Tag: Cynthia Ozick

  • Short Story Review: “A French Doll” By Cynthia Ozick

    (The short story “A French Doll” By Cynthia Ozick appeared in the July 31st, 2023 issue of The New Yorker.)

    (SPOILERS! There will always be SPOILERS!)

    Photo illustration by Joan Wong; Source photographs from Getty; NYPL

    And then sometimes, The New Yorker just publishes a good story. Why beat around the bush here; “A French Doll” by Cynthia Ozick is a very good story. A shorter piece by New Yorker standards, but not flash fiction as the story is at 3,300+ words. Yet, I did find a flash fiction ethos within this story – it didn’t rely on a hero cycle, or a plotless character study, nor was this the tried and true beginning/middle/end with a rise in action. No, this was a story that played with language, mood, atmosphere, and an inevitable lesson that is reinforced in the actions taken by the characters. Since plot and development weren’t necessary, that’s why I say it’s more flash than traditional short fiction.

    There are so many points that I could ding as examples of why Ozick’s story works so beautifully well, but I fear I could get mired down in unending details. The opening section serves many purposes of creating the mood, theme, and setting for the piece. I loved how the narrator, as a child talking to the elderly neighbor, would lie about not being able to help the old woman, but in the end would still do the requested tasks – just like a kid would do. I loved how the bookending of the elderly couples passing was used to reinforce the theme of the inevitability of passing away, and wanting to leave something, even the most basic truths, for someone to acknowledge later. And then the use of the doll, telegraphed to us with the title, but still manages to delicately make the point of life and art.

    And yet, with all of that said, the best part of this story was the language used by Ozick. The words that were crafted, how they painted and played with creating a picture and a world that this story took place in. This language made me slow down, savor what I was reading. Not only was this world given vibrant life within the words, it also created a rhythm – like a dance – for descriptions to unfold. My favorite example being, “The sublime defiled, the sacred embedded in a thing of vanity, ridiculed, pirated, usurped, stolen. A felony, a wickedness, a sin.” This is a writer that enjoyed making words pirouette, tumble, and slide off the page.

    I have told you nothing about the story, and that was on purpose. Cynthia Ozick created something very unique “A French Doll” and you should read it. Let the surprises and turns hit you like they did me. Because this isn’t a plot story – this is about mood and understanding. You just need to read it.

  • Short Story Review: “The Biographer’s Hat” by Cynthia Ozick

    (The short story, “The Biographer’s Hat” by Cynthia Ozick, appeared in the March 14th, 2022 issue of The New Yorker.)

    (I spoil things…)

    When it comes to these reviews, I have a rule that I adhere to, which is I do not read up on the author or inspiration for the story I am about to review. The reason for this is to try and stay as objective and uninfluenced as possible. You know, review the story on the merits. Now, obviously, there are a few writes that I know before hand, so it’s not a perfect system.

    I know nothing of Cynthia Ozick, but I do respect that she got a short story in The New Yorker. And when I started reading her piece which is in the latest issue, “The Biographer’s Hat,” my mind began to wander and wonder a little. The story’s beginning felt like it was from a bygone era of literature. I wasn’t sure if that was a purposeful style choice, or if this was a story that was written in the 90’s by some respected but relative unknow writer, who’s had a prolific output spanning over 40 years.

    In a nutshell, the narrator is an older woman who once took a class at The New School which was taught by Emanuel Teller, who was a performer of some minor fame years ago. A biographer has contacted the narrator for an interview, and we learn that just about everyone who knew Teller is now dead, except for the narrator. When the interview happens, the narrator is stuck by how odd the biographer is, and when the interview is over, the biographer leaves a hat on a chair, which is claimed to have belonged to Teller. The Narrator never hears from the biographer again, so the hat, which is slowly collapsing, is stored in her closet and forgotten about. Time moves on, the biographer returns to the narrator, and talks her into allowing him to stay for a short while, as he completes the biography. Soon, the narrator takes part in the creation of the biography, helping the biographer create a narrative that is fictional. When the manuscript is complete, the biographer leaves, and the narrator never hears from him again. Then one night, the narrator retrieves the hat from the closet only to find that it has completely collapsed.

    Oh, this is a story, and it is told sparsely and efficiently, and takes you on a journey. But most impressive, Ozick was in complete control of this story, though I didn’t see it at first. I see now that my reaction to the start of the story was purposely constructed, that I and the narrator are both wondering what is going on. It is done so well, that when I got to the part where the biographer returns, and starts to weave his idea that the narrator should help him in creating this fictious reality for the biography, it dawned on me that Ozick had planted seeds in that first part of the story; The Village of old, the writers, the people who supported writers to make then successful, even the narrator’s desire to be on stage. I saw how the biographer played on the narrator’s desires, and how she almost knew she was being lied to, but it was a pretty lie that validated her existence.

    It all made sense. The structure that the story was built on, how the tumblers of the narrative feel into place, the character’s motivations, all of it worked. I’m sorry that I doubted you Cynthia Ozick. You knew exactly what you were doing, and played me like a mark.