BOOK REVIEW: FURIES, A SHORT STORY ANTHOLOGY

On the hunt for something scandalous to add to your TBR? Martha Florence reviews Furies, a short story anthology featuring a lively crowd of women and/or monsters. From murderesses to temptresses, scale-shedding gorgons and porn stars gone to seed, there’s never a dull moment.

Content warning: please note this contains strong language and references to adult themes. Non-graphic/explicit.

DETAILS: Short story anthology | Multiple authors | Fast read 

FEATURING: Some guy named Joseph, or Justin (Joshua?), a high chance a peepul tree will ruin your life, lots of cynicism, a very creepy chair—and, of course, sex. (Not including said chair, don’t worry.) 

Sandi Toksvig opens Furies with a warning: WAIT! Just… pause a second. Are you prepared? Women, reign in your ever-present, simmering-just-below-the-surface, patriarchy-destroying-universe-obliterating hysteria, because this book will surely trigger an outburst of the send to the seaside to recuperate variety.  Is there a Ken-like someone conveniently nearby? Better get him to check it before you start reading. Safety first ladies, safety first. 

For Furies: Stories of the Wicked, Wild and Untamed (2023), seventeen female writers from all over banded together, their Booker Prizes, Guardian articles and Academy Awards tucked into their handbags, to write a feminist anthology of short stories that I would argue is refreshingly avant-garde for a term that is supposedly trending. Feminism, the one-hit-wonder? Long-term durability: as yet unknown. I’m-a-man-with-no-power-does-that-make-me-a-woman, etcetera. (That’s the last of the Barbie references, I promise.) 

But Furies isn’t a traditional tale beginning and ending in a rightful, emphatic NO. These writers are more interested in epithets like dragon, hussy and siren—those with a long history being relegated to dotting the i in androcentrism—taking them by the shoulders and giving them a good shake. Sharpening their fangs. Strengthening their poisons.

There are no delayed, but inevitable yes pleases or oh, right there, I love it when you step on my neck. Instead? There are some fuck yous. Some, I think the hell nots. The occasional dude-bro, really? You thought these claws were for show? Too bad, so sad, my tender-hearted Y-chromosome having friend. 

Having studied an entire literature degree that included a fair dose of feminist writing, one would think I’d know this, however it was from Toksvig that I learnt in Victorian times, reading equalled Bad with a capital B (for women, of course. Men, understandably, were strong and bicep-y enough to withstand the noxious and often fatal combination of ink on paper). This Bad capital B was a well-established and relatively unquestioned fact. Thou shalt not kill; love thy neighbour heteronormatively and within reason; women, close that damneth book. 

Things have changed. A lot. 

Well, a little. In this country, anyway. 

Second wave feminism hit, and Carmen Callil founded Virago, one of the first female-centred publishing companies and named after the fiercest being Callil could think of. Women, the stage is yours. “Attempting to diminish women by name-calling is nothing new,” Toksvig points out, and, like its publisher, this anthology doesn’t shy away from doing so. There’s a delicious twist, however: this time, women christen themselves. 

The witches, wenches, devils and sluts elbowing, eye-rolling and hatchet-swinging their way out of Furies’ pages are an unruly, untameable crowd. They are bold and catty, vulnerable and fierce. I advise us to stand well out of their way. In the interest of short and sweet, let me introduce just three of my favourites: Siren, Churail and Hussy.

Come on, babe, give us a smile (RAGE)

There is a good dose of rage in this anthology. It comes in many forms: murder and revenge, stripping and arts ‘n’ crafts. Margaret Atwood starts us off with Siren, where a group of monsters (Scylla, harpies, banshees, you know the crowd) get together for their weekly knitting club and discuss important monster matters. Atwood’s recognisable wit and cynicism cuts through this unlikely craft circle, but reading about beings who have been continuously excluded, shunned and silenced forces us to acknowledge the same exclusion that is not so uncommon in our own society. It seems the line between mythology and reality is very thin; women and monster genetics may be just one pyrimidine base and a tail away from being identical twins. 

You’re so right (I TOLD YOU SO)

Kamila Shamsie’s story Churail is a whirlwind of curses and folklore. When the protagonist’s mother dies in childbirth, her father becomes convinced they’re being haunted. Hearing the mother’s voice through the dreaded churail, a demonic and terror-inducing creature, the father packs up their life in Pakistan and whisks them away to London. Enter One Direction posters, endless rain, bad plumbing and embarrassing sex stories. Spoiler alert: apparently, churails aren’t put off by grey skies.

What did you think it would smell like, bubble-gum?! (SEX)

The star of Caroline O’Donoghue’s Hussy has enough on her plate. No longer young, bouncy, and collagen-supplement free, she’s struggling to stay afloat in the MILF porn industry. Her regulars are getting bored, and her friend has suddenly decided to withdraw the use of her son’s room. Now, where the hell will Hussy film her videos?! MILF without the M is just… low views and no Venmos. That’s when the artificially-lighted sky collapses: she recognises the man standing in the frozen aisle contemplating crumbed mackerel. And there’s nothing worse than running into the man you reverse cowgirled with in Wild Nights, a SHAFTA award-winning performance—for him, that is. 

As with any anthology, not everything will be to your taste, and that’s alright. However, these stories are cohesive, fluid, and startle in the best way, and while it isn’t my favourite collection, it does contain some of my favourite tales. Joseph makes it worth it—wait, Justin. And although I can’t promise you’ll love every story, I can promise choosing to hang out with monsters is never a bad decision. They do, without a doubt, make the best company.