by Bright
As I lower him into the hole, I wonder if I should say a few words. We never had a funeral for my mum. We gave her a direct cremation, without a service. When I was old enough to discover that’s what Dad had chosen for her, I assumed he was being a cheapskate. When I think about it now, I don’t want a funeral either. I want to explode in a blaze of glory, then disappear into the ether.
I run back into the house and grab something I’ve been keeping stuffed behind the recipe books in the kitchen: the onesie. I let it fall onto my dog’s frozen haunches, and then I bury the whole lot, until I am looking at nothing but earth.
•
The ocean is hidden by clouds, but that doesn’t change anything. Fact is, there are people walking on the seafloor at this very moment. There are sharks and manatees and humpback whales and seahorses swimming in every direction.
I have a tray of food in front of me. Tarragon chicken with dauphinoise potatoes; couscous salad; a bread roll; cream crackers; a rectangle of mild cheddar; chocolate mousse. Every element makes me feel sick. The chicken is the worst, though. It makes me think of battery hens, crammed into tiny cages, their bald skin rubbed free of feathers.
“Seems a little early for lunch.” The passenger next to me nods at my uneaten food. In front of her is a selection of vegetarian curries. Smashed lentils, bruised veg, sauces bleeding into one another.
I smile. “Yes, exactly.”
“They’ve got a lot to get through, I expect.” The woman nibbles a pakora. “Still, it’ll be a while before we get to DC. And I’m not sure if we get dinner.”
“I’m pregnant,” I blurt. “The baby isn’t an embryo any more. It’s a foetus.”
The woman raises her eyebrows, then points at my chicken. “Better keep up your strength in that case.”
“Can I ask you something? It’s kind of personal.”
The woman turns towards me. She has laughter lines and prematurely grey hair. It’s possible she’s dyed it that colour on purpose. “Go ahead.”
“What made you decide to go vegetarian?”
She laughs. “I thought you were going to ask my age. Or if I’ve got kids.” She pours a tiny bottle of Gordon’s gin into a plastic cup full of ice. “Global warming, mainly.”
“Do you ever miss meat?”
“Only at Thanksgiving.” She adds a can of tonic to the cup and takes a sip. “But then I miss the whole shebang. My mom’s buttered rum. My dad’s corny jokes. Watching the parade. Sitting by the fire. Remembering to be thankful . . . Anyway, the whole stealing-land-off-Native-Americans, mass-genocide thing leaves a sour taste in my mouth. I’m better off saving my Tofurky for Christmas.”
“I work in the oil industry,” I say. “Maybe I should go vegetarian.”
“Well.” The woman shrugs. “You’ve got to figure out what matters to you. And how you want to make a difference.”
I look out of the window and notice a gap in the clouds. I can see the ocean now, flat as concrete. I close my eyes.
I’ve no idea how long they stay shut.
When I open them, my tray has gone. The woman next to me has gone. Outside, there’s nothing but dust. Red, swirling, full of possibility.
“Let me tell you a story, little one,” I say, placing my hand over my belly. “It’s about the very first woman to set foot on Mars.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to Masie Cochran for your wise editorial advice, and for helping me to enjoy hitting the delete button. Thank you to Anne Horowitz for your amazingly thorough copyediting, and everyone at Tin House for believing in me. Thank you to Claire Friedman at Inkwell Management for representing me in the US, and to my UK agent Juliet Pickering at Blake Friedmann for your amazing input as always, as well as Hattie Grunewald and James Sykes—it’s been wonderful to work with such a great team. Thank you to Kirstin Innes and Julia Moreno for putting better words into my characters’ mouths. Thank you to Athina and Ron Adams-Florou for giving me my Thursdays back, and to Sue and Kirsten Mackintosh for babysitting and believing in me. Thank you to Apollo MacAdams for (sometimes) taking naps to let me finish this. Also, Apollo: thank you for blowing my life apart. I mean it. Thank you to Socrates Adams for your unwavering love and support. I’m glad we are in this place together.
READER’S GUIDE
1. In your own life, would you ever be interested in going to Mars?
2. How would you describe the relationship between Solvig and James? When she says, “he wouldn’t be in love with me if I were the sort of person who didn’t go away regularly. And I wouldn’t love him if I stayed,” what do you think she means?
3. How does the novel explore the interplay between motherhood and ambition?
4. Would you classify this book as science fiction or futuristic? How much does the future, as presented by the book, already feel part of our present moment?
5. How do the stories Solvig’s been told about her mother, and Solvig’s current relationship with her father, affect the choices that she makes throughout the novel?
6. What role does fear play in this book? Which character do you think is the most afraid?
7. In a hypothetical group exercise, Solvig announces that she’d want to live, while others say they’d sacrifice themselves if it meant lightening the load of their transit vehicle on Mars. Do you agree with the way that Solvig, or the others, responded? Is there such a thing as a “correct” response in this situation?
8. What do you think Solvig decides to do at the end of the novel?
9. Was Solvig right to keep her interest in Mars from James for so long? Why or why not?
10. In real life, author Anneliese Mackintosh’s father worked for the European Space Agency (ESA). In what ways do you think his experience might have informed this narrative?
PHOTO: SOCRATES ADAMS
ANNELIESE MACKINTOSH’S short stories have won the UK’s Green Carnation Prize, been shortlisted for the Edge Hill Prize, and longlisted for the Frank O’Connor International Short Story Award. She lives in Bristol, England, with her husband, son, and two cats.
“I was instantly fascinated by Bright and Dangerous Objects, which uses the backdrops of undersea welding and a hypothetical expedition to Mars to deftly explore ideas of independence, grief, motherhood, and romantic relationships and how they shape one woman’s life. . . . This is an original, inventive, and incredibly enjoyable book. I loved it.”
—LYDIA KIESLING, author of The Golden State
“Bright and Dangerous Objects is written in a beautiful voice—it’s warm, self-deprecating, lonely. The characters face impossible decisions, and they face them the way we all do, wildly, blindly. It’s a book I’ll remember.”
—SARA MAJKA, author of Cities I’ve Never Lived In
“Mackintosh has written a beauty. If you’ve ever weighed two different eternities in your hand and had to choose which to love most, this book is yours.”
—DEB OLIN UNFERTH, author of Barn 8
© Copyright 2020 Anneliese Mackintosh
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, contact Tin House, 2617 NW Thurman St., Portland, OR 97210.
Published by Tin House, Portland, Oregon
Cover Design: Diane Chonette
Cover Art: Rawpixel.com
Distributed by W. W. Norton & Company
The Library of Congress has cataloged the printed edition as follows:
Names: Mackintosh, Anneliese, author.
Title: Bright and dangerous objects / Anneliese Mackintosh.
Description: Portland, Oregon : Tin House, [2020]
Identifiers: LCCN 2020013156 | ISBN 9781951142100 (paperback) | ISBN 9781951142117 (ebook)
Classification: LCC PR6113.A2648 B75 2020 | DDC 823/.92--dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020013156
First US Editi
on 2020
Interior design by Diane Chonette
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