Tag: Fiction

  • Short Story Review: “Something Familiar” by Mary Gaitskill

    (The short story “Something Familiar” by Mary Gaitskill appeared in the March 2nd, 2026 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Photograph by Billy Dinh for The New Yorker

    “Something Familiar” by Mary Gaitskill is one of those short stories that feels like it’s from another time, like the 70’s or 80’s. A contemporary set story, but the setting, a late-night taxi ride with two strangers conversing, feels quaint, and even a little nostalgic. And I do think that this choice was deliberate, as the story also involves these two people reflecting on the life they lead back in the 80’s.

    Overly Simplified Synopsis: A taxi drive and his passenger converse with each other, which causes both to reflect on their lives. Also, there is a possibility that they shared an important moment with each other, though they aren’t aware of this coincidence.

    This is a competent story. The characters feel lived in, and make decision on how they present themselves to the others. Perhaps it is a coincidence that these two people find each other in a cab, and I wouldn’t disparage a story using coincidence as a plot device, though I did enjoy that Gaitskill never fully says that these two people met before, which keeps the story feeling tactfully undefined – rough on the edges. I also appreciated how, when the two characters split up and go their separate ways, the woman has someone in her life she can be open and honest with, while the man lives a life in a lie with some regret added on top.

    Yet, it never felt like this story went anywhere, or progressed in some way. The characters are the same from start to finish. They do reflect on their past, but that reflection doesn’t lead to growth in the present setting of the story, which leaves the piece in a sort of unfulfilled status bubble.

    Things happen, yet nothing happens, making the story feel incomplete and unresolved.

  • Short Story Review: “Predictions and Presentiments” by Valeria Luiselli

    (The short story “Predictions and Presentiments” by Valeria Luiselli appeared in the February 16th & 23rd, 2026 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Illustration by Jesús Cisneros

    “Predictions and Presentiments” by Valeria Luiselli is a short story that gave me a reassuring hug. The reassuring didn’t come in the form of any answers to the questions which the story brought up, but it reassured me that life is about growth and discovery.

    Overly Simplistic Synopsis: After a divorce, a mother and her daughter spend time in Sicily, not too far from where the mother’s grandmother is originally from. And they try to cook a swordfish head, too.

    In the story, the main character has a small mosaic fragment of the god Proteus which her grandmother obtained/stole from an archaeological dig she was working at. The mosaic fragment is a clever dramatic device in the story. But I had this thought in my head that “Predictions and Presentiments” was a bit like Proteus; it kept shifting and changing. Was this a story about just the narrator, a mother, and her daughter? Was it about her grandmother as well? Legacy trauma? Family origin story? Connection to the past, or the ancient past? What truths do we share with our families, or do we make fictions out of those truths? Can we change who we are, or we destined to our nature? Is our future but a guess, or is there a way to logically know what’s coming?

    This is a story that walks a very nice tightrope of keeping it all together. I couldn’t shake the feeling that at any moment the mother and daughter could spin off into ruin. I can’t say where in the story I got that from; perhaps it was the refrain of starting over in a new place, the perils that come with beginning again, and discovering something new? Maybe it was the climax of the story, or the fishmonger who sold the fish head? Or it could have been how not everything that happened in this piece got wrapped up neatly, or fully explained? This created a feeling of fragmentation, that Proteus mosaic again, but Luiselli held it all together. See, it reassured me that life is messy, not neat, but wonderful to experience.

  • Our Dog Smells Bad

    (This is a Flash Fiction piece that I am releasing to the world…)

    No matter what we do, the dog always smells bad. And when I say, “smells bad,” it’s a smell combination of a “wet dog,” and corn nuts. We bathe her with expensive shampoos and conditioners, one’s specifically for serious, industrial grade dog odor. It only holds for a day or two. Then she returns back to her stink. Sometimes with a smile.

    We asked the vet about it, and she said that some dogs smell – it’s just who they are. But she ran a couple of tests anyway, to make sure there wasn’t an infection or something worse. Nope, the dog was fine. Her teeth and gums were fine, bloodwork was fine, pee and poop was fine. No signs of infections or parasites. No cancer, no ticks, no fleas, nothing. The vet suggested that we change her diet, maybe that would help. And to be safe, the vet thought it best to shame us – “This is who your dog is, maybe you should learn to accept her.” I accept the dog, just not the smell.

    She’s a mix of shih tzu and something else small. Maybe a chihuahua, maybe a wiener dog. We rescued her from a puppy mill, or at least that’s what we were told when we adopted her. She was a sad sack of a lost cause – a little under fed, and not looking happy to be rescued. While the other dogs wagged their tails, and jumped for attention, our dog just lay there on the cold linoleum floor – looking like she’d given up on life. She didn’t exactly exude the traditional joy and happiness that a dog brings to your life. She was giving off a “I’m going to get picked last” vibe. What can I say; I was always picked last. It just seemed fitting. 

    We wanted an animal in our life; my wife wanted a dog, and I wanted a cat. The animal adoption event at the Paramus Petco only had dogs, though the Facebook posting said cats would be available. But when you walk on the lot, you gotta buy. We just assumed that the bad smell was due to neglect. How were we to know it was a factory setting. We made sure we added pet shampoo to our overflowing cart of pet supplies at the store.

    She was nervous to come home with us; shook the whole way. The wife wrapped her in a blanket from the trunk to see if that would calm her down. It didn’t. She shivered but didn’t make a sound. At home, we fed her and bathed her, and let her explore our apartment. We sat on the couch and watched her sniff around wondering what she would do next, which was to take a big poop in the middle of the living room. In hindsight, we should have walked her when we got home.

    Walking her was an enlightening adventure. We discovered that our dog hated all other dogs. Our little dog displayed a level of animosity and rage that I didn’t think was possible for an animal. She would growl, hiss, and bark. Spit would fly out of her mouth, and her fur would stand up. Possession might be a good word to use – as it was like the Devil entered her body. And it didn’t matter what the other dog’s reaction was, our little guy still wanted to kill them. Once, she pulled so hard on her leash, she almost chocked herself out. So, walks became a game of avoiding other dogs.

    Before you ask, yes we tried all the training tricks to get her to be more comfortable around other dogs. We tried treats, and positive reinforcements, a firm hand, and all that other dog whisperer shit. Nothing took. We had a neighbor in our building who was a dog walker. She was positive she could train our dog. After three days, even she gave up. And she couldn’t figure it out either. Why was the dog so nice to people, but when another dog came around, she devolved into a demon? It’s just who she is, we told the neighbor, and we accept that this is who she is.

  • Flash Fiction Review: “Bed Rot” by Sarah Chin

    (The flash fiction story “Bed Rot” by Sarah Chin first appeared on November 14, 2025 at Okay Donkey.)

    If you read enough flash fiction like I do, you notice that a couple of subjects are rather popular with writers; death, pets, and breakups. This isn’t a complaint, as I understand why – the three I named bring up strong emotions in people. Breakups are an especially tricky one, as the writer has to thread a very fine needle – don’t want to be too angry and come across as bitter, and god help you if you are too whinny. The best breakup pieces, I find, work in a healthy amount of humor to balance their pathos, which is why Sarah Chin’s “Bed Rot” is such a fun and honest work.

    You can never go wrong with a good opening line, and here Chin delivers a sentence that at first hints at a promise of possibility only to end with the foreshadowing of what is actually to come. Word choice, and sentence length is used here to create a staccato rhythm that keeps the piece moving in spurts and prolonged moments. This creates a feeling that nothing is centered or even fully processed; that what the speaker is experiencing still has a level of shock to it, but also balanced with a desire to try and stay in control of their emotions.

    Another aspect of the piece I enjoyed was following the path of thoughts the speaker has, and the logic it traverses going from subject to subject. From tulips, to the other woman’s name being Amsterdam, Martha Stewart’s idea of women and flowers, from the shedding of the brunch date outfit to be comfortable, and a little tulip madness thrown in. Peppered in each subject are dry comments, and observations that are sharp-tinted with a hint of anger, but tempered with humor. Nothing spins out of control, though it feels like it could, yet never does.

    “Bed Rot” does stick to a structure which dramatically works very well. Each subject change, and snarky comment is building toward the climax of the speaker expelling this relationship and its confinement to her. What she is left with is a raw, more authentic self, thus completing this journey, and leaving us with the understanding that she will continue to grow and be fine.

  • Short Story Review: “Safety” by Joan Silber

    (The short story “Safety” by Joan Silber appeared in the December 8th, 2025 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Illustration by Chris W. Kim

    You know, every “time” is a “historic time” but some are more historic than others. I will agree that we are in the middle of one of those historic times, and if I am lucky enough to have grandkids, then I imagine they will ask me “WTF was everyone thinking, grandpa?” The good news is that over the past three or four months, I have started to see works of art in different media start to tackle the events of deportation, disappearing, and what effect these policies will have on America. I am going to throw Joan Silber’s “Safety” in with all of these works, though uneven, I applaud what this story attempted.

    Overly Simplified Synopsis: Two girls become friends growing up in New York, one Muslim the other Jewish, and both decedents of people who immigrated to the US to escape dictators. They go their separate ways in life and reconnect in New York, where the Muslim friend now has a child and a partner who is a comedian. When the comedian is on his way home from a gig, he is disappeared by the Administration.

    There is an ease to this story, and a simple directness to the writing. What it does well is create a picture of the modern melting pot that America is – people of different backgrounds are still coming here, and their children are still connecting with people that are different from them, and finding a commonality in our shared humanity. Silber does well in creating a context for the Muslim family regarding escaping the Nazis, being forced to migrate by Stalin to Uzbekistan, and the trauma of family separation.

    Yet, through it all, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this story was pulling its punches. There is a huge amount of drama here that is being sieved through a philosophical existential filter, but it never seems to amount to an emotional climax. For example, think of how these families lives’ have been influenced by authoritarians – from being pushed out of home nations, to being pushed together in America – and how these families have made new lives for themselves. And when a new Authoritarian pressure is applied, the characters seem more resigned, as if ordained to this fate, rather than free to exist.

    Ultimately, I appreciated this story, and Silber, for taking a swing at an issue that needs to be swung at. “Safety” uncomfortably reminds us that history does repeat itself. That immigration, deportation, and citizenship (both in its legal and the social definition) needs to be discussed and debated again, so we can finally find a way to break this awful cycle.