on fire after an awkward family dinner; a woman befriends the snakes her preacher boyfriend keeps in their shed. This revealing collection offers a deep empathy for people doing the best they can, despite themselves.
Winner of the C. Michael Curtis Short Story Book Prize
About the prize:
The C. Michael Curtis Short Story Book Prize is endowed by an anonymous donor to recognize an outstanding collection of short stories written by an author living in the South. The prize honors C. Michael Curtis, acclaimed fiction editor at Atlantic magazine from 1963 to 2005. Curtis published stories by dozens of established and emerging writers during his tenure, including Tobias Wolff, Jill McCorkle, Joyce Carol Oates, and Lauren Groff. In 2006, Curtis moved to Spartanburg, SC to teach at Wofford College. He died on January 11, 2023 at the age of 88.
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Excerpt from Let Me Out Here, “Fall” (titled “Ecstacy” in Kenyon Review)
Through the walls of a sad, shuttered house the drum beat loudly. She stood out in the street and listened, her heart keeping time. Someone was practicing inside, just one lone drummer, drumming—Tommy Ramone, Dave Grohl, John Bonham, it could be any one of them drumming in the old rancher, and she was their chosen audience. In a corner of her brain Gina knew the tune. In another corner of her brain she knew she was high. With molly, her abiding, healing friend. Trees swayed lovingly above her head. There were corridors up there. Her brain contained corridors, corners, rooms, a giant house. She ought to stay put, a voice told her in this house of her brain. But another voice, an expansive, world-welcoming voice, told her she was being invited in. Come, hear the drumming. So she walked to the door, looked for a doorbell, and not seeing one, knocked. Timidly at first, then louder. The drum carried on. Knock, knock. She knocked until her knuckles turned sore. Knock-knock-knock, and then it occurred to her: these were the Toomeys, the hippie mom and dad and their little boy she used to babysit. Of course, David Toomey, next door! Ina-gadda-david-a.
The drum stopped. Footsteps, and opening door. An abrupt light, a face. A bearded, Jesus face. “I’m sorry?” he said tentatively, and she said, “Oh,” and he said, “Can I help you?” and she said, “Maybe.” As if they were dancing. She began to laugh, her mouth making a burbling, chuckling sound she’d never heard before. She said, “It’s as if we’re dancing!!”“Do I know you?” he asked, and she answered, “In a way, kind of you do.”
Praise from the Press
“With a style as deft as it is nuanced, her touch as light as it is sharp, Ms. Pease brings to the page the intelligence to know what matters.”
– Lee K. Abbott
“These are gorgeous and haunting stories. In Let Me Out Here, Emily Pease has given us a collection that is both urgent and timeless. She’s a sublime writer, and her fiction is shot through with grace and beauty and the gravity of hard-won emotion.”
– Bret Anthony Johnston
“Pease at once manages to achieve the sharp-elbowed intimacy of Grace Paley and the formal restraint of Tobias Wolff’s best work. These stories have all the sweetness and bite of spiked sun tea and should be indulged likewise, both recklessly and responsibly.”
– Cheston Knapp
“Arresting, fierce, and unforgettable.”
– Claire Messud
“Take Me Home, Country Roads: Let Me Out Here: Stories by Emily W. Pease”
– Review in Salamander
“Let Me Out Here by Emily W. Pease”
– Review in Ploughshares