Author Note: Kirsti Salmi

Kirsti Salmi is the author of “Coat the Blade,” a short story published in The Puritan’s Summer Issue 38. “Coat the Blade” was selected by guest editor Amy Jones. As part of The Town Crier’s author notes series, Salmi takes the time to give us some insight into the making of her story.

Recently I was asked by some college students to do an interview on “Coat the Blade.” They were doing presentations on it for their creative writing workshop. They surprised and flattered me with their questions and the depth of their engagement with the work. Answering forced me to look at the piece with a reader’s perspective, rather than a writer’s—something I hadn’t done since my master’s degree courses.Years ago, I used to sit with friends who did night audits at an old railroad hotel. I’d go to gossip, bring them food, or just watch people coming and going, shadows slinking through the revolving doors. I’m a bit of a weirdo who likes grocery shopping at midnight, or being laid over in airports just to wander around. Hanging out after hours in this hotel lobby was the beginning of a long fascination with spaces of transition, hotels and airports and gas stations and box stores. Particularly during off-peak hours, when they’re largely abandoned. What happens to our identities when we pass through transitional spaces? Who do we become when there’s no one or nothing familiar around to ground us, remind us of who we are?Enter Eve, the palm reader. Initially, I think people enjoy anonymity, by the freedom afforded in a place where no one knows you. But it’s usually followed by a kind of existential panic. If we’re able to shed our identities so quickly, we’re forced to confront that our identity may be nothing more than a socially reinforced construct, a well-honed lie. We need someone to say: I see you, I know who you are, it’s okay. Eve recognizes this and profits from it, no different than a salesperson does. Anyone who’s been in customer service long enough understands pattern recognition. You start being able to read customers. She isn’t unique or gifted; she’s just a hustler.The students all commented that they didn’t particularly like Eve. They found her cynical and had a hard time reconciling their dislike of her as protagonist. I had a good laugh; they’re not the first to have mentioned it. Apparently, I’ve developed a habit of writing cynical protagonists, females particularly. You might have found the same. That’s okay. I don’t necessarily need characters to be likeable, as long as they’re compelling. Some of the best stories centre around characters who are immensely unlikeable, or objectively “bad” people. We find ourselves rooting for them anyway, because they’re complex; they’re written compellingly. They’re human. If you’re interested enough to read all the way to the end, then I’ve done my job. Beyond that, cynicism is often a veil people use to mask deep vulnerability and insecurities. Eve is not as strong, nor as confident, as she believes herself to be. We see that facade crumble in the hallway when she is harassed.

While spitting in the man’s hand isn’t necessarily sugar-coating the message, it is the safest way of signalling to his potential victim that hey, his touch is tainted, you don’t want his hands on you. 

The phrase coating the blade with honey references manipulation—of people, situations, things—to one’s advantage. It’s conveying a difficult message in a way that doesn’t sound as though you’re delivering a blow. I find that women, in both professional and personal settings, often have difficulty communicating in a direct manner without fear of being labelled a bitch. They feel like they need to sugar-coat messages to be heard. Anyone who’s experienced this knows exactly what I’m talking about. For Karen to be successful in her career, she must always be aware of how she presents herself, must remind people how hard she works with visual cues. I’ve worked with Karens. I’ve been Karen. I know how exhausting and infuriating it can be.When Eve “coats the blade” at the end of the story, she’s manipulating the situation both to protect Karen, and to regain some sense of control after being harassed in the hallway. Calling out sexual predators is difficult in any arena. Women are constantly being called liars for doing so. While spitting in the man’s hand isn’t necessarily sugar-coating the message, it is the safest way of signalling to his potential victim that hey, his touch is tainted, you don’t want his hands on you. Eve may not have a physical blade to defend like Portia, but she can wield the metaphorical one.One of the best pieces of writing advice I ever received is that you should end a story in an unexpected, but inevitable way. (Thanks Lisa!) I used to think people were nuts for saying their characters take over the story, that the characters dictate what needs to happen next. I don’t think that anymore. So of course, Eve demanded to spit in his hand. To me, there wasn’t any other way it could have ended.