(The short story “Poor Houdini” by Anne Carson appeared in the January 29th, 2024 issue of The New Yorker.)
Illustration by Lauren Peters-Collaer
Well, yeah!
“Poor Houdini” by Anne Carson is the type of short story I love falling into. Why beat around the bush here; This is a fabulous story that happily reminded me how much fun it is to be engaged and enthralled by the ways a writer takes words, and language and plays with it, creating mood, atmosphere, and a lyrical mist which surrounds their story. I wasn’t sure what I was getting into with that first paragraph, but by the end I was ashamed that I wasn’t aware Anne Carson before today.
I guess there is a through line of a story here; a female poet, romantic entanglements, a crow, the rescue of a woman from a collapsed balcony, and the writing of sonnets. Picking apart this story seems antithetical to what this story exudes; which is a sort of lived life that is filtered through a poet’s eyes, and their reactions to those events. And these events can and should be explored more, but I only have so much time.
Because what grabbed me was the language and how it danced to life. “There is stillness after rain. Rank risings rise. Trees drip. Street lamps loom. Night takes on a polish, a pure power.” I know this feeling, this setting, and it’s as if I can touch it with my fingertips, yet it stays magically elusive. Carson weaves these words, and I couldn’t shake the feeling of melancholy, as this is a world of people looking for connections with each other, but nothing seems to land the way they want or expect. But they keep moving forward, not exactly flailing, but grasping – at least the poet does.
I know that I am not doing the story justice, and this isn’t so much a “review”, as it is more a “gush.” I think part of my reaction to “Poor Houdini” is that it also brought up in me the memory of being young, in college, and the world was still able to be discovered, emotions could be surprisingly new, and it mattered to attempt to create something out of that jumble of life. I can’t completely put my finger on it, but it felt very close to what Anne Carson wrote.
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I’m guessing here, but I’ve written close to 100 reviews for my blog. And when I write one, I try to come up with some catchy opening, or hook, or gimmick in the first paragraph to get you, the reader, interested in reading further. The reason I do this is mainly because that’s how I was taught to write essays and critical papers in high school and college. Effective? Yeah, sure. Original? Not really. (Now, watch how I do this.) “Chance the Cat” is such a story that has a hook, a gimmick as one would say, that David Means employees to tell his story.
What “Chance the Cat” really is, is a deconstructed bittersweet rom-com with a cat and a Secret Service agent, which employees the gimmick of starting each section/paragraph by asking “Does it matter…” or stating “What mattered was…” or some other variant of the aforementioned questions/statement. Of the 49 section/paragraphs, only 5 do not use this hook. There must be a reason for this, right? Those 5 parts must contain some weight to them, because dramatically, when a pattern is created in the narrative, inevitable it will be broken for effect. I am not faulting Means for this structure in his storytelling, merely identifying it.
I bring all of this up because, as I said earlier, the story is a com-com. There is a meet cute, a budding relationship, a jointly cared for cat, a break up, and then the melancholy remembrance of the time shared. There are jumps in time, as the story doesn’t follow a linear format, which works well with the bittersweet tone of the story. I enjoyed how the story played with how disparate people come together, the crutch they use to stay together, in this story the cat, and how as time passes, it still isn’t clear how one should deal with those emotions from that time together. Using the “Does it matter…” “What mattered…” gimmick plays very well into that theme.
Did I mention the Secret Service agent? Yeah… this is the only issue I had with the story. (Well, it was a little long in parts…) You see, this couple lives down the street from the Obama’s in Chicago, and as such, there are Secret Service agents on the block checking people who live there as they come and go. Being that this information is essential to the breakup and the climax to the story, I found it an odd decision to share this with us about 2/3 way through the piece. A good amount of time is spent on this agent, whose purpose in the narrative is only to annoy the guy so he loses the cat. That’s it. The agent doesn’t weigh on the girl’s mind years later, nor is there some sort of connection between the girl and the agent, which I thought would happen as it would play into the complication of the central relationship. That was just me hoping for something to justify the agents existence.
I try very hard not to impose what I want to see happen in a story, but only to analyze and critically examine what the writer has presented to the reader. I kind’a fudged this one. In my defense, except for one character choice, I did enjoy “Chance the Cat.” I enjoyed the structure David Means created to tell this story, and there are many details that layered and deepened the central characters. But that agent…
(And then I got an anonymous comment this morning telling me that the story was about race, and how it was mind boggling that I could miss that. At first I left a quip about boggling minds, thanked the person for their comment, and asked what they thought the Agent represented.
I went about my day, but that comment kept poking at the back of my head. Was the story all about race? Could that be right? And if that was true, did I honestly completely miss that?
So, I went back and reread the story… and I took a whiff on this one.
And I’m embarrassed by that.
Rereading the piece, I now see what I missed and glossed over. Especially William’s reaction to the agent stopping him.
Something still doesn’t sit right with me when it comes to this story. I will stick with my original reaction of the Obama’s being down the street, along with the introduction of the Agent, 2/3rds of the way through the story. That Agent and all of his passages still feel odd to me; not fitting in with the rest of the flow of the story.
But I think the bigger question in all of this, is why did I whiff so hard on this piece? What I wrote in the last paragraph of my original review reveals everything, and shows my mistake. As I reread the piece, I began to discover how I had errored; I didn’t critically analyze what David Means presented, but started to impose in my mind what I wanted the story to be and glossed over what didn’t fit in with my judgement. I got caught up in thinking I knew better. That was my mistake. I want to own up to, and promise to do better.
Also, I want to thank the anonymous commenter who did an appropriate job of smacking me upside the head.)
Of all the storytelling tricks that are out there, the “MacGuffin” is my favorite. If you don’t know, a MacGuffin in a story is any object, device, or person that is essential to the plot and motivation of the characters. Think of the Ark in Raiders of the Lost Ark; it’s the object everyone wants and is also what drives the plot. And the beach house in Joy Williams “The Beach House” is a MacGuffin, but the rest of the story doesn’t play along.
So, in the story, Amber’s elderly father is near death, and he owns a beach house which he is planning on willing to a charity that save dogs. Amber finds this charity suspicious, but more importantly, if the house is not willed to her after her father’s death, she will be homeless. This is about as textbook as you can get with a plot, and motivation and the whole thing. He wants one thing, she wants another, and the stakes are high as she has a desperate need to get her hands on this beach house.
But this story never seems to get its dramatic act together. It plods along with little urgency. Amber seems resigned to talk about her plight, but never take action. And the father, though its hinted at that he might be suffering from early dementia, doesn’t seem very interested in his daughters situation of near homelessness. I feel that there are other issues simmering under the surface between these two, but I also think I am giving the story the benefit of the doubt here. When the climax of the piece occurs, the father falls and the daughter wants to take him to the hospital, it in no way affects the plot, the motivations, or the MacGuffin. Nothing is resolved or concluded with this action – the issue of the beach house is still there.
It’s not a badly written piece, but the aftertaste I am left with is that “The Beach House” might be the first chapter of a novel. Again, all the pieces are here for a good story, and like I also pointed out, there seems to be a subtext between the characters that could be richly explored. But, with the story in this state, Williams introduced a gun and then didn’t fire it.
I am a strong proponent for flash fiction to not behave like a short story. That’s not to say that a writer cannot craft a well written short story in under a thousand words which exhibits all the qualities of a traditional short story; opening, rising action, climax, conclusion, character development…etc. I hold to that flash fiction should reject the use of plot, climax, and even resolution. Flash should be its own beast that is about the expression of an idea or an emotion, wherein the narrative ends with the conclusion of the idea or emotion, but does not necessitate a resolution of the idea or emotion.
(Academic enough for you?)
“Self-Portrait in Assignments” by Max Kruger-Dull came across my desk last week, and I have been kicking it around in my head ever since. It’s the type of flash story that was a bit of a gut punch and made me question my approach toward this style of fiction. The piece is made up of ten short vignettes, just about all dealing with words that, in one way or another, have been assigned to the narrator. Each short piece is titled with the abbreviated name of the person who did the assigning.
So, that’s the form of the piece.
The way these ten vignettes play with each other creates a picture of the narrator, though not in a linear timeline, more of a sequence that exemplifies the narrators emotional standing, and ultimately, emotional growth. Though the narrator comes across as a smart person, there is also a hint of a lack of self-confidence, though a determination to keep trying also exists in the character. That determination is exemplified in the love and care that the narrator has for his daughter. Kruger-Dull smartly gives three examples of interactions with the daughter; one being before the daughter was born thus showing how her influence was already present in the narrators life. By using the rule of three, the importance of this relationship is made paramount, thus signaling the emotional conclusion of this “self-portrait.”
All the notes are played right in this piece, which left me feeling satisfied with the journey that this piece took me on. I want to say that the narrator started in one place and finished in another, but did they? Did the narrator only acknowledge their shortcomings, and choose not to pass them on to their daughter? I first thought there wasn’t a conflict in the piece, but was there? Was the narrator fighting to accept himself in the eyes of his daughter? To be better for her, even if that means he has to fake who he is?
See; I can’t put my finger on what it is. But what I do know is that “Self-Portrait in Assignments” is using flash fiction in a specific way to express an emotional idea that couldn’t exist an any other format.
I don’t think it’s a secret that I am trying to get one of my stories published in a lit magazine. I don’t know if this is the right way to start a career writing fiction, or if there is a better way to go about it, or if there is no right way and you just got to figure it out. (I think it’s the last option.) Either way, I write and then I send the stories out to magazines, then wait to see what sticks to the wall.
Almost every magazine says two things; please read an issue of their magazine before you submit, and please follow the submission guidelines. I have started reading some of these magazines, and I have enjoyed discovering new writers and new ideas on how to tell a story. As for following the guidelines… yeah, I still suck at that.
In fact, I was rejected yesterday for that exact reason, even though the form letter that was sent to me never mentioned that I had failed to follow their guidelines. I thought that it was very polite of them not to mention my complete inability to follow the most basic rule they set forth. I know I was rejected for not following the guidelines because the magazine stated that it could take three months for them to respond, and they rejected me in three days. I went back to read the submission post, and that’s when I reread the rules, and realized that I didn’t follow them. Oops…
And I know what happened. I found this magazine, and got impatient, and wanted to send out right away as it was on my mind right now!
I feel a little silly. I should have known better. I should have slowed down, taken my time.
Remember people, read the guidelines.
(Say, don’t forget to like this post, or share it, or leave a comment. I got bills to pay, you know.)
