Tag: The New Yorker

  • Short Story Review: “Long Island” by Nicole Krauss

    (The short story “Long Island” by Nicole Krauss appeared in the May 22nd, 2023 issue of The New Yorker.)

    (I’m gun’na try not to, but beware of SPOILERS!)

    Illustration by Javi Aznarez

    There are no rules to writing. None. Whoever told you that you had write something in a certain way was lying to you. You can write whatever you want, about anything you want… provided you are good at it.

    Such as, you can’t start a story with a huge run-on sentence, and then spend the next couple of paragraphs just describing things with no narrative direction.

    Sure you can. Nicole Krauss did it in her story “Long Island.”

    Maybe it was supposed to be a “memory” story, because it’s not like this was stream of consciousness, but the story had the feeling of a memoir, what life was like out on Long Island in the late 70’s. This is a story of memory, experience, and all stirred up with a healthy bit of reflection and comparison.

    I enjoyed this piece of fictional nostalgia; of a time and a place that will not exist anymore. An upper middle-class family that lived in Sutton Place, who bought and renovated an estate on a hill, and then moved into this suburban world. There is nothing normal or average about this family – they are privileged due to their money, but are presented here as normal, mainstream and as average as anyone else. But when you are a kid, you just assume the way you live is that – normal, and like everyone else. Krauss doesn’t labor this point, but only on reflection of this story, did it dawn on me. This story lulled me, and I enjoyed that aspect.

    I like how the excuse to leave New York City for the suburbs was to escape the crime in the city. Yet, the neighborhood they moved into is filled with criminals. At least the socially acceptable gossipy kind of criminals who commit their crimes behind closed doors, and are dutifully punished. Yet, the narrator understands that this just the crime they know about.

    I was entertained by this story. This wasn’t life changing fiction, but it didn’t waste my time. I like how Krauss compared her disinterested parents parenting with her generations over parenting, and how neither system seems to be creating better children. Yet both generation of parents tried in their own ways to keep the evils of the world at bay. In the end, a form of evil always found its way in.

    Nicole Krauss crafted a story that didn’t follow the hero cycle, or a traditional plot/climax formula. What functioned as the rise in action/climax made sense with the story’s logic, which worked well to give the piece a release of tension that created the felling of resolution. Now, it did have a “Dead Chick in the Basket*” last paragraph, which I don’t want to say too much about as to not spoil the story, but I don’t think it added anything to the ending or point of the story. But that’s my only criticism here.

    In the end, “Long Island” played with form and story, and kept me engaged and on my toes. And it made me think about parents and how they tried their best. And it also reminded me that when you are a good writer, there are no rules if you can tell a good story.

    *  “Dead Chick in the Basket” refers to a clichéd writing device where the final paragraph of a short story contains new information about a character which is meant to make the reader view the actions, statements, or feelings of that character in a different light. The first known use of this device was in J.D. Salinger’s short story “Just Before the War with the Eskimos.”

  • Not the Dream I Wanted

    I don’t remember my dreams. Or, it’s very rare that I remember a dream. When I do remember one, what sticks with me is an image, or a feeling. People and places will be there, but it’s like everything is frozen in a moment that I am very much aware has events that happened before this frozen moment, and sometimes, I even know what will happen after. It’s all very strange.

    The rarest dream that I have is the full-blown narrative, and interaction with people. That’s what happened to me last night. And it was awful.

    I dreamed about people I used to work with, and not the friendly and good people who became my friends. No, I dreamt about all the awful people that I didn’t get along with, or who went out of their way to make my employment as unenjoyable as possible. In this dream, I was holding open a door to a church so people could enter. And then all of my former co-workers showed up, and refused to go through the door I was holding open. They didn’t say anything to me, just made eye contact, and then went to a different door. The overwhelming feeling I was getting was that when I went to work on Monday, I was going to get fired.

    Yeah, it was a terrible dream, and what made the dream worse was when I woke up, I thought the dream was real, and I had to get up and go to that job. It took a second for me to come out of it, knowing that I didn’t have an office to report to, but that feeling of dread and anxiety has been hung all over me this morning.

    Dread and anxiety is what I felt when I went into the office most days. Some of it was caused by the people I worked with, who starred in my dream. But, most of it was caused by me. Most days, as I packed myself on a subway car, listening to music and reading The Times or New Yorker on my phone – doing my best to shut out the world on my commute – I would wonder if this would be another day wasted? That if this was a job that was slowly killing me; sucking out my ambition and drive and all the reasons why I wanted to move away from home and try something different. As I get more space and time to reflect on my office days, I can see that some of the issues I had were me not being happy with the situation I placed myself in. Don’t get me wrong – the shitty people were still shitty people, but I allowed them to get to me for far too long.

    But that’s the point of reflection, right? To learn lessons from your own life and actions. What I now know is that when I sense those feelings of dread and anxiety, I need to get the hell out of that situation. Odds are that I will return to an office one day, and if I do, I know the warning signs to watch out for.

    That’s progress.

    But I can’t figure out why I was at a church in the dream…

  • Short Story Review: “The Plaza” by Rebecca Makkai

    (The short story “The Plaza” by Rebecca Makkai appeared in the May 8th, 2023 issue of The New Yorker.)

    (SPOLIERS should be expected, but not intended.)

    Sometimes I just want to read a good old-fashioned short story, like from that Post WWII/1950’s period when writers could make a living publishing stories in magazines. These are the stories that are aligned more to the entertaining fair, rather than deep expressions of artistic ambition. Don’t get me wrong, at heart I’m an arty-farty experimental writing guy. Yet, now and then, it is refreshing to read something that came from the period when America was establishing what would become Modern literature.

    When I started reading “The Plaza” by Rebecca Makkai, she took me right to that place and era, not only of literature, but of that specific New York City of old. Makkai did a particular perfect job of making The Plaza of her story matches The Plaza that only exists in the fantasy world of American literature and theatre; a playground for the well off, where any desire or request will be met by the concierge, bellhops and maids. And fantasy is correct for this story.

    “The Plaza” concerns Margie, who is a local beauty in a small town along the upper Delaware River, who at twenty-three is a waitress at a hotel for men who fish the river on vacation. It is there that she meets Alistair Baldwell, a rich young man from New York City, and his Yale friends who are there for the fishing. Soon, Alistair and Margie are together, and before he leaves, he suggests that she should come to visit him in New York. After some time, she does, and he puts her up in a room at The Plaza, and from there, their lives change, including their names. She becomes Margaret, and he becomes Ally. An unexpected pregnancy complicates the situation, but Ally’s answer is for Margaret to take a suite at The Plaza, which Ally’s company pays for, and they secretly wed. And clearly more happens.

    As I said before, this story feels like a complete throw back to what magazine American literature from the Post War period felt like. The sweep, the characters, the vast amount of time covered, and a New York City that feels peacefully wonderful and safe. And this story could exist on that simple homage level, and it would be fine. But what Makkai does expertly here is bring in a delightful undercurrent of allusion and realism. The realism of mounting lies, and the destruction of trust. I also found Margaret’s relationship with her father and brothers painfully honest, giving a clear understand of her motivations in life. But it is the allusion of the fairy tale; a princess locked away in a castle. But also, the feeling of Margaret creating her own fairy tale/fantasy in the world that she finds herself in. All of these pieces swirl together, creating a very textured and entwined story.

    In the end, I found “The Plaza” to be an entertaining story, which fooled me into thinking, at first, that it was just an old styled story. Such is the power of a good writer. What is on display is a writer who understands what made those old stories work so well, while still staying modern and fresh with the narrative, which creates something wholly new.

  • The South Bank Show – Discussing Art

    I am not as disciplined as I would like to be. I say this because last night I was going to be a good boy – watch a little tv, and then finish reading Rachel Cusk’s new short story in The New Yorker.

    But then my brain says to me; It says, “You remember the theme song to The South Bank Show?”

    “I do,” I says. “I think it was written by Andrew Lloyd Webber, of all people.”

    “You should look that up.”

    “I will, and, switching subjects here, a good night’s sleep is for losers.”

    “Tell me about it.”

    So, YouTube has a shit ton of South Bank Show videos. And I hope you know what I am talking about. See, back in the early 90’s when BRAVO was the greatest cable channel for the arts and people who couldn’t sleep, they would show the documentary series The Show Bank Show which was originally broadcast on ITV in Great Britain. The show covered all subjects that had to do with art and pop culture. You could get an episode on Gore Vidal, and then one about The Talking Heads. For a very impressionable junior high kid, these shows were mind altering because they exposed me to different viewpoints, and arts, and lifestyles, things that I would never run into living in the suburbs outside of Dallas.

    I found the intro music of The South Bank Show (It was in fact written by Andrew Lloyd Webber for his brother, a cellist, Julian Lloyd Webber. Here’s a full version of the song) and here is a compilation of all the intro versions. (The 1989-1990 is my favorite.) Just hearing the music again, and seeing the animation, I was reminded how I would get a genuine deep curiosity thrill of what was about to be shown on that program. For that thirteen-year-old me, I was being shown a world of creativity that I knew must exist, but was just beyond my fingertips. It was a world that I wanted to be in, and that show made me feel like it was completely accessible.

    I decided that I couldn’t just stop at the theme song, and I should watch an episode. I went with the one on Steve Martin, which I remember seeing way back when. It’s when Martin was transitioning out of his “Wild and Crazy Guy” persona, and was beginning to make smarter comedies, such as Roxanne and LA Story. The documentary gave him a good platform to explain how his “crazy” persona was more like a comedy experiment where he was trying to write jokes that were just funny, and didn’t have traditional punchlines or set ups. I read his memoir, Born Standing Up, which covered his start in comedy, to when he quit doing standup, and he goes into more detail on his reasoning and thought process of what makes a joke work. What I took away then, as I did now, was how smart Steve Martin is, and how he knows the balance of thinking about, but not over thinking, comedy.

    See. Stuff like that is what makes The South Bank Show still interesting to watch. How the art and the artist are entangled, and what they go through, and how they view the world around them.

    I got about five hours of sleep last night.

  • Short Story Review: “Alisa” by Lyudmila Ulitskaya (Translated from the Russian, by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky.)

    (The short story “Alisa” by Lyudmila Ulitskaya appeared in the April 3rd, 2023 issue of The New Yorker.)

    (Yes, I will SPOIL this story.)

    Illustration by Golden Cosmos

    The story “Alisa” by Lyudmila Ulitskaya is translated from the Russian, by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky. But I’m pretty sure you knew that from the title of this post. When it comes to translated works, I often wonder how different the piece sounds in its original language. In college, I read three different translations of “The Cherry Orchard” and though the plot stayed the same, the tone of each version was radically different. This was a thought that crossed my mind as I read “Alisa.”

    “Alisa” is a tight little story that I found myself drawn into quickly. The piece focuses on Alisa, a woman who is in nearly perfect health at sixty-four. She lives alone, has no family, and after a brief fainting spell, begins to think that she would rather commit suicide than get to the point where she will need someone to take care of her. She finds a doctor whom she asks for sleeping pills, and she is honest with her intentions. The doctor, Alexander, doesn’t agree right away, but soon they start on a relationship that leads to them getting married. I want to leave it there, though I will spoil the story a little later, I want to leave a few surprises for you.

    What impressed me with this story was that it went in two different directions, and tied up wonderfully together. This was a well-structured, and built story. At first I thought I was getting the tried and true “reason to live” story, such as Alisa wants to die, but then she finds love and wants to live. And she does find love, with those moments of between her and Alexander being very poignant and tender. As their love grows, Alisa never forgets that even with a commitment of marriage, nothing lasts forever. So, when Alexander is killed in a car crash on his way to the hospital to see his daughter and new granddaughter, the surprise is in how he died, but not that he died. Ulitskaya did a very good sleight of hand/misdirection of foreshadowing, laying out the clue, but not in the way you expected. And when Alisa decides to raise Alexander’s granddaughter, as the mother slips into mental illness and cannot take care of the child, there are clear moments that preceded this decision, where it was shone to us why Alisa would come to this conclusion. All of this leading to a satisfying conclusion where Alisa has grown and changed from where we first met her, while also allowing Alisa to retain a quality of her character that still hasn’t changed. Again, I don’t want to ruin the last line of the story, but it’s fits very well with the narrative and tone.

    Which gets me back to my first question about the translation and the original tone of the story. In this case, I didn’t find myself wonder if something was lost. The intention and tone were clear, and worked together in a very effective story. Maybe it was just a “reason to live” story, but I left feeling satisfied that Alisa got to have that time with Alexander, and that she was happy where her life had taken her.  

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