Rachel Gray – Greyhound
2013, 14 pages
“Two men watching luggage:
— They’d better not lose my bag. My favorite t-shirt’s in there.
–Yah. I got my mom’s ashes in my stuff. I sure hope they keep track of that.
–I’m sorry to hear that, man.
–It’s okay. I know she’s in a better place.”
Rachel Gray’s Greyhound zine captures that peculiarly existential mood that develops on long trips. In exchange for being moved from point A to B, you’ve temporarily surrendered your ability to do anything; you become a pair of eyes on stalks, forced to spend your hours staring at the only stimuli available: your fellow travelers. Gray’s observant mini-memoir is full of tiny human moments, subtle ironies and glimpses of other lives. She never overwrites these moments, or attempts to shoehorn them into some greater statement. They simply exist on the page, poignant in their lack of adornment.
Gray’s clear, evocative prose is accompanied by some lovely, minimalist pencil sketches that further establish the tone of the piece. Gray, a photographer and visual artist, put this zine together on short notice for the most recent Ottawa Zine Off, and I’d love to see what she could do with more time. If it’s a form that interests her, she could be a hell of a zinester. I don’t know if she has any zines left, but if you want one feel free to send me a message and I can ask if she can make you one.
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