Category Archives: Fiction

‘The Red Corner’ wins novel award

My novel manuscript, The Red Corner, recently won the Hackney Literary Award, a $5,000 prize for an unpublished novel. Below is an excerpt that ran in The Great Lakes ReviewIt is set at a party at the lakeside mansion of a Russian mobster in suburban Chicago. (Also check out the opening chapters, an earlier version of which originally ran in Narrative magazine, here.)

Fingers

By Russell Working

Whore_of_Babylon

The day of Garik’s party, a warm front blew in, and Darya Vanderkloot’s sore throat disappeared. It was eighty-six along Lake Michigan, and most of staff of the Cherry Orchard Russian Deli & Productery worked in their shirt sleeves as they loaded the van with cases of wine, plastic bins of food, and coolers of salad, lox, deviled eggs, frozen pelmeni, cakes, sirloin. Like the others, Darya, wore her catering uniform: a white shirt, black bow tie, and baggy pants with a hound’s-tooth check pattern, but she kept an eye on Alexei. He cut a debonair figure, like a young celebrity chief, until he shrugged on a hoodie, despite the warm weather, and shouldered his backpack, transforming himself into a freebooter on a boarding raid. Everyone worked briskly, cheerful about the change in routine, but Alexei’s scowl kept the others at bay. He brushed right past Darya without hearing her hello.

“Hey, you!” she said.

He looked perplexed. “Oh, hi.”

“You all right?”

“Never better,” he said, then went back inside for another load.

They were catering a party for a new customer named Igor “Garik” Voskresensky, who had just shown up in the Cherry Orchard a few weeks ago. Eleven years ago, in Vladivostok, he had assassinated Alexei’s father, who was running for governor. Alexei had witnessed the murder as a child, and he immediately recognized the hit man. But now he was eighteen, and the disguise of adulthood held, while Garik had no idea who he was. Alexei and Darya had not been close, but he had chosen to confide in her for some reason. The boy was a loner, an amateur boxer and astronomy buff, and maybe he had no one else to talk to. Continue reading

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OED-Day

I have wanted a complete Oxford English Dictionary since I was 17 and I lived in Sydney with the Bishops, who had one that they regularly consulted. Now I finally own one, the same compact edition with four pages reproduced on every leaf.
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For years I did without an OED, what with the moves abroad, my status as an impoverished small-town reporter, or my lazy reliance on American Heritage. Then ten years ago, after we returned to the States from Cyprus, I found out you could get free access online with an Oak Park Public Library card, so I never bothered to buy my own OED.

Last year, the library canceled its online subscription to the dictionary, citing budget constraints. This happened even as they remodeled the ground floor and added a lounge that is so unused, they had to place a Ping-Pong table in there to lure people in. (Maybe they should distribute free blankets for nappers and hobos.) When I complained, they told me the subscription was too expensive and hardly anybody used it.

Why, I use it every day, I said.

We value your opinion, they said.

Filled with righteous indignation, I FOIed the remodeling budget and the OED metrics. Turns out they were right: They got fewer than 30 look-ups a month. And the cost (I’ve lost their lawyer’s email) was pretty high for a service whose customer base amounted to: me. So much for my plan to write a stinging letter to the editor of the local weekly. (“Sirs: On behalf of aggrieved writers everywhere, I wish to register my indignation at the priorities of our public library.”)

But now, thanks to an Amazon gift card from our older kid, I have my own OED, complete with case and the little drawer containing the squarish magnifying glass.

The word “working,” by the way, only dates to the 1300s. “Work” first appeared in 971. Not that that’s really relevant; I inherited Working from German immigrants, the Werkingers, who were apparently confused about how best to blend in when they arrived in Pennsylvania.

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