Tag: Covid

  • Short Story Review: “The Pub with No Beer” by Kevin Barry

    (The short story, “The Pub with No Beer” by Kevin Barry, appeared in the April 11th, 2022 issue of The New Yorker.)

    There is a lot of regret in literature, you know? Memories and ghosts from the past speaking to characters in the present. I mean, I get it. It’s what we all do with our lives. We think about the past, and wonder if we made the right decisions, or we just allow ourselves to bathe in the melancholy memories of a day dream. But we have to watch out, and not allow ourselves to wallow in the past.

    Unfortunately, “The Pub with No Beer” has a bit of the wallow to it. Though the language and skill of writing that Kevin Barry has is impressive, the story never really gains any traction, nor gets beyond well worn stereotypes. The owner of an Irish pub, which is situated along the coast arrives at his, due to Covid, closed pub and cleans the place up. As he does this, he has memories of people who used to frequent the place, along with a caller at the door, concluding with a memory of the owners father. To be blunt, nothing happens. I feel like the intention was that each memory, and act of cleaning the pub, was building to something. Yet the execution of that intention manifested in a protagonist starting the story and ending the story in the same emotional spot. Nothing was gained, through action or insight, thus making the story feel like it was just passing time.

    Stories of this ilk do irk me; these “character study/nothing happens” short stories just confound me. I think this does get into the realm of lit theory, which is that for a story, any type of story, to be successful or even satisfying, either the protagonist or the reader has to gain insight, or a realization, or accomplish something, which was impeded by either an external or internal force. Even stories based in naturalism and realism still need a plot and a climax. Something has to happen. That’s what makes it a story.

  • Short Story Review: “The Complete” by Gabriel Smith

    (The short story “The Complete,” by Gabriel Smith appeared in Issue 6, of The Drift.)

    At the start of the pandemic, my wife was on one of those huge group chats with her friends, all attempting to use Zoom, and recreate some sense of normal human connection. This was probably April or May 2020. Most of my wife’s friends are in the creative fields; writers, actors, directors, poets. My wife told me later, that on one of those early calls, they all started discussing how they thought the pandemic was going to be portrayed in movies, TV, theatre, novels, and so on. Some thought it would usher in a new version of hyper-realism, another group thought it would be treated how 9/11 was. I don’t know, but since those early days, it feels like every couple of months, someone writes something asking, “How will the story of COVID be told?”

    Gabriel Smith’s story, “The Complete,” is the first work of fiction I have read that has tried to take a crack at it. I don’t think I could give a quick summary, or even a long one, for this story. It takes place in London, sort of. It’s about a writer, kind of. And COVID is happening. While the story doesn’t have a formal plot, it does have atmosphere, mood, and an almost tangible ethereal presence. Oh, and a real good sense of humor.

    Two main things struck me with the story. First, I felt like someone captured what my brain went through during the dark days of the pandemic. How my imagination would wander and drift, break things apart and put them back together. I had so much time to think about everything that had ever happened to me, and way too much time to think about the end of the world. Second, the whole piece worked in this wonderful staccato rhythm, with each section of the story coming in, then cutting to another part, then another cut. This method of storytelling wasn’t new to me, I have read other attempts of this style, and I was aware that at some point all of these tangents would tie together. But the fun wasn’t waiting to see if it came together; The fun was watching how it came together. Because I can see how someone might complain that this story is all style and no substance, yet I would argue, strongly, that the substance, the weight of this story, was in the style which captured a still undefinable time.

  • Short Story Review: “Wood Sorrel House” by Zach Williams

    (The short story “Wood Sorrel House,” by Zach Williams, Appeared in the March 21st, 2022 issue of The New Yorker.)

    (I see spoilers!)

    I do not know what to make of this story. I haven’t stopped thinking about the thing since I finished reading it, but I still can’t come up with what it’s all about. And this is meant as a compliment. If a story lives on in the reader’s mind, and does dissolve into forgotten nothingness as soon as they are finished with it, then that author has achieved something. I tip my hat to you Zach Williams; your story is taking up space in my brain.

    “Wood Sorrel House” is about a couple and a toddler seemingly trapped in a cottage in the woods. Days pass, they age, but the toddler does not. Each morning food and supplies are replenished in the house, thus allowing them to live in the cottage. The couple tries to figure out where they are and why they are there, and soon they discover the toddler is never able to get hurt.

    I have an ego, and some days I think I am smart, and when I started reading this story, I was like, “Oh, this is an absurdist styled story, and it’s a metaphor for death.” Because, if my college education taught me anything, it’s that absurdist/surrealist/modernist stories are all really about death. But as I kept reading, I began to doubt my ego-driven conclusion. Why was the snapping turtle killed? What happed when the male in the couple disappeared? What happened to the toddler when the woman went down to the lake for days at a time? Why did the couple age, and get injured, but the toddler was immune and also ageless?

    I found that this story was taping into emotional territories that made me react. Perhaps it’s because I’m a parent, but I kept feeling this sense of dread for the toddler, that something awful was going to happen. There was a sense of disgust in how the man went out a destroyed nature. And a sense of sorrow as the woman tried to make sense of all of it. I was reacting to this story, I was compelled by it, but I couldn’t make sense of it. If it wasn’t about death, what was it about? Was it the lack of logic? Things stayed the same at the cottage, but the outside world seemed to keep moving; not changing into something different, but just moving along. Was this a metaphor for dealing with Covid? Maybe it had no meaning, but that would make it about death, right? What was it? Like I said, I don’t know what to think about the story, but the story is making me think about what it could be about. That’s a pretty successful story.

    (Say, don’t forget to like this post, or share it, or leave a comment. I got bills to pay, you know.)

  • What I Allow to Define Me

    Lately, I started to observe something about myself; When I meet someone new, the question of “What do you do?” comes up, and I say, “I used to be in theatre, and arts administration.”

    Now, I haven’t had an arts admin job in two years, and I haven’t worked in theatre for three and a half years, and though I did use the pass tense, I still use these jobs to define me, to explain who I am. Maybe, subconsciously, I think I’m going back to these fields, but I am no longer sure that I will.

    I am self-conscious of where I find myself now, and I am not sure how to describe it to others. I am a stay at home parent, and I have trouble saying it out loud. Part of it is that I feel like I defaulted into this position, and the other part is that it doesn’t cover the whole picture. I am a stay at home dad because I became unemployed over COVID, and I started taking care of the kid, and her remote schooling because my wife was working remotely and she needed to focus on that. What started as a temporary fix, until I found another job, evolved into where we are today.

    I am happier than I have been in a long time. Sure, I still have stresses and worries about the future, but what I have noticed lately is that I no longer dread getting up in the morning. I don’t hate the day before it begins. I don’t fear going to bed, because what the next day will bring. I see now that I had lived so much of the past ten years like that; angry and frustrated at every place that I worked.

    I do have to take some responsibility here. Yes, the jobs were toxic, but I also made the choice to go to work there, day after day. Maybe I thought I could change the people and places that I worked at. Maybe I thought I couldn’t find a better job. The bottom line is that I actively made the choice, for a long time, not to find a way out.

    The only thing that kept me from imploding was the theatre work that I did over those ten years, and the friends I made from it. And the overwhelming majority of the work was in puppetry. Every time I got a job, I would throw myself into it, just commit and do it. It was rewarding, confirmed the reason I moved to NYC, and also validated my existence, at least on an artistic level.

    And here I am, years removed from both, and still I present these titles to people, as if they are relevant to who I currently am.

  • Why is My Eye Twitching?

    My right eye won’t stop twitching. Usually, this is a sign that I am under a great deal of stress. But, I can’t seem to place the epicenter of my stress. I cannot deny the physical occurrence that is continuing to happen to my right eye. I can look in the mirror and see it happen. I know myself well enough that this malady will only appear in times when stress becomes overwhelming. Thus, I must conclude, that I am under a boulder of stress.

    Again, where is it coming from?

    My first reaction is to always look at myself. What have I changed? If anything, I have added more healthy habits who all should have the wonderful side effect of eliminating, if not lessening stress. I am working out four times a week. We, as a family, have started eating healthier, including two vegetarian meals a week. And, my alcohol consumption is only on Friday, Saturday and Sunday.

    Then the next question would be; has anything changed recently in my home?

    Yes, the kid has started going to an afterschool program, which was something that we all wanted. She is spending more time with kids. Our home is calmer, with the child being gone for the working hours of the day, which helps the wife focus and work. For me, I am now getting three to four hours a day to work on writing, which makes me feel better about myself, because I am getting to do something I love, and also, makes me feel that I have a purpose outside of my family.

    So, what is it? What is causing this stress?

    Is the stress external? Is it still a result of Covid, and the changes that it brought? The war in Ukraine, and the feeling that everything is teetering on disaster? Global warming?

    Possible, though I have never had stress caused by that before. But, that does make a little sense, such as life at home is good, but outside of the house, it’s all a dumpster fire.