Only Stories

1) I generally shy away from stories that take place inside a teacher’s lounge AND/OR high school English classroom, both of which Wyss uses in a oh-my-god-I’m-going-to-SCREAM way 2) I’m tired of stories about older men being shamelessly aroused by much younger women, 3) Wyss’ writing is amazing, but way TOO MUCH given the subject matter. He’s trying too hard, and it’s distracting. Other ways of saying #3: He takes himself too seriously; he thinks way too hard about the predicament at hand; his prose is so frilly and weighty it seems like he’s trying to cram every good adjective/description/simile/metaphor/image/etc. into this one story.

All that said, I was pulled into this story like a magnet to a ‘fridge, so maybe I should take my own advice and stop over-thinking this.

-M

Relatively simple plot that’s a wee bit heavy on the back-story. Use of Nazism as a paradigm for evil = too easy. Loved the characterizations of Plummy and Banger, although I think they both might be too likable, good, sincere, loving, etc. to be considered full characters (everyone loved Plummy in high school even though she was a raging slut? It’s a mature viewpoint to believe that lots of sex does not a bad person make, but high schoolers aren’t mature. In real life, Plummy would have a fair share of haters. Sorry, that’s a small point, but it seems that Cherry was too attached to her characters’ likability, and they seem almost fairytale-ish.)

-M

Usually I have a hard time connecting to stories with the thesis statement “Here I am, in the USA, trying to acclimate to a new culture while trying to hold on to my native country’s traditions.” I’m sure this is just my sense of perception playing tricks on me, but it seems to be the main characters in these stories are always Indian (dot not feather [Is this shorthand for “I’m racist? and/or just insensitive?”]).This story, out of New Stories from the South 2009, sort of applies to the above generalization, sort of not.

Our protag, you see, is a fully Americanized, gay, Indian college student, who’s dealing with a crotchety, misogynistic GRANDPA who still has eyes for the homeland. Our narrator is torn between feeling sad and guilty for his grandfather’s discontent and furrrrrious for his grandfather’s asshole ways. Even at the end - when the time-line of events gets hazy to the point that I’d say it’s poorly written - he’s conflicted. Being perpetually confused inside is a staple of these stories, but adding a crotchety, semi-absurd grandpa character kind of reeled me in. I am, admittedly, a fan of crotchety, semi-absurd grandpas, no matter how implausible their existence is.

-Meredith

I forgot to mention: When someone asked which authors Steven Millhauser looks to in formulating his fabulist stories, he replied that he prefers to read realists—that he defines his aesthetic against those of Chekhov and Flaubert, and by reading these authors, he is able to liberate his own writing.

I like the idea of reading against one’s aesthetic—might have to try that after October 15th, which gives me plenty of time to figure out what my aesthetic is!

Last night was the long-awaited Steven Millhauser / Annie Proulx reading at the 92nd St Y. After a bit of a delay (thanks, Netanyahu), Millhauser drew us into a story called “The Visit” about Albert and his frog-wife, Alice. Looking back at my notes, the only thing I wrote down during the story, alongside doodles of frogs wearing crowns, was “the secret of air.”

Then Millhauser launched into this almost-rapping piece called “He Takes, She Takes.” I hope it appears in print someday, although it really must to be recited for its rhythm to shine.

Annie Proulx took the stage next, and the doodling got a little more fierce (I’m not as much a fan, although I did read an excellent story of hers in The Paris Review Book of People with Problems). Her introducer described an interview with her, which was interrupted by a long spell of silence. The interview’s transcript reads: “[distracted by birds].” Her story was about the Devil’s interior decorating makeover for Hell—obviously a departure from her usual stoic Wyoming cowboy stories.

This weekend, I’ll be home in CT, catching up on my reading. I’m going to see which story collections are lurking in the Cortland house (I’m guessing a lot).

—Pam

These three stories grasp on some outlandish idea and take it to the extreme. In “The Tower,” that idea is a tall building. In “Here at the History Society,” that idea is preservation. And in “A Change in Fashion,” that idea is, obviously, fashion.

Now that Meredith and I have been writing these posts for a little more than a week, I’d like to reflect on, ahem, What I’ve Learned. My observations may be skewed by the preponderance of Millhauser in my reading log, but short stories seem the perfect canvas for taking an idea to its ridiculous limit. Say you’re building a tower—why not build it all the way up to Heaven? Say you’re a fashion designer—why not create dresses as large as townships that reveal nothing of the female form underneath? If these conceits were to become novels, you’d run out of material somewhere around chapter 2. Where does a tower go once it’s reached Heaven? And perhaps, more important, what do you do once you’re in it? What do you do with a town that serves as a museum-worthy facsimile of your own? Look at it?

Novels are thought to possess narrative arcs, amirite? If that’s true, then short stories are a straight trajectory: shot out of a cannon towards the furthest narrative reaches, only to explode 5-15 pages later.

—Pam

From a collection of stories about the super-obscure Bene Israel Jewish community of India (Dropped from Heaven). INDIAN JEWS?! Yes, they exist. Specifically in the southwestern side of the Indian subcontinent.

“My Friend Joseph” is about two such Indian Jews who return from fighting on behalf of the British in the Boer War. They want to rustle themselves up some wives. They succeed, with much strong-arming. But I guess this is 1.) Asia in 2.) the turn of the century, so ladies can’t really be expecting the romance.

—Pam

I waited way too long to return to Wodehouse. I’ve read some stray Jeeves stories here and there, but never the story of how Jeeves began working for Bertie Wooster. Everyman’s Library published a nice edition of Jeeves stories along with The Code of the Woosters. This anthology includes a short introduction by John Mortimer in which you find out that:

[how much you think Jeeves is awesome] x 100 = [how awesome Wodehouse is]

Expect many more Wodehouse posts, despite the inevitable downside of me adopting Jeeves’s mannerisms in daily conversation.

—Pam

This first story from The View from the Seventh Layer is a magical realist explosion of birdsong. I wish I could quote the last two sentences of the story, but it’ll detract from the experience of reading the story itself. You’ll just have to imagine the sound a thousand parakeets (natural mimics) make when their mute owner dies.

—Pam

Holy shit.

“Sans Farine” means “without flour” in French. The title refers to narrator Charles-Henri Sanson’s nickname, given to him by the people of France. This story takes place during the French Revolution - Sanson uses emptied bran sacks (hahahaha, “without flour”) to carry away all the severed heads that he chops off. He’s the executioner. In France. During the Revolution. If your inner morbid curiosity isn’t expanding at a exponential rate right now, you’re a better person than I.

Anyway, Shepard’s story is absolutely phenomenal, even if it is more of an in-depth character study than a story with a thrilling plot. I can’t imagine how much research Shepard must have done for this one story. The details he includes… it is craaaazy. And grossssssssss. And who knew executioners throughout the ages had such a hard row to hoe? I mean… damn. The French are animals! ANIMALS!

—Meredith

This story taught me the following in 4 painless pages:

1. Drunk people are annoying.
2. Drunk people always seem so innocent b/c they can’t remember being annoying.
3. What is “clam-juice”?!
4. When you do something stupid while drunk, the only way to make it go away is to drink more.

—Meredith

Only 5 more Millhauser stories to go before I see him on Thursday!

For the sake of not confusing you, let’s use letters: There is town A. The residents of town A built town B (adjacent to town A). Town B is identical to Town A. It is also uninhabited and exists solely for the viewing pleasure of town A residents.

Oh…strange. I just flipped through the last few pages of the story and realized that I must have fallen asleep before finishing. That certainly explains last night’s vivid dream, in which I was the queen of a Hawaiian island that King Kamehameha was trying to take over.

Fortunately, I was a crafty queen and had a replica of the island’s main town built a few miles away. Kamehameha laid siege to “The Other Town,” but he couldn’t find my people! Meanwhile, I was hiding under the bed of the island’s real town while my counsellors begged me to evacuate to another island.

Then I woke up and thought, “That dream would have made for an excellent Michael Bay film.”

Anyway, it seems that I have yet to finish reading this story, so my post is a little premature. And yet, it already reminds me of Tom McCarthy’s Remainder, which also features a coterie of obsessive replicators.

—Pam

Yesterday Mz. Winfrey revealed her newest Book Club pick - Say You’re One of Them by Uwen Akpan. I’m excited to get on this (no shame - I heart Oprah). This piece of news paired with this year’s Pulitzer going to Olive Kitteridge - which is a novel in stories, aka a slew of closely related short stories - by Elizabeth Strout, I think short stories are oh so “in” at the moment. Cheers to that.

—Meredith

Meredith is posting! I guess we’re going to start signing our names to our posts, so you don’t get all confused.

Also, I’m a butthole and haven’t checked the Tumblr dashboard in a while, so I’m going to be approving a bunch of posts that Meredith excellently submitted over the weekend.

Also also, I have a few stories to share later. Prepare to be overwhelmed by our enthusiasm!

—Pam

Originally published in Ploughshares; reprinted in Best American Short Stories 2007, chosen by Stephen King.

Holy shit! This story was so amazing… it’s one of those pieces that makes me think about everything in my 5th grade voice for a few hours after reading it. Unfortunately, I read it in a few small chunks… so I was in 5th grade mode for a few days. (Although the story is told in third person, it holds tight to the third-person limited POV, and with that limited POV we also get the girl’s language, intellectual level, moral level… most importantly though, is that language bit. Ms. Kyle really nails it - mad props to her.)

The story basically follows a preteen girl (remember, preteen girls are EVIL!) who just moved from England to America with her parents. She’s starting at a new school. That SUCKS. As someone who moved towns between 5th and 6th grades, I can tell you, moving towns/schools is hell enough, but moving countries too? Yuiiiick.

Anyway, Glynnis (yes, that’s her name - a lot of copy is spent explaining the names in this story… I actually love when authors do that) is a fish out of water, obviously, but she’s smart, and she knows what she has to do and what she has to say to get “in” with the cool girls. The thing is (duh) she’ll have to sort of suspend her morals/values to do this. There’s this odd-ball girl in the class who’s clearly from a poor family - she’s sort of the class scapegoat, all the cool girls pick on her, etc. Glynnis feels sorry for her, but at the same time she’s kind of annoyed, b/c this girl is just making it so easy for them to trample her. I mean, even the TEACHER is in Mean Girl mode, just annoyed and put off by this odd girl’s social ineptitude. An outcast preteen girl is enough to make me cry all alone, that’s how depressing they are. Anyway, Glynnis ends up turning on the girl - not in a direct, horrendous way, but still, she definitely turns.

Meanwhile, it becomes clear over the course of the story that Glynnis’ mother and father are at odds over the move - the father (American by birth) cheated on the mother (English by birth) with one of the mother’s friends (English) while they were all living in England. The mother’s discovery of this transgression led to the move, which somehow, neither Glynnis or the mother wanted in any way. Not quite following the logic there. Regardless, the mother is torturing the father through not talking to him, refusing to make meals, etc. The mother also walks around the house naked a lot. Yeah, I know this all means something, but I had a hard time piecing it together into a tight picture, probably because I read the story in 3 different sittings. My fault.

The two storylines tie together because Glynnis figures out in her head that her mother was just like the cool girls in her new school when her mother was young. (It’s pretty clear that the mother never really matured past the age of 14.) There is, too, a lot of inner-talk from Glynnis which closely compares being uncool/unpopular to being as good as dead, I remember that. There’s definitely a survival element, but there’s also this underlying theme: Glynnis is ALMOST to the age where she questions her mother’s choices, her character, her personal qualities, her morals… everything. I felt like the story was the prologue to a novel about this girl’s coming of age. I could feel her sort of being like, “wait a second here. These ‘cool’ girls are just like you. They won’t ever be anything more than what they are right now - shallow and mean and selfish. I’m told this is what you must do in order to be apart of society, but… man, I don’t know if I can not adore my mother, here, either….”

Overall, I got a lot of good mulling out of this story, and I could definitely relate to all of the younger characters… ugh. Little bitches.

…. 2 more stories to come later today!

—Meredith

So finally I’ve gotten my act together enough to put together some coherent thoughts! Whoa! I just hope Pam understands how truly rare this is. I don’t actually try for just anyone, you know.

So I have a two stories that I just read today, and two others that I slowly plowed through on my way home from L.A./last week, when I was so discombobulated and unfocused on life. I’ll make a different post for each pair. First, the two I read (admittedly, in pieces) last week.

“The Bris,” by Eileen Pollack, first published in Subtropics, found by me in The Best American Short Stories 2007, chosen by Stephen King

Okay. Obviously I never picked this up over the course of my life like everyone else, but I didn’t know what a “bris” was until reading this story. Laugh if you must. For those akin to moi, a “bris,” or a “covenant of circumcision” is a ceremony where a Jewish male is circumcised on the eighth day of his life (barring illness) (for more, see wikipedia… or go anyway just to see the scary pictures of scapels). Pollack’s story follows a middle-aged man, Marcus, who’s gone to Boca Raton essentially to be with his father while he dies (failed liver). The father has turned down a transplant, and is on death’s door. Having been raised an Orthodox Jew, Marcus is appalled to learn that his father has been faking it his entire life. His dad’s not a real Jew. He wishes he were, he had lived his entire life as though he were a Jew, he’d married an Orthodox Jewish woman… so why is he telling Marcus this now, days away from his death? Because he’s still got his foreskin. Not that that matters, really, except that to get buried next to Marcus’ mother, in the Jewish Orthodox cemetery, he has to be a legit Jew, and when they receive his body they’re going to see the foreskin and then the jig will be up. Whoopsies.

So Marcus’s father wants Marcus to help him get circumcised. Pollack goes to great lengths to make this a legitimate storyline - why didn’t he get this done earlier? How can Marcus help? Can’t you get it done at the hospital? etc. There are lots of willing suspension of disbelief moments, but only sorta. It’s like all of these details and rationales that Pollack is offering might actually make this story legit, but… who cares? I only bring this up because “The Bris” turns into a mighty long short story - 30+ pages in the BASS collections is rare - and I don’t think it needed to be. The strongest aspect of the story, I think, is Marcus forgiving his father for not being a real Jew; which eventually comes to feel like he’s forgiving his father for dying from a problem that could have been fixed or at the very least dulled; which we can assume is ACTUALLY Marcus accepting the loss of his father, who is really the only family Marcus has left. It’s a love story between father and son as the former nears the brink of death. The final act of the story - it’s complicated how the story GETS to that point, or I’d divulge it here - is a lie, but it’s a merciful lie, and it’s completely out of love that Marcus tells it. In making that final lie to his father, it felt like that was Marcus’ way of letting him go. (Marcus knew that this lie would allow his father to die peacefully, which is meant an act of mercy, I think…. but you have to buy into that idea “what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him”). The last scene is really lovely. I teared up, I won’t lie. Thinking back on it, I think the scene is somewhat melodramatic - I would wager that Pollack thought of that scene first, then built the rest of the story around it - but hey, I’m a sucker for that stuff. And I have a really soft heart for old and/or dying men. Nothing makes my tear-ducts go to town like old men who are dying.

Overall: Too long, too complicated factually… but the emotional climax is worth it.

Yes, another Steven Millhauser story! His event with Annie Proulx is next week, and I really need to finish Dangerous Laughter before then. Hopefully Meredith will chime in soon, so you won’t experience Millhauser-fatigue. Of course, if you’ve read any short stories, you’re more than welcome to contribute to this Tumblr. Simply submit via this form or shoot us an e-mail submission.

But back to the story: it’s about a maker of miniatures in pursuit of the increasingly-miniature, to the point where the objects he creates are invisible, even to the aided eye. Fittingly, this story appears in the “Impossible Architectures” section of Dangerous Laughter.

Break: Impossible Architectures is a beautiful phrase.

This story didn’t elicit much from me, but it did remind me of two things:

1. My Name is Red by Orhan Pamuk, which is all about miniaturists in 16th-century Istanbul. And murder.
2. Prague’s Museum of Miniatures, which I visited this past May. Be sure to visit the museum’s website for a grotesque picture of a grasshopper playing a teeny fiddle. The museum also featured a caravan in the eye of a needle:

A story about hermetic, climate-controlled domes sealing off houses, neighborhoods, towns, even countries from the unpredictable world. Millhauser takes this concept to its inevitable end. Peppered throughout the story are editorial comments, under the guise of “It was said that…” or “People began to wonder…” In previous stories, Millhauser presents the story or situation and lets the reader provide the reflections—I’m not sure why he inserts his chiding into this story, especially when the satirical point he’s making is so obvious.

A much more subtle, tongue-in-cheek collection of sketches. Longer profiles of men that initially masquerade as gentle assessments end on a quiet, devastating note of satire. And then you have shorter profiles sprinkled about, like this:

Raymond: So long as you keep him well inland Raymond will never give any trouble. But when he gets down to the seashore he affects a bathing suit fitted with sleeves. On wading into the sea ankle-deep he leans over and carefully applies handfuls of water to his wrists and forehead.

The end. That’s all Parker sees fit to share about Raymond. And that’s about all I need to know.

Parker can be so scathing in her barbed characterizations that her stories take on the patina of horror. Domestic horror stories. In this early piece, written in 1926, she relies too heavily on objects to represent her characters. Nevertheless, these 11 pages are a pressure-cooker, and the ending offers no release.