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| The big toe is the captain of the toes! |
The title alone hooked me and then the piece went off in a completely different direction than the usual intertextual, magical-realist, mind-bending Borges I was expecting. Instead, Toenails might just be the most elegant and poetic thing ever written about…well, toenails. I can’t say I’m aware of many other writers brave enough to lovingly describe “semitransparent, flexible sheets of a hornlike material,” but here we are. Yet somehow, it works. It’s also funny in a very oddball, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of way.
I wouldn’t argue with anyone who says this feels more like a prose poem than a short story, especially since it’s barely half a page long. It’s a lightning-fast read although I have spent more time thinking about my own toenails than the story itself, which reminds me: I should probably go cut mine again before they accidentally cut my wife's shins under the blankets. They grow too fast!
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