Blog

  • Short Story Review: “Red Pyramid” by Vladimir Sorokin

    (The short story “Red Pyramid” by Vladimir Sorkin, was featured in the October 4th, 2021 issue of The New Yorker.)

    I don’t read work by Russian writes much anymore. I over did it in college as a theatre major. I read a ton of Chekhov, and studied Stanislavski’s writing, and just to be safe I read some Dostoevsky as well. And after I graduated, I never went back to it. I just stopped reading Russian writers. Nothing personal.

    And I know nothing about Vladimir Sorkin, other than he is Russian and he is a writer. Up until five minutes ago, I couldn’t tell you if he was still alive or not. (Thanks Wikipedia.) So, I knew nothing about what to expect from his story “Red Pyramid” which was in the October 4th issue of The New Yorker.

    I shall try to summarize this story: in 1960’s Soviet Union, guy gets on the wrong train while trying to get to a party, and has to get off that train and take another train. While waiting at a station in the middle of nowhere, with no one around, an old man appears. The guy and the old man talk. The old man is strange, and mentions a red pyramid in Red Square, but the guy knows there is no pyramid in Red Square. Train arrives, guy gets on, never sees the old man again, nor makes it to the party. Then the story shifts to the life the guy leads after that experience, and I’m not going to give it away.

    I’m leaving out a couple of bits, because when I got to the ending: My Goodness! I didn’t see it coming, but it wasn’t shocking either. It totally fit, and I cannot explain to you how it fits with the story… it just does. I have been thinking about this story for two days now. I don’t know what the red pyramid is, I know what literally is happen at the end of the story, but I don’t know how they fit together – They just do.

    It’s that big paragraph at the end. It’s a feat of wordsmithing, and its translated! This type of writing I am very envious of, to craft words that almost seem nonsensical, but are capturing a moment or feeling correctly to the authenticity of the story. Sorkin was making me say words that at first, I didn’t understand their relevance, but I knew I was being guided to a satisfying conclusion.

    Well done, sir, though I still don’t get what it means. And that’s the fun.

  • The Weekday Morning New York

    I do the grocery shopping for my family. I sort of like it. And when I say sort of, it is a taxing errand that has to be accomplished each week. Carrying two heavy grocery bags from the Upper West Side Trader Joe’s to Harlem isn’t the easiest, even with using the subway. My shoulders and elbows hurt. The part I do like is the time to myself, and I get to listen to my music. Little silver linings but necessary ones.

    As a stay at home parent, I do all of this after I drop the kid off at school. As I observed, I am one of the younger people at the Trader Joe’s. Sure, there are some young creative professionals there, as well as the kids who work at night, but really, the store is full of retired people. I would also say that this group covers a gamut of ages too; newly retired 65’s to one guy who had a WWII Navy Veteran ballcap on which lead me to believe that he was 90+.

    And now that the world is sort of getting back to normal, and I’m beginning to relax into this new life style, I am beginning to see the different people who occupy the same space in the City, but at different times. I had worked, pretty much, a 9 to 5 existence at my day job for ten years, so that was the New York City I encountered; Professional people commuting, eating, and commuting again, Monday through Friday. My Trader Joe experience used to be with other professionals shopping on their way home from work. Now I’m with people who don’t work. Same city, but different world.

  • Yes, Of Course Facebook is Lying

    How many out there really needed the whistleblower on 60 Minutes to confirm what you already knew was true? Facebook makes money off of hate, lies about it, and drags its feet when it comes to doing something about it.

    I’m not a religious person, but this has all the trappings of a devil’s bargain; You can do something good with your technology and become rich, or you can ruin the world and become stupidly rich? (Google had the same choice, and we know what their decision was. That’s why they quietly deleted their old company moto; Don’t Be Evil.) Mark and Sheryl and a whole lot of other people chose stupidly rich and evil. We know that’s true because the documents prove it.

    So, how do they sleep at night?

    Somehow, someway, they looked at this data and said, either or both, that it’s not that bad, or it’s not my fault.

    My guess is that they went with, it’s not my fault. I bet they said that people were evil and hate filled to begin with. That people are just using Facebook and social media in general as a platform to spread their self created hate. If they didn’t use Facebook, they would just use another platform.

    Hey, maybe I’m wrong. Wouldn’t be the first time.

    But, this platform is out in the world now. It’s being used to do harmful things; from destroying self-esteem, to destabilizing governments, to justifying genocide. Something needs to be done, because the fact is that they cannot be trusted to do the right thing.

  • ODDS and ENDS: Autumn Traditions, Fantasy Football, and Facebook Knew

    “Odds and Ends” is my continuing series of random thoughts and follow ups…

    It’s Autumn, and not fake “I Want It to Be Autumn So I Put on A Sweater But It’s 80 Degrees Outside” Autumn. It is in the 60’s and leaves are starting to change. Which means in our home, we’re going apple picking soon! This is the cheesiest tradition we have in our house. I mean, I do love it, but it is cheesy. We drive way the hell upstate to find some out of the way farm that isn’t too crowded, and go crazy picking and eating apples. The kid can only take about an hour of it, but for the first thirty minutes, we all behave as if we are some sort of apple expert, deciding how many of each variety we want. But I love it. And this year, I promise I won’t make the same old line about how we’re paying the farmer to his job. No more of that Dad Joke.

    Just for the record, I have a pretty good team in my fantasy football league. Now, I admit that I had nothing to do with my teams’ selection, as I let the computer auto draft my players. But man! I’m like Stephen A. Smith around here! I do know everything!

    Yup, Facebook knew. We all know this. Facebook knew what it was doing; how awful social media could be to democracy, and mental health, and all of it. But we all still use social media. Will the whistleblower who will talk on 60 Minutes on Sunday, and Congress on Tuesday, change people’s behavior? Sadly, I doubt it.

  • Personal Review: “Desire” by Esther Freud

    (The short story “Desire” by Esther Freud, was featured in the September 27th, 2021 issue of The New Yorker.)

    A long time ago, when I was in college, I would join writers’ groups, and share short stories, and get and give feedback. I went to three universities and a junior college, and every group behaved pretty much the same. At some point someone would bring in a story that was… well… odd. Not good nor bad, strange but familiar, off kilter but still normal. There was no way to put a finger on what it is, but it was normal. But also, not normal.

    That is what I felt while reading Esther Freud’s “Desire.” The story, set in Ireland, somewhere around 1976, and the Bob Dylan album of the same name plays a part of the story as well. In short, the story is about a family; Mum, older sister and middle sister from one relationship, and a younger brother from a current marriage, who have left this current husband. The narrator of the story is the middle sister, and she refers to the stepfather as someone who needs to be left, but no other information is given. The family moves from the mother’s parent’s home to two additional homes for a stay or holiday or escape, and then return back to England.

    And as I said earlier, something was off with this story. The story kept referring back to songs off the Dylan album, but I wasn’t sure what the connection to the story was. I wasn’t sure what the narrator felt about what was happening. The way this family moved from place to place, by hitchhiking, and lots of waiting, which made the story feel isolated and disconnected, but I couldn’t tell you what that had to do with anything. It was just events happening. The aging parents are upset with the life decisions the Mum has made, and then the family is back off to England, and I don’t know how these disparate things are meant to work thematically. I was left feeling that I had missed something. And I don’t think that was the point.