It’s been awhile since a work popped me on the nose, making me wake up and pay attention. “Guns, Sex, Phones” by Katherine Schmidt isn’t an angry or an aggressive poem, but it does confront the numb sedimentary routine that can creep in, and dominate one’s life.
I was taken with the start of the piece; how the first line acted like an explosion, and then what followed were words that created contraction, as if the speaker was falling back into themselves, regressing. Look at that first line of the piece, “My friend says let’s go to the shooting range…” a statement to take action, but then the speaker pulls back, “and I tell her I don’t know anything about guns. About hunting. About how fun it is to let loose.” What follows are three examples of empty, disparate attempts at human connection; dinner with a phone, responding to a text on the toilet, not answering a call from their mother though the speaker watches the screen light up. It’s a good use of the “Rule of Three” and excellent at setting the theme and mood. When the choice is made to take action, to connect both physically and emotionally, an almost resignation takes over. The phone reenters the scene. Though the speaker makes a shallow attempt of connection with their friend via the phone, I can’t blame the friend for not watching the sent meme.
This isn’t the first piece to decry the vapidness of smart phones, how they are destroying people’s ability to connect with others, or how technology can be alienating. What “Guns, Sex, Phones” touches on with a sharp melancholy focus is how lonely and emotionally trapped this world is becoming. There is no substitute for connection, actual human connection. That these connections need to be cultivated. And if we’re not careful with where we put our attention, we may lose the ability to grow further.
The “Door in the Woods” by Chris Scott pulls off my favorite story telling trick; It leaves me with more questions than answers, but not in the frustrating “jerk you around” kind’a way. This is a work that straddles realism and surrealism. It is relatable, authentic, but also funny and absurd. In little over 1,100 words, it is a very specific story addressing a rather universal experience most encounter in their relationships.
The story starts off with a bit of mystery and tension. It isn’t until the third sentence wherein the door is identified. Even in the second paragraph, when more of a description of the door is given, there hangs in the air a feeling that the door is unnatural in origin. Then to add to the tension, it is shared that this couple has been in therapy in an attempt to save their marriage. Once they decide how to pass by/through the door, and do so, the uneasiness of the situation fades, and seems to be setting up a metaphor for the couples’ relationship. But there’s a complications; each person remembers the encounter with the door differently.
Was this a supernatural encounter? Is this couple like every couple, and having a moment where they remember things differently? Is the door affecting their ability to remember? Or is this misremembering an act of sabotage by one of the partners? These questions hang, and motivate the narrator, who is the husband in the couple. Truth isn’t the goal, when an answer, a conclusion, or closure is what’s needed.
Scott does an excellent job creating tension, unease, and relatability in this work. The husband’s need and search for an answer from this unusual event underscores his desire to create stability and peace in this rocky marriage. I don’t know a single person who hasn’t agreed to a lie to keep a fight from bubbling up in their relationship. In this story, you can feel the eggshells the husband stands on, and the fear that this could be the event to push this marriage over the edge.
(The short story “Intimacy” by Ayşegül Savaş appeared in the October 20th, 2025 issue of The New Yorker.)
Photograph by Elinor Carucci
“Intimacy” by Ayşegül Savaş has been sitting with me for a couple of days now. I’ve read it three times, and I am still mulling over the construction of it, the theme, the use of language, and the lack of it as well. I keep thinking that there is a simplicity to this story, but that is just an illusion to its complexity. I want to believe that I would never behave like the protagonist, but honestly, I completely behave like the protagonist. Savaş uses the normal short story tricks; foreshadowing in the first paragraph, use of the rule of three, and uses the death of a character as the climax. But Savaş uses these tricks, and a few others, is such ingenious ways, that this story feels fresh, and left me wondering, and I mean this in an intriguing positive way, what is going to happen next?
To describe the plot I feel is rather a meaningless exercise as it won’t get to the heart of what makes this a compelling story. Here goes anyway: In an unnamed city, there is a group of expats from an unnamed country. The groups tries to support each other in adjusting to life in this new city, and to that end our narrator, who is a published writer, is connected with an older and very successful writer from the same expat group. They have lunch together. The lunch goes well, and eventually the older writer brings his wife to a lunch and the narrator and wife hit it off. Then the narrator and the wife go out and have a picnic together which also goes well, but the narrator drops returning text messages from the wife. One reason is that the narrator’s very young daughter breaks her clavicle. Through a dinner party later in the story, the narrator learns that the writers wife is ill. And maybe that’s a good place to stop.
Through the story I kept wrestling with what to make of the narrator. On one hand, I was perplexed by some of her decisions, but on the other hand, I had to admit I have made the same choices that she does. Such as when talking to the writer about traveling back to their home country, she omits telling him how her children cried and complained wherever they went, but made it sound like the trip was ideal. Not exactly a lie, but also not the truth. In another example, she doesn’t inform the daycare of her child’s fussiness which could help explain when the kid’s accident occurred. Her reasons for the omissions are understandable, but in another light of perspective, she could be viewed as manipulative. These are but two examples the narrator makes that left me with a feeling of ambiguity, which played well into the theme of this story.
Then there was the use of language. As I alluded to before in the description, virtually everything is left unnamed. No cities, countries, locations, and especially proper names. Only two are used, and they are deliver deliberately to have the perfect impact on the story. Not only do the name reveals play into the theme of intimacy, but it also ties back into the motivations of the narrator. Why does she choose to reveal them at that time and in that manner? Furthermore, the language is smart, direct, cutting, but also vacant and void of a deeper meaning or connection. The narrator’s word choice appears to be open, but they are a defense, keeping people away.
Through all of this, I have been chewing on the theme of “Intimacy.” What is Savaş trying to say about how people open up, and close themselves off? The narrator mentions a husband, and how they cooperate to take care of their children, and work, but she never shares any feelings about him. It’s never expressed that there is an issue between them, but then why is his name never shared with us? Most importantly, the wife of the writer makes efforts to connect with the narrator, which the narrator ignores. The narrator only changes her attitude when she find out the wife is ill. A rather shallow reaction, made worse by the narrator using her daughter’s injury as the explanation/excuse for the ghosting. Most people share themselves to form connections, but do some people share out of guilt? Sharing enough to stay relevant while still distant?
“Intimacy” is my favorite type of story; one that I read over and over to discover more details and motivations, which enriches the story further. I keep thinking that I should be annoyed and disappointed with the narrator but I find her failings makes this character all the more human and believable. This story wonderfully confounds me. But so do most of the people I love. And they might say the same thing about me.
So, I was sitting in my car this morning because I needed to move it for the street sweeper, and my phone rang with a number that I didn’t recognize. I think I’m like most people and I don’t answer calls to numbers I don’t know. If it’s important, they’ll leave a message and I’ll call them back. But this morning, the number kept calling me, and didn’t leave a message. I mean, I’m pretty sure it was a spam/bot call and no big deal, yet there is still part of me that gets a little rush of anxiety when a call keeps calling. Like, if they keep calling it must be important. It has to be important if they called three times. This must be the most important call, because they called three times from Miami! But didn’t leave a message. That’s why I don’t answer.
I stayed up and watched the Cowboys play the Eagles. Actually, I watched until the weather delay, and at that point I called it. I was hoping that the Cowboys would win, but I wasn’t totally surprised that they lost. At the breakfast table this morning, the kid had questions about who won the game, which I found rather surprising. Normally, she doesn’t care about the Cowboys or football in general, but she was rather curious about the game, and if I watched it all. Then she wanted to know if I thought the Cowboys would win the Super Bowl, which I told her no, and that the team would be lucky to be above .500 this year. Then she wanted to know if I as going to watch all of their games, which I am. She was confused by this, and wanted to know why I was going to watch them if I thought they were going to lose. Because that’s want a fan of a team does; you suffer along with the team, and hope for next year. I really hoped that there was some important life lesson there that I was passing along, about loyalty, and commitment. But what I she made me feel was that I was about to waste a lot of time over the next couple of Sundays.
Boy, it is not a joke. The day after Labor Day, New York City fills back up with people. Twenty years I have been here, and I keep thinking that this maxim isn’t true. And every year I am amazed how on Labor Day, no one is around, and then the next day, people are everywhere. I really should know better.
Today at school, the kid could wear a sports team jersey if she so desired. Being that she is in middle school, and the school has sports teams, sports are now a bigger part of her academic experience. Funny thing is that the kid doesn’t own any team jerseys. She asked me if I had a jersey that she could borrow for today, and sadly, I also don’t own any team jerseys. What I do own happens to be a Dallas Cowboys (Let me get to that in a bit), and a Tottenham Hotspur t-shirts. I was hesistant to give her the Cowboy shirt because clearly, the Cowboys aren’t a well respected team here in New York City. So that left the Tottenham shirt, which I offered to her. She declined the shirt, stating that the people who know who Tottenham is will only end up making fun of her, and it wasn’t worth it to her. I tried to explain that Frank is taking the team in a new direction, but the kid wouldn’t hear it.
(Best if you read this part in a very thick Texas accent, which I have after drink several Shiner Bocks and getting all rilled up.) I jus’ wanna say this to Mr. Jerry Jones, which is that I think he is bein’ a damn fool when it comes to Micah Parsons. Now, Mr. Parsons is a franchise super star caliber player, a type of player who can change the momentum of a game, and if the Dallas Cowboys have any intention of reclaimin’ a Super Bow’ – they need Mr Parsons. To that end, Mr. Jones should’a paid Mr. Parsons what he wanted. Now, this whole idea that Mr. Jones is puttin’ out there that, this is all part of some “master plan to win a championship” is what is known in the civilized world as a damn lie! Y’ain’t foolin’ anyone Jerry! You gone and screwed up the team again! What is this, like our 30th rebuilding year?!?! Could you possibly get the cart outta the way of the horse for a change so we might have a chance of just winning the Division? Good lord man! You takin’ years off my life…
I’m pulling out my sweaters and sweatshirts. Might have to wash my flannel shirts this week. I know it’s 78 degrees today, I don’t care. I want Autumn
