Tag: Short Story Review

  • My Social Media and Blog Footprint

    I suck at social media. Part of it is that I keep thinking no one cares what I do or like, let alone what I am currently eating. Yet, I feel the need to get better at it. As if it were an art form which needs to be mastered. Though, I feel one cannot master it, but can only be innovative with it.

    I know that everything on social media is some form of a lie, but the same could be said for marketing, and I do believe that is what social media really is. People who are good at social media are very good at marketing themselves.

    I am not good at marketing myself. I want you to pay attention to me, but I don’t want to do anything to make you pay attention to me.

    I am a conundrum to myself.

    I feel self-conscious when I ask people to pay attention to me. This might be why I enjoy acting, and puppetry so much when it comes to theatre. I could either hide myself in a character, or literally, hide behind a puppet and never be seen. I could be the center of attention, and no one would get to know me.

    But I have a public blog. A blog that has increased its views by 50% in the past two months. So, that means there are more of you coming by to look at me. (Well, the stats are saying you are here to read the short story reviews, but a few of you venture to the other posts. In that sense, greetings!) Still, I feel very uncomfortable about mentioning this blog to the people in my daily life.

    I have been thinking about that lately; why aren’t I more aggressive in sharing this?

    Part of it is that I am still not sure if I believe that I am a professional, a hobbyist, or if I am a hobbyist advancing towards professionalism? And if I don’t believe that what I am creating has value, then how can I ask anyone else to believe it is of value?

    Maybe it’s not self-consciousness, but a mere lack of self-confidence?

    But I do like it. I like writing a blog every day. I thought about cutting back to just three days a week, but it felt weird not to post daily.

    Hence, why I am here today.

    Please, feel free to subscribe and share with your friends.

  • Shorty Story Review: “Untranslatability” by James Yeh

    (The short story “Untranslatability” by James Yeh, appeared in the January 6th, 2022, Issue 6 of The Drift.)

    In a love story, really, there are only two outcomes; they get together, or they don’t. If they get together, it’s because the characters had to struggle to get there, and they learned something along the way which will lead to why they deserve to be together. If they don’t get together, then at least they learned something about themselves which will make them better people, and thus, the relationship was necessary. In “Untranslatability” by James Yeh, the author tells us near the start of the story, that the characters, Charles and Emily, are doomed, which puts them in the “don’t get together” category.

    The story follows as such; Emily, who is a translator, gets a grant to go to Germany and translate the work of one of her favorite writers. Charles, who is a struggling writer working at a media company, supports this decision, but Yeh makes us know that Charles agrees to this because it reflects well on Charles to have his girlfriend this talented, not because he believes in Emily. Since we know the outcome, Emily meets someone else, breaks up with Charles over a video chat, and he is left wondering what to do next. Charles decides to make a grand gesture of going to Germany to try to win her back, which plays out not as awkward as you would think, but is still doomed, as we know it will be. Charles returns home, and starts to get his life in order. A year later, Emily’s book, on the writer she translated, is published, and Charles writes a blog about it. Then she invites him to the book launch party, where they see they have come to a place of understanding.

    I struggled with this story, not sure how I felt about it. In fact, I wasn’t even sure how James Yeh felt about it either. Yeh seemed to be very disappointed in the character of Charles, which makes you unsympathetic toward the character. At the same time, Emily does come across as a neo-Magic Pixie Girl; smart, confidant, driven, and successful without a fault in sight. Yet, I also felt like Yeh made this decision to try and buck the stereotype of these types of stories. Maybe they were doomed, not because they were star-crossed lovers, but because they weren’t good for each other, and no amount of change or internal growth was going to garner a different result. Maybe. But I’m still not sure. Yeh did touch and some very authentic moments, such as when Charles was torn between concern for Emily’s sick father, and his contemplation if he could use that situation to his advantage. (Very shallow, but a brutal honesty.) And the final paragraph was especially on the nose; maybe you can learn something, but still not change who you are. Maybe.

  • Short Story Review: “Just a Little Fever” by Sheila Heti

    (The short story “Just a Little Fever” by Sheila Heti appeared in the April 18th, 2022 issue of The New Yorker.)

    How’s that line go? “Youth is wasted on the young.” I’m sure when George Bernard Shaw said it in his Irish accent, it sound sounded profound, and very witty. I know it was meant as an insult to young people, and just about every time I have heard it said, especially toward me, it has been used as a shorthand to say that I am acting irrationally and stupid. But as I have gotten older, I find the line has more regret and melancholy in it, not toward the young, but for the older person saying it.

    “Just a Little Fever” by Sheila Heti is a sweet, and charming story that grabbed me from the beginning. We meet Angela, who is youthful, and shampooing cherries into her hair, not because it was suggested to her by a friend or an article, but just because she thought of it, and wanted to try it. With her hair smelling of cherries, so goes to work as a bank teller and meets the well-dressed but older gentleman Thomas, who comes up to her window. They have a short but honest conversation, and Angela finds herself still thinking about Thomas. Angela decides to look up Thomas’ phone number from his account, and asks him out to dinner. After a little first date awkwardness, they continue to see each other, and enter into a relationship. Clearly, more happens, but I don’t want to spoil it.

    Like I said, I found myself enjoying the story from the start, but what really endeared me to it was how Heti kept layering, or maybe reveling is the better word, the deep truths and inner workings to Angela’s character. It resonated with me how Angela viewed being around people her own age, and how Thomas made her feel calm, and in the moment. How Angela had to question and test her feelings with Thomas, and how she began to see that people in her life might not be the healthiest people for her. I don’t think Heti ever overtly said that Angela was happy with Thomas, but there was that feeling coming out of the text, indescribable but apparent. When the final section started, leading to the climax and resolution, I dreaded reading it, because, not that I knew what was coming, but because what was coming was authentic to who Angela was.

    Yes, the ending frustrated me, but in the very best possible way. I found myself caring, very strongly, for these two characters. And though my experience was not exactly the same as Angela and Thomas, but I had a moment with someone once, where I was very happy to be in the middle with them. But, I too was young, and wasted my youth.

  • Short Story Review: “The Pub with No Beer” by Kevin Barry

    (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.

  • Short Story Review: “The Ukraine” by Artem Chapeye

    (The short story “The Ukraine,” by Artem Chapeye and translated from the Ukrainian by Zenia Tompkins,, appeared in the April 4th, 2022 issue of “The New Yorker.)

    I feel that I am like most Americans, in the sense that I didn’t know a whole lot about Ukraine until about two months ago. I knew that a town in Texas was named after a city Ukraine, that the Crimea was in Ukraine, and that’s where the Charge of the Light Brigade took place. I knew that Chernobyl was in Ukraine, and that the country used to be a part of the Soviet Union. Let’s see, there was also that Trump/Biden impeachment thing that had a Ukraine connection. But, outside of that…

    I also think it is an incorrect belief that one writer can capture the whole spirit of a nation. Steinbeck’s America was different from Kerouac’s, as was Baldwin’s and Twain’s. Each is different, and was still correct. Artem Chapeye’s story, “The Ukraine” is about Ukraine, if you couldn’t put that together, and also about a relationship between the narrator and a woman. The cynical side of me, the judgmental side to be honest, was hesitant to read it because the title alone made it feel like The New Yorker was only publishing this story due to current events. As I started reading, and the narrator spoke of his travels across Ukraine with his girlfriend, I had the bad feeling that the author was going to try and capture all of Ukraine in one piece. And as I stated before, I find these encapsulations an act of folly.

    Like I said, I was being judgmental.

    “The Ukraine” is not an exercise of excessive nationalist propaganda, but a soft, quiet meditation on memories, life, death, acceptance, and travel that bonds people together. (In fact, the story has a great line against public displays of overt patriotism, that I won’t ruin.) Maybe part of the power of this story is the fact that as places and cities of Ukraine are named, in my mind, I can see the images of burnt out buildings, and bomb cratered streets. To hear that these places were once a destination that brought about joy to the couple in the story, created a palatable melancholy for all the things lost. About half way through the piece, it finally dawned on me that the fact the story took place in Ukraine was inconsequential. The act of experiencing places together with someone you love, sharing time, creating memories, these are the actions that make life valuable. I will say that the climax was not a total surprise, as it had been hinted, but it still held the needed weight to conclude the story.

    This was not a revolutionary work. It’s didn’t break new ground in literature, or change the landscape of fiction. No, it wasn’t that. What it was, was authentic, and honest. It pointed out a fault of mine, while also reminding me that this truth still exists, “People are beautiful, even if they don’t realize it.”