Tag: Lore Segal

  • Short Story Review: “Stories About Us” by Lore Segal

    (The short story “Stories About Us” by Lore Segal appeared in the October 7th, 2024 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Illustration by Marta Monteiro

    I love Lore Segal’s writing. And when I say that, I fully admit that I am referring to her short stories that I have read in The New Yorker. (I really need to pick up one of her novels.) I love how her short stories don’t fit neatly in any box, are elusive like trying to grasp smoke, and no matter how serious or melancholy a piece or section of a piece might be, her work leaves me feeling better, more affirming towards life.

    What is “Stories About Us,” about? I’m still not sure. I guess you could say that it five short vignettes about older women who live in New York, and talk to each other about their lives…

    “Stories About Us,” is also about being validated, being seen, being missed, the contradictions in life, inclusion as an act of grace, and the past that still lives with us.

    What I like about Segal’s writing, and this story in particular is that at the first read, I wasn’t sure what was going on, and then I thought about it, and I concluded that I knew what was going on. And then I re-read it this morning, and I’m not sure I really know what’s going on, but I’m okay with that. There is an undisputed piece of truth in each one of the sections, that is wonderful to discover, like a flower opening up. And in quick secession, Segal lets us see the thinking and insights of these characters; women who are complicated and vulnerable, having lived lives, and still want to keep exploring and experiencing. I can’t explain how Segal does it, but there is an ebb and flow to each section, working together like a piece of music, landing on a touching yet unsettling denouement.

    “Stories About Us” is a very fine work, that I might never be able to pinpoint exactly why I enjoy it so much. It also makes me think that’s why Lore Segal is Lore Segal; her writing is like music. I can say why it moves me, it just moves me when I hear it.

  • Short Story Review: “Beyond Imagining” by Lore Segal

    (The short story “Beyond Imagining” by Lore Segal appeared in the June 10th, 2024 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Illustration by Bénédicte Muller

    A few years before my mother passed away, we got into a conversation about getting older. She was around 70 years old at this time, and happily enjoying her life in retirement, as well as being the matriarch of our family, but she especially enjoyed being a grandmother. “Is it all what you hoped it would be?” I asked her, to which she responded, “When I got married (at 19) I never thought I would live past forty. This is all new to me.” My mother could be dry, but at the time, I wasn’t sure what to make of her answer. Since her passing, and my own aging, I have come to understand that you can’t get excited for something you aren’t able to imagine.

    Lore Segal’s “Beyond Imagining” posed this thought early in the first section, when the character Bridget, speaking about death states, “I think that the reason I think I won’t mind being dead is that I can’t imagine it, and I don’t think we know how to believe what we aren’t able to imagine.” This idea, this through line, plays role in the four sections of this story, which follow a circle of elderly women friends in New York, as they handle, deal, and accept their current lives.

    I know that the above description is, maybe, an unfair simplification of this piece. The story exudes a wonderful melancholy as it lets us experience the world of these women. But it also has a very delicate touch, showing the importance and power of their friendships, how these relationships at this point in their lives sustains them, and gives them strength to deal with issues and discoveries they did not anticipate. Though this piece is not very long, the characters intertwin in each other’s sections, and I found this structure added a depth of authenticity to the friendships.

    When I finished reading this story, I wanted to hug these ladies. I wanted to hold their hand, like a doting son would, and listen to them talk. But the emotional power of this story is that these are the conversations these friends have when it is only them around. These aren’t salacious or confessionary conversations, but conversations friends have when the sharing of experience is the intimacy. It’s the conversation between friends that can make what one can’t imagine, into something that can be believed.

  • Short Story Review: “On the Agenda” by Lore Segal

    (The short story “On the Agenda” by Lore Segal appeared in the September 18th, 2023 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Illustration by Riccardo Vecchio

    “On the Agenda” by Lore Segal is an interesting exercise. I read it twice, enjoyed it both times, but I’m still wondering about the ending. Each time I read it, and I can’t put my finger on why, or where the example is in the story, but I kept thinking about French Absurdist one-act theatre. (I was a theatre major, I read a lot of their works.) Something about this story seemed to parallel that. This story isn’t blatantly absurdist. It does have a foot in reality, but there is something off, which works.

    The story is about ladies who lunch, but not the Sondheim “ladies.” The story of these ladies is broken up into sections; the first being “JANUARY: THE FORGETTING OLYMPICS,” which also happens to be an agenda item for the meeting of the ladies. What if forgetting was an Olympic sport? And the ladies give examples of their forgetting, comparing, and expanding this idea. At this point, the story could be about aging. But with the next section “MARCH: NEXT TO GODLINESS” and “JUNE: FUNK” we are given examples of the ladies friendship, and how they are dealing with their forgetting. And again, it all feels purposefully off center, ever so slightly. But when the final section comes along, “NOVEMBER: NO MORE TRAINS” which is broken up into three sections, with the last being the one I questioned the most – It’s a single paragraph with no dialogue, which is different and shorter than all other sections of the whole story. This paragraph thuds the story to a close, help with a rhetorical last question “For now?”

    From the way the story started with that absurdist feeling I had while reading, I never was expecting this to be a story that would wrap up cleanly, or even conclusively for that matter.  But that last paragraph is completely and radically different from the rest of the story – what was the point? Then I remembered the French Absurdists, who sometimes made the point of not having a point, and just ending things.

    Or it’s about death?

    I’m going with death.