Tag: Women

  • Short Story Review: “The City is a Graveyard” by Addie Citchens

    (The short story Short Story Review: “The City is a Graveyard” by Addie Citchens appeared in the March 16th, 2026 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Photograph by Nydia Blas

    There are many things that I enjoyed about Addie Citchens’ “The City is a Graveyard,” but the one I found most enigmatic was how every time the protagonist first mentions a man in her life, she lists his Zodiac sign. What made this so interesting to me was that this was a story about her existential existence, yet these men were beings of Zodiac influence. A fascinating dualism, creating a song that I could see Apollo and Dionysus dancing to.

    Another aspect of this story was Citchens’ use of second person narrative. The use of this style can create an immediate feeling of immersion for the reader, forcing us to embody the protagonist. Yet, in this story, I don’t feel that was the intended use. The “you” is in fact the protagonist speaking to herself, attempting to objectively examine these specific events from her life. I came to this conclusion because near the end of the story, when a man approaches her while she is sitting on a bench, he says to her, “I been watching you sit on this bench talking to yourself.” The story is the protagonist dialogue with herself. I could be wrong, I doubt it, because isn’t that how we talk to ourselves in our minds? “What were you thinking” “Why would you do that?” Well… I do anyway… For me, it creates an honesty and authenticity in the protagonist.

    Because this is a story about the protagonist being honest to herself about the decision and choices she made in her life especially when it came to intimacy, pregnancy and abortion. Some were planned, some weren’t, but each were different and affected the protagonist in different ways. Citchens’ presents us with a protagonist who is complicated, not easy to define, maybe a little messy in her life (who isn’t) but this is a character who is fully well rounded in three dimensions. In essence, she’s might be conflicted on how to feel about herself, and the decisions that she’s made, but in the end, the decisions are hers.

    I am leaving lots, and I mean lots, of details out of this story, as I don’t want to ruin how the story is built, and the way the climax unfolds on a bench. I do want to add that there is another character in this piece, which is the city of New Orleans. Not only the climate of the place (hot, humid, sticky) or the tourists everywhere, but the music, and the history of that place. Citchens’ uses, for lack of a better phrase, subtle notes in the narrative on how this location is essential in the telling of this story. New Orleans is a place where the ghosts of the past are never out of sight, but it is also a place of possibility, where a future can always been seen.

  • The Super Bowl Happened

    For me, the biggest thing that happened on Sunday was that my daughter wanted to watch the game with me. I know part of it was to see Taylor Swift (she’s a huge fan of her) and part of it was the commercials, but I will take away that the kid wanted to hang out with me on the couch.

    The older I get, the less and less I enjoy the Super Bowl. The game, most of the time, is enjoyable to watch, mainly because it’s two very good teams competing, which inherently is a compelling dramatic spectacle to watch. But everything else, just reminds me that I and the rest of America, are nothing but consumers and marks for corporations. Which I guess does make it truly an American Holiday.

    That all having been said, I had my money on Kansas City winning. My public reason was that you cannot count out Mahomes, as I do think his is one of the best to play quarterback. My private reason was that I despise the Philadelphia Eagles. Yes, I am a Cowboys fan, and for that reason, I can never support the Eagles. Little did I know that no one on the Chiefs showed up to play. Mahomes wasn’t a factor – no one was a factor on KC – which made the game dull, boring, and my worst nightmare.

    Even the commercials, the last respite of a useless Super Bowl, were also dull and boring. The best thing I saw was the Nike women’s athlete ad, which had a good message, my daughter loved it, but I didn’t feel like it was breaking new ground so much as having to remind everyone that women’s sports are a force now and shouldn’t be underestimated. Yet, seriously, are there still people (men) out there who don’t know that?

    And that leaves Kendrick Lamar. I dug it, thought it was cool, and will also admit that I am very late to the Kendrick Lamar party. Thought it had a message, a point you know, he did the song everyone was expecting, and the American Flag chorography was spot on perfect. Can’t go wrong with Sam Jackson either.

    All in all, kind’a a letdown. But I got to experience it with my kid.

  • Short Story Review: “Beyond Imagining” by Lore Segal

    (The short story “Beyond Imagining” by Lore Segal appeared in the June 10th, 2024 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Illustration by Bénédicte Muller

    A few years before my mother passed away, we got into a conversation about getting older. She was around 70 years old at this time, and happily enjoying her life in retirement, as well as being the matriarch of our family, but she especially enjoyed being a grandmother. “Is it all what you hoped it would be?” I asked her, to which she responded, “When I got married (at 19) I never thought I would live past forty. This is all new to me.” My mother could be dry, but at the time, I wasn’t sure what to make of her answer. Since her passing, and my own aging, I have come to understand that you can’t get excited for something you aren’t able to imagine.

    Lore Segal’s “Beyond Imagining” posed this thought early in the first section, when the character Bridget, speaking about death states, “I think that the reason I think I won’t mind being dead is that I can’t imagine it, and I don’t think we know how to believe what we aren’t able to imagine.” This idea, this through line, plays role in the four sections of this story, which follow a circle of elderly women friends in New York, as they handle, deal, and accept their current lives.

    I know that the above description is, maybe, an unfair simplification of this piece. The story exudes a wonderful melancholy as it lets us experience the world of these women. But it also has a very delicate touch, showing the importance and power of their friendships, how these relationships at this point in their lives sustains them, and gives them strength to deal with issues and discoveries they did not anticipate. Though this piece is not very long, the characters intertwin in each other’s sections, and I found this structure added a depth of authenticity to the friendships.

    When I finished reading this story, I wanted to hug these ladies. I wanted to hold their hand, like a doting son would, and listen to them talk. But the emotional power of this story is that these are the conversations these friends have when it is only them around. These aren’t salacious or confessionary conversations, but conversations friends have when the sharing of experience is the intimacy. It’s the conversation between friends that can make what one can’t imagine, into something that can be believed.