Tag: Short Story

  • Short Story Review: “Our Time is Up” by Clare Sestanovich

    (The short story “Our Time is Up” by Clare Sestanovich appeared in the November 13th, 2023 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Illustration by James Lee Chiahan

    You know, and I’m not stepping out on a ledge here, but there should be more stories about mothers and daughters. For centuries, the literary cannon is filled with stories of fathers and sons – even a couple of religions revolve around that idea. So, when I see a story that is about mothers and daughters, like Clare Sestanovich’s “Our Time is Up,” I look forward to delving into these relationships, which sometimes can be very dramatic and enlightening.

    This story revolves around Angela, who is entering the first stages of middle age, and beginning to wonder about the decision in her life. Her yardstick of measurement is her mother, which leads to uncomfortable comparisons. Angela is relatively happily married, though her and her husband, Will, are in couple’s therapy. There are a host of issues they are addressing, such as if to have children, and Angela’s aging parents. There is a slight hint of depression in Angela, an unwillingness to move forward on some of her issues. The story takes Angela and Will to Angela’s parent’s home, which needs to be cleared out as it is becoming a hoarder’s house. They also explore, by taking a tour, of putting Angela’s parents in assisted living. Some more tangents are sprinkled in the piece, so you can see that there is a lot going on here.

    Which leads me to my chief criticism of this story; there is too much going on which doesn’t allow these details to be fleshed out. I can see that Sestanovich was trying to make the point that Angela’s life is complicated and busy, and she has trouble giving each person and issue, let alone herself, the time that they need. The way this is presented leaves some characters flat, while other situations feel rushed. Will, the husband, plays only one note in the story, with no depth or insight. The father is barely present, having only one job which is to fall thereby starting the conversation about assisted living, and then he serves no other purpose. There is the cleaning of the hording house, which seemed like it was primed for dramatic action, but is just breezed over.

    I say all of this because “Our Time is Up” doesn’t feel like a short story, but the first chapter of a novel. There are so many wonderful places that these characters could go to be fleshed out, giving them depth and authenticity. Especially Angela, who in this story, is more like a middle-aged person who just wonders why things happen to them, and never makes a decision or choice. Even the climax of the piece, a coffee mug made by her mother which breaks in Angela’s luggage, is a situation of something happen to Angela, and not Angela taking an action or making a decision.

    And I was rooting for this story. As I got closer to the end, I kept expecting a dramatic or revelatory action to take place. (I will credit Sestanovich with avoiding the cliché of someone dying, which I think is what most writers would have done.) But it doesn’t arrive. I was also expecting Angela to grow in some way, but she seems to end in the same place where she started, which left me feeling unsatisfied with the story. It’s too bad, as the writing is very good, and the quiet insights of Angela’s life are intriguing. And if there was a second chapter, then I would very much want to read that novel.

  • Short Story Review: “The Ghosts of Gloria Lara” by Junot Diaz

    (The short story “The Ghosts of Gloria Lara” by Junot Diaz appeared in the November 6th, 2023 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Photograph by Paul Thulin-Jimenez for The New Yorker

    I had a professor in college who taught a playwrighting class, who likened writers to jazz musicians. This professor believed, and taught, that both types of artists have to be comfortable with “noodling” around on their instrument or medium – trying out ideas to see how they play and work together. Only through this form of experimenting is how stories, or songs, begin to come together, take shape to reveal their themes and tone. (This professor was a huge Miles Davis fan, if that’s any help.) Not sure I agree with this theory, but it is an idea that has stuck in the back of my head; a writer “noodling” out ideas. Sure, you could call that rewriting, but that sounds so functional, while “noodling” has an air of playfulness to it.

    “The Ghosts of Gloria Lara” by Junot Diaz struck me as a “noodling” experimentation of a story. I found it to be an enjoyable read, but the story never felt complete to me. The more that I thought about this “incomplete” feeling, the more I came to believe that it was done on purpose. I could be very disrespectful of the piece and describe it as the story of a Dominican immigrant mother as told by her youngest son. I don’t want to be disrespectful of this story. There is a lot going on in this thing; background information, asides, tangents, etc.… It’s all needed, and impossible to condense into a quick description. You should just read the story, and you’ll understand.

    “The Ghosts of Gloria Lara” also reminded me of the movie “Adaptation,” in the sense that “Adaptation” was about many things, but one of the themes of the movie was breaking all the “rules” to movie storytelling, to, in a sense, prove that you could tell a story that way. I felt that Diaz was also trying to do that with this story. The piece begins with a great deal of backstory for the main character of the mother. In another part, the narrator tells us, by making a Chekhov joke, that a gun mentioned will come into play later. And a few times, the narrator also tells that a brief aside in the story will be explained later. All of this done as if the narrator knows that we are also aware of what “rules” of short story telling are. Sure, it has a “wink-wink” “sorry/not sorry” attitude, but the narrator isn’t being disrespectful or condescending to us. It’s played light.

    But the one moment that I found most puzzling, and I had to believe it was purposefully done, was at the very end of the story. As the piece is concluding, the narrator and the mother are asking each other about their former neighbor, Mr. Wilson. The mother asks the narrator if he remembers what Mr. Wilson looked like, which the narrator says he does. Then immediately, the narrator confesses that actually doesn’t remember, and that there are no photographs of him, nor is there anyone left in the neighborhood who would remember him. But, earlier in the story, the narrator spends a whole paragraph describing what Mr. Wilson looked like. So… What’s going on here? Is the narrator an unreliable source? Is everything we just read a lie, or did the narrator embellish for dramatic effect? Is it possible that Diaz made a huge gaff in his own story?

    I’m going to land on the side of the writer, and believe this was done on purpose. After all, the story is called, “The Ghosts of Gloria Lara.” What we are being told is a memory, and those feeling, thoughts, and ideas don’t fall and form in a clear narrative sense. Maybe the narrator did remember what Mr. Wilson looked like as he tells us this story, but when he spoke to his mother, he didn’t at that time. These memories, like apparitions, come and go, sometimes in detail, but other times vague and transparent. In this way, the story is like trying to grasp fog – you can feel it but you can’t hold it. What I was left feeling was a story that was coming in and going out, seeing what will fit together.

  • Short Story Review: “Upstate” by Emma Cline

    (The short story “Upstate” by Emma Cline appeared in the October 30th, 2023 issue of The New Yorker.)

    (Yes, my dear, there will be SPOILERS.)

    Illustration by Dennis Eriksson

    “If God didn’t exist, it would be necessary to invent him,” was the first quote that came to my mind when I read this story. Maybe “Upstate” by Emma Cline doesn’t exactly share the same sentiment as the aforementioned quote from Voltaire, but the short story swims in the themes of sin, punishment, and atonement. The other quote that came to my mind was, “These pretzels are making me thirsty!”

    Yeah, just let me explain…

    “Upstate” is a story about a couple, Kate and Paul, getting away for the weekend (Sunday to Monday) in a small town/country rental house. The piece is told from Kate’s perspective, but the first character introduced is Djuna, the owner of the rental property, and her slew of rules for renting the house. Though Kate found the place, Paul is paying for it, and this is the first example of how Paul takes care of Kate. As the story tells us, Paul is a much older man to Kate’s youth, and they had participated in a hidden affair for some time. But now that Paul is divorced, their relationship is living in the open. As the weekend unfolds, we are privy to Kate’s thoughts on the state of her relationship with Paul, which clearly she has started to question by wondering if they are truly being open and honest with each other. An accident happens, which leaves Kate and Paul’s relationship in a different iteration.

    I appreciate that Cline takes on the idea of morality without ever having to say God, though Djuna is God adjacent for this story. Djuna owns the rental house, and her rules are made explicit, though Paul and Kate ignore them from the moment they arrive by looking in a closet they are told not to open. (In fact, apples are eaten at one point.) Their next transgression is a stain they leave on the livingroom carpet after the couple has sex. Kate attempts to remove the stain, but in the end, it never fully goes away. Kate starts taking on a fear of Djuan, a fear of being caught, or even accused of breaking the house rules. Such as when Paul has his accident in the house, Kate demurs when Djuan calls demanding to know why the lights were left on, and the doors were open – Kate takes Djuan’s verbal punishment. The feeling is that outside of this rental house, Kate and Paul had lived punishment free in the sin of their affair. But in this house, there is a power that comes down on them, which manifests in Kate’s fear. That I found very interesting.

    Yet, there was formulaic aspect to this story that I couldn’t shake, and that stopped me from being invested in this story. Cline’s prose is efficient and very spartan; truly reducing down to the barest elements. At its most basic, this is a story about a couple going on vacation, and realizing that they aren’t right for each other, or at least questioning if they are right for each other. This is territory that has been trodden many times before, which made me desire for the story to get to the next part. And though there was a sly bit of foreshadowing, I found myself waiting for the relationship changing climax to arrive.

    And when it did arrive, that’s why I thought of the other quote, “These pretzels are making me thirsty!”

    For those of you that aren’t dedicated Seinfeld fans, the quote comes from the episode “The Alternate Side.” (I will admit that the quote has nothing to do with the story, but is possibly the most famous part of the episode.) Anyway, Elaine’s subplot in the storyline is that she is dating an older man, who at first she finds very interesting, but soon wants to break up with him. Before she can do that, he has a stoke, rendering him incapacitated, leaving Elaine as his caregiver.

    Maybe not 100% the same, but it is similar enough for me to equate the two. Seinfeld was supposed to be about “nothing” and “no lessons” – a selfish place without a moral compass. “Upstate” was about a world that needs morality, and if it is absent, people in that world will create it. Like I said, it’s an interesting idea, that happens to be transported in a clichéd car.

  • Checked That Box

    For those of you that read this blog, and follow me on Twitter/X (all two of you), then you know that I had an announcement yesterday, which was that Rejection Letters published a piece of mine – “Memorably Forgettable.” I have been a fan of this journal for a while, and I really appreciate that they included me in their publication; very cool.

    And as such, I checked off a box on my list of goals for this year – Get One Story Accepted.

    I was prepared to get deep in rejections for this year, as I have received 50 of them so far. I do prescribe to the “100 No’s Before 1 Yes” theory, and as such still feel like there is a lot of rejection out there for me to receive yet. (My Submittable cup runneth over…)

    But, more importantly, I gotta get back to work. I still got a blog to write, a journal to fill up, and a corner in my apartment to sit in and try to make some stories work. And I should be reading more, to be honest.

  • Short Story Review: “I Am Pizza Rat” by Han Ong

    (The short story “I Am Pizza Rat” by Han Ong appeared in the October 23rd, 2023 issue of The New Yorker.)

    (There are SPOILERS!)

    Photograph by Melissa Schriek for The New Yorker

    As a kid who grew up in the 90’s, I am a sucker for slacker lit. You know, meandering stories, aloof narrators, whacky characters, and a general revelry for nothing happening… you know, whatever… Perhaps Kerouac created this genre of fiction with On the Road and Dharma Bums. And it’s a tough genre to execute. The form appears antithetical to the general format of short fiction and novels, as slacker lit just wants to stay mellow and float on down the road, but to work effectively, it still needs a climax. And it pains me to say this about “I Am Pizza Rat” by Han Ong, which is a charming and enjoyable short story, but lacks an effective climax, and leaves the end of the piece feeling flat.

    And I liked this story and the writing. The narrator is a fifty-one year old struggling writer who lives in New York City, but is out in San Mateo, California taking care of his seventy-six father who recently had a fall and is recovering. The writing has just the right tone of sadness and depression in it, but also a touch of irony and humor which never lets the story go too far in the dark corners. We meet the instructor of a FALLING NATURALLY class, and his pot selling brother, Bun (pronounced “Boon”) the African nurse, members of a Gilbert and Sullivan Group, and the idiosyncratic routine of an elderly father. And there are animal videos. But at its core is a father and son story, and slowly the life of the father is revealed, and the trauma he experienced, and how he made imperfect efforts not to pass that along to his son. And the son is aware that his father tried, and mostly succeed, at ending this cycle of trauma.

    This is all great stuff, which makes the climax all the more disappointing. I read the story twice, and decided that the climax is the last paragraph of the second to last section. See, the father asks the son where he goes when the nurse comes to the house, and the son replies that he goes to the university library and has started writing again, thus gaining his confidence back. Then the narrator goes on to say in the same paragraph, “In stories, books, I’m a sucker for the moment when the dormant character awakens.” As if this ironic “wink and a nudge” of a line is to suffice as the “realization moment” in the “Hero Cycle” where the hero has changed from the events of the story, thus leading to the resolution. Unfortunately, this lands hollow as the action is told to us, and not shown. This choice feels lazy in an otherwise active slacker story.

    Look, endings are hard, and I don’t believe this ending “ruins” the story. It’s just more like a record scratch in an otherwise very good song. There are moments and observations in here that Han Ong shows a deft hand with. Especially with the father/son relationship, which is the core reason I would recommend reading this story.