Tag: The New Yorker

  • Best of 2023 – Short Story Review: “The Soccer Balls of Mr. Kurz” by Michele Mari (Translated, from the Italian, by Brian Robert Moore.)

    (The short story “The Soccer Balls of Mr. Kurz” by Michele Mari appeared in the May 29th, 2023 issue of The New Yorker.)

    (This story will be SPOILED, so beware!)

    Illustration by Guido Scarabottolo

    The old “losing your ball over the fence” story. It’s nice to know that boys in other countries have this issue as well. Seems like most kids grow up with this situation – the ball goes over the fence, and it is never seen again. Then the imagination takes over allowing wild stories to be created of the owner of the yard, and their dark evil soul, for only the vilest of humans would refuse to return a ball. I would say, “The Sandlot” comes to mind for most people when you talk about this situation. And it is a wonderful premise/structure/metaphor to address youth, nostalgia, coming of age, and a host of other ideas that writers have when they create stories about boys.

    Michele Mari’s story, “The Soccer Balls of Mr. Kurz,” in essence is no different. Here the boys are in a boarding school playing soccer, and one of their goals abuts against a wall that belongs to Mr. Kurz’s backyard. When a soccer ball goes over the wall, Mr. Kurz, though polite about it, does not return the ball. Out of complete frustration, the boys hatch a plan to send one of their own over the wall to retrieve the balls.

    Though a predictable plot, Mari’s story does rise above the cliché. This narrative exists in a world of nostalgia, and I wouldn’t say the narrator is unreliable, but he does take some liberties with the truth, and in a very funny speech given by one of the boys, acknowledges this liberty. What this creates is a very charming world that these boys exist in, where their desire to have a fair and regular soccer match becomes the most important concern in their lives.

    I did have two minor issues with the story. First was the delivery of backstory, especially the rules that govern how the boys acquire new soccer balls. Most of this story, information is given directly to the reader from the narrator, but in this one situation, the boys explain the rules to each other. It felt clunky, and didn’t fit with the overall flow of the story. The second, and this is very nit-picky, is that I don’t know a single European male who speaks English that calls “soccer” soccer; it’s football. In Italy, the term is “calcio” which means “kick.” This makes me believe that this was a translation decision. Soccer is an American used term, and in this setting, it left a taste in my mouth that the story was “Americanized.”

    Now, what drew me in with this story was the well-executed climax. One of the boys does go over the wall late at night/early morning only to discover what Mr. Kurz has been doing to the balls, as well as how he spends his time in that yard. I’m trying to not spoil this, so forgive my vagueness, but when this boy receives a new ball from his father, and does what he does with it, all of the threads of this story are tied nicely together. I appreciated that Mari used that final moment to show this boy’s new understanding of the world. How the boy was essentially still the same, but his viewpoint of the world had expanded. That this boy knows he is now part of a moment in time.

  • Best of 2023 – 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. Years pass and two orphans, and boy and a girl, from a local church come to live with him. Years pass, and then one day a man passes through the valley looking for his uncle that went missing, 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. Soon the children run away, leaving Tongsu alone again. Years pass, and the story picks up with the girl, Eunhae, now living in a city and working in a hotel. 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 that Tongsu would snap one day and beat 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 like how this was a story about fading memories, and what we chooses 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.

  • Best of 2023 – Short Story Review: “Different People” by Clare Sestanovich

    (The short story “Different People” by Clare Sestanovich appeared in the January 30th, 2023 issue of The New Yorker.)

    (SPOILERS ahead!)

    Illustration by Jillian Tamaki

    I have been trying for some time to come up with a good introduction for this piece, but I have decided that the best way to open this is to say that I really, deeply enjoyed reading “Different People” by Clare Sestanovich. So much so that I just want to start talking about it.

    This was such a smart, honest, tactile story which allowed me to meet and spend time with three characters. This was a story where I enjoyed the journey it was on, and when the conclusion of the piece arrived, I was completely satisfied with how it all tied together, and ended the way that I knew it had to. This is the type of story that inspires me to write. It’s about people living their lives, and it is so cleverly constructed that the story never feels forced, or artificially fabricated.

    The story is about Gilly and her parents, Peter and Lisa, their divorce, how all of them change because of the divorce, and how Gilly begins to see her parents as people. But, it’s also about how one should beware of what they wish for. Or, it might also be about the need for security even as the world shifts under one’s feet. Or it might be about how one has to always grow and learn. Maybe it’s about how people hide in plain sight. Maybe. Maybe not.

    This story is divided up into six sections. Each of the sections are paced well, leading to a rise in the action, and then if not ending with a small climax of the section, it concludes with a “button.” And these buttons do a wonderful double duty of enlightening us on the characters in these sections, but also foreshadow upcoming events. Yet, this foreshadowing is so slight and sly that is seamlessly exists with the flow of the story, and doesn’t reek of a plot point.

    Also, I so enjoyed the very smart choices that Sestanovich made to develop her theme. I appreciated that the narrator doesn’t dwell often in the internal thoughts of any character, and allows actions to do the telling. Even a simple choice of having the parents referred to by their first names, which never puts the reader in the frame of thinking of these two people as parents first – Peter and Lisa remain adults. Thus, the reader sees the world as Gilly does – observing these two adults and how they react to this situation. All choices made by a writer that understands the craft of storytelling.

    I have read this story three, maybe four times now; it’s like a song I like listening to on repeat.  I still find these three characters compelling, and hope the best for them, if that makes sense. It’s also nice to be surprised by a well written story.

  • Short Story Review: “According to Alice” by Sheila Heti

    (The short story “According to Alice” by Sheila Heti appeared in the November 20th, 2023 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Illustration by Janet Hansen

    At the very end of “According to Alice” by Sheila Heti, there is an addendum which states:

    This story was written in collaboration with a customizable chatbot on the Chai AI platform, which Sheila Heti started engaging in conversation early in the summer of 2022. To create the story, she asked the chatbot questions, some of them leading and others open-ended, to which its answers were never more than a sentence long. Sometimes she repeated a question to get a new answer. She removed her side of the conversation and threaded together the chatbot’s answers, at times cutting and tweaking for comprehension and flow.

    So… this is an experimental short story. I love experimental, crazy, envelope pushing, outta left field short stories that play with form, structure, tone, format, and everything else. I like people who take the rules and throw them out the window and try something new. Sometimes it works and it’s amazing; sometimes it’s a dumpster fire of awful; but most of the time it’s just okay, but I value the effort. When it comes to “According to Alice,” as an experiment, it’s pretty cool as it raises many questions about literature and writers interacting with AI; as a story – it’s not very good.

    On the Experiment Side of Things: I have several friends that are in WGA, and the AI issue was a big part of the strike, and still an issue of trepidation for them. No one knows how, or if, AI will be a helpful tool for writers. Some are looking for ways to use AI, while others want to chase it out of town. So, to see Heti engage with AI is intriguing to me. Though from the addendum, it sounds more like Heti behaved like an interviewer, editing down the responses to create the story. If that is true, does that make her an editor? Or is she more like a collage artist? (Donald Barthelme did call collage the art form of the 20th Century. Maybe it’s being extended to the 21st?) I also had to wonder what writers had been feed into Chai AI’s learning to create the prose? (Being that ChatGPT stole many authors books for its “learning.”) If other author’s books were used in Chai AI, does Heti need to share credit with them? Does Chai AI also deserve credit as the writer of this story along with Heti? Also, how much editing and rearranging was needed to create this story? I see why The New Yorker printed this story for its “AI Issue” as it raises many ethical questions, as well as makes me wonder how much can a writer use AI and still call it “their” story? In the end, what makes someone, or something a creator?

    On the Story Side of Things: Yeah, I didn’t find the story to be very compelling. Oh, it moved along at a clip, but it never felt like it was going anywhere. Before I found out that it was “written” by AI, I had this thought that the story felt like what a freshman English major would write if they were asked to create an absurdist/surrealist short story. Sure, it has some jabs at Christianity and the Patriarchy, but I could never tell if these were meant to be honest criticism, or more an attempt at making a joke. The story, not surprising, doesn’t feel like there is a heart in it. And the fact that the AI element was revealed at the end, leads me to believe that I was supposed to think a human “wrote” this, only to have it revealed that it was written in conjunction with AI. That’s kind’a gimmicky, if I’m going to be honest. And also goes back to the ethical aspect; when does the audience need to know that AI was involved with the creation of a story?

    What I am saying here is that, yes, you should read this story. I respect that Sheila Heti is the type of writer, and an artist, to tackle AI, and see if there is a way for writers to use it. That does take courage, because as far as I know, she is the first person to give something like this a try. The end result isn’t the best, but if literature is going to continue to grow and explore as an art form, then experiments like this are needed.

  • Short Story Review: “Our Time is Up” by Clare Sestanovich

    (The short story “Our Time is Up” by Clare Sestanovich appeared in the November 13th, 2023 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Illustration by James Lee Chiahan

    You know, and I’m not stepping out on a ledge here, but there should be more stories about mothers and daughters. For centuries, the literary cannon is filled with stories of fathers and sons – even a couple of religions revolve around that idea. So, when I see a story that is about mothers and daughters, like Clare Sestanovich’s “Our Time is Up,” I look forward to delving into these relationships, which sometimes can be very dramatic and enlightening.

    This story revolves around Angela, who is entering the first stages of middle age, and beginning to wonder about the decision in her life. Her yardstick of measurement is her mother, which leads to uncomfortable comparisons. Angela is relatively happily married, though her and her husband, Will, are in couple’s therapy. There are a host of issues they are addressing, such as if to have children, and Angela’s aging parents. There is a slight hint of depression in Angela, an unwillingness to move forward on some of her issues. The story takes Angela and Will to Angela’s parent’s home, which needs to be cleared out as it is becoming a hoarder’s house. They also explore, by taking a tour, of putting Angela’s parents in assisted living. Some more tangents are sprinkled in the piece, so you can see that there is a lot going on here.

    Which leads me to my chief criticism of this story; there is too much going on which doesn’t allow these details to be fleshed out. I can see that Sestanovich was trying to make the point that Angela’s life is complicated and busy, and she has trouble giving each person and issue, let alone herself, the time that they need. The way this is presented leaves some characters flat, while other situations feel rushed. Will, the husband, plays only one note in the story, with no depth or insight. The father is barely present, having only one job which is to fall thereby starting the conversation about assisted living, and then he serves no other purpose. There is the cleaning of the hording house, which seemed like it was primed for dramatic action, but is just breezed over.

    I say all of this because “Our Time is Up” doesn’t feel like a short story, but the first chapter of a novel. There are so many wonderful places that these characters could go to be fleshed out, giving them depth and authenticity. Especially Angela, who in this story, is more like a middle-aged person who just wonders why things happen to them, and never makes a decision or choice. Even the climax of the piece, a coffee mug made by her mother which breaks in Angela’s luggage, is a situation of something happen to Angela, and not Angela taking an action or making a decision.

    And I was rooting for this story. As I got closer to the end, I kept expecting a dramatic or revelatory action to take place. (I will credit Sestanovich with avoiding the cliché of someone dying, which I think is what most writers would have done.) But it doesn’t arrive. I was also expecting Angela to grow in some way, but she seems to end in the same place where she started, which left me feeling unsatisfied with the story. It’s too bad, as the writing is very good, and the quiet insights of Angela’s life are intriguing. And if there was a second chapter, then I would very much want to read that novel.