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The Review of Contemporary Fiction

Dra— by Stacey Levine
Monique Dufour

Stacey Levine. Dra—. Sun & Moon, 1997. 150pp. Paper: $11.95.

Levine has created a three-dimensional world of two-dimensional people. The world of Dra— is a literal labyrinth of bureaucracy, where endless hallways, train stations, and indoor airports link one bizarre official interior after another, from employment offices where employees and applicants sit on open toilets along a far wall to an abandoned work site guarded by one efficient secretary. Dra— has been notified that she is eligible for employment, and the novel follows her incessant quest for work.
The setting is a substantial counterpoint to Dra—’s meandering consciousness, which the third-person narration traces in a series of violent reversals. Her historical ancestor is Henry Adams, who “found himself lying in the Gallery of Machines at the Great Exposition of 1900, his historical neck broken by the sudden irruption of forces so totally new.” For Dra—, every turn is dangerous, as she is utterly unprepared to deal with forces both mundane and spectacular. No wonder that she spends a great deal of her time huddled under stairwells and in telephone booths and toilets. Even bowel movements are crises.
Often it is argued that the antidote to an impersonal and absurd world is human connection. In Dra—, characters speak with sentimental and unguarded earnestness about the meaning of life, about sex and dread and disease. The Administrator, the Nanny, the Nurse, and Manager each implore Dra— to talk about her feelings and are infuriated by her reticence. Yet all this honesty is as revealing as, say, a job interview. “Tell me your biggest flaw,” we’ve all been asked. We all know to lie. Just be sure to keep track, and don’t begin to believe yourself.
Dra— is a masterful book about a horrifying world. You’ll recognize it because you live in it. [Monique Dufour]