Welfare

by Steve Anwyll

Overview

Welfare is wholly made up of four-line paragraphs and has a cadence that is uniquely its own. A high school student leaves his parents’ home to live on his own with friends and with the help of government aid. The narrator becomes your best friend on the first page.

I walk down the slight slope of their driveway. A backpack full of t-shirts and socks and underwear and books on my back. I have $50 and 2 packs of cigarettes in the pocket of my army surplus jacket. But no lighter. You can’t have everything I tell myself.

Steve Anwyll lives in Canada.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780999218662
Publisher:	Tyrant Books
Publication date:	01/08/2019
Pages:	256
Product dimensions:	5.50(w) x 8.20(h) x 0.80(d)

About the Author

Steve Anwyll lives in Canada and writes for Hobart. This is his first novel.

Read an Excerpt

1. I probably remind my old man of the woman he lost. So maybe that's why I always feel like I don't belong. And why he gives me so much space. I don’t know if it’s that that made me distant. Independent. But what I am sure of. Is that it makes leaving pretty easy. In fact. I've been thinking about it for years. But where do I go? And how do I pay for food? So I've had to wait. Until after my 16th birthday. When the fighting with my dad's new wife gets to be too much. I just pack my bags. And when I come through the kitchen. Shes standing there. She asks me where I think I'm going. I tell her the fuck out of here. That I can't take it anymore. That she's had it out for me since the day she moved in. Scared that I might remind my father of what he used to have. She makes threats. Like I'll never make it. That I'll be back in an hour. That I'm too fucking stupid to last a day on my own. The whole time I'm by the door. Lacing up my boots. Laughing at her. Certain she's the stupid one. I walk down the slight slope of their driveway. A backpack full of t-shirts and socks and underwear and books on my back. I have 50$ and 2 packs of cigarettes in the pocket of my army surplus jacket. But no lighter. You can't have everything I tell myself. When I get to the main road the sun is setting. I stick out my thumb. It's the quickest way I know to get out of the shitty little lakeside village we live in. After about ten minutes of walking backwards. A beat up old sedan skids to a halt on the gravel shoulder and I don't hesitate. It's got all the signs of a bad time. Chipped blue paint. Rust showing though. And a greasy longhaired fisherman sitting behind the wheel. I hop in and sit down. There's a hole in the floor between my feet half covered by a greasy pizza box. He shrugs his shoulders. Mutters oh yeah and tells me to watch out. As we speed down the highway I watch the asphalt blur like running water. 'I used to hitchhike all the time when I was your age, man' he tells me through a cloud of second hand smoke, 'some of the best years of my life. Where you off to on a school night?' And I don’t know why I do it. Later I tell myself it must've been the hole in the floor. The road going by between my feet. A calming effect washes over me. And instead of keeping my mouth shut. Or lie. Like I always do with my family. Scared of them getting to know me. I answer him. I lay it all down to the man in the cloud of smoke. He lets me talk. And I tell him how this town and my family and school and my friends and the future feels like two hands around my throat. And how everyday a little more of my life is slipping away. And how I don't think I'll make it much longer if things don't change. When I'm done he pauses. Butts out the third smoke he's smoked since I got in the car and lights another. He takes a long drag. Fills the interior with a fresh cloud. 'You're doing the right thing man. It's time you’re out on your own,' he says. And he's telling me exactly what I want to hear. And even though I probably shouldn't. I listen. Mistaking his advice for truth. When he drops me off at a gas station on the edge of town he gives me five cigarettes. I ask for a pack of matches. He holds out his hand and I give him mine. We shake by interlocking thumbs and wrapping our fingers around the back of each other's hands. 'Best of luck, brother,' he tells me as I shut the door behind me. And before I can take a step back he squeals off onto the highway. Passed the sewage treatment plant. Into the night and out of my life. He was here just when I needed him. Even though I'm appreciative of the ride and the advice. I wish he'd dropped me off a little closer to where I'm going. It takes me almost two hours to walk across the city. To where my friend Greg lives. He's almost 20 and moved out of his parent's house a year ago. He works as the night janitor of the YMCA. The pay and the work are shit. But he has enough to pay his rent and get drunk every night. In my eyes he's a real success. I knock on the door even though it's early. And there's no lights on. When there's no answer I get ready to wait for a while. I sit on his broken concrete porch for hours. I smoke cigarettes.

Editorial Reviews

12/10/2018

When Stan turns 16, he decides that he can no longer take the fighting with his indifferent dad’s new wife, and he hits the road in Anwyll’s solid debut. His sketchy plan involves moving in with free-spirited friend Greg, 20, whose life in his small Canadian fishing village on Lake Erie is not so idyllic up close. Greg’s all-night benders and Stan’s inability to pay his share of the rent spell an end to this arrangement. He ends up with another friend, sharing a beach house, applies for welfare, and gets a caseworker. From there, it’s slowly downhill: his welfare application fails; he finds another apartment with an explosive landlord; school becomes a struggle because Stan’s poverty means he rarely gets enough to eat. He develops a crush on his caseworker, who sends him to a tough counselor, who enrolls him in a resume writing workshop, and so on. A series of demeaning jobs, financial panics, and insecure living situations follow. Anwyll’s coming-of-age novel sometimes reads more like sociopolitical allegory, but the authenticity of its first-person voice, and of its plot, which moves in deliberate, subtle steps, immerses the reader in Stan’s struggles. Stan’s story resonates with relevance and heart. (Dec.)

Publishers Weekly

Steve Anwyll's entrancing novel about a 16-year-old on welfare surprised and moved me, made me smile and laugh a lot, and increased my appreciation for life. I recommend it and look forward to reading it again.” –Tao Lin

From the Publisher