Exposition... Exposition Everywhere...

Could somebody please explain to me how exactly I could purchase a series of short stories and wind up reading a series of lectures?  I expected something... well... something from "Juice," maybe even something good, and now I'm thoroughly convinced that there is a new hallucinatory drug on the streets referred to as "juice."

I started reading with a hopeful heart.  On my break from work, I spent my half hour waiting in line for food and then sitting in front of the small pages with a burger in my hands.  The words droned on and on like an endless, animalistic bleat.  Goats could have been significantly more entertaining, even if they managed to piss on my work uniform (seriously, they "go" everywhere).  After a while, I wondered why exactly I'm supposed to care about this main character who is alone and constantly touching herself.

"Translation" was like a nightmarish version of Cast Away, but without any sympathy or sense.  What happened?  When is this?  Why does this matter?  I received no answers, leaving me with a bitter taste in my mouth after reading.  Gladman has a very sophisticated voice that did not in any way match the mood of the story.  It is great for writing essays, not stories.  Given that it is written in present tense, we should be getting fresh, off the cuff thoughts and phrases.  We should be placed right into the action, experiencing the narrator's emotions, wants, hopes, and fears.  What I got was exposition, exposition, exposition.

"My new home is right outside the shelter.  Of course I would want to go there and hang out with the things that root my people.  The hope being that upon their return I will have missed them less."

See, now I recall something heavily being stressed last class period.  DETAIL.  I remember us talking about describing something without actually saying it.  I remember applying that to my own writing.  Why on earth are we reading something that doesn't follow the class focus?  Unless this is an example of what NOT to do, I'm at a loss.

Here is how I would have written those three sentences above:

"Bits and bobbles of years past litter the mouth of the cave.  Their colors faded hues of blues, pinks, and gray, purposes meaningless and lost to me.  My hands chafe on the rough wooden surface of the makeshift planks that I pile nearby, turning the my light palms to a deep sunset red.  A throbbing sensation begins to set in, but I grit my teeth and strain to build my shelter.  Home.  Is it really home?  So close to what they were, what my village was, I can but turn to see the memories of a long forgotten past sitting there in the darkness of the cave.  The Past Shelter.  As I sit down in my newly assembled shack, I can't help but notice how empty it is.  Where are they?  Where?"

But instead, Gladman only tells us where things are and what the protagonist is thinking on in a tone that does not fit the setting.  If you were alone forever, would you stay so level-headed?  It fascinates me how Gladman is able to say absolutely nothing with so many words.  We receive absolutely no emotion in the entire piece, and we can't even get a clear image of what is going on.  What the actual hell is happening?  I don't know, and, after reading, I don't care.

And that is one of the biggest problems in the history of writing.  People love to hear about people they love to hear about.  When I don't know some random character in some random situation that only talks about what is going on (unclearly, I might add), the only thing that crosses my mind that resembles concern is the question: "I spent money on THIS?"  Renee Gladman obviously never heard the phrase, "Show, don't tell."  As a published author, she has no excuse... although I may just be living in a fantasy world; they seem to let anybody become published these days.