Tag: Short Story

  • Short Story Review: “Yogurt Days” by Jamie Quatro

    (The short story “Yogurt Days” by Jamie Quatro appeared in the August 7th, 2023 issue of The New Yorker.)

    (SPOILERS! Though I think you know that, and I should stop announcing it now…)

    Illustration by Alex Merto;

    Source photograph by Bonnie Taylor Barry / Shutterstock

    Ah… religion and faith, and rules and guidelines, and patriarchy and pragmatism. This all has to do with Christianity and not religion in general. Christianity does get a bad rap in most fiction – used mainly to highlight the hypocrisy in human nature. Every now and then we get a work of fiction that is nuanced toward its representation of Christianity in the world around us. That’s what I felt reading “Yogurt Days” by Jamie Quatro – a story that is strong on theme, ideas, and structure. While the prose is adequate for the piece, Quatro strength is in taking all the tricks that are taught in writing classes, and uses them effectively to accomplish her goal of delivery a solid story that is honest, and even a tad melancholic.

    This is a story about faith, and the actions behind faith, and those motivations. The story is about the narrator’s mother who has more faith than sense, and is blessed with an affluent lifestyle which allows her to survive with that disposition. This mother isn’t a bad person at all, and the narrator, even as a child, is aware of that. The story jumps from the past to the present, and how the past situation is still influencing the narrator in the present.

    I said writing tricks because that’s what they are, but it works. The opening sentence is a textbook in making the reader want to find out more. The first paragraph previews the theme of the story. An early example of the mother’s faith is given to show why she behaves the way she does. There is the breaking up of, what could have been, a simple linear story through time jumps, in essence to create more drama, but also pad out the story. I’m not saying this to be mean, or to imply this is a “color-by-number” story, but to say that Quatro’s structure is easy to follow, and allows us to know that this story is going to land.

    But what Quatro does very well, and I think it is a strength of the story, is that by using this standard structure, it gives the story freedom to flow and bring life to little truths about faith, or the illusion of faith, and how faith can even infect the unfaithful. And best of all, in the middle of this story, the daughter (narrator) forgives the mother for her past transgressions. I think most writers would have made this the climax of the story, but I appreciated that this type of cliché was avoided. Instead, by putting the forgiveness in the middle, what we received was a better understanding of how faith had influenced the narrator’s life, along with a better understanding of the relationship between mother and daughter.

  • Short Story Review: “A French Doll” By Cynthia Ozick

    (The short story “A French Doll” By Cynthia Ozick appeared in the July 31st, 2023 issue of The New Yorker.)

    (SPOILERS! There will always be SPOILERS!)

    Photo illustration by Joan Wong; Source photographs from Getty; NYPL

    And then sometimes, The New Yorker just publishes a good story. Why beat around the bush here; “A French Doll” by Cynthia Ozick is a very good story. A shorter piece by New Yorker standards, but not flash fiction as the story is at 3,300+ words. Yet, I did find a flash fiction ethos within this story – it didn’t rely on a hero cycle, or a plotless character study, nor was this the tried and true beginning/middle/end with a rise in action. No, this was a story that played with language, mood, atmosphere, and an inevitable lesson that is reinforced in the actions taken by the characters. Since plot and development weren’t necessary, that’s why I say it’s more flash than traditional short fiction.

    There are so many points that I could ding as examples of why Ozick’s story works so beautifully well, but I fear I could get mired down in unending details. The opening section serves many purposes of creating the mood, theme, and setting for the piece. I loved how the narrator, as a child talking to the elderly neighbor, would lie about not being able to help the old woman, but in the end would still do the requested tasks – just like a kid would do. I loved how the bookending of the elderly couples passing was used to reinforce the theme of the inevitability of passing away, and wanting to leave something, even the most basic truths, for someone to acknowledge later. And then the use of the doll, telegraphed to us with the title, but still manages to delicately make the point of life and art.

    And yet, with all of that said, the best part of this story was the language used by Ozick. The words that were crafted, how they painted and played with creating a picture and a world that this story took place in. This language made me slow down, savor what I was reading. Not only was this world given vibrant life within the words, it also created a rhythm – like a dance – for descriptions to unfold. My favorite example being, “The sublime defiled, the sacred embedded in a thing of vanity, ridiculed, pirated, usurped, stolen. A felony, a wickedness, a sin.” This is a writer that enjoyed making words pirouette, tumble, and slide off the page.

    I have told you nothing about the story, and that was on purpose. Cynthia Ozick created something very unique “A French Doll” and you should read it. Let the surprises and turns hit you like they did me. Because this isn’t a plot story – this is about mood and understanding. You just need to read it.

  • Short Story Review: “Colorin Colorado” by Camille Bordas

    (The short story “Colorin Colorado” by Camille Bordas appeared in the July 10 & 17, 2023 issue of The New Yorker.)

    (SPOLIERS AHEAD!)

    Photograph by Ryan Frigillana for The New Yorker

    I loved it.

    It was much better than The Lottery.

    I going to read it, again and again.

  • Short Story Review: “Valley of the Moon” by Paul Yoon

    (The short story “Valley of the Moon” by Paul Yoon appeared in the July 3rd, 2023 issue of The New Yorker.)

    (SPOILERS should just be expected.)

    Illustration by Dadu Shin

    “Valley of the Moon” is an exquisite short story by Paul Yoon. Writing a good short story is hard enough, but writing a short story that feels lived in by complicated and authentic people, is pretty damn tough. Yoon takes it a step farther, and creates a story that speaks to the cycles in life, and how meaning remains elusive for some people.

    The story is about Tongsu, a one-eyed man who, after the end of the Korean War, returns to the valley and home he was born in. His family is long gone, but Tongsu repairs the home, and makes his way as a substance farmer in the valley. There is a river that runs through the valley, and a set of rocks that as a child Tongsu was told the moon emerges and crashes down every night – only to repeat the process the next evening. One night, by these rocks, Tongsu is attacked by a man, who Tongsu kills out of self-defense, and proceeds to bury by these stones. Soon, two orphans, and boy and a girl, from a local church come to live with him. Years pass, and then one day a man comes through the valley looking for his uncle that went missing years before, but Tongsu is able to send the man on his way without raising any suspicions. Not long after that, one of the pigs dies, and Tongsu beats the boy for it. This leads to the children running away, leaving Tongsu alone again. Then the story picks up with the girl, Eunhae, now living in a city, working in a hotel, and creating her own life. She is given Tongsu’s phone number through the church, and she calls him. The reconnect, though never discussing the past, and she decides to visit him back in the valley. Things happen, but you can read about it.

    What I loved about this story, and I just latched on to it, was the prose of this piece. It’s third person, with a detached and unemotional way of presenting the story. There is a “matter of fact-ness” to it, almost a simplicity, that keeps to story moving forward, but it never hinders the emotions. I found myself tensing up as the stranger arrived looking for his missing uncle, and also a pure shock of Tongsu snapping one day and beating the boy. And when the conclusion of the story arrives, still in this simple and direct prose, I was moved at how well these pieces played together, and brought me to a feeling that I had truly lived through this experience with these characters.

    And that is the real trick with this story – creating that feeling of cycle, and continuation. I loved how this story was making the point, ever so slyly, how one decision creates new decisions, and how certain choices can never be undone. I also enjoyed how this was a story about fading memories, and what we decide to hold on to, and let go of. All of it coming back to the idea that life continues on, repeating the cycle.

    “Valley of the Moon” by Paul Yoon is the type of short story that makes me love short stories. This is a world that is different from my own; I am presented with characters that are realistic and complicated. There is a plot and a climax that feels organic with the story that’s being told. It all feels so easy and simple, and I know creating a story like this isn’t easy or simple.

  • Retired Flash Fiction Story

    (This is an experiment of a flash fiction story that I decided to retire from submitting. Enjoy.)

    Airbag

    There was light, and then there was darkness. Maybe there was sound, but I think all I can remember hearing was the fear in my brain; As I was scared. Or was I screaming? Broken glass? I think so, and if that was true, then I don’t know how I didn’t get cut up. I hit my head, and banged up my back. There wasn’t any blood that you’d expect.

    What existed after, most likely before if only I had paid attention, was the feeling of floating, up and away – of relief that I was here and not in some other place, even though no rational person would want to be where I was, and that’s because they weren’t fully/completely aware of being alive in this reality, but now, or at least then – in the aftermath – I was present.

    When I was a child, growing up in the Cold War, knowing that at any second one of two nations could blow up the whole world; so many people lived in the pool of existential threat every day. Life could end at the push of a button, as that was modernity. But what I fixated on wasn’t necessarily that all life could end, but having to wait for it to end. Being told the missile was on the way, that in a matter of minutes I would be evaporated, but I had to wait for my impending death. That count down is what scared me. Sure, if you knew you had one day left, then you could get some stuff done. But with five minutes – I would just be left with my thoughts. My awful thoughts. Even if I tried to be constructive with my five minutes, I’d most likely use four of the minutes deciding what to do, and that last minute wouldn’t be enough time to accomplish it. But I know me, and I would spend five minutes kicking myself for all the things I didn’t do. Hating myself as the doom, the bomb, the endless end drew nearer. Not enjoying what I had, but regretting what was.

    The darkness did give way to the light once again. I opened my eyes. I looked around and made sure I was alive. On the side of a highway, having spun around, I was alive. Excitable, juiced, sweating yet cold. The Universe had expanded, only to contract back to the same place, and I was still there. The blue gray interstate, an airbag deflating – I had the acknowledgement of time.