Tag: The New Yorker

  • Best of 2022 – Short Story Review: “What the Forest Remembers” by Jennifer Egan

    (The short story, “What the Forest Remember” by Jennifer Egan, appeared in the January 3rd & 10th, 2022 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Why did our parents do the things that they did? Why did my dad stop buying sports cars in the 70’s and then start buying station wagons? I can guess, which is that he started a family, and two door sports cars just aren’t practical for a growing family. That’s a logical answer, and most likely correct, but there is an outside chance it could be something else. Do I want to know his thought process as to why he made this decision when it came to cars? No. I want to believe he made that decision because he loved his family and it was the right thing to do. I would hate to know that he was guilted by my mother to give up his sports car for a station wagon, and he spent the rest of his life resenting her and his kids. It’s not a pleasant thought, but it is possible.

    I feel that was what Jennifer Egan was trying to tackle with her short story, “What the Forest Remembers,” which is a fun read. She tells the story of four men, three of which who are married with families, all living around the San Francisco area in 1965, who go on a trip to the wilderness around Eureka, CA. The point of the trip is to visit a marijuana farm/commune, experiment with grass, and have a good weekend. The crazy right turn of this story is that the narrator, Charlie, who is the daughter of Lou, one of the four men going on the trip, has access to the memories of her father, the rest of the men, and even some of the people at the commune. This is because Charlie exists in the near future where people have uploaded their memories into a Collective Consciousness, and thereby, one can review memories and thoughts of the past. It was a bit of a jarring twist, but it had a slight Vonnegut feel to it, so I went with it. I don’t want to spoil the story, but this trip plays an important role in the three married men’s lives.

    I had to read this story twice, because the first time through it, I just felt like I had missed something. The story and the writing is very, I think, charming is the best way to describe it, but the ending left me feeling unsatisfied. I sat on it for a day, and then decided I needed to take another crack at it. The second time through, I began to pick up on a little of the nuance of disappointment Charlie has with her father, which I found at odds with the concept of the story. If the premise is that Charlie can see and hear her father’s thoughts and memories, then there shouldn’t be any vagueness on her understanding of his intention and thought process of those decisions. There are moments and lines that are dropped by Charlie about her father’s thoughts towards her, that you would believe would be difficult for her to hear, but these thoughts are treated like adjectives in describing a person’s hair color. In fact, at one point in the story, Charlie rhetorically asks what should be done with this overload of information that comes from viewing a person’s memories? Which causes Charlie to state, “Not every story needs to be told.”

    And I think that is where my issue with this story lies; why is this being told? If Charlie is not affected by her father’s memories; they neither make her happy nor upset, then why is this being shared? If you remove Charlie and the Collective Consciousness database, then this is a story of a consequential weekend for three men in 1965. But Charlie and the database is in there, so the question must be asked, as to why? Shouldn’t Charlie and her feelings towards what happened be paramount to the story’s resolution? And that right there is why the story felt unsatisfying for me; what does Charlie think about all of this? It’s like a punch got pulled at the very end.

  • Best of 2022 – Short Story Review: “So Late in the Day,” by Claire Keegan

    (The short story “So Late in the Day,” by Claire Keegan appeared in the February 28th, 2022 issue of The New Yorker.)

    (And there are SPOILERS!)

    Character study, as a short story format, is one of those “classic” forms that’s taught in school; an analysis or portrayal in literature of the traits of character of an individual – so says Merriam-Webster. I find this form is used in the absence of a plot, as the “climax” of these stories usually is when the reader discovers the reason why the character behaves the way they did in the story.

    That’s what “So Late in the Day” basically is. We meet Cathal at his desk on July 29th, which is a wonderfully perfect weather day. He clearly is avoiding people, and even his boss suggest that he head home early, but Cathal prefers to finish out his day, per normal. After work he takes a bus home, and then the story starts to unfold his romance with Sabine. As this relationship is shared with us, we begin to see the faults in his character. When they decide to get married, and Sabine moves in with Cathal, we see his misogyny on display, which is also registered by Sabine. Then the reveal comes, and it turns out that July 29th was to have been their wedding day, which now has clearly been called off.

    Keegan’s writing is fine, and engaging. I found the character believable, and could see why they were attracted to each other, but the story still left me with the feeling that something was missing. I felt like the story wasn’t clear on what its intentions were for the reader. As a character study, it fit the mold – dude’s a misogynist, hence why his girl leaves. But, what are we supposed to feel about that? I don’t think the intention was to feel sorry for Cathal. He is upset with the situation he is in, but I don’t think he learned his lesson, which implies that this behavior will repeat. That’s unsatisfying. But, with Cathal being the focus, I feel that the intention was that Cathal should understand his responsibility in creating the situation that he is in, but I didn’t find that through line in the story. What I found was that Cathal wasn’t a good guy, but he wasn’t a bad one either. It was ambiguity, and that’s a tough one to end on for a character study.

    (Say, don’t forget to like this post, or share it, or leave a comment. I got bills to pay, you know.)

  • ODDS and ENDS: Adjunct Professor Strike, Christmas Trees, and What’s the Deal?

    (I say what I say…)

    There is a brewing movement underway being led by adjunct faculty and students. Hell Gate ran this story yesterday about students at the New School, here in New York City, joining the faculty strike, which has been going on for 23 days. If you didn’t know, University of California academic workers, have also been on strike. For far too long, adjunct professors, basically part-time teaching staff, and academic workers, who are teaching assistants, tutors, graduate student researchers and postdoctoral scholars, have been doing more and more of the actually teaching at universities. Across the country, full-time and tenured positions at universities have been shrinking, while at the same time administrative positions have been growing. I don’t think anyone will find it surprising that administrator salaries have been growing, while faculty pay has remained flat for years. A reckoning is coming. For the past forty years, American universities have become little corporations – making money and growing endowments comes first, and education is second. And to accomplish that, administrators have to keep their labor costs low. It has gone on for too long, and now faculties are pushing back. I see strikes like these growing and continuing in the coming years.

    Tomorrow, our Christmas Tree arrives. We ordered one, it’s fake, which was designed to fit specifically in small apartments. The base diameter is like 23” and it’s 6’ tall, so it’s a think pole of a tree. I can admit that that since we put up decorates after Thanksgiving, it really hasn’t felt like Christmas in the apartment, and that’s not really surprising. The Tree does tie the whole thing together.

    So, what’s the deal with all the views on my post: Short Story Review: “The Face in the Mirror” by Mohsin Hamid? When I originally posted it, I received 11 views which, for my humble little blog, was rather respectable. In the last two weeks, the same post has received 42 views, which is an outlier for me. So, what’s going on? If people are enjoying what I wrote, then that’s cool, but being that this blog is, well, little, then I find it odd when people notice it. Or is this just a bunch of bots screwing with me?

    (INSERT JOKE ABOUT LIKING THIS BLOG.)

  • Short Story Review: “My Wonderful Description of Flowers” by Danielle Dutton

    (The short story “My Wonderful Description of Flowers” by Danielle Dutton appeared in the December 5th, 2022 issue of The New Yorker.)

    (I can’t help it; I spoil this story…)

    Photograph by Ioulex for The New Yorker

    I have been getting into short short stories, and flash fiction. What I am enjoying about these smaller works is that is that I feel like most of the writers are playing with the short story form, and experimenting with what can work when it comes to narrative. Maybe this is a reflection of the digital age, and texting – use as few words as possible and get to the point.

    “My Wonderful Description of Flowers” by Danielle Dutton is not a flash fiction piece, but for The New Yorker, it is a shorter short story at just three pages. There is no plot to this story, and I think that was purposeful. The story functions like a dream, and in the first paragraph, the narrator tells us that her husband had a dream, though he very rarely dreams. And with that framing, the story is on its way. There are a few narrative threads, or lines that weave in and out of the story; the husband not returning a text message, their child playing a video game that doesn’t seem to be like any type of normal game, a lecture and reception, a stranger who had corresponded with the narrator, and then a train ride that leads to the end of the line.

    The prose is lovely, light, and ethereal in the sense that it flows back and forth from narrative threads, which could only work together in a dream. What keeps the narrative moving forward is the growing frustration with the messages not being returned, and the train literally running toward the end of the line. These two threads do function as the device that creates the rising action, so the story has the feeling of a plot, or at least that a climax is coming. Dutton has created this frame for the story to live in, and then she goes on to fill spaces with movements, gestures, actions and observations. It’s a wonderful experiment in testing what a narrative can be, and be used to hold a story together. And like a good guest, the story knows not to overstay its welcome, and gives an ending that isn’t climatic, but is satisfying as it fits within the atmosphere of this dream-like world.

    (Hey! Thanks for making it to the end of this review. If you are enjoying my posts, please take a moment to hit the like button. To quote Mark Twain, “Likes are the currency of the internet.”)

  • Short Story Review: “Returns” by Annie Ernaux (Translated from the French, by Deborah Treisman.)

    (The short story “Returns” by Annie Ernaux appeared in the November 14th, 2022 issue of The New Yorker.)

    (Yes, I will SPOIL this story.)

    Illustration by Sébastien Plassard

    The New Yorker publishing a shorty story by Annie Ernaux for this issues, is the equivalent of a company softball team bringing in a ringer to bat cleanup; Like this story was going to be bad. Such is the world of publishing a Nobel Prize winner writer.

    But why was it good?

    The story is simple, or, more like, is direct and to the point. Plot wise; Daughter comes to visit her elderly mother who lives alone. But the first sentence sets the tone for the piece succinctly:

    The last time I saw my mother at her home, it was July, a Sunday.

    Immediately, there is a feeling of sadness, mourning, even regret, coupled with Summer and a feeling of relaxation as it is a Sunday. We are loaded with emotional information that only us and the writer know. We have been made a confidant as well as a witness as to what will follow.

    The story is told in three sections, three acts. The first, the introduction of the setting and characters, as well as showing that there is some awkwardness between the mother and visiting daughter. The second section goes deeper into the awkwardness between mother and daughter, showing that the teenaged years were difficult and filled with fights and screaming. These are two people trying to make amends; the mother wanting to daughter to stay longer – offering gooseberries -, but the daughter is willing to leave early if the conversation lags. And the third section, the narrator acknowledges that the mother has no power over her anymore. The memories of the narrator’s former life come back to her, again showing that she was unhappy there, and wanted to leave. Then a stray cat arrives, which the mother feeds and allows to stay, and for a short time the mother and daughter find a subject of conversation. And then the climax, the daughter goes to leave, but the mother gives her a form she needs help filling out, but the daughter refuses to do it at that time. The daughter promises to fill it out and send it back to her mother at a later date, which upsets the mother. Then the narrator describes leaving the town, and how the places fade behind her in the distance. Finally, we learn the mother soon suffers sunstroke and is admitted to the local hospital. When the daughter returns to the home, she finds the gooseberries in the refrigerator that she forgot to take, but now the berries are spoiled and brown, liquid lump.

    This story flows easily like water in a stream; it gently takes you where it wants to go. It moves so well, that all the little tricks to elicit an emotional response are but ripples on the narrative. We know that death is coming from the first line, and short stories love dealing with death, but Ernaux talks about death by not saying death. It is hinted and lingers in the background of what is to follow. As the story continues, there is the tension between the mother and daughter, shown by the slight bickering about locking the front door. Moving deeper in, we learn the reasons for this tension, knowing that this is not something that is easily overcome. But these two don’t hate each other, as when the cat arrives, we see that they can connect and share. But as we know, all visits must end, and we see how the mother tries to prolong their time. By this point, we understand each characters motivations, what they want, and how they cannot give the other what they need. The melancholy comes through these passages. These are the last moments, and this last interaction isn’t acrimonious, but also not affectionate either. This is the parting one has when you believe there will be another Sunday, and another chance to make up for lost time. It is all implied, and never directly spoken. And as the daughter rides the train home, and she does love her mother, from her description of leaving, we know that she doesn’t want to be there. And when the end of the story arrives, as we knew it would, the gooseberries in the fridge serve as the button for the story; the lost opportunity that withered and died.

    In talented hands, storytelling seems so simple and effortless. Breaking this story down, examining it, it’s like I can hear the important notes that Ernaux is hitting in the middle of this melody of a story. It is impressive, this level of skill.

    Annie Ernaux doesn’t need my endorsement, but she is a ringer.

    (Speaking of which; Yes, that’s right; Speaking of which, if you have enjoyed what you read, take a moment to give a like, or a share, leave a comment, or follow this blog. Not only does it help my standing, but it will help agents verify that I have a following.)