Review: Until All You See Is Sky

At Wit’s End
Review: Until All You See Is Sky

Emily Langford

George Choundas
Essay Collection
EastOver Press, pp 185
Cost: $18.60 (Paperback)

“We may know the sacred; we may not impart it.” 
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George Choundas tosses this penetrating sentence seventy-five pages into his collection of essays, Until All You See is Sky. It’s one of the many turns of phrase that will make the reader pause and reflect. This in itself is not so shocking—good writing should, at the bare minimum, have an impact on the reader. What sets Choundas apart from the others, in my opinion, is context. Where this shrewd pronouncement is more befitting a spiritual revelation or a hard-learned life lesson, Choundas has gifted this deep and affecting statement to… baked goods.

This, I believe, is what lies at the heart of Choundas’ writing: finding intimate truths in the mundane. Be it the black-and-white cookies at Glaser’s Bake Shop, a hushed morning routine, the death of Payless ShoeSource, or the specifics of people-watching in NYC—Choundas has something to say about it. Normally, I would expect these kinds of essays to breach into the dangerous territory of wearisome. It is the unique writer who can turn scant observations into something truly relatable and, more importantly, engaging. 
 
That being said, Until All You See is Sky is not some Seinfeldian book of yada-yada opinions. When he has something deep to write about, he throws himself whole-heartedly onto the page. He lays bare his relationship with his immigrant parents, with his growing children, the importance of history and heritage, and he does it all with great care and significance. However, it is in the essays about the seemingly less remarkable topics where his voice shines. To squeeze any amount of emotion out of a piece about Mister Softee (yes, that Mister Softee) is something to be proud of. 

The essays are uniquely structured, never letting the reader get too comfortable with a topic, style, or emotion. Choundas pushes the boundaries of a simple prose narrative, almost as if he does not want to simply rely on writing alone, illustrating his points through graphs, musical notes, dialogues, scripts, etc. “The Petervian Calendar,” a standout piece, is modeled after an actual calendar that marks the passage of time through his relationship with his son. Another standout piece called “The Vengeances” explores the relationship with his father through the historical timelines of Greece and Italy. These choices allow the author to expand the reaches of his storytelling, every element adding an acuity, a cheekiness, a history, and a deeper understanding of what he is trying to convey, all that is himself. As he writes, “What I write… is very much me. Not near me. Of me. My writing is more me than my face.”

These choices allow the author to expand the reaches of his storytelling, every element adding an acuity, a cheekiness, a history, and a deeper understanding of what he is trying to convey, all that is himself.

While there is a slicing wit in almost all of these essays, there is one in particular that hits a more sobering note. “Dead Now” is a piece that I, personally, have not been able to shake since my initial reading. Within twelve seemingly arbitrary segments of memories, interactions and ideas, Choundas maps out lifelong observations of the human condition. Every piece within this chapter is an opportunity for contemplation. Through his own experiences, Choundas gives you, the reader, an opportunity to reflect on the characters that enter your life—either for a moment or an extended period, every belief held close to the chest, every shameful buried memory. Ultimately, Choundas eases us into the lesson buried within, one we all must confront at some point: time will continue on without any of us. What is not dead now, will be soon enough. And that’s okay. 

Ultimately, Choundas eases us into the less buried within, one we all must confront at some point: time will continue on without any of us.

​Until All You See is Sky is witty, moving, and unpredictable. You will find yourself laughing aloud, calling family members in from other rooms so that they can hear and laugh as well. Turn the page and you will be stunned into silence by a declaration that cuts so deep that it requires a period of self examination. Choundas puts both hands squarely on your shoulders and marches you through his inner workings, the beats of everyday life that make him tick, the geography that maps his functioning. He wraps you so tightly in his perspective—in his experience—that you find yourself to be the awkward boy in Florida, shamefully eying his plastic Payless shoes and later, that pissed off New Yorker traversing his way through a throng of tourists. Until All You See is Sky showcases the multitudes contained inside the author and moreover, allows you to recognize the multitudes within yourself.