Tag: The New Yorker

  • Short Story Review: “The Dreamdrive” by Weike Wang

    (The short story “The Dreamdrive” by Weike Wang appeared in the May 25th, 2026 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Illustration by Chris Harnan

    Reading “The Dreamdrive” was like watching my favorite basketball player miss an unobstructed layup.

    First, there was the tone of the piece, which was attempting to be lighter, easy, and humorous. The effect of this was that the story never achieved a depth. Everything was presented at arm’s length, making the story feel like nothing was at risk, or truly important. Also, in an attempt at humor, one character was described as “his then girlfriend,” implying her eventual fate. This cliched trick of description can work if it is partnered with irony, but in this setting, the attempt was to humorously build sympathy for our sad sack of a protagonist. Unfortunately, I did not see the reason why we needed to have this information presented in such a manner.

    Second, the revelation of the dream fell out of the sky and crashed like dishes on the floor. It was as if the narrator decided that the story needed to end now, and we were quickly given the relevance of what had been happening. But without any foreshadowing, or even a climatic build up, the revelation doesn’t achieve any resonance. Such as, now that the protagonist understands where his reoccurring dream is coming from, how does that help him move forward? It’s implied that he can sleep again, but is there nothing deeper here? How is the hero changed, other than being able to sleep? It felt to me that an emotional plot point was missing.

    Third, with the tone and lack of resonance in this story, it made the narrator sound condescending to the protagonist. The narrator treats the protagonist as a person to ridicule and kick around. Multiple times the hero is shown as a person no one takes seriously. And honestly, if the narrator doesn’t care about the protagonist, then why should the reader?

  • Short Story Review: “Standings” by Chang-rae Lee

    (The short story “Standings” by Chang-rae Lee appeared in the May 11th & 18th, 2026 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Illustration by Adrian Tomine

    When I graduated high school, my uncle got me a subscription to The New Yorker. He was a very smart and well-read man, and he knew of my ambitions to have a writing career, and this graduation gift, which I emphatically received with much excitement, was his way of encouraging me. I say all of this because off and on over my adult life, I have continued to subscribe to The New Yorker, and for that reason I feel fully justified, due to my extensive financial investment in the publication, to complain to the Fiction Department, and formally request they stop publishing works of short fiction which are merely excerpts from novels. I speak of Chang-rae Lee’s “Standings”, which by the magazine’s own admission “… is drawn from “A Tender Age.”” Then adds Change-rae Lee “…is the author of the novel “A Tender Age.” (August, 2026)” Though this work is an excerpt, it was published in the short fiction section of the magazine, so I will be reviewing it as a short story.

    “Standings” is the type of story that suffers from the sins of being too smart for its own good, and wanting to do too much. The story is overly long, bringing in as many details as possible to give the reader the full feeling and experience of what it was like to grow up in this environment of 1976 adolescence. Not to make light of the subject matter, but this is a coming of age story of boys on the cusp of crossing into adulthood, and being unclear what to do with the rage and aggressiveness they are supposed to embrace as they try to figure out what manhood is. This is a pack of “lost boys” with no direct positive male influence, and left to their own devices, devolve into racism and violence. On the surface, this is a deep well to work with, and speaks to the potential of an engaging and enlightening story. But here, the story felt unfocused on what it truly wanted to tell, with many tangents of ideas flailing. As Milhouse would say, “When are they going to get to the fireworks factory?!”

    Another issue that I had here was that I never felt the protagonist was ever in any peril through the course of the story. I spoke of the aggression between the boys, but the tone flipped between a comical story of boys posturing toward each other knowing that nothing would happen, to a very serious they must kill or be killed. Instead of creating a logically narrative development, such as playing at being violent leading to violence as survival, the story seemed to flip a switch. What we are given is a bipolar feeling of it just “happens,” which left me thinking I had missed a step, or an unearned short cut was taken. By doing that, the intention of the action never felt believable. The protagonist does pull out a knife at school and tries to harm another student, yet his consequences are suspension, some therapy, a bit of social ostracization, but on the whole he was able to continue on as a well-adjusted adult. Meanwhile the other boy has trouble coming out of his home due to the trauma, and another boy turns out was schizophrenic all along. Other than that…

    This brings me to my last point, which is that I never felt an urgency in the writing. In my point above, I stated that the protagonist never felt in peril, and part of that has to do with the language used. The narrator/protagonist is clearly writing this story – this is a first-person narrative that would never be confused with a friend talking to us, or a person at a bar telling us this story. No, this is unquestionably a story being written, and as such, it sticks to the rules. (Hell, the knife was introduced in the second act, and was used in the third.) It felt like an undergrad working hard to get an A in a creative writing class. The narrative plays it safe and does everything right, but in so doing, it never takes a risk or displays an intensity. The thought that I had reading this was maybe you can be simplistic and minimal.

    “Standings” doesn’t work as a short story, but I also admit I don’t think it was ever meant to. For all I know, “A Tender Age” could be a great book, and given the breath and space that a novel can take, perhaps all of these pieces tie together and it plays like a fine-tuned song. But in the end, this just hammers home to me that not every story should be a short story.

  • Short Story Review: “Process of Elimination” by Saïd Sayrafiezadeh

    (The short story “Process of Elimination” by Saïd Sayrafiezadeh appeared in the May 4th, 2026 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Illustration by Jake Hollings

    There was a moment when I was reading Saïd Sayrafiezadeh’s “Process of Elimination” that I had to ask myself if it was possible to have a reliable narrator in a story who is completely unreliable because of the situation they find themselves in? On one hand, that doesn’t feel so much like a question, but more like an unsolvable literary riddle. But on the other hand, having this conundrum of a narrator kept me on my toes reading this story, happily figuring out which situations were and were not misinterpretations.

    The story follows a guy who unfortunately has the same first name of one of the Boston Marathon bombers, and that terrorist attack plays in the background of the piece. This guy is a recent hire at coffee shop which is located on a university campus in a New England, two states away from Boston. As the story begins, our narrator is informed that he is about the be fired from this job. At first he assumes this termination is due to a missing tip jar, but it is also implied that his name might be part of the reason.

    What I enjoyed about the protagonist is how normally flawed he is as a person. Maybe a little too eager to please, a little lazy, and perhaps prone to “get out over his skis” when it comes to events, but not a bad guy. He does his best in the situation he finds himself in, a minor crisis of employment and unemployment, trying to figure out what events, statements, actions are connected, and what actions he should take next. And when he receives a resolution that he desired months later; he is faced with the fact that he truly didn’t understand all the factors coming into play with his termination. There is a nice O. Henry touch of irony there with his guilt, and a wonderful last line to the story, that gave me a laugh as the narrator had failed up.

    “Process of Elimination” is another solid story from Saïd Sayrafiezadeh in The New Yorker, and I do commend his skill of working in several different tangents to this piece, to build a layered theme, tone, and setting. This wasn’t a “big” dramatic story, and there is a nice mix of humor in this piece as well, but it touches on the dramas and crises that make up our day to day lives which unfold while larger events develop around us; perhaps even unintentionally influencing our actions? Seems like a rather timely story, if you ask me.

  • Personal Review: “First Person Singular” by Haruki Murakami

    I got The Elephant Vanishes when it first came out in the US, and for years I loaned that book out. In fact, I have bought three copies of it, and currently, I will need to go and buy a fourth copy. It makes me happy when I see that one of Haruki Murakami short stories in The New Yorker, and at bookstores, I gravitate to his name in the fiction section, just to see what they have. So, I am a big fan of Haruki Murakami, and for that reason, this personal review will be biased.

    You have been warned.

    I purchased First Person Singular about a year ago, and I am embarrassed to say this, but I read it slowly over the past four months. Normally, I try to read a book, especially one of his, as fast as possible, as I do have a stack of books calling my name. Yet, this time around, this book sat on the end table in my livingroom. Occasionally it would call out to me, but on the whole, I read a story here and there, in a very leisurely way. That’s not to say that the stories weren’t engaging, I just never felt the urge with this collection to finish it now. It was more like, “We’re here when you need us.”

    What I love most about Murakami is how effortlessly he can move between contemporary realism, then switch to surrealism. With other writers who write in these two worlds, it becomes pretty clear as to why they choose these two styles; contemporary realism is the “drama” story, and the surrealism is the “comedy” story. Murakami keeps you on your toes, never sure which will be which. It makes his works fresh and unpredictable.

    First Person Singular is made up of eight stories, and, you guessed it, each story is told in first person singular. It’s a “wink wink, nudge nudge” kind’a title; a little joke which Murakami wants to make sure we’re in on. It is implied, in almost every story, that the first person is Murakami himself, but I am not one to jump on that boat. This is fiction after all, and he wouldn’t be the first writer to create the illusion that what you are reading is actually based on real events. By doing that, creating this illusion of honesty, it makes the stories feel more intimate, and that Murakami is talking to us as a friend.

    I want to take a moment of select three of the stories to highlight. The first is “On a Stone Pillow” which recounts, for lack of a more nuanced description, a one-night stand. But this isn’t a story so much about sex, as it is about intimacy and connection. The two people find themselves yearning after others, but in this one moment find solace in each other. I found their honestly with each other melancholic, and devastating in the ways the heart can love and break. “Confessions of a Shinagawa Monkey” is one of Murakami’s surreal stories, as there is a talking monkey in it. Yet, this was another story on the contemplation of love, and living in a world where you cannot fit in. The last story I want to mention is “The Yakult Swallows

    Poetry Collection,” about the love of following an awful baseball club, and finding creativity in such devotion. It rang very true to me, being a Cubs fan and all.

    What all of these stories, but these three especially, hammered home to me was the different forms love and connection can take. The moments that we share with people, some fleeting, some for a lifetime, and how they can affect us for years to come. The skill that Murakami displays as a writer is giving these characters an emotional weight in their worlds, which in some cases elevates them to understandings, and others pulls down into listlessness. Murakami does this by creating a tone, and a very specific mood, which is not unlike music. (Which is funny because other stories in this collection revolve around music.)

    It does make me wonder, as First Person Singular was written in Japanese (props to Philip Gabriel’s translation) how all of these touches and folds of nuances play out in its original language? It a question of pure curiosity, and not one that I actually need answered. I wonder this because, Murakami’s work makes me feel that the world he creates is a place of quiet contemplation, and internalizing the events that make up our lives. That to live and experience life is a gift on its own. Then to take those experiences, digest and acknowledge them, appreciate them, is another gift we receive in this world.

    Maybe, in a weird way, I read First Person Singular the way Haruki Murakami intended me to. I took my time, didn’t rush it, and allowed myself to enjoy at my own pace, so I could contemplate it at my own speed.

  • Short Story Review: “A Private View” by Douglas Stuart

    (The short story “A Private View” by Douglas Stuart appeared in the April 20th, 2026 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Illustration by Karolis Strautniekas

    Douglas Stuart’s “A Private View” reminds me of the short stories that The New Yorker used to publish back in the 50’s and 60’s. (This is meant as a compliment, FYI…) Those stories of old were all set in fabulously wonderful Manhattan, the characters had fascinating jobs in the arts, the stories took place in some social event or interaction, and everybody had lots of baggage. There was a strange comfortability in those old short stories, yet I would never call them predictable, as they seemed to project a New Yorker contemporary literary ideal. In this light, reading “A Private View” was the equivalent of reading on a rainy day in a warm sweater drinking a cup of coffee.

    This was a story that did lull me in. Perhaps I should admit that I am a sucker for stories about mothers and sons. The more troubled the better, and for that reason, I wasn’t paying strict attention to the story, and just let it easily roll and unfold before me. Also, with characters that were from Texas, it was almost too much up my alley.

    With all of that, I still have to say that I appreciated that this was a story that wasn’t afraid to take it’s time, flesh out the characters, and sprinkle the little clues on the edges of the frame. I also enjoyed Stuart’s use of the art show and the sculptures of the stations of the cross, and his descriptions of the contemporary figures that were worked in. It played wonderful with the theme of the story, and also provided a very fertile Gen-X visual vocabulary of childhood characters that still seem to flourish in the imaginations of people of a certain age.

    But what struck me as the most honest and true aspect of the story was the relationship between mother and son, and the satellite of the sister as well. It was palatable how uncomfortable all these relationships were with each other, and also understandable why each of the siblings made the choices that they did. One couldn’t stand to be disappointed anymore, and the other couldn’t let go. Perhaps the son was closer in personality to his mother, or perhaps the sister made her decision to let go, and the son had to hold on.

    I am keeping this review vague as I don’t want to give away anything in this story, but clearly I feel you should read it. Especially read it as Stuart does an excellent job with the climax, and the dénouement. Though heartbreaking, I found protagonist decision at the end of the story melancholy in its acknowledgement of the truth. A truth was needed, for this hero had been on this journey for some time, and it was time for him to move on.