So, we have had a good old fashion winter up here in New York City. It’s cold all the time, been snowing regularly, and again it’s been very cold. Now, this week hasn’t been the coldest week this winter, as we did have a couple of days in the single digits in January, but in the 20’s with wind, that’s rather chilly, too. And with the temp being so low, it happened in our house; all three of us on Wednesday said the same thing – “I’m ready for Spring.” Looking at the calendar, I see that it’s late February, which means we are right on time for the declaration for the seasons to change. Honestly, you could set a watch by it. Same time every winter, we say the same thing – “I’m ready for the seasons to change.”
Though the downside of wanting the seasons to change is that the clock has started ticking for the time I have left with my sweaters. The cardigans, pullovers, jumpers, fisherman’s, and Irish sweaters; I do love them all. I will even through in sweatshirts, as I received a few for Christmas, and they are awesome. Sure, there is still a lot of cold weather to get through, and even chilly nights in Spring. But the clock is ticking.
I love short stories, just in case you weren’t aware. It’s an art form that has an endless well-spring of inspiration and creativity due to the uniqueness of each and every author who attempts to create a story. And I also know that a story can be well written and honest, and at the same time, not be my cup of tea. It is not the fault of the author or the story, as I feel I can objectively read a story, understand and appreciate its qualities, and also know that the story isn’t for me.
“The Choc-Ice Woman” by Mary Costello is a good story. It’s well written, honest, smart, pulls in many different ideas, synthesizing them into a cohesive through line, which arrives at a conclusion that is satisfying for what the story was attempting to accomplish. But the story didn’t resonate with me, when I felt that it should have.
I spent time contemplating this, even re-read the story, and I can’t fault Costello or the piece. Perhaps it is a tad long (I’ll talk about that in a minute) but it never felt like the story was wasting my time. Which has led me to believe that the fault lies with my stars, and not the piece or the author. Thus I am feeling disappointed in myself.
“The Choc-Ice Woman” deals with failure, infidelity, loss, death, even love, forgiveness and acceptance. All good themes when it comes to a short story, and it should be read, which is why I am recommending it. The story is structured with a present timeline which is interspersed with flashbacks, thoughts and insights of past events and characters thus building up the dramatic tension of the present timeline. This structure is handled smartly and works effectively. There is a strong feeling of pathos and loss in the story that never overwhelms the narrative, no wallowing here, but felt more like the melancholy that it is to be an adult who has made decisions in life; where regret is never too far away.
And still I felt detached from it all, but that’s on me, and I can admit that.
(The last thing that I do want to say about the piece is that it does take it’s time, and I like that Costello did that. I have a very bad feeling that if a student, or member of a writer’s workshop, had brought this in, it would be critiqued to death for being too long. I would like to stand up and say that writers should take their time, and not rush things. I feel short fiction is being done to death with “cutting to the chase,” or eliminating all details for the sake of making stories move faster – as if speed of narrative makes your writing better. Or simplifying down to the edge nothingness is more meaningful – sometimes less is actually less. Have courage writers! Be not afraid to write more and take your time!)
I wrote the other day about how my bracket predictions are pretty much shit as they are all guesses and I pick way too many underdogs. Well, yesterday, I called every game, save one. I got Furman v. Virginia wrong. And I blame Princeton for it. That’s right. I had selected Princeton over Arizona, as I have a weakness for the Ivy-League schools. So, because of that pick, I told myself I needed to be a bit realistic with the rest of my selections. Hence why I took Virginia. Besides Princeton, the rest of my underdog picks really weren’t that impressive; Auburn, and Penn State. This is why you should go with your gut. As of this moment, my bracket is ranked 659 out of 14million. I know that will change by the end of today. But right now, in this moment, I am nearly perfect.
I have a Tottenham Hotspur scarf that I put on when it is cold out. To most people it just looks like a white and navy scarf, but yesterday a guy stopped me, asking if I was a Tottenham fan. I talked to someone on the street about football. Mainly the Champions League, as the guy’s club was Barcelona, but still. This is the first time I have actually talked football with someone when the World Cup wasn’t going on. It made me feel like my fandom was validated.
Today is St. Patrick’s Day. All week, leading up to this, the kid couldn’t have given two shits about it. In fact, she asked me lots of questions of why the day is celebrated, and if it’s really only a grown-up holiday. I tried to give her a little history lesson on all the Irish who immigrated to this country, and how they have influenced and made our country a better place. You know, because immigrants do make our country better. She got it, but still didn’t think St. Patrick’s Day was that big of a deal. And then this morning, she was all about putting on green, and finding leprechauns, and pots o’ gold. I think this proves, that for kids, you never let a holiday go to waste.
(The short story, “The Pub with No Beer” by Kevin Barry, appeared in the April 11th, 2022 issue of The New Yorker.)
There is a lot of regret in literature, you know? Memories and ghosts from the past speaking to characters in the present. I mean, I get it. It’s what we all do with our lives. We think about the past, and wonder if we made the right decisions, or we just allow ourselves to bathe in the melancholy memories of a day dream. But we have to watch out, and not allow ourselves to wallow in the past.
Unfortunately, “The Pub with No Beer” has a bit of the wallow to it. Though the language and skill of writing that Kevin Barry has is impressive, the story never really gains any traction, nor gets beyond well worn stereotypes. The owner of an Irish pub, which is situated along the coast arrives at his, due to Covid, closed pub and cleans the place up. As he does this, he has memories of people who used to frequent the place, along with a caller at the door, concluding with a memory of the owners father. To be blunt, nothing happens. I feel like the intention was that each memory, and act of cleaning the pub, was building to something. Yet the execution of that intention manifested in a protagonist starting the story and ending the story in the same emotional spot. Nothing was gained, through action or insight, thus making the story feel like it was just passing time.
Stories of this ilk do irk me; these “character study/nothing happens” short stories just confound me. I think this does get into the realm of lit theory, which is that for a story, any type of story, to be successful or even satisfying, either the protagonist or the reader has to gain insight, or a realization, or accomplish something, which was impeded by either an external or internal force. Even stories based in naturalism and realism still need a plot and a climax. Something has to happen. That’s what makes it a story.
