Tag: The New Yorker

  • Short Story Review: “Shelter” by Nicole Krauss

    (The short story “Shelter” by Nicole Krauss appeared in the October 3rd, 2022 issue of The New Yorker.)

    (Photograph by Elinor Carucci for The New Yorker)

    What are the two biggest cliché subjects in literature? Boys at boarding school, and middle aged men dealing with middle age. It once used to be like you couldn’t swing a dead cat without hitting one of these novels at a bookstore, but it now does feel like things are beginning to change. I mean, I get it. Long ago, the only people who would get published and did the publishing were middle aged men who all went to boarding school, so they produced what related to them.

    When I started reading “Shelter” by Nicole Krauss, and it dawned on me that our main character was a middle-aged man, dealing with being a middle aged man, I did get a little nervous. Was this about to be a story about a dopey, middle aged man that grasps for some meaning and purpose to his life, as per the cliché? The bad news is that the main character is that cliché, but the good news is that Nicole Krauss taps into an emotional base that gives an authenticity to that character.

    The story is that Cohen, our middle-aged man from New York, is in Tel Aviv for a business trip. There is a pregnant woman across the hall in the building where his AirBnB is, and we know that these two characters will become interconnected. For Cohen, who is dealing with his feelings of uselessness in his job and marriage, he has been self-medicating with different drugs, which have led to different levels of effectiveness, but end up costing him his bag which is stolen while on the beach during in a euphoric haze. Waiting back at the building for a new set of keys, the neighbor goes into labor, and Cohen helps out, thus finding a purpose. And then more stuff happens.

    While reading this story, I never had a doubt where it was going, and it did land where I thought it would. But, I found Krauss’ insights into Cohen’s motivations, thoughts, and his feelings while high, resonated with me. Even in a respect, I identified with Cohen a little. The feeling of being useless, and having lived enough of a life to know that you used to be useful, but somehow can’t figure out how to get back there. How being comfortable, which seemed to be the goal, actually is the thing that killed one’s ambition. The story stayed light, even comical, but still had an emotional weight to it. A nice feat of writing, I might add.

    I really like stories like this. It made me rethink that cliché that I had written off as meaningless.

    (Furthermore, if this blog spurred an inkling of enjoyment, even mirth, then if I may request that you reciprocate with a like, share, comment, or by-golly, start following it. That would bring a genuine smile to a face that might be mine.)

  • Personal Review: “Norwegian Wood” by Haruki Murakami

    I first heard of Haruki Murakami somewhere in 1995 or 1996, when I read a translated short story of his in The New Yorker. I’m pretty sure it was “The Zoo Attack,” and I think it was all tied into the article about the upcoming publication of his novel, “The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle.” The short story made enough of an impression on me that I went to the local bookstore, and found a copy of his short story collection, “The Elephant Vanishes.” I mean I read it almost 25 years ago, but I remember that the collection was great; funny, surreal, and feeling very honest. Murakami does a great job on creating these fantastical stories where the characters reactions to this unreal situations land true and authentic. (Other surreal short story writers could learn a great deal from this man.) He is a great talent, truly a world talent.

    And there was one novel of his that for a long time, you couldn’t get in English; “Norwegian Wood.” Being a huge Beatles fan, the title of the novel always stuck with me, clearly, because it’s one of their more famous songs. Published in 1987, this was the novel that made Haruki Murakami a famous author and household name in Japan. Whenever anything was written about him, “Norwegian Wood” was always mentioned as his best novel. Sadly, being that there wasn’t an English translation until 2000 of the novel, in the late 90’s, it fell off my radar as a novel I had to read. Every now and then, I would see the title show up on reading lists of writers, and friends, and I would think, I need to read that book.

    Then back in April, when I took the kid with me down to The Strand to go book hunting, I found a huge stack of paperback copies of “Norwegian Wood” sitting on a cart that I am sure had yet to be shelved. Looking at the cover, I thought it’s time for me to read it. And when September rolled around, I finally got around to it.

    I liked the novel, but I wasn’t as impressed as I thought I would be. I had read that this book was a “normal” and “straight-forward” story, and not at all in the surreal vein of his earlier stories, and that was very true. It was a memory story, and used that formula. Toru, the narrator, is on a flight and he hears the song, “Norwegian Wood” as the plane is taxing to the gate in Hamburg, Germany. This song causes him to remember the time in his life where he had just started college, and first fell in love. Thus sets in motion the story, and Toru tells us that though he hasn’t thought of these events in years, the memories come back to him in vivid detail. It was a little caveat trick that Murakami used to give agency as to why the narrator is so detailed in his memories, and also to signal to us that what we are about to hear from the narrator is the truth.

    The setting is 1969 Tokyo, and all the cultural changes that come with it. I liked learning that the upheavals that hit universities in the US and France during this period, also hit Japan as well, but Toru seems to exist just adjacent of all of this turmoil. It is a lonely life this very normal young man lives; living in a dorm, going to class, working a part-time job. Soon he reconnects with the Naoko, who had been the girlfriend of his best friend, Kizuki, in high school. We learn that Kizuki had committed suicide their senior year, and this tragic loss still hangs over both of their lives. Though they come together, they both handle the death in different ways, and with different compounding struggles.

    The novel is more complicated, and there is a theme of loyalty, duty, and commitment as well. But also, the desire to go into the world and experience and discover. I can see why the “coming of age” moniker would get thrown on this story, but I feel that is more used for marketing that an actual description of what the novel is. The characters didn’t feel like they were coming into their own, but discovering how the death of a loved one can change the prism of their world, and viewpoint; some felt guilt, some felt relief, some had a rebirth.

    But as I write all of this, and I just finished reading it yesterday, I have this feeling in the back of my head that I need more time with the novel kicking around in my head. Let it marinate, and see where it takes me. Though it wasn’t as profound as I thought it would be, it hasn’t shaken my opinion of Haruki Murakami’s talent or status as an author.

    (And, since you are still here. Please be kind, and give a like, a share, a comment, or follow this blog. It drives the traffic engine that keeps the whole world running.)

  • Short Story Review: “Easter” by Caleb Crain

    (The short story “Easter” by Caleb Crain appeared in the September 26th, 2022 issue of The New Yorker.)

    (Photograph by Ana Cuba for The New Yorker)

    (I SPOIL EVERYTHING!)

    The short story “Easter” by Calen Crain is set in Ft. Worth, TX, so my interest in this story was peaked rather early. Set in the recent past, or at least before cd Walkmen players, this story has no reason to be set in the recent past, or in Ft. Worth, TX. It could take place anywhere, and take place as far back as 1967, if you replace the Walkman with a turntable.

    It’s not a badly written story, as it does contain one really great line in it, which I will point out in a minute, yet this work taps on just enough modern short story clichés that it did make me roll my eyes.

    The protagonist, Jacob, smokes pot, which appears to be the literary go-to action to show that a character is lost. Besides smoking pot, Jacob has a shake in his hand. Jacob is travelling from Houston, where he was visiting a Harvard classmate, to Ft. Worth to spend time with his mother, grandmother, and his retired doctor and elderly grandfather. Once all are together, granddad notices Jacob’s shake and offers to prescribe a drug to help him. After going to a specific pharmacy, and dinner, the family returns to the grandparents’ home, and settles in. Jacob is called to his grandfather’s bed, where the grandfather is unable to speak to him. In the morning, the grandfather has died in his sleep, and Jacob’s mother wants to know why there is a bottle of pills in the grandfather’s room with Jacob’s name on it. Then we jump to a new section where Jacob and his Harvard friend are driving out of Houston to go shoot guns in the country, because doing something new that might kill you is fun.

    Sadly, Jacob is the least interesting person in the story, and it isn’t a “charming” not interesting. Much time is spent on him being high, even showing that he is bad and hiding that fact when he is around people. (I guess pot has become the replacement cliché that drinking used to be in the 50’s.) He is detached from the world around him and just seems to float from person to person, but we are never given a reason why he is this way. (The hand? Maybe.) The grandfather seems very interested in giving Jacob an opportunity to become something more than himself, which is shown in the comment and the prescription for the drug to help with the shake. But, you can’t build sympathy for an apathetic character who has access to great opportunities in life; Jacob goes to Harvard, and it also appears that this is not a family struggling for cash, so Jacob is just lazy and spoiled. (Cliché) And the grandfather is old, and this is a short story, so we all know that he’s going to die. (Cliché.) AND then, this story does that, “last section has nothing to do with the climax, but recalls a recent event in the past that ties the whole story together” thing. (Cliché.) [For the record: This end of story literary trick with the new section that comes out of nowhere and tries to tie the story together, it should have a name to identify it. I propose “Chick in the Wastebasket.” It’s the last line in “Just Before the War with the Eskimos” which I think is the first story I know of that used this trick.]

    It’s too bad because Crain’s writing is good, and the story contained a few phrases and observations that stood out. My favorite was in reference to the grandfather: “…old people are sometimes a little ruthless about their pleasures – about taking from the world they have survived into tokens that remind them of what they loved about the one they grew up in.” That’s good. That’s really good, and I noted it the second I read it. But one line, even a really great one, can’t save the boat here.

    (I have returned to the short story reviews, and I need your help. If you enjoy these takes that I have, please give a like, leave a comment, or share this post. Eustace Tilley would approve.)

  • BEST OF 2022: Short Story Review of “Wood Sorrel House” by Zach Williams

    (The short story “Wood Sorrel House,” by Zach Williams, Appeared in the March 21st, 2022 issue of The New Yorker.)

    (I see spoilers!)

    I do not know what to make of this story. I haven’t stopped thinking about the thing since I finished reading it, but I still can’t come up with what it’s all about. And this is meant as a compliment. If a story lives on in the reader’s mind, and does dissolve into forgotten nothingness as soon as they are finished with it, then that author has achieved something. I tip my hat to you Zach Williams; your story is taking up space in my brain.

    “Wood Sorrel House” is about a couple and a toddler seemingly trapped in a cottage in the woods. Days pass, they age, but the toddler does not. Each morning food and supplies are replenished in the house, thus allowing them to live in the cottage. The couple tries to figure out where they are and why they are there, and soon they discover the toddler is never able to get hurt.

    I have an ego, and some days I think I am smart, and when I started reading this story, I was like, “Oh, this is an absurdist styled story, and it’s a metaphor for death.” Because, if my college education taught me anything, it’s that absurdist/surrealist/modernist stories are all really about death. But as I kept reading, I began to doubt my ego-driven conclusion. Why was the snapping turtle killed? What happed when the male in the couple disappeared? What happened to the toddler when the woman went down to the lake for days at a time? Why did the couple age, and get injured, but the toddler was immune and also ageless?

    I found that this story was taping into emotional territories that made me react. Perhaps it’s because I’m a parent, but I kept feeling this sense of dread for the toddler, that something awful was going to happen. There was a sense of disgust in how the man went out a destroyed nature. And a sense of sorrow as the woman tried to make sense of all of it. I was reacting to this story, I was compelled by it, but I couldn’t make sense of it. If it wasn’t about death, what was it about? Was it the lack of logic? Things stayed the same at the cottage, but the outside world seemed to keep moving; not changing into something different, but just moving along. Was this a metaphor for dealing with Covid? Maybe it had no meaning, but that would make it about death, right? What was it?

    Like I said, I don’t know what to think about the story, but the story is making me think about what it could be about. That’s a pretty successful story.

  • BEST OF 2022: Short Story Review of “Annunciation” by Lauren Groff

    (The short Story “Annunciation,” by Lauren Groff appeared in the February 14th & 21st, 2022 issue of The New Yorker.)

    First of all, I am not related to Lauren Groff. Second, this is the first short story by her that I have read. And it was a good one to start with. From the first paragraph, I felt like I was on a journey, and was being guided by a person who knew how to unfold a story. If you haven’t pieced it together, I liked this story, and I am suggesting that you should read it. For that reason, I will forgo a synopsis of the piece, and give my reflections on it.

    Lauren Groff crafted a well-made short story. As it unfolded, I didn’t know where I was being taken, but after I finished, I could see the structure that held the story up. The opening, narrator development, introduction of characters, seemingly random incidents, rising action, climax, resolution, and even a denouement, which not too long ago I was complaining about the use of denouement in short stories. I mean, the title tied in to the denouement, as well. But the structure wasn’t the only admirable quality of the story.

    What I loved reading was about this narrator who was not perfect, who did struggle, and was still struggling. A person who had these moments, anecdotes even, that represented the life she led, and she still found herself thinking of these people, and the mysteries that never will be solved. And, this was a personal favorite of mine, the narrator was literary person without being a writer character. I fully believed that she was introspective, empathetic, and aware of the small details of the world she inhabited.

    But it was the theme, the through line, of motherhood that ran through the story that impressed me. Though I didn’t catch it as I was reading it, the denouement captured, and focused the theme for me. It made me reevaluate each of the women in the story, their form of motherhood, and how they are viewed or apricated by their children for what they do, or have done for them. This theme of motherhood didn’t fit neatly in a box, meaning that I didn’t feel the story was trying to say motherhood is “this way.” Mothers are all over the map; good, bad, wonderful, awful, secretive, open, all different and yet the same, somehow. And for some, motherhood takes a toll.

    That makes the story sound dark or overtly complex, but I found myself optimistic, and hopeful at the end of the story. Lauren Groff created a journey in this story, so we all came out on the other side different from this experience. I liked the world that this story is in, and the characters who inhabit it. Stories like this leave me feeling inspired; that short stories can express truths, and have weight. That they are worth reading and creating.