Stephen Sangirardi

'Life On The Planet', by Steve Sangirardi

Extract from 'Second Book Of Kings':

Now it came to pass that when the tall and handsome Elisha walked through town, the women of Shunem stopped to gaze at him. He had already gained a reputation as the apprentice of Elijah, and it was assumed that one day he would use wisely the mantle that had been bequeathed to him. For the present, though, he earned his keep as a carpenter working for his uncle, Gehazi the dipsomaniac, with whom he had spent much of his time since the passing of Elijah and his own parents. Elisha lived by himself on the other side of town in a house made of wattle and daub. To arrive at work inside his uncle's shed, he had to walk down the main road where on this particular day he noticed a beautiful older woman standing in her doorway and smiling at him...

Steve Sangirardi-Geometers of Intellect

Review of Steve Sangirardi's 'Geometers Of Intellect'

Anthony Burgess used to claim that he wrote his novels to symphonic notation and Steve Sangirardi freely admits that as far as he is concerned sound trumps meaning, an attitude which is self-evident in his writing, not for any lack of meaning but for the prominence of the grandiose ebb, flow and swell of his compositions.

Steve publishes in slim volumes so although he loves to blow up a passage until it sounds like a full philharmonic orchestra flat out and hell-for-leather, perhaps he should be considered a little more chamber, albeit as adorned with a very swanky brass section and a swirling set of strings that quartets usually lack. Either way, Steve Sangirardi’s stories come off principally as music that is continually interweaving major and minor themes, pianissimo and fortissimo.

And he sure loves his words. No obscure shy noun is allowed to stay cowering in the dark in Steve’s dictionary. No, Sir, that it isn’t! It is dragged out and celebrated – ‘geometers’ for starters, and ‘kenosis’ and ‘tup’ (I have just seen a car crossing the English Channel with TUP on its license plate, coincidentally). And the classical literary references abound too – Blake, Tennyson, Virgil and Shakespeare.

Which is all to say that Steve’s writing style is proudly different and in no way understated, except that the emotional affect of his tales remains always carefully controlled and crafted. Each story is a tight little vignette of human relationships sharply observed. Several end on a dying fall or with an almost menacing surprise.

‘Civilization and its Discontents’ is where the author kicks the regular priest out of his pulpit as being too boring – he can do far better. ‘A Socrates Dissatisfied’ is about the Calvary of perfectionism within family relationships. ‘Resurrection’ is a hilarious piece about the announcement of the death of Jimmy Boy, the much-loved nephew. ‘The Return of A Salesman’ is a riff on Biff from the Arthur Miller original. ‘The Life of Milton’ describes a teacher lashing out at a reputed professor stoked by the demons of his insecurities and ‘Ulysses’ also evokes that same edgy dynamic within the academic hierarchy. ‘Gethsemane’ is a reflection of the agony of Christ in the mode of Eric Emmanuel Schmid where the Christ only slowly indentifies his own divinity. ‘The Sea of Faith’ and ‘Hades’ both delve into uncomfortable marital relationships. Indeed, the claustrophobia of the family is a sub-text to almost everything here.

What is extraordinary and characteristic about Steve’s writing is that the earth is always shifting amid the undertow of the narrative. You are never entitled to rest assuredly on solid ground or allowed to remain confident that what you understand is what is being conveyed. Added to which, Steve Sangirardi is a full-throttle Roman Catholic writer, so the mysteries of religion usually play a prominent part in the richness of the mix.

In summary, ‘Geometers of Intellect’ is short, profound and powerful, a collection of elusive poems composed in short story prose, and a unique experience. You don’t come across this sort of edgy, idiosyncratic class too often.