From
enigmatic
plot
to
disconcerting
characters,
normality is but a common thread
in Katya Apekina’s debut novel,
“The Deeper the Water the Uglier
the Fish.” Coming from a mother
who swallows her loved ones
whole and a narcissistic father, two
daughters are torn between the
chaotic obsessions and depressions
of their parents. After Edith and
Mae’s mother, Marianne, attempts
to hang herself they are taken
under the wing of their father,
Dennis — a former civil rights
activist and glamorous author. The
plot is a series of question marks
and unsettling flashbacks that are
gradually filled out by the tangle of
narratives.
Turbulent
and
beautifully
twisted, Apekina’s narrative ping-
pong
game
combines
Edith’s
present viewpoint with Mae’s
retrospective
future
narration.
Readers observe in discomfort
the unraveling of each obsessively
sinister relationship between parent
and child. This charactorial tension
is unsettling and glues your eyes to
each passing word. Each character
is layered with instabilities that
compile and decompose. Alongside
the instabilities of the other
characters, they form a complex
web of alluring destruction. The
narrative is further peppered with
psychiatric
records,
telephone
conversations, letters and book
reviews that provide backstage
glances into the mental framework

of each character.
Apekina
employs
a
blend
of
perspective
and
shifting
timeframes to propel the novel
with stunning volatility. Edie’s
chapters are dated with 1997, while
much of the offhand excerpts are

either dated from the ’60s or left
completely undated. Many of the
sideline excerpts are recited by
witnesses like Dennis’s sister, Aunt
Rose, his envious lover, Amanda,
Edith’s new friend, Charlie, her
recent boyfriend Markus and
Cronus the cat. Each figure retells
different pieces to this plot puzzle,
and as the story unravels, so too
does the mental stability of each
character.
It’s almost easy to dismiss
Marianne
as
a
hallucinating,
deranged
women,
but
Edith’s
determination
to
reclaim
her
mother’s name brings Marianne
back into focus as a character of
intrigue. At the same time there is
ambiguity in the source of Edith’s
hunger for her mother’s attention
as she had always been the second-
place child in her mother’s eyes.
Mae struggles to distance herself
from
Marianne’s
possessive
influence as she describes, “Yes,
mom dragged me with her to every
terrible place. I needed to get as
far from her as I could. She was

consuming me. That day she tried
to hang herself from the rafter
in the kitchen, I’d been lying on
the bedroom floor. My mind was
a radio tuned to her station and
her misery paralyzed me.” Mae
replaces her mother’s obsession
with her own delusional infatuation
with her father. Mae desires to fill
his need for a damaged, unstable
muse. As Marianne describes best
Dennis “liked his birds with their
wings broken.” Almost ironically,
Mae slowly starts to embody her
mother’s mannerisms and manic
tendencies to become the not-so-
perfect muse for Dennis and is
essentially consumed by insanity in
the process.
Apekina
asks
an
essential
question: Whose voice gets to be
heard? The famed father, a suicidal
mother, two neglected daughters or
the side characters who observe the
chaos from a safe distance?
“The Deeper the Water the
Uglier the Fish” exposes more
than the inner workings of parent-
child relationships and the darker
shades of mental illness, it digs into
pressing themes of today’s political
climate and the gendering of society.
It provides a timely interpretation
of the silencing and reinventing of
voices through the power of men.
Apekina perfectly plants seeds
for respecting and believing the
voices of women while leaving
ambiguous gaps in the narrative for
the reader’s interpretative delight.
The story is left unresolved for a
much-anticipated follow up novel,
and it’s good timing: The world
was far overdue for such a relevant,
tantalizing and desirably addictive
novel.

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HELP WANTED

GO BLUE

By Craig Stowe
©2018 Tribune Content Agency, LLC
10/19/18

Los Angeles Times Daily Crossword Puzzle

Edited by Rich Norris and Joyce Nichols Lewis

10/19/18

ANSWER TO PREVIOUS PUZZLE:

Release Date: Friday, October 19, 2018

ACROSS
1 Trendy
8 No longer
outstanding
14 Catch-22
15 “Am I the
problem?”
16 Physician for
Dickens’ Miss
Havisham?
18 Morales of
“Ozark”
19 Canada’s Buffy
Sainte-Marie, by
birth
20 Math functions
22 Fleur de __: sea
salt
23 Clever remarks
24 Sedate
25 Station for
exercisers on
wheels?
29 Earth tone
32 Ancient
colonnade
33 “Disgusting!”
34 Diamond figure
37 Play seriously
39 “... this night,
being __ my
head”: Shak.
40 Hideout
42 Soft touch
43 Expert guard
dog?
47 Foil relative
48 Couple
49 Andean stew
veggie
52 Rapper Ice
Cube’s first name
54 Clothes to clean
55 Zipcar parent
company
56 Cool cat’s
affectionate
friends?
59 Texas oil city
60 State
61 Waver
62 Computer input

DOWN
1 Stained glass
settings
2 Slip
3 Type similar to
Helvetica

4 Nail treatment
5 Has too much
6 One involved in
a memorable
“bubble”
7 Puts forth
8 Tease
9 Juan’s “that”
10 Selfies, e.g.
11 Ancient region
ruled by Athens
12 Small portion
explanation
13 Ones neglecting
their duties
17 Score marks
21 Soul singer
Robinson’s debut
album
23 Material for
Michelangelo’s
“David”
25 Train bottom
26 Series-ending
abbr.
27 Pal of Piglet
28 Stepped (up)
29 Words from a
balcony
30 Unsportsmanlike
conduct

31 Baseball, in old
slang
35 Former Mideast
gp.
36 Member of the
fam
38 __ value
41 Control tower
device
44 Mobile home?
45 Hurried
46 Islands VIP

49 Some Viking
appliances
50 “Odyssey”
sorceress
51 Plus
53 Kind of D.A.
54 Diminish slowly,
with “off”
55 Líquido para café
57 “The Cocktail
Party” monogram
58 Grasped

Classifieds

Call: #734-418-4115
Email: dailydisplay@gmail.com

On the extended voice

At the beginning of Oct., I saw
an unusual concert at Canterbury
House. The School of Music,
Theatre & Dance student ensemble
Front Porch performed short sets
with four singer-songwriters after
collaborating on arrangements of
their music. The group’s unusual
instrumentation of violin, bassoon,
percussion and piano can produce
a surprising variety of colors,
and it was interesting to see the
diversity
of
the
songwriters’
styles reflected in the differences
in arrangement. Music usually
backed by a guitar or a piano was
expanded into music with evolving
textures,
symphonic
flourishes
and new countermelodies and
embellishments.
One of the choices that the
singers had to make was whether
to use a microphone or not —
amplification is the exception in
the idiom that Front Porch plays in,
but a norm in a good deal of popular
music. Evan Chambers, who is
also a professor of composition at
SMTD, chose to go without for his
set and managed to project over
the ensemble just fine. Another
performer, Hannah McPhilimy,
chose to use a microphone. The
stylistic divide between their two
sets was somewhat reflected in
this decision. Professor Chambers,
whose songs are rooted in the
folk revival and Irish music,
projected over the ensemble at
their loudest and was expressive
physically. He moved his entire
body with the music and at times
conducted
himself
with
both
hands. Amplification would have
been inappropriate for the style, but
mostly it was just unnecessary.
McPhilimy’s
set
was
more
intimate
and
personal
than
Chambers’s, and her choreography
was similarly in miniature. The
microphone on a stand imposes
its
own
choreography,
which
is
necessarily
smaller
than
performers
who
go
without.
Her hands played a primary
“acting” role, moving slowly, at
times grasping the stand as if for
support or holding onto a dancing

partner. The acoustic effect of the
amplification was to make quiet
sounds louder — an audience
member could hear her inhale and
sing softly.
Microphones include everything
by default. Audio engineers have
to set up special filters to remove
plosives
and
sibilance
from
recording — little P and S sounds,
respectively, that are magnified by
the closeness of the microphone
— and even with these filters, a
microphone close on whatever it is
recording will miss very little. This
radical inclusiveness means that
amplified performance and close-
miked recording includes a lot of
details, of the kind only otherwise
heard when the singer is very
close. Tony Bennett said of Frank
Sinatra that he “perfected the art
of intimacy.” Sinatra’s recordings
have a certain subtlety and detail —
you can hear him ease in and trail
off his phrases, even as a big band
with trombones and saxophones
plays behind him. His voice isn’t
on stage. You, the listener, are not
in the audience; he is across the
table from you or walking up to you
at a bar. Billie Holiday’s live shows
from the ’40s and ’50s are similar
— she rarely sings loudly, but can be
clearly heard over the band.
Compare this style with St.
Vincent’s 2007 “What Me Worry,”
a pastiche of the midcentury
crooning style (specifically echoing
Holiday’s distinctive vocal timbre).
Her voice is completely dry, and
the sibilance is louder, sharper. The
space between her voice and the
listener has been collapsed from
that of the crooners to a painfully
small scale. The voice is in a totally
different sonic world than the
band, which is perhaps playing
on TV in the background. This
song is unusual in so specifically
harkening back to the Crooners,
and the microscopic vocal detail
it offers the listener feels very out
of place. Throughout the second
half of the 20th century, with the
radical improvement in recording
capabilities, artists have used
the
microphone’s
maximizing
capabilities to extend the depth of
their closeness to a surreal degree.
The music of of FKA Twigs often
contains vocal sounds that are

somewhere between whispering
and hissing. The singer-songwriter
Liz Harris, professionally known
as Grouper, makes music that
almost puts the listener inside her
voice. “Way They Crept,” from the
2005 album of the same time, turns
her voice into an enveloping drone.
Extending
voices
with
amplification works both ways
— both intimacy and a kind of
outsized violence are possible. The
use of microphones in performance
and recording allows for the
transformation from small sounds
to loud, aggressive ones. So-called
“mumble rap” employs a technique
something like this. The clipping
vocals of Lil Pump, literally created
by pushing a digital system past its
limits and recording the results,
make the transformation of human
to machine almost uncomfortably
visceral. On “D Rose,” it doesn’t
sound like he’s delivering his lines
particularly loudly, but it’s intended
to be played loudly — mumbling,
paradoxically, over loud parties
or festival audiences. His voice
resembles the cartoonishly large
jacket he wears in a recent music
video with Kanye West, in that
his actual body is dwarfed by its
representation. This drastic degree
of separation is only convincing in
the electronic landscape that Lil
Pump and his listeners live in. The
recordings of the Crooners (and
even, to an extent, St. Vincent’s
pastiche of them) are, at least,
simulations of live performance.
The voices of mumble rappers
are placed in juxtaposition with
synthesizers, and audiences barely
blink when, for example, Lil Uzi
Vert’s voice is autotuned so far that
the result is more mechanical than
human.
But really, to emphasize the
outsize
artificiality
of
certain
genres more than others is to
distract from the fact that all
recording is artificial. In a way,
music that doesn’t use elaborate
measures to obscure the means
of its production is more honest
about the nature of recorded music.
The most captivating part of Lil
Pump’s self-titled album is how
much digital noise covers it. The
computer it was made on enters the
frame in a way it wouldn’t have if the

EMILY YANG
For the Daily

MUSIC NOTEBOOK

“The Deeper
the Water the
Uglier the Fish”

Katya Apekina

Two Dollar Radio

recording was left clean. In another
direction, a lot of indie music has
embraced a “lo-fi” aesthetic, which
leaves in artifacts like fret sliding
noises, sharp inhales and even
sometimes the sound of moving
objects around in the background.
“Renee” by the Florida duo SALES
has an almost messy guitar part,
and there’s a thick layer of tape
noise over the track that sounds
like crickets from an open window.

One of my favorite songs, “Blue
Mountain Road,” from Florist’s
second album, layers barely audible
backing vocals with an unaltered
guitar part. The vocalist, Emily
Sprague, sings at a volume that
would be appropriate if she were
trying not to be heard downstairs
first thing in the morning, and her
voice is hard-panned, giving the
impression of singing directly into
her listeners’ ears. Listening to this

music is a reminder of the event
of its making. It tells the listener
that the music was made at a
specific time, with specific people.
Listening to lo-fi music is often
both a musical experience and a
sort of bridge through time. Maybe
that’s what all recording is.

BOOKS THAT BUILT US

KEVIN HENKES

This is part of a 2-part series
Read more at MichiganDaily.
com

‘Purple Plastic Purse’

I must have read “Lilly’s Purple
Plastic Purse” upwards of 50 times
as a kid. I loved it. I still do.
I think I gravitated to the book
because I myself was a little like
Lilly. I too was a precocious, strong-
willed, teacher’s pet with a burning
love for red cowboy boots. I was
so taken by the spunky character
and her eponymous story that I
managed to get my little hands on
a purple plastic purse of my very
own. Like Lilly, I adored that purse
tremendously.
For those of you who have
never read the picture book, or
have forgotten its contents, the
story is, at its heart, a simple
redemption tale. We learn early
on that Lilly is completely smitten
with her teacher, Mr. Slinger. She
loved that he wore his glasses on
a chain around his neck, greeted
his students by saying “howdy”
and baked them curly, crunchy,
cheesy snacks for before recess.
She’s so taken by him that she
proclaims that she too wants to be
a teacher, and even pretends to be
him at home, while giving her baby
brother Julien a “lesson.”
However, things go awry when

Lilly comes to school one Monday
with the spoils of a shopping trip
with grandma. She brings in
her new “movie star sunglasses
complete with glittery diamonds,
and a chain like Mr. Slinger,” as
well as “three shiny quarters” and,
best of all, a “purple plastic purse
that played a jaunty tune when
opened.”
Like most little kids with a new
toy, she just can’t wait to show it
off. Only, Mr. Slinger has kindly
asked her on multiple occasions
to hold off and wait till recess or
sharing time. But Lily just can’t
help it, and in an outburst invites
all her classmates to take a look. An
unamused Mr. Slinger confiscates
the purse.
Feeling hurt and betrayed, Lilly
scrawls a hateful drawing of her
teacher where she haughtily writes
“P.S. I do not want to be a teacher
when I grow up.” She tucks this
note into his bag.
On her walk home from school,
she discovers special snacks and
a kind note from Mr. Slinger in
her newly returned purse. She, of
course, feels awful and banishes
herself to the time-out chair when
she gets home.
The very next morning she
arrives extra early with an apology,
baked-goods, a kind drawing and
story of Mr. Slinger. Naturally, he

forgives her and they proceed to
have an amazing day. All is well.
My rehashing of the book does
little to convey its magic. A lot of
what makes “Lily’s Plastic Purse”—
and all of Kevin Henkes books for
that matter — so special lives in
the illustrations. They’re skilled,
playful and spirited. They add
immense heart to the story.
But ultimately, the reason this
book has stayed with me has little
to do with its overall endearing
message of forgiveness, but rather
the specific content of Mr. Slinger’s
note to Lily.
In it he writes: “Today was a
difficult day. Tomorrow will be
better.”
As far as writing goes, the
phrase is hardly groundbreaking.
And yet the phrase reverberates
through my head when I’m feeling
down on my luck.
I keep these words tucked in
my pocket. Over the years they’ve
become a personal mantra. When
all has gone wrong and I catch
myself crying at the end of a bad
day I’ll whisper to myself Mr.
Slingers’s words: “Today was a
difficult day. Tomorrow will be
better.” Invariably, those nine
simple words provide me some
relief. Even the toughest days come
to an end, and tomorrow provides
the opportunity of a fresh start.

TESS TOBIN
Daily Arts Writer

‘Fish’ is beautiful debut

TESSA ROSE
Daily Arts Writer

BOOK REVIEW

5A — Friday, October 19, 2018
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com