Watch, Now I'm Going to Get a Piano Dropped On My Head

I really don’t know what I was expecting from a collection of short stories entitled, “Machine of Death,” but the name kind of says it all. I certainly shouldn’t have been surprised by how depressed it made me reading story after story about a machine that samples people’s blood and tells them exactly how they’re going to die. Never a specific time or circumstance, just a vague description, like “CRASH” or “HEART ATTACK,” or sometimes even weird things like “VEGETABLES.” Macabre as it may be that is the premise, or at least basis of every story in the book.

But who the devil would make a short story contest about death machines? The answer, is three gentleman of the monikers, Ryan North, Matthew Bennardo, and David Malki ! The exclamation point is not a typo. That is actually how he writes his name. I know this because David Malki ! also happens to be the creator of a whimsical old-timey online comic strip called Wondermark.com. If you enjoy steampunk, the Victorian era, Monty Python, talking dinosaurs, or any combination of these items, you might enjoy Wondermark.

I first heard about “Machine of Death” on a friend’s facebook wall. See? Facebook isn’t all just Farmville and drunken pictures from college! The link advertised that it was a collection of short stories, all on this specific theme, and this would be the collection’s second year. I thought to myself, considering my new found and somewhat ironic life goal of writing myself to death, it would be a cool writing contest to submit to. First though, I wanted to read the original “Machine of Death” to see what had already been done. The collection holds about thirty-four stories and most of them were seriously depressing.

As I said before, I knew given the concept there would be a degree of darkness in such a collection, but I guess I thought there’d be a little more humor mixed in there as well. Several stories dealt with a young person finally reaching an age where they could be tested, with mixed results of success. Some were horrified by their test results, while some were delighted with their unusual readings. Some were more concerned about how their death would affect their social status. Then there were the depressing ones. One man can no longer look at his wife, knowing “LOVE” will be his undoing. Another deals with finding the news that it’s his son who will kill him somehow. This brought about a very interesting existential topic. Were these authors all being melodramatic or is there something wrong with me for thinking they shouldn’t take death stories so seriously? In Monty Python’s “The Meaning of Life” there is a short scene where a woman accidentally kills a whole dinner party by serving them bad fish. As death arrives, all she can say is “Oh, how embarrassing!” If John Cleese and Michael Palin can poke fun at dying, why can’t everybody else?

After awhile, I found reading the book to be a chore, but not because the writing was bad. Obviously some were better than others, but there were only a few who I felt relied on kitschy concepts rather than quality writing. The topic was just so damn depressing. Again, what should I expect from a book about death, but isn’t the point of entertainment to offer up a release from real life pain and sorrow? The more I read, the more somber I began to get. The more I started seriously thinking about my own death, and what I might pull if such a machine really existed. Now it’s my turn to be overly dramatic. Reading this book bummed me out in a major way.

But there were a few stories who shone out amongst the dark matter. My favorite tale was called “Prison Knife Fight,” by Shaenon K. Garrity. This one is about a young boy who’s wealthy, snooty parents are desperately trying to get him into a good prep school, despite his future death in a prison knife fight. Instead of making him a social pariah in his school though, his three best friends look upon him in awe. And as the boy grows up, instead of feeling trapped by his possibly violent future, it frees him from the structured, boring life his parents intended to force on him. It was comical and inspiring, making the best out of a bad situation to speak.

Now, let’s hope when I write and submit my own “Machine of Death” stories, I can breathe a little life into the genre. See? See me trying to use a bad pun to make light of serious topics? Anyway, you get my point.