We are excited to share an excerpt from “Naissance” by Theressa Slind, which appears in our VULGAR issue (59.1). “Naissance” is everything we’d hoped for in our call for submissions; it’s surprising, fun, and forces us to look at the world a little differently. Read on for notes from Theressa on equanimity and the way the best stories lead us into places we never imagined, and pick up a copy of the issue to read the story in full.
Like a lot of my stories, “Naissance” started with “wouldn’t it be funny if …” You’ll have to trust me that the first paragraph I wrote in my head on my walk to work was a crack-up, because it’s lost forever to that place where all my brilliant ideas go. The “wouldn’t it be funny” part had something to do with AI workers, who are gradually replacing humans, being as petty and resentful as we are. What a missed opportunity! In that fictional world, there’d have to be efficient, generous, and resourceful AI as well, but they’re not as funny, and “Naissance” didn’t turn into the story I imagined on my walk to work. They never do.
Around the same time, I had a conversation with an uncompromising co-worker about equanimity (actually, I think it was about a book but I can’t remember which one and this is where the talk led). I entered the conversation thinking equanimity was a quality I possessed, or at least aspired to possess, and left feeling it wasn’t one of my better qualities, or even a worthy goal. She was arguing—though I’m sure she’d feel I misunderstood her point entirely; she’s that kind of uncompromising—the high value placed on equanimity was another tool used against women in the workplace and in society. Equanimity is weaponized through rhetoric around self-care, positivity, resilience—all the things you need for balance—to maintain a placid, uncomplaining workforce and citizenry. She had a point, and I forced the concepts of equanimity and AI together to see what would happen.
The story is also informed by my interest in food: eating, cooking, and growing. I love it all. The first draft used the five basic tastes—salt, sweet, bitter, sour, and umami—as a structure. I thought it was clever, but beware cleverness! It proved too difficult to create a neat five-part story guided by tastes, or the anthropomorphized qualities we’ve given the tastes. Though they do not provide an overarching structure in the final version, the five tastes remain.
Disgust was another starter ingredient in this story and a reason why it suits the theme of PRISM international’s VULGAR issue. Years ago, when my daughter was a baby, I read in fatigued desperation about child care and development. Somehow, I retained the fact that babies don’t come to us with innate feelings of disgust; disgust only starts developing around age four. This is why toddlers are unmoved by the ropes of snot clinging to their faces, why they’ll eat that piece of banana that fell in the sandbox clogged with cat shit. In “Naissance,” Kim’s developing feelings of disgust trigger a lot of the action in the story and were central in the first clumsy draft.
An excerpt from “Naissance” (VULGAR, 59.1)
During education at Naissance in the fertile valley by the lake where TrueFood grows, only Master Sommelier deMarco came close to K-Servers’ sense of taste and smell. Now, our restaurants’ customers rely on our refined palates to distinguish TrueFood from labbed, but back then we were still learning and Master Sommelier deMarco claimed to know umami, though he called it a “metaphor for repleteness.” I subsequently learned what a metaphor was—and umami is not just a metaphor—but I still do not understand repleteness. I do not think I have felt replete. Which is not to say Master Sommelier deMarco did not teach me anything. He did! His example gave me a solution to my stomach pit problem—I will not bore you with the details; it is a K-Server thing—because, though he preferred to become purple-faced and dozy in the afternoon, he used a spit bucket in the morning. To prevent morning drunkenness, he would taste but not consume, taste but not swallow. Master Sommelier DeMarco was truly inspiring.
I am by nature optimistic. Correction, I am nothing “by nature,” only “by design,” but I feel I came off assembly with this sunny disposition, and I am especially optimistic today because today is my first birthday. Yes, Kim is turning one! This day is going to be the best, because I am old enough to come up with my own solutions to my own problems. Correction, problem, singular. Before inspection—Admonishment No. 13: Ks shall muster for inspection fifteen minutes prior to restaurant opening—I choose the prettiest, brushed-steel, wine-cooling bucket and place it on my tray. This will be my spit bucket. My tasting spoon is in its slot. I am ready to serve, and I wait with eagerness.
Morning Boss Debbie glances over me unseeing but inspects the new class of K-Servers closely. Each of the new recruits—right off the bus from Naissance—has a distinct beauty signifier like the rest of us, but their cheer sounds silly—Join heaven with class seven? Not accurate. We do not have souls. They are replacements for sisters from Bring in the new with class two. I am not sure where Kamela and Katya have gone, and I did not have the opportunity to say good-bye, but I have theories. One, they have been promoted to another restaurant even more refined than Taste. Two, oh dear, the opposite: demoted. Three—and this is my compartmate Kendra’s theory, not mine—they have been decommissioned. The third one cannot be true. It is so final, and Kamela was so friendly with customers. She would even sit in their laps if they asked her to. Her evolution led to even greater compliance than the admonishments require—it is interesting how we are growing up, each in our own way. My favourite theory is number four: Kamela and Katya have been taken back to Naissance for reset and re-education. If I am right, they are lucky, because I would love to go back to Naissance and see Thomas. Plus, I do not think a memory wipe would be enough for me to forget my stomach pit problem, and, therefore, I could alert the designers at Naissance and they would fix it the second time around.
Despite my optimism, I feel moderate levels of frustration listening to Morning Boss Debbie convey information to the new recruits that I will have to correct later. According to Kendra—and she is very worldly so I believe her—our human bosses get paid in money. In contrast, K-Servers work tirelessly for free. Happily, for the most part, and with equanimity—I am told we are a big improvement on the J-models—so why not haze us into management? Meanwhile, Morning Boss Debbie adjusts pristine uniforms and offers silly opinions like, “You’re lucky, you Ks, all so skinny. I only wish I could pump my stomach.” She does not want this. Humans need only eat less and, voila, slenderness. Easy. I could tell her what it feels like to swallow DigestAcid, unzip one’s side opening, smell a day’s worth of rotted food with heightened sense receptors, attach an Evac, see the acrid brown mess fill a clear Evac bag. Why clear? Why not opaque to mitigate the problem? Equanimity, Kim, you are better than this.
Theressa Slind grew up on a grain farm in Saskatchewan. She lives with her partner and daughter in Saskatoon, Treaty 6, where she writes, works as a librarian, and argues with her family about getting a dog. Her fiction has appeared in Grain, subTerrain, The New Quarterly, and The Malahat Review. She’s working on a collection of short fiction and is grateful to the Saskatchewan Writers’ Guild for their support in the form of writing group grants and a recent mentorship with the amazing Sylvia Legris. Follow Theressa on Twitter @tjslind: trying to get the hang of it since 2012.