Courtney Angela Brkic is the author of The First Rule of Swimming (2013), Stillness and Other Stories (2003) and The Stone Fields (2004). Her work has also appeared in Zoetrope, The New York Times, The Washington Post Magazine, Harpers & Queen, the Utne Reader, TriQuarterly Review, The Alaska Review, National Geographic and Guernica, among others. Brkic has been the recipient of a Fulbright scholarship and a fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts. Stillness was named a Barnes and Noble Discover pick, a 2003 Chicago Tribune "Best Book" and a 2003 New York Times "Notable Book". The Stone Fields was shortlisted for a Freedom of Expression Award by the Index on Censorship. The First Rule of Swimming was a New York Times "Editors' Choice". She lives outside of Washington, D.C., with her husband and children, and teaches in the MFA program at George Mason University.
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StillnessAnd Other StoriesFrom"Surveillance"
They had been watching Lena for a month. The sound technician, a barrel-chested man with whom he had not previously worked, had introduced himself simply as Bear. Bear recorded her telephone conversations, leaving him to photograph her comings and goings. In her file at the Bureau, there were many Lenas. She appeared in a slew of black-and-white pictures, bundled in a woolen coat, talking to the downstairs neighbor, inspecting potatoes and carrots at the vegetable market. On warmer days, she stretched beside the window, the sill like a barre, and he had frozen her in her contortions. When the damp wind sank its teeth until it pierced his bones, she stood at the shut window in a thick sweater sipping coffee from a shallow cup that she held in both hands. In the pictures she was usually looking out. He liked to think that she had caught sight of something she had been expecting.
Stillness:And Other Stories -
StillnessAnd Other StoriesFrom"The Angled City"
N. has developed a code of conduct which requires his fierce attention. He does not fire at men in tan coats, red-haired women, or groups of three. He shoots cats for lack of better targets, but considers dogs a waste of his time and skill. And after wedging the butt of his post-lunch cigarette filter-first into the cinder-block wall by his shoulder, he might fire five shots in quick succession even if nothing moves in the space below. The red point of light should still be glowing at the end of his cigarette when he lowers the rifle. If not, he will swear softly, tap out another from the pack, and start again.
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StillnessAnd Other StoriesFrom"Remains"
When he finally regained consciousness, they had already removed one of his legs. Before a nurse could be summoned, he looked at the hospital linen that touched the bed where his leg should have been. Lifting the sheet to look at the bandaged stump, he began to cry.
There were other amputees in the room. The man nearest the window had a bandaged face and hands. The burns that kept him whimpering through the night had also blinded him.
“Go figure,” said the man in the next bed, in one of the rare moments when they were both conscious. “They gave the bed with the view to the blind guy.”
“Fuck you,” came the response from the opposite end of the room.
Stillness:And Other Stories
"In her exquisitely crafted, superbly structured novel, Brkic summons undertones of Greek tragedy to create her arresting characters and their intense emotions and dire secrets. By dramatizing nuanced questions of who is at fault, who can be trusted, and who will sink or swim, Brkic reveals persistent, multigenerational wounds of war, sacrifice, exile, and longing and imagines how healing might commence." —Donna Seaman, Booklist [on The First Rule of Swimming]
"Spare and poignant . . . [Brkic has] produced a work so immeasurably distant from those all-too-common debut story collections . . . The impression we’re left with after reading Stillness is one of respect for Brkic's seriousness, her sympathy, and her spirit." —Francine Prose, The New York Times Book Review
"A dark, deeply moving memoir of time, loss, and survival . . . [Brkic] skillfully balances spare, almost mundane, details of body bags and bullets fused to bone with descriptions of the living-families of the dead, who still hold out hope that their missing will return. In these heartbreaking portraits, the real horror of Brkic's task emerges . . . The Stone Fields is a beautifully written book, by turns grim, stirring, heartbreakingly sad, but always affecting." —Debra Ginsberg, The San Diego Union-Tribune
Selected Works
