The stories in Kerry Donoghue‘s collection Mouth are poignant, empathetic, and beautifully written.
Gina Chung wrote of the book:
“Full of grit and wit, the stories in Kerry Donoghue’s Mouth teem with humanity, hunger, desire, and compassion. You’ll ache alongside these characters, many of them outsiders on the fringes of society (ranging from rodeo clowns to amateur treasure divers to has-been television salesmen and more), all strivers searching for meaning in their own ways. Totally engrossing, rendered in prose that’ll slap you silly with every dazzling line.”
In her own words, here is Kerry Donoghue‘s Book Notes music playlist for her story collection Mouth:
THE WOMEN OF MOUTH
SoCal during the ’80s and ’90s had a peculiar energy, fueled by earthquakes, the Night Stalker, and smog alerts. So malls became a kind of safe space for me as a kid. I’d lose entire weekends scouring the latest tapes from The Cure and Sonic Youth at Sam Goody, sneaking chapters at B. Dalton. Malls were where I became fascinated with what people ate, bought, and wore. They’re also where I learned how to observe.
Now my debut short story collection MOUTH is out, and it’s themed around this American obsession with consumption—all the ways we hurt each other with our mouths, and who we become inside the secret hungers of our alcoholism, infidelity, and perfectionism.
And since MOUTH is part of the Year of Womxn lineup from Unsolicited Press, the women’s anthems on my playlist hold the most meaning for me. The women in my stories go through hell in the name of love, destroying their sanity or bodies or futures in the process. I wanted their songs to honor those journeys.
“Apron Strings,” Everything But the Girl
What a strange urge it is to want to create a new life. I moved through my life trying not to get pregnant and then all of the sudden, shocking myself at the age of 35, the surreal ache to have a baby bowled me over. And then I found out how difficult it can be. Apron strings, cold and lonely for time brings thoughts that only will be quiet when someone clings to my apron strings. This song is what that quiet “failure” of my body felt like to me, the all-consuming monthly disappointments that Glory, the main character in my story “Hunger,” also struggles with. How your new superpower becomes zeroing in on every newborn or pregnant person you see the second you walk outside, and how this knowledge slowly wrecks you. The sadness of blood. And the effort it takes to privately choke down that pain while showing up at work every day. “Apron Strings” strips down to Tracey Thorn’s voice and bares a vulnerability that I associate with the struggles of fertility—that lonely canyon between want and limitation.
“Valentine,” Fiona Apple
The vibe of MOUTH is Fiona Apple meets the TLC Channel because the women in my stories let it rip in their own ways. And nobody nails female rage like Fiona Apple. Her gorgeous voice, her metaphors—perfection. In my story, “You and Your Cold Soviet Heart,” a woman takes her romance to the next level, only to end up getting replaced by a seemingly easier relationship. And then, of course, she becomes consumed by the twin angers of relegation and disregard. “Valentine” feels exactly like being in that kind of relationship where you lose yourself by centering the other person: I watched you live to have my fun. God, that line. I’ve lived that line. Yet what power in turning it into something beautiful, all set against the subtle heartbeat in the background that slowly just…disappears. The trajectory of her voice—-from quiet love to unhinged repetition, to a slow, sad petering out—is exactly the journey that centering another person will take you on. This song is bittersweet and regretful and everything I love to belt out when I’m driving.
“N.O. Bounce,” Big Freedia
My story, “Refrain,” is about a serial predator who slimes into New Orleans and preys on teenage girls, until one victim refuses to stay silent. She reclaims her power by naming the ugly and symbolizes the youngest wave of feminists that don’t hide anything; her voice changes the game. And for me, Big Freedia embodies that power and self-confidence. That resilience. Big Freedia is who my characters wish they could be.
“Paprika Pony,” Kim Gordon
Kim Gordon is my forever queen and I won’t hear otherwise. Like so many of the women in my stories, she’s battled her way through a male-dominated industry. But unlike my characters, she holds true to herself through her independence. “Paprika Pony,” from her solo career, is sung in Gordon’s trademark flat way, a voice that bucks female expectations and could be easily dismissed. Until her lyrics knife you: You own me/You’re roaming/And you don’t see the tree. Whether it’s through sex, a career, or secrecy, power is a constant battle in my stories, the women fighting to establish theirs among men set on maintaining the status quo. And when these men do triumph, often at the expense of women, they ultimately miss their metaphorical forests for the trees. This song hits like an audio “I told you so.”
“I Can’t Make You Love Me,” Bonnie Raitt
Damn, this one kills me every single time. In my story “Birds of Paradise,” the ugly depths of a woman’s romantic obsession are revealed during a health crisis. But it’s the build up to that reveal that interests me, the years (or decades in this case) beforehand that set the stage and nourished the obsession. The self-imposed depth of those lies. What kinds of lies are we all telling ourselves, especially when it comes to love? The worst breakups are the ones that you’ve seen coming for months because the person you’ve betrayed that whole time is yourself. This song is so brutal because it feels less like pleading with a lover and more like pleading with her future self.
“Y Control,” Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs
If I had to choose a theme song for MOUTH, it’d be this one. The line, I wish I could buy back the woman you stole, nails that regret and frustration of realizations made too late, which is a theme that worms its way throughout the stories in MOUTH. And for some reason, my brain immediately sees “Y Control” as a question: What are you so afraid of that you need to control it? Also I would do nearly anything to ransack Karen O’s tour wardrobe.
“Diving Woman,” Japanese Breakfast
In the final story of my collection, “Jenny,” a woman risks everything to reveal who she really is: someone who wants to exist as a mermaid. Tail, underwater life, the whole thing. She wants it all and finally leaps to grab it. I love this song because it swings at that idea of “having it all.” What does it mean to have it all? Are we all simply juggling endlessly, praying we never drop a ball? Or is it when we finally do drop the ball that we free ourselves to have what we want? I love how the ending lines embody that moment of “all” not looking like what we expected: “We’ll have it all…/You’ll have it all…/I’ll have it.” What is “it?” Aren’t we all just trying to answer that?
Kerry Donoghue’s poetry and stories have appeared in Ninth Letter, Painted Bride Quarterly, Permafrost, The Louisville Review, and The South Carolina Review, among other journals. She also wrote The Loudest Voice of All, a children’s book, to fundraise for an organization that educates girls about the power of voting. She earned an MFA in Writing from the University of San Francisco. And she’s a fiction cohort for the 2025 Poets & Writers Get the Word Out publicity incubator. You can find her in the Bay Area where she lives with her family and, sadly, no good malls. Get to know her at www.kerrydonoghue.com or follow her on Instagram.