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eBook Category: Mainstream
eBook Description: Saturday morning in the Washing Green Laundromat, and three people come together in a triangle of interest. So far, so routine. But in Heavy Load the characters' only interaction is through glances, gestures, covert stares, never exchanging a word--and it's the laundromat itself that narrates the story, going into the characters' bodies, living through turning points in each character's life in never-ending cycles. By the end of the story the characters' lives have touched enough to give each a chance at a new beginning, and the laundromat has told a few of its own humorous stories--and given some valuable laundry tips. Humorist/satirist, Biff Mitchell's first novel is something truly unusual, and a tour de force of wit, compassion and acute observation of the modern scene. Things get dirty, things get clean...

eBook Publisher: Fictionwise.com, Published: 2004
Fictionwise Release Date: July 2005

3 Reader Ratings: Great Good OK Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [1.5 MB], eReader (PDB) [236 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [235 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [211 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [207 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [258 KB], hiebook (KML) [614 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [321 KB], iSilo (PDB) [198 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [242 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [279 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [317 KB]
Words: 77453
Reading time: 221-309 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

"The Washing Green is a bit unusual. It is a laundromat that is actually a senescent being capable of exploring the memories and thoughts of the humans within its building. Filled with energy, enthusiasm and motivation, the laundromat proves to be a microcosm of life, investigating, exploring and seeking explanation for the motives of its temporary inhabitants who remain oblivious to its special understanding. The Washing Green makes fascinating observations as people enter the building. Sally, a mother of three and poverty stricken, cherishes an expensive sweater gifted to her by her parents. The sweater comes to represent her femininity and her hope for the future as she carefully washes and folds its luxuriant fabric. Baxter and Jeffry vie for the attention of the beautiful Hillary. Each character is wounded, caring a heavy load of pain and guilt, and each begins to find answers within the Washing Green. Cindy Penn of WordWeaving writes of Heavy Load (A Laundromance): 'Invigorating and irrepressibly optimistic, Heavy Load by Biff Mitchell provides delightful entertainment. Beneath the humor lies a deep understanding of our darkest secrets. As the laundromat shares the glimpses of life that make us flawed, vulnerable and human, even the most repulsive of behavior and strangest of fetishes suddenly become understandable. A creative masterpiece, Heavy Load comes very highly recommended. Fascinating and unusual--Very highly recommended!'"--Cynthia Penn, WordWeaving

"Biff Mitchell's Heavy Load is subtitled "A Laundromance", which led me to expect some kind of humorous boy-meets-girl-sitting-in-laundrette story, but there's an additional twist. The narrator is Janie's laundrette itself--or laundromat, as they are called in America and presumably also in Australia, where this book was published. The name of this particular laundromat is "The Washing Green", and it begins its tale with a guided tour of itself, bright with humour and personality, catching the reader's attention immediately, as it describes its interior layout and 130 industrial-grade washing machines:. "the business end of me, le raison de laundroetre" With such a beginning, you can't help but read on. Incidentally, the laundrette is called The Washing Green, because, unlike such establishments in the UK, it's in a part of the world that has such good weather that people can sit outside while waiting for their washing to dry. It's another variation on the "Grand Hotel" theme--people come, people go, it seems like nothing ever happens but, of course, plenty does. If you can accept the unfashionable idea that ordinary, everyday life is worth observing, you'll enjoy this story and the way it is told. Yet it's not quite the fairytale it at first appears. Before the end of the first chapter, there's a change in mood, a hint of something dark and threatening, as the Washing Green reveals that, not only is it aware of everything that goes on inside its four walls, but it can also read human minds. In case we should tire of the novelty of the non-human narration, the author avoids revealing his hand all in one go, keeping back little titbits, so that each chapter becomes a mini-cliffhanger. That's what makes this a real page-turner (and I was reading it in electronic format). I ought also to mention that it's explicit in parts, and perhaps a few readers who go into it expecting a simple, innocent love story are potentially going to be shocked by what they read. On the other hand, it's a human story. The laundromat has sympathy for most of its customers, and expends considerable electrical energy investigating their innermost thoughts, seeking solutions to their problems and offering advice which, naturally, they ignore. The human problems are mostly sexual ones, deeply rooted in the childhood and subconscious of their owners, which I think is a pity. I'd begun to expect something more original, and I'm sure the author could have delivered it if he'd tried.The characterisation and dialogue, however, are excellent. Not that the characters say much to one another while doing their washing; they spend most of their waiting time just pondering on the shortcomings of their personal lives. The outwardly tough but inwardly tormented Baxter, the outwardly sexy but inwardly insecure Hillary, and the outwardly nerdish and inwardly nerdish Jeffry form an eternal triangle whose complexities maintain their momentum until, eventually, some kind of relationship is forged, some kind of catharsis achieved. For the laundry, of course, is a metaphor for the cleaning-up of soiled lives. The lively writing is kept up throughout the book, and we can forgive the odd typo that crops up. After all, it's not every day you come across a self-published novel that's really worth the cover price. This, I'm happy to say, is one of the exceptions that proves the rule."--Deborah Fisher, Tregolwyn Reviews

"What an odd little book! But odd in a good way. This whole story is told by a laundromat. Here's the story. The Washing Green is owned by Janie. She wanted to start her own business, and it turned out to be a laundromat. Janie has a ton of things to do in there, besides washing and drying clothes. There's the Poet's Corner, a study area and vending machines. Many people visit everyday. Some to wash clothes, and some to just hang out. There are three people that the laundromat is really focusing on. Hillary, Baxter and Jeffry, who all came in to do a little clothes washing--and a little thinking too?. These young people all have something in common; they have all been hurt by someone in their lives. As the laundromat delves deeper into their subconscious, and into hidden memories, you get a sense of who they were and who they are now. You are only in the laundromat for a short period of time, but it seems longer. Looking inside of these three minds makes you wonder now what everyone else is thinking! Author Biff Mitchell has a unique writing style that makes this book a great read. The story is just out of the ordinary, which compelled me to read it. This sense of style he has is just what is needed to make this an enjoyable--and funny--read."--Lisa Anne, Book Review Café

"Weaving a story told by a Laundromat is unusual in itself, especially when you tell it with the wit of Mr. Mitchell. With the knowledge of 'Hal' of Carl Sagan's Space Odyssey, without the ability to take action, the Laundromat reports the thoughts and spoken words of people involved in a love triangle. With an amazing understanding of human life and actions, the Laundromat tells its story convincingly. How it accomplishes that feat is where imagination takes over. This is not a story for the younger set. Mr. Mitchell's love of the 'F' and other four letter words make it one to keep from the hands of children. His expertise in using descriptive language is admirable and his tilt at writing humor is successful. The characters are very well drawn and engaging. To me this was a very funny book and one that is written with great skill. Recommended for adult readers but definitely not for those under the age of 18."--Douglas Large, eBook Reviews Weekly

Here it comes, a tap at my back door lock, a click, a clicketyclick, a tumbling metal-on-metal click and a clack. Janie's here. Time to wake up.

Time to flow with electrons and ether and chi, with waves and strings of vibrating particles kick-started by the clicketyclick of Janie's key. Time to wake up and start the day running; that's me, energetic at the drop. Enthusiastic and motivated! The day's two halves full! Open my door, Janie. You've got me humming; make me sing. C'mon, Janie, turn on the juice, the juice, bring on the juice. And here it comes, the first switch. Flick it, Janie, flick it! And...

click

...she flicks the switch! Whoa, baby! Feel it flow, like a million jolt caffeine rush, flashing fluorescent light over this whole section of chairs and booths, the big round table, the long folding table and rows of machines. They spring up from the shadows in the bath of light.

And that's just for starters!

Now, Janie maps out the rest of my waking with the firm pad of her sneakered feet. Yeah, Janie, that feels good, sort of like a nudging massaging motion, a time-space kind of thing, you know, where the photon's here and then it's there, and it doesn't really matter where it was in between 'cause, now it's here and ... oops ... it's there. Yeah, there, a little more there.

And Janie pads on, down the aisle between the two big sorting tables and into my long morning shadows. A sharp left turn towards my vending machines and dry clean stacks, as Janie pads unrushed, and stops with more jingling and clicketyclicks to unlock my front doors, then pads back another twenty steps, and stops in front of the office door, and clicketyclick, it's open, and Janie enters humming to herself. Always humming, my Janie. Always upbeat in the morning.

And now Janie stands in the semidarkness of her office, looking through the single wide window, mirrored on the other side, into my interior, Janie's private view into all that goes on inside me. And she pauses with her hand resting by the main switch, her hand resting right on top of the main switch, just resting there. If I could drool, this is where things would get plenty wet, but this is Janie's moment, where Janie looks out over my rows of machines and chairs and tables and walls and ceiling and all that potential, all that quiet and stillness ready to pounce into noise and action, and treats herself to a moment of pride.

Yep, here's my proud Janie pausing in the semidarkness, pausing with her hand right beside the main switch, just nonchalantly proudly pausing, taking in all the work she's done, everything that she's done with me, all the glory of a dream made real, and, OK, Janie, I think this moment of pride is taking just a little bit, a tad, too long. Pride crasheth into a spin cycle gone haywire, Janie. Let that finger fall on the switch. The switch, Janie, the switch. Make it happen, Janie. Your finger's moving to the beat of your humming, moving slowly by inches, inching its way down, inching down, less than inching now, kind of like one of those photons having a hard time getting into quantum gear, and it's almost there and...

click.

WOW! Fire in the circuits!

Sparks! Yeah! Wires pumping energy like a hundred fourth of Julys compressed into a single nanosecond and exploding throughout me, billions of electrons flowing into my florescent lights, into my video games, into my washroom light bulbs, like a sudden shift ... oops ... it's there! And I'm everywhere inside myself, in my corners, my crawl spaces, my nooks and crannies, like polarity switching around and around again, and Janie's pride, Janie's thoughts, Janie's ether and chi emanating with the sound of her humming, buzzing through my morning numbness like billions and billions of tiny tickles, mixing with the motions of magnets and coolant and the lightning flow of light bouncing off my walls and floors and back up to my ceiling, and I'm fully awake. Ah, yes, I'm awake and ready!

And now, now, Janie stands with her arms folded across her chest, just looking over me, proud of me, proud of what she's done with me, tickled pink with my rows of washers and dryers, my industrial-size machines, my vending machines, my television set, my change machine, my coolers, my dispensers, my telephones, my bright walls, and all the signs that Janie painted herself with memorable lines like: