Tag: Fathers

  • Short Story Review: “Heart” by Shuang Xuetao (Translated from the Chinese, by Jeremy Tiang.)

    (The short story “Heart” by Shuang Xuetao appeared in the October 9th, 2023 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Illustration by Sally Deng

    If you write a story about a parent/child relationship, and then throw in a dying parent, you pretty much are half way to claiming a small place in my heart. My logically analytical side gets thrown out the window, and I am running on emotions. And let’s be honest, if you’re creating art, you want people to have an emotional reaction – it’s like the whole point. I say this because I can be completely biased when it comes to certain subject matters, which can complicate things when I try to review short stories from an objective place.

    Which is why it’s strange for me to say that I didn’t feel an emotional connection to “Heart” by Shuang Xuetao. This is a fine story, well written, engaging, and just odd enough to keep me intrigued with what was happening. And as I was reading this piece, I kept expecting it to “click” into place and tap that raw parent/child emotion in me, but it never came. But I don’t begrudge the story for this, nor am I left feeling that the story “misfired” in its execution. Oddly, I feel this might have been exactly the reaction the story was attempting to create in the reader.

    The story mainly takes places on a medical bus that is driving late at night to Beijing. The passengers are an older man dying of heart disease, his son, a driver, and ER doctor who agreed to accompany the father and son. We learn from the narrator, who is the son, that the heart disease that is killing his father skips every other generation, meaning the son is immune from the fate of his father.

    The tone of the story is straightforward, logical, and there are no literary flourishes. But the events in this story slightly graze the edge of surrealism – just slightly. It’s enough touches to make the story feel that it’s not completely in reality. But still I had to wonder why these touches were there. What did the father’s daily boxing routine really symbolize? Why was the driver sleeping as he drove the vehicle? Also, what about the doctor’s sleeping? Was this all a dream? And the need for the son to have to use the bathroom? Was there a meaning to the son’s self-described laziness and his recent decision to stop working, while the father worked every day; even when he retired, he went and found a new job to keep working? All of these questions left me feeling uncertain, unsettled, and wondering what I was supposed to make of this?

    And then there is a moment in the story where the son wonders what he is supposed to do when his father does pass away. He thinks of all the work that will come with making the arrangements for a funeral; contacting family and people his father worked with, raising money to pay for it all, and cars for the procession. Then the son thinks that once his father is gone, that he will truly be alone and by himself. To that the narrator says, “I guess that’s what freedom looks like nowadays,…” A sobering, and heartbreaking realization, that can also feel overwhelming to the point where one can be left numb, and disconnected.

    There isn’t one way to mourn, and that’s what “Heart” reminded me of. I don’t know what all of these pieces in this story amounted to, but I don’t think Shuang Xuetao is wrong for presenting that either, if that was the intention. Maybe not having a feeling right away is still a sort of feeling. Maybe.

  • SPRING BREAK!

    The kid is on Spring Break! Not only am I the primary caregiver in our home, I am also the primary entertainer! I need to keep our daughter occupied for the next week, so the peace can be kept. See, the wife works from home, and I do as well for that matter, but I need to strike a balance between all parties, so the wife can work, and I can get my stuff done, and the kid doesn’t stare at a screen for the next ten days.

    In some far-off magical future, I’ll have a vacation home upstate that we will go to. Way off in the woods, a creek would run through the property. We would hike, and camp, and do outdoorsy things. At night we’ll build a fire in the back yard, roast marshmallows. You name it, right?

    One day…

    For now, I am forcing her to do chores with me like grocery shopping and doing the laundry. All the stuff grade school kids love to do. Maybe I’ll make her clean her room! Vacation time is chore time.

    No, I won’t be that dad. I’ll take her to a museum, probably the Whitney. We’ll head out and do some book shopping at the Strand. I’ll take her out to lunch. Last year we went disc golfing, and I think we’ll try that again.

    The one thing that I did do on this first day of Spring Break, was make her take a walk with me in the local park. Just us, walking and talking. Well… she talked and I just listened. She told me about school and her friends, and her American Doll that she got for her birthday. The kid still likes me enough to talk to me, and not that I think she ever stop talking to me, I just know teenage years can be trying, and there might be a hiatus of her sharing her life with me.

    So, I’m going to enjoy the time I’m getting with her.

  • Short Story Review: “The Other Party” by Matthew Klam

    (The short story “The Other Party” by Matthew Klam appeared in the December 19th, 2022 issue of The New Yorker.)

    (Do I still need to say, SPOILERS?)

    Photograph by Elizabeth Renstrom for The New Yorker

    About a month into the Covid lockdowns, so this was late April 2020, on a Zoom chat with friends, someone asked the question of how Covid will be depicted in movies, tv shows, novels, and so forth. Would there be stories about anxiety, existential doom and gloom, or would some media just act like Covid never existed? It was a lively topic for discussion, and with two plus years on now, more and more stories are beginning to show up, and try to deal with what Covid has meant. It is my belief that “The Other Party” by Matthew Klam sprang from such a thought as well.

    In a nutshell, this is a story about a middle-aged guy who lives comfortably in the suburbs. The protagonist has a neighbor who is suffering from the early stages of ALS, and this neighbor and his wife are hosting a block Holiday party at their house. Juxtaposed to this adult party, the protagonist’s teenaged daughter is hosting a party for her friends, which devolves into taking edibles and going to other parties and places. All the while the middle-aged protagonist waxes on life over the last two Covid years while living in this neighborhood.

    Sadly, this story is a structural mess, and too smart for its own good. A large amount of the prose is dedicated to describing clothing and background information on the people who live in this neighborhood. Though colorful, it makes the piece feel bloated, and longer than it needs to be, and this was a longer story. Also, the story had a point of view issue, which seems to have been focused on the middle-aged protagonist, but then the story jumps to what his daughter is doing, but is presented as happening at the same time with no explanation of how the protagonist has come to know the events of his daughter’s evening. This decision makes the story feel incongruent to its internal logic, like Klam wanted this structure more than he thought through how it could happen in this world. But sadly, the great sin of the story is that the protagonist doesn’t go on any sort of journey, or learn anything. What we are given is a character that thinks his life isn’t so bad at the start, and then by the end, he still feels his life isn’t so bad. You know, Dorothy has to think life in Kansas sucked first, so that her realization that there is no place like home has some weight to it. These three issues all feel like unforced errors, like another draft could have addressed and solved them.

    It’s too bad about this piece, as I do think we are just in the beginning of the Covid story era, which will address all of the emotional trauma it caused us. It still might be years before we wrap our collective heads around what happened. But at least people are trying.