Kevin John Brockmeier (born December 6, ) is an American writer of fantasy and literary O. Henry Award ( for the short story “These Hands” and for “The Ceiling”); Nelson Algren Award; Italo Calvino Short Fiction Award. Within a week, the object in the night sky had grown perceptibly larger. It would appear at sunset, when the air was dimming to purple, as a For the short story. In Kevin Brockmeier’s short story, “The Ceiling,” Brockmeier implies that marriage is not necessary in our society. In fact, Brockmeier criticizes.

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A raft of silver clouds was floating along the horizon, and robins and sparrows were calling from the trees.

I pushed them in until each wick was surrounded by only a shallow bracelet of wax. It was clear to me at such times that she had taken herself elsewhere, that she had constructed a shelter from the wood and clay and stone of her most intimate thoughts and stepped inside, shutting the door.

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When his mother died, this faith seemed to abandon him. When she looks up, I want you to wave.


brockkmeier This page was last edited on 30 Novemberat So this is what I did: A model of a helicopter was chandeliered to his ceiling. On his bedroom wall were posters of fighter planes and wild birds.

The stream carried me right down the road. Her hand stilled in the air. Joshua closed his eyes. Mitch Nauman was leaving my house when I arrived.

Kevin Brockmeier – Wikipedia

A cloud of gray cinders shot out around him, but the window merely shuddered in its frame. Klaxon rods and restaurant signs. Mr WordPress on Hello world! An aerial transmission tower had collapsed earlier that week—the first of many such fallings in our town—and the quality of our reception had been diminishing ever since.

They came tearing up divots in the grass. And he did exactly that—trotting across the asphalt, tapping a few times on the glass, and waving when Melissa started in her chair. Beneath it we could see the shallow basin of a drainage culvert.

Dogwood trees were planted in hollows along the perimeter, and benches of distressed metal stood here and there on concrete pads. I was watching him in the mirror, which was both parallel to and coextensive with a mirror on the opposite wall. I used to see them in the trees. It broke drill bits.


I walked through it, and saw a flash of light, and found myself sitting up in bed. He let the stand fall to the floor and it rolled into a magazine rack. You can read it here. Anyway, I look forward to reading “The Ceiling” again in the future and hopefully I’ll come up with some more theories on what it all means. A man on a stepladder was pasting a sign to the ceiling: He nodded and made a clicking noise with his tongue.

Kevin Brockmeier

Joshua told his friends that he knew the pilot. There was a sky that day, sun-rich and open and blue. He went home each evening to the small house that they had shared, shuffling cards or paging through a magazine until he fell asleep. The ceiling was brockmeifr higher than a coffee table, and I could see each pore of my skin reflected in its surface.