#52Stories: What I Read This Fall.

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Buckle up, gang. Here’s my “capsule-review-style” run-down of the stories I’ve read this fall that haven’t yet made it into a #52Stories post. This one may take a little while, so pack a lunch.

And I’ll go ahead and tag this with a big [SPOILER ALERT], because who has the time to be coy?

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#30: “The Cask of Amontillado” by Edgar Allan Poe (1846)

The Premise: Montressor finally gets his revenge on the unsuspecting (and ironically- named) Fortunato.

The Payoff: I read this story in high school and decided it would be fun to revisit. It was…not fun, exactly, but not bad. The narrator, Montressor, begins the tale by arguing that Fortunato deserves revenge for his alleged injuries or insults, though it’s clear that Montressor isn’t looking for equal justice. He’s a madman, a villain in the truest sense, and the little we see of Fortunato gives no justification for Montressor’s dastardly plot. It’s revealed at the end of the story that this wicked deed was done 50 years prior, though the way Montressor obsesses over the slights Fortunato gave him sounds like the wounds are still fresh. While this story doesn’t have the impact of some of Poe’s more famous tales, it’s still worth a look if only to demonstrate how to give the villain center-stage.

#31: “The Yellow Wallpaper” by Charlotte Perkins Gilman (1892)

The Premise: A wife is made to take a long rest in a country estate…until she notices something unusual with her room decor.

The Payoff: I missed reading this story in college, but I’m glad I came back to it now. This tale of psychological horror is the story of a caged woman losing her sanity. The nameless narrator is the wife of an authoritarian doctor who infantilizes and controls his wife “for her own good.” The wife’s thoughts and feelings are downplayed or dismissed, and though she is being kept in the country house for the improvement of her health, it begins to take a toll on her sanity. What’s so effective about this story is that it’s not clear if there is actually any supernatural element to it. Gilman gives us a truly unreliable narrator, but leaves just enough doubt that you’re tempted to believe her. At one point, I wondered if her husband John was actually gaslighting her to cover up an affair, or if he was just a know-it-all chauvinist and she was losing her grip as a result. This one was wild, and I would definitely recommend it.

#32: “Something From Nothing” by Phoebe Gilman (1993)

The Premise: This charming children’s story follows the life cycle of a beloved blanket.

The Payoff: I didn’t realize that this was a children’s book until it arrived from the library. I found it to be a delight to read, both for the way the story was written and the detail that the illustrator put into each page. In this Jewish folktale, a tailor makes his baby grandson a beautiful blue blanket, and as the boy grows, the blanket is transformed over and over, becoming smaller and smaller each time. By the end of the book, the blanket is all used up and lost, but the story and memory remains, which is the final point. This is a sweet book. Pick it up at your local bookstore or library, and share it with your kids (or other people’s kids whom you know and like).

#33: “Shooting an Elephant” by George Orwell (1936)

The Premise: A British imperial officer stationed in Burma must deal with an elephant-sized problem.

The Payoff: In “Shooting an Elephant,” the narrator, a British officer stationed in the British colony in Burma, is forced to address the situation of a potentially wild elephant that killed a man and may need to be destroyed. This essay by Orwell may or may not be be based on personal experience, but it is surely a sobering critique of British imperialism and mob mentality. Orwell describes both the self-hatred of a soldier forced into a task he doesn’t believe in and the hatred he feels for the locals he is tasked with overseeing. Themes of racism and the fallout of imperialism loom large in this story, as the officer is essentially forced to put down an elephant that has already calmed down after killing a man, specifically because the officer feels pressure from the crowd to do so and he’s afraid of what might happen if he doesn’t kill the creature. The narration is in turns self-critical and self-pitying, and while the reader might feel some sympathy for the crowd dynamics at play, the narrator doesn’t seem to be presented as heroic or victimized. At the end of the day, he must take responsibility for his actions (morally, if not legally, as his actions are exonerated by his superiors). The metaphor for Britain’s treatment of conquered nations is transparent.

#34: “Frost and Fire” by Ray Bradbury (1946)

The Premise: Sim is born on a planet where people live only 8 days, but he knows there’s more out there, including a possible way of escape.

The Payoff: Bradbury’s story is about a race of humans who crashed on a planet so close to the sun that their lifespan is reduced to 8 days, birth to old age. While the story is set in a far-off future of space exploration and advanced technology, the new lifespans reduce the humans surviving on this planet to neolithic cave dwellers who can only come outside for a few hours before the deadly heat or deadly cold kills them. The main character, Sim, is described as “the 5,000th in a long line of futile sons,” yet he is born with the collective memory that there might be a way to stop the aging process by escaping the planet. I have to admit, this is the second time in this project I’ve been disappointed by Bradbury. This is an interesting idea, but he doesn’t do anything with it. Sim and his mate Lyte eventually reach the capsule and survive past the 8th day. They go back to rescue others and bring them to the capsule, and the remnant of humanity escapes the 8-day cycle of birth and death. In the end, it feels like a dream. And that’s it. I was pretty disappointed, both times I read this.

#35: “A Most Dangerous Game” by Richard Connell (1924)

The Premise: A big-game hunter washes ashore on a private island where another famous hunter is eager to introduce him to a new challenge.

The Payoff: This story is one of those tales in which you’ve already heard the twist (General Zaroff is hunting humans!), but it was interesting to see how Connell works out the story. There’s a pretty obvious set-up at the beginning, as Rainsford scoffs at the idea that hunting is not sporting for the prey, stating that the animal has no understanding. When the hunter becomes the hunted (wah-waaah!), his tune changes. Zaroff is presented as a paradox–highly civilized yet showing no value for human life. In the end, Rainsford survives by incorporating skills and traps he learned in his big-game hunts around the world, as well as his experience in the Great War. (There’s a metaphor in there somewhere as well.) His personal mantra was that he mustn’t lose his nerve, though as the prey, he now understands the fear of death in a way he hadn’t before. And while he is ultimately triumphant over the sociopath and his henchman who were hunting him, the ending is still a bit unsettling. In his vengeance, Rainsford is as much beast as man.

#36: “Lady of the Skulls” by Patricia McKillip (2005)

The Premise: Adventurers journey to an enchanted tower in search of treasure and an audience with the mysterious Lady of the Skulls.

The Payoff: This one took me by surprise, because it’s essentially a story about relationships, cosplaying as Lord of the Rings. The lady in question is a woman who was taken from a tavern (by the curse of a sorcerer) and put in an enchanted tower reflecting “the tower in her heart.” When the latest band of adventurers arrives in search of treasure and glory, she critiques and mocks their pomp and bravado. The author satirizes fantasy fiction that treats women as either set-dressing or idealized archetypes (the pure, untouchable maiden; the enchantress; the prostitute). Through the words of Lady Amarynth and the knight Ran, McKillip both critiques and employs fantasy tropes to describe how men and women idealize or vilify each other as a means of self-protection. By focusing this fantasy story on “one of those faceless women who brought you wine in a tavern,” McKillip forces the reader to re-examine the cliches of this genre and what they say about gender. I liked how this story shifted my perspective.

#37: “Raised in Captivity” by Chuck Klosterman (2019)

The Premise: A man finds himself sharing his first-class plane flight with an unexpected fellow passenger.

The Payoff: The titular story of this bonkers collection is short and to-the-point: the narrator is taking his first ever first-class flight on a business trip, and when he opens the lavatory door, he sees a full-grown puma. Once he establishes he’s not hallucinating, he has a conversation with another passenger about how this could have happened. That’s it. And while that description may not sound compelling, this story made me laugh out loud. Klosterman takes an insane premise and leans right into it. The dialogue is funny in an almost self-aware way. It’s unclear over the course of the story if the narrator’s new friend might even be in on it. I just loved this story, as well as this collection–I found myself reading the next six or seven stories, and frequently guffawing or gasping. Klosterman is a TRIP.

#38: “Enormous Changes at the Last Minute” by Grace Paley (1974)

The Premise: A middle-aged woman has a romantic relationship with a non-committal cab driver, to poor effect.

The Payoff: Okay, I’ll say from the outset: I just didn’t like this one. I couldn’t really connect to the main character Alexandra. I thought Dennis the cabbie/rock-singer was a shallow jerk. It’s not a bad story, to be fair. I can see Paley’s skill; she’s not a bad writer, and the characterization was mostly effective. I just didn’t enjoy reading it. I don’t have much more to say about it.

#39: “Tower of Babylon” by Ted Chiang (1990)

The Premise: The men of earth built a tower to reach heaven, and God didn’t stop them.

The Payoff: I didn’t realize, until I saw the cover of the movie tie-in edition of the story collection, that Chiang wrote the story that became the movie Arrival (which I really quite liked). So that set up my expectations for “Tower of Babylon,” which is an alternate-history take on the Tower of Babel. In this version, the tower keeps being built until the people actually reach “the vault of heaven,” a granite ceiling hanging above the cosmos. Once they punch through, the main character finds himself carried upward in a flood of water, but instead of being destroyed by God’s wrath, he is deposited back near where he started. He later compares the physical reality of the world to a cuneiform cylinder, with the top being connected to the bottom. There’s obviously a fantastic element to this story, both in the descriptions of the tower and the resolution of the story. What surprised me was that Chiang seemed rather respectful of the Biblical source material and the discussion of God (YHWH) throughout the story. Once I realized the story was Biblical alt-history, I was bracing for the inevitable blasphemous critique of the God of the Bible. As far as I could tell, that really didn’t happen. Other than the obvious difference between the two stories, Chiang is careful to write this fictional account as ancient near-eastern folklore rather than a 21st-century satire of religious belief. This fact makes me want to read more of Chiang’s work–not because I am looking for more religious stories, but I find myself willing to give him the benefit of the doubt if he dabbles in religious themes again.

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That’s all for now. Thirteen stories left in this project, with one month to go. Coming up this month: my thoughts on stories by Ambrose Bierce, Phillip Van Doren, James Joyce, Isaac Asimov, Truman Capote, Robert Heinlein (again!), Chesterton, O’Connor, Harlan Ellison, and a few others. It’ll be a photo finish, but I’m looking forward to it.

Your Turn: Have you read any of these stories? Let me know your thoughts in the comments!

 

 

#52Stories: Changing My Approach.

 

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So if you have been reading my #52Stories posts, and you have a functioning calendar, you’ll know that I’m just over halfway through my promised reviews with just over a month to go in 2019.

So, yeah, about that…

The honest fact is, I just haven’t been able to devote the time to reading, re-reading, analyzing (“Dave, you actually do analysis? We couldn’t really tell”–shut up, you), and writing posts about these stories.

I’ve got notes on at least 10 stories right now and just haven’t taken the time to sit down and write out the corresponding posts. I’ve got another 5 stories that I’ve read through 1 time, but haven’t yet revisited or taken notes on.

For the month of December, I’m changing things up. My goal is still to read and discuss all 52 stories by the end of the year, but the reviews will not be as detailed as they have been thusfar. Instead, my plan is to provide a one-sentence summary and then a few paragraphs of response without going into the level of detail that I did before. Who knows? If it’s a story I really enjoyed, I’ll gab about it a bit more. If it’s not, I’ll give you a brief description and maybe a reason why I didn’t enjoy it.

Why the change?

Frankly, I’m tired, y’all. This year, and especially the last few months, have been really demanding, personally, professionally, and relationally. And while this project has introduced me to a few new writers to check out in the future (which is excellent!), these posts have turned into another chore I’ve been neglecting, rather than an experiment I’ve been enjoying. And at this point in my life, blogging shouldn’t feel like a chore for me; if I’m not enjoying what I’m doing, I just shouldn’t give any more time to it.

Depending on how things go this week, I may take advantage of a little extra personal time around the holiday to queue up a few #52Stories posts for next week so I can drop as much of my prepared #52Stories material on you as I can. After that, we’ll see how things go. It may be a steady pace to the finish, or a Christmas-week binge. We’ll see.

I’m sorry I couldn’t give this as much time as I thought I could. If you want to see how something like this is done well, check out Jay’s work over at Bibliophilopolis. His “Deal Me In” reading challenges are the boss sauce.

That’s all for me this week. See you next Monday, and Happy Thanksgiving to my fellow Americans (and American-adjacents who love food-centric holidays)!

52 Stories #27-29: Three Locked-Room Mysteries!

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This week, I wanted to take a few minutes to discuss briefly 3 “locked-room” mysteries I read. In basic terms, a “locked-room” mystery is exactly what it sounds like: a crime (usually a murder, but sometimes a theft) takes place in a room that appears to be locked from the inside or otherwise inaccessible, and it’s up to the clever sleuth (or in some cases, observant travelling salesman?) to discover who is responsible and how the crime was committed.

I’ll confess that my commentary is going to be pretty light this time–not because I enjoyed the stories any less than others, but because, by this point, I think we’re familiar with the ins and outs of mystery stories. Also, there isn’t a great deal of subtext, so these were easy, quick, fun reads.

All three of today’s tales came from Otto Penzler’s Black Lizard Big Book of Locked-Room Mysteries, borrowed from my local library. This volume is HUGE, so if this type of story is your bag, you should definitely pick it up. (Penzler also edited a volume of stories about villains and rogues, which I’ll mention in a later post!) I appreciated the fact that this collection was actually organized by crime committed and/or weapon used, which is a neat approach.

Okay, I won’t keep you in suspense any longer. Let’s pop open the lock and dive in!

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#27: “The Murders at the Rue Morgue” by Edgar Allan Poe (1841)

The Premise

The brilliant C. Auguste Dupin involves himself in the investigation of a grisly murder scene to repay a service performed by the man accused of the crime.

The Pay-off

I both enjoyed and endured this story. It was written nearly 50 years before Sir Arthur Conan Doyle first published “A Study in Scarlet,” and it’s undeniably how much ACD borrowed/stole from Poe’s 3 “Dupin” stories. While the set-up in this story was pure Sherlockian goodness, the ending left…well, a LOT to be desired. Nevertheless, without Dupin, we would likely not have a Holmes (or at least not one in any way recognizable). For that, I am very grateful.

The Takeaways

Here are some story observations for your consideration–and spoilers forthcoming, so go find the story for yourself if you have any interest in reading a proto-Sherlock mystery.

• Poe spends several hundred words describing the power of deductive reasoning (or as Poe described it, “ratiocination,” the creative imagination and logical prowess that Dupin employs to work out the mystery). The miniature essay itself was heavy reading but instructive–I had to remind myself that this narration/prologue was the invention of Poe, instead of a nonfiction treatise by an actual investigative professional. That alone is noteworthy.
• If you’re at all familiar with Doyle’s tropes, this story feels paint-by-numbers, to the point at which you begin to resent Doyle’s acclaim for what is transparently a ripped-off character. (Hold that ire a moment, reader.) The narrator is an anonymous “Watson” type who meets the Detective at the library, where they are seeking the same book and become friends. Technically, Dupin isn’t a detective but a former man of means whose family fell on hard times. He does a bit of “Sherlocking” early on, appearing to be able to read his friend’s thoughts before explaining in a perfectly logical way how he came to that conclusion. You almost don’t even need to read this first section of the narrative; just imagine a Holmes and Watson meet-cute and you’ve got it nailed.
• The mystery presents itself: gruesome murders, shouting in foreign tongues, a locked room. Much of the story’s length is spent in newspaper accounts of incredible and grisly detail of the crime, or detailed recounting of the witness statements (must have been the late edition of the Exposition Times). Dupin involves himself in the case because he owes one of the suspects a favor. He’s not a detective; he’s just smart.
• The path to the resolution is copied wholesale in Doyle’s stories: interviews, latching on to a random-seeming detail, an action by the “detective” that makes no sense in the moment but eventually becomes the spring to set off the trap for the guilty party.
• Aaaaaaaand it’s an orangutan. That’s the killer: an orangutan. I nearly dropped the book at this point. The resolution is so silly, so stupid, you could almost wonder if this was meant to be a farce. However, this is where my opinion of the Dupin-Sherlock connection changed. In the end, it isn’t merely that Doyle ripped off Poe wholesale (though he very, very much did). Doyle took the parts of the Dupin stories that worked and improved them substantially. The brilliant hero *should* be a detective. The sidekick isn’t just a cipher, but an actual character whose history can play into the story. Don’t lead off with a treatise on the detective’s methods; show rather than tell. Flesh out the Detective’s story a bit more. Give just enough exposition to give the characters something to do and then let them dig. Doyle takes the formula and remixes it to create literary magic.

It’s undeniable that without Dupin, the world would have missed out on Sherlock Holmes. But it should be equally without question that, without the mind of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the next generation’s “August Dupin” would have quickly faded from memory, rather than having the cultural staying power that he still enjoys.

In summary, good writers steal ideas; truly great writers steal and masterfully improve ideas.

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#28: “The Dream” by Agatha Christie

The Premise

The venerable Hercule Poirot is summoned to meet an eccentric tycoon, who tells of a recurring dream of suicide–a dream that comes true the next day.

The Pay-off

Until now, my familiarity with Hercule Poirot has been mostly the book-length mysteries (or the Masterpiece Theater teleplays, which I suspect may be based on shorter works). This bite-sized Poirot mystery works, but feels very quick and thin. In my experience, Poirot needs time to chew on a puzzle before working it out. This story was almost over before it began, and while the ending was satisfactory, it wasn’t resonant.

The Takeaways

A few scattered thoughts on this one (from memory, since I failed to take notes):

• I have to admit, as I read this story, I kept thinking back to one of the Thin Man films (either the second or the third), in which Nick Charles is threatened by a man who has dreams of his enemies dying in horrible ways, but always has an alibi when one of them dies. (Sidenote: if you’ve never watched the Thin Man movies [the original being an adaptation of a Dashiell Hammett novel], I cannot recommend them strongly enough. Truly great stories, both as detective/mystery stories and as 1930’s comedies. Nick and Nora Charles are one of my all-time favorite screen couples, and it’s just a delight to watch them solve cases together.)
• A point in the story’s favor is that Christie makes it easy for the reader to accept everything as presented at first. The whole situation feels a bit unusual, and the author noting that even Poirot is bemused by some of the theatricality helps the reader ease in and take things as they come.
• I think what I like best about Poirot stories is that you can watch him slowly work out the answer to the mystery. He’s methodical, asking careful questions and keeping his cards close to his vest. That’s where the short story length starts to lose me as a reader. It happens so quickly, there doesn’t seem to be time for Poirot to figure the mystery out. On the other hand, the list of suspects is short, and the action and dialogue are pretty pared down, so it suits the format better.

In the end, the puzzle is solved and the death is proven to be murder, not suicide. Some of the details seemed like a bit of stretch, but the main twist worked for me. I think I’d like to read more of Christie’s shorter Poirot tales before making a decision about whether or not I prefer the novel-length to the short-story format. It’s hard to judge them all by just reading one.

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#29: “The Poisoned Dow ’08” by Dorothy Sayers

The Premise

A travelling salesman revisits a former customer to discover his wares may have been involved in the man’s murder.

The Pay-off

This one…worked, I suppose. I think I had the most trouble connecting because the protagonist was a random door-to-door salesman. It was tricky to get a bead on his character, so when he provided perceptive commentary and insight, I was more confused than intrigued.

The Takeaways

A few comments on this one as well, bereft of detail but capturing the essence:

• As I noted, the main character seems to be a one-off (and if I’m wrong, you Sayers fans should certainly correct me in the comments!), providing no connection points for the reader. While the level of “Sherlocking” this character does is kept to a minimum (and makes sense, given his particular expertise), it just seems out of place. The police inspectors give him entirely too much leeway in these conversations, making the whole thing feel a bit convenient and taking me out of the moment.
• The resolution does seem a bit rushed and was tricky to visualize as I read. The final clue that the salesman says tipped him off still sailed right past me, even upon re-reading his explanation. The whole venture seems a bit rushed, as if Sayers had a good idea but was murky on the details and just wanted to push through to the end. While there’s something to be said for trimming unnecessary detail down to the bare bones of the plot, the atmosphere and location seemed like sketches rather than settings.
• If I had my druthers, a much stronger ending might have been for the salesman to actually have been the killer, who uses his quick thinking and on-the-spot explanations to dispel the detective’s suspicions and put him on the wrong track. Obviously, that’s a bit off-brand for Sayers, from what I know of her work. Nevertheless, I would have found that a bit more interesting.

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That’s all I’ve got for you this week. Check back tomorrow for either a #FridayFeed post or perhaps some current-events commentary (depending on how feisty I feel).

Your Turn: What’s your favorite mystery short story? Let me know in the comments!

52 Stories #25-26: Two Stories I Liked More than I Honestly Expected To.

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Welcome back to #52Stories, in which I examine 52 short stories to discover what makes them resonate with readers. Today, I’ll be covering 2 stories that I put off reading for a long time–as in, I had the library books physically on my shelf for almost 2 months before finally reading them. As it turned out, I enjoyed both and look forward to discussing them with you!

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#25: “In the Cemetery Where Al Jolson Is Buried” by Amy Hempel (1985)

(recommended by John Reid on the Geek Out Loud Facebook page)

The Pitch

A woman visits her best friend at the end of a fatal illness.

The Payoff

It took me a couple of tries to get through this one, to be honest. The first time, I don’t think I was in the right headspace to read this story, which addresses a serious subject much the way its protagonist tries to–with humor, distraction, and avoidance. Once I was able to make myself sit down and push through, I came away unexpectedly moved and a bit heavy-hearted. While it’s not a story I would recommend easily, it was intriguing and instructive.

The Takeaways

Spoilers from here onward, gang:

• In this story, the protagonist (whose name is never mentioned?) is the “best friend” of a woman dying of a fatal illness (presumably cancer) in a California hospital. It  seems the women have drifted apart, especially in the early stages of the dying woman’s illness, but the protagonist has finally arrived to bear witness to the final stages of her friend’s life. The interactions between these women provide insight into their relationship–while there was familiarity and even love, it seems clear that they didn’t get into deep waters together. As such, facing the spectre of death, they deal with it by avoiding it–exchanging trivia, watching sitcoms, being generally flippant about the impending end. I think, in a sense, that’s how a lot of people face death–by ignoring it or cracking jokes as long as possible.
• There is mention of the stages of grief, and the fact that there is no “resurrection” stage. This weighed heavy on me, because it belies a worldview that holds no hope past the grave. I don’t know anything about the author’s own beliefs, but for her characters, there is only the inevitability of the end, and their best efforts to ignore it are simply whistling past the graveyard.
• The story itself is written in a series of vignettes and brief exchanges, snapshots over the course of a few days, glimpses of the thoughts and feelings of these two characters. There’s something to be said about this approach, especially when you’re telling a story that takes place over several similar days. This is a way to hit the “highlights” and keep things moving through the narrative, which I found to be an effective approach.
• The protagonist leaves at one point, deciding she really can’t be around for the end, much to the anger and hurt of the dying woman. Later, the protagonist says that she might tell the story differently in the future, essentially “rewriting” her narrative to say she stayed faithfully, and no one would know the difference. I liked this insight into the character and her desire to rewrite her regrets.
• Throughout the story, there’s a running anecdote about a monkey that learned sign-language.  The final few paragraphs concludes this running story with a gut-punch of an ending. Hempel sets this up nicely as a way to indirectly reflect the grief that her character dare not express even to herself. While this approach can be done ham-handedly, there’s a lightness of touch that Hempel employs here, which lends it much more of an impact.

In the final tally, I found this to be a well-written story that frustrated and saddened me in the ways the author intends–and thus was very effective.

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#26: “The Branch Way of Doing” by Wendell Berry

(Berry was recommended by @TeeCeePal on Twitter, but I couldn’t find the exact story collection she named. I hope this will do.)

The Pitch

The son of a rambler becomes the patriarch of a very particular kind of family.

The Payoff

I’d only read a little bit of Berry’s poetry before reading this story, but my, his writing sings. I can see why so many people rave about his work. This story isn’t so much driven by plot as it is a peek into a family history that feels warm and inviting and familiar. Frankly, I wish I could hear more about the lives of these characters, which is the best thing you could ask from a short story, right?

The Takeaways

While the story isn’t humorous as such, there’s a bit of the folklorist-historian in its telling, recalling Garrison Keillor or Will Rogers. You get a clear and firm sense of middle America and its rich history and deep roots. Obviously, this is woven into the the very fiber of the tale; it’s part of a collection of poetry called Roots to the Earth that celebrates the American farmer and farming culture. What I’m getting at is that the story is rich and full, like strong coffee and dark soil, and just as inviting.

The title refers to the culture that Danny Branch establishes in his family, a culture that is endemic of mid-20th-century America: the individualism, frugality, neighborliness, and resourcefulness of the generation that lived through the Great Depression. The Branch’s represent a particular mindset that rejects the flashy and expensive for what is trusted, true, and traditional. In an age like ours that is screen-obsessed and noise-driven, this glimpse of a simpler time and place feels refreshing, if not a bit inspiring.

The only critique (and you really can’t call it that) I have of the story is that it seems to be two or three stories in one. The first section focuses on Danny Branch’s father, Burley Coulter, and his relationship with Danny and the other people in the community. The story then transitions to Danny as an adult and how he and his wife built their family culture and raised their children. The final section of the story (about Danny’s son and his “new” car) then feels a bit tacked on–as if it weren’t so much an illustration of the Branch way of doing as it is a somewhat-related anecdote. While all 3 parts are arguably justified and obviously interesting, I wonder if this instead could have been the seeds of a collection of stories about this family. (I, for one, would welcome such a revision.)

That’s all I want to say, so as to avoid giving much else away. I’m not sure why I was hesitant to read this one, but I’m glad I eventually did. Berry is a wordsmith with a well-deserved reputation, and “The Branch Way of Doing” is a sterling example of that.

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Agree? Disagree? Any observations of your own? Let me know in the comments!

52 Stories #24: “A Small, Good Thing” by Raymond Carver

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Oh my goodness, I’m excited to talk to you about today’s #52Stories selection. This tale by Raymond Carver from his 1983 collection Cathedral was recommended by John Reid over at the GOLiverse Facebook page. What a great selection. Very grateful for this.

Let’s get into it!

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The Pitch

A family’s birthday plans are suddenly altered by an accident.

The Payoff

If you’ve never read this story, I don’t want to say too much here that would spoil it for you. Carver provides a glimpse into the souls of his main characters and draws you into their confusion and pain. This story about the fear and grief of a parent was deeply moving in a way I wasn’t expecting, and the bittersweet ending just crushed me in the best way. It’s absolutely worth your time. Go find it and read it.

The Takeaways

I’m putting up the great big SPOILER WARNING tag here, because I don’t want to spoil your reading of the story. So, please forego the discussion below if you have any intention of reading this one!

Here we go:

• First, let’s talk about the setting, or rather, the lack thereof. I didn’t pick up on any specific identifiers of place or time period, but the vibe I got was suburbs outside a mid-sized city (somewhere like Indianapolis or Pittsburgh), anytime from the 50’s to the 80’s. There are a few details that might help you zero in on a more specific era, but they’re understated enough that the story feels more timeless.
• Ann’s contemplation of the baker’s abruptness with her sets up the end of the story nicely without being heavy-handed. I forgot about this detail until I read the story a second time. It’s subtle and effective.
• I had to keep track of the passage of days in my notes. While Carver does indicate when each day passes, the sections in the hospital feel like a blur, and in my first reading I lost track of how many days had passed. Scotty dies only 2 days after the accident, but it feels like much longer–the reader waits anxiously along with the parents for something to change.
• I found myself getting frustrated with Dr. Francis and the hospital staff as the story progressed. Obviously, Francis was constantly underselling the seriousness of Scotty’s injury, and there was a point at which I started feeling like this was injurious to the parents. At the same time, I had to remind myself that doctors don’t always know what’s happening, and that doctors and nurses work such long hours and see these tumultuous events happening all the time such that they become inured to it. On the other hand, the narrative is so effective that the reader begins to resent that the hospital staff isn’t more impacted by the Weiss family’s tragedy.
• The conversation between Ann and Franklin’s parents demonstrates that the Weiss’s are not the only ones in that building facing the pain of loss. It’s a good reminder from Carver that there are many families, each of whose stories are powerful in their own right. Grief can isolate us, making us feel as if we’re the only hurting people in the world, when the reality is there are hurts all around us (as the end of the story also demonstrates).
• I loved the moment when Ann and Howard each admitted that they had been praying, as if they were afraid that it would sound silly to the other. Carver then comments that Ann realizes that Howard is in this with her, and it makes her grateful to be his wife. What a moving consideration of the isolating and yet uniting effects of grief.
• The calls from the baker are frustrating and sad. The reader immediately realizes what’s going on, but there’s no way for Howard or even Ann to understand the calls in context. It becomes another layer of tragedy, when they start trying to assign meaning to these seemingly random and cruel prank calls, even wondering if the hit-and-run driver was taunting them. All they can see is the pit of worry and grief they are dwelling in, and it isn’t until after the worst happens that they are able to remember what happened before Monday morning.
• Scotty’s death was brutal to read as a parent. I just can’t even imagine.
• Carver takes time to describe in effective detail how each parent expresses their grief. Even though we have minimal description of their lives before this story, they still feel like fully-orbed characters.
• Ann’s confession that she wants to kill the prank caller is a bold choice. Carver risks alienating the reader if the statement sounds too melodramatic, but the way she says this, graphically but not sensationally, feels authentic.
• The climax of the story really is when Ann realizes the caller is the baker, and they go to confront him. They both realize that he couldn’t have known about Scotty’s death, but they need someone to blame, someone to receive their anger. However, once they lay out their anger toward the baker, the atmosphere changes, and I think it has everything to do with how the baker responds. This self-admittedly abrupt and unsympathetic man sees the anguish and confusion in these two people, and he chooses to be empathetic instead of defensive. He apologizes for his demeanor and poor communication, and asks them to sit at his table. This is both reconciliation and condolence.
• The baker delivers the title of the story in a line that hit my heart and stayed there: “You have to eat and keep going. Eating is a small, good thing at a time like this.” He offers them coffee and cinnamon rolls, but more than that, he shows them that they have to push through the deep grief that threatens to overwhelm them.  His kitchen table becomes a refuge to Howard and Ann. He later offers them more to eat, saying, “There’s more. Eat up. Eat all you want. There’s all the rolls in the world in here.” The baker is able to open up as well, confessing his own hurt and loneliness and finding a sympathetic ear in this couple.
• The final line of the story: “They talked on into the early morning, the high, pale cast of light in the windows, and they did not think of leaving.” A beautiful and hopeful ending to an emotionally draining story.
• All in all, this was a masterpiece. Carver is able to flesh out character and motivation with minimal exposition, demonstrating “show, don’t tell” to its fullest extent. There’s an authenticity to the dialogue and thoughts of these characters, which makes their heartache that much more affecting. The ending was unexpected. As soon as Scotty was hit by the car, I was hoping the “small, good thing” was that he would recover. In actuality, it was that kindness, compassion, and a shared table are powerful in helping to comfort broken hearts and encourage them to endure in the face of great loss.

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Agree? Disagree? Any observations of your own? Let me know in the comments!

52 Stories #23: “The Go-Getter” by Peter B. Kyne

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Happy Wednesday, friends! Today’s #52Stories selection is actually a novella published back in 1921 that was recommended to me by my old pal Cory Robinson on Facebook. Was I sufficiently motivated by this inspiring tale? Let’s find out!

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The Pitch

A highly-motivated war veteran pursues a job in a rival corporation and faces unusual challenges to win his would-be CEO’s approval.

The Payoff

This novella is what you might classify as “fict-spirational” or, more plainly, didactic writing: a story that is meant to teach a specific lesson. The Go-Getter was around 60 pages long, in the edition I read, with another 25+ pages of commentary by the author on the various lessons the reader should take away. It was a quick read, rather plain and obvious in parts, but pleasant enough. I’m not sorry I read it, but it didn’t make much of an impact.

The Takeaways

So, what can we learn from Peter Kyne’s early-twentieth-century fable? Let’s find out:

• The basic plot of the story can be boiled down to this: Cappy Ricks, the CEO of a multi-national lumber corporation, is discussing with his 2 trusted lieutenants his concerns about the head of their division in Shanghai, when a bright young man asks to see him. This salesman, Bill Peck, is a veteran of the Great War with physical disabilities resulting from combat, but his can-do attitude and refusal to take no for an answer impress Ricks, who decides to give him a job. He instructs his division head to give Peck the “skunk lumber” accounts, as a challenge to see if Peck is all talk or if he can follow-through. Once Peck bests those challenges, Ricks gives him one final challenge to test his mettle. The climax of the book is Peck’s frantic and somewhat humorous efforts to complete this impossible task–but at this point in the story, the ending is all but guaranteed.
• It doesn’t take a graduate degree in English to pick up on the types and stock figures with which Kyne populates this story: the untrustworthy steward, the faithful follower with no confidence or initiative, the bitter middle manager, and of course our protagonist, the go-getter, Mr. Self-Motivated and Results-Oriented. The twenty-page recap of the lessons learned seems pretty unnecessary, but I wonder if part of my cynicism is that there have been an avalanche of business and productivity books written in the last 100 years, such that so much of this feels like old hat? Is this my chronological snobbery at work?
• I guess the real question is, does it motivate the reader? And the answer is…sure? Maybe I’m not in the right reader for this type of motivational literature, though it’s funny that I have of late found myself drawn to books about self-improvement, productivity, and business/marketing skills. This one felt a bit hokey to me, but I don’t know if that’s a fair assessment. I think my problem is that this story was very paint-by-numbers, and from the moment Bill Peck walks in the door, you know he’ll end up with the Shanghai manager job. The ordeal of the Blue Vase was an entertaining, if circuitous, way of getting there, but it was no surprise at all when Ricks explains himself to Peck.
• Maybe that’s the problem. The story was too obvious for its length. The Blue Vase adventure felt like a foregone conclusion. If there were a way to cut down on some of the unnecessary dialogue, or perhaps introduce different challenges for Peck to overcome, it wouldn’t have felt so rote. Also, Peck was too perfect of a protagonist to be a role model.

In the final summation, I think The Go-Getter is clearly a book of its era that suffers by comparison to other short stories as well as other inspirational business texts. Perhaps it should get more credit for being an early example of the genre, but that doesn’t save a straight-forward and predictable story from being much more than window dressing for the author’s moral lessons. It wasn’t a bad book, so I wouldn’t dissuade you from reading it. I’d just caution not to expect too much from it.

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Agree? Disagree? Any observations of your own? Let me know in the comments!

52 Stories #22: “Leaf by Niggle” by J.R.R. Tolkien

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Today’s #52Stories selection is a religious allegory/fable by arguably the greatest fantasy author of the 20th century, the architect of Middle Earth himself, J.R.R. Tolkien. (Thank you to Matthew Marks on the Goliverse Facebook page for the recommendation!)

So, does Tolkien’s genius extend to his short fiction? Let’s take a walk together and find out!

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The Pitch

A would-be painter struggles to finish his masterpiece before taking the long journey that awaits all flesh.

The Payoff

This one turned out differently than I expected! In a few theology books I’d read in the past, I came across summaries of this story, but those summaries (at least how I recall them) were quite different from how the story itself actually resolves. It seems that Tolkien, who was famously negative towards allegory, couldn’t help himself when writing this parable–and readers familiar with that other famous Inkling’s writing will see similarities. It’s a pleasant journey with a decidedly theological flavor, and definitely worth the trip.

The Takeaways

So what was it about “Leaf by Niggle” that I found so charming? Err, um, just–okay FINE, hang on a moment while I put down my writing… I really need to get back to that soon, but if you MUST know, let the Seurat-style spoilers (i.e. in “pointilist” prose) commence!

• Note: Okay, so what follows ended up being essentially a summary of the full story with commentary. It’s longer than I had planned. I don’t normally like to summarize these stories in their entirety, but I just found this one so interesting and pleasant that I can’t help myself. So, again, if you haven’t read the story, the following will spoil everything for you. Please seek it out and read it on your own, and then come back. 
• First paragraph: “There was once a little man called Niggle, who had a long journey to make. He did not want to go; indeed, the whole idea was distasteful to him, but he could not get out of it. He knew he would have to start some time, be he did not hurry with his preparations.”  From the outset, the reader can see the obvious metaphor Tolkien establishes. The “journey” is referring to death–but much more than that, to the world-to-come. Niggle, like so many of us, knows it awaits him but does his best to busy himself with other things rather than prepare for the inevitable.
• In the summaries I’d read before, Niggle was presented as someone who selflessly put aside his own desires to pour out for others. Yet, as it’s actually written, Niggle is like so many of us: frustrated by interruptions of his own plans, irritated by the thoughtlessness of others, yet softhearted enough to at least feel bad that he doesn’t do more to help. In this, I really appreciate how Tolkien doesn’t describe his main character as an alabaster saint. Niggle does indeed help others, but does so with grumbling, sighing, and some muttered curses. His heart, while somewhat tender, is not completely bent toward loving others. There is still some soul-work to do.
• Niggle’s neighbor, Mr. Parish, is the greatest source of his distraction and frustration. Parish is a constant source of need, often requiring Niggle’s assistance due to his infirmities. He critiques Niggle’s failure to maintain his garden well, but yet ignores or secretly mocks Niggle’s paintings, which are the joy of his life. The fact that the neighbor is named “Parish” is noteworthy here, as a “parish” is also the word for a district that is under the care of a specific church and priest. I’m sure there are many in ministry who at times find their own “Parish” to be a source of criticism and neediness, with little thanks or praise. (Not me, certainly, but others, I’m sure…)
• As his days run out, Niggle realizes that his great masterpiece is not going to be finished as he likes. His best laid plans have gone awry, and in the end, he embarks on a rain-soaked bicycle ride to get a doctor for Parish’s wife, knowing it may well cost him the last of his productivity. It does; Niggle “recovers” in time for the House Inspector to arrive and inform him he failed to help his neighbors properly with their house, and for the Driver to pick him up for his long journey.
  • Two notes here: I’m not sure if the House Inspector is meant to be metaphorical in the context of the story, but I’m inclined to think he is–a representative of the Law who weighs Niggle’s life and finds him wanting.
  • Also of note is that the Driver comments how little luggage Niggle has prepared for his expected-if-unplanned journey. All Niggle finds he has in the bag he grabbed are his paint box and sketchbook, representative of the thing he loved most. But he has failed to store up treasures for the life to come, and this will come back to haunt him.
• Here’s where the story takes a sharp turn from what I was expecting: I had heard the story related that Niggle then arrives at his “destination” to find the perfect, beautiful Tree that he’d always been trying to paint but never could because he kept stopping to help others–in other words, his “masterpiece” is the life of service he lived.  But that’s not how it goes at all! (Could I have misread them so badly?) Instead, Niggle is taken to what he describes as a prison or work camp, where he is forced to labor for what seems like hundreds of years. In the context of the allegory, Niggle ends up in Purgatory!
• In this purgatory, Niggle is left to his thoughts as he is force to do “work” that echoes the works he failed to do properly or speedily in life: digging holes (gardening) and building (repairing his and Parish’s house). This period of confinement results in regret over his failings as a neighbor. His heart softens to Parish’s natural infirmities and limitations. His past selfishness becomes a point of sorrow and repentance.
• As Niggle’s “case” is reviewed by unseen Voices (which reminded me of conversation between the “angels” Joseph and Clarence in It’s A Wonderful Life), it is noted that Niggle’s heart was in the right place but hadn’t functioned as it ought, and that his “head wasn’t screwed on properly.” Yet, despite being a “little man,” his sacrifice at the end stood in his favor, as does his current disposition toward Parish. Niggle graduates to the next level of purgatory. No longer confined to a prison, he is given stewardship of a house and property with a view of The Tree and The Mountains that had so filled his dreams and imaginings in life. This is Niggle’s do-over, in a sense–but he won’t be alone. Parish has made the journey and joined him. Now, Niggle and Parish become friends, and learn how to be good companions and neighbors as they share this place and build their adjacent cottages. Finally, the time comes for Niggle to move “further up and further in,” heading to the mountains (following a shepherd, it should be noted), while Parish waits at their pleasant plot of land (which comes to be called “Niggle’s Parish”) for his wife to join him.
• The final scenes of the story provide a dual-ending. There’s a conversation on Earth between a school master and town councilor about Niggle’s estate being sold off and the pitiful legacy he left. (This section seemed a clever twist on the “Christmas Future” scenes of A Christmas Carol.) The greedy councilor is dismissive of Niggle’s “foolishness” but the teacher is taken by a fragment of Niggle’s painting, which he keeps and later displays in an art gallery: “Leaf, by Niggle.” Meanwhile, in the Other Place, “Niggle’s Parish” becomes a convalescent home for souls making the journey to the mountains, and it is noted that this caused the home’s namesakes to laugh until the mountains rang with their joy.

In the final tally, Tolkien’s religious parable is really about a man who struggles to value the things that matter most in this life and whose heart must be reshaped before receiving his final rest. Tolkien’s Catholicism shapes this narrative, as he takes Niggle through a few stages of “purging” before he is ready to ascend the Mountain of the Lord.

Even for Christians who don’t hold to this doctrine, the story is still a good reminder that, no matter what other plans or pursuits we have in this life, there are some things that matter most and have eternal impact. Our days on earth are limited, so if we are to be faithful followers of Jesus, we should be about our Master’s business while there is yet daylight.

I was surprised by this story (and by its overtly Catholic nature) and enjoyed reading it very much. After reflecting on it, I find myself thinking about what I value most and how I can spend my days pursuing things with lasting impact. That alone makes this a worthwhile read.

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Agree? Disagree? Any observations of your own? Let me know in the comments!

52 Stories #21: “The Picture in the House” by H.P. Lovecraft

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Today’s #52Stories selection is my first real experience with the writing of H.P. Lovecraft, as I consider his 1921 story, “The Picture in the House.” The Lovecraft name has become synonymous with supernatural horror, and I was curious finally to explore his work for myself.

So, what did I think? Gird up your loins, dauntless reader, and proceed!

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The Pitch

A traveler takes refuge from a storm in what appears to be an abandoned house, only to find there is one inhabitant…and he’s hungry.

The Pay-off

I made the mistake of choosing a Lovecraft story that was conveniently located in a collection I had picked up to use for another story in this series, so I went ahead and read that one rather than searching out what might be considered his better/best work. At least, that’s what I hope, because if this story is considered one of Lovecraft’s better works, I’m fine with not reading anything else of his. Does that tell you what you need to know?

The Takeaways

Fair warning, adventurer—there be spoilers ahead. Take heed, lest ye—

You know what, I’m just going to stop, because giving you spoilers might actually be doing you a favor by saving you the trouble of reading this.

Steel yourselves, brave the fell wind, and hark:

• You can certainly credit Lovecraft with having a distinct style—even if that style is “15-year-old goth kid with a thesaurus and an axe to grind.” The sentences were belabored and flowery to the point of being silly. Reading his prose almost became a game of “How could I rewrite this sentence in as few words as possible?” I understand that he’s trying to set the mood, but his verbosity quickly became ridiculous. Suffice it to say, this was a jarring shift in style after reading Hemingway’s sparse text.
• First line: “Searchers after horror haunt strange, far places.” Yet, he continues, New England holds the greatest horrors, “…for there the dark elements of strength, solitude, grotesqueness, and ignorance combine to form the perfection of the hideous.” Yikes.
• Lovecraft’s narrator (and likely Lovecraft himself) holds a deep and bitter prejudice against the Puritans who settled New England, describing their “gloomy and fanatical belief that exiled them from their kind” and their “appalling slavery to the dismal phantoms of their own minds.” Having actually read Puritan writings and theology, one wonders if Lovecraft has actually read the Puritans, or is merely working from academia’s stereotypes of these early American immigrants (who were fleeing religious persecution, not “exiled” as if they were banished from polite society, thank you). Indeed, the narration was so arrogant about New Englanders  past and present that I hesitated to feel bad for the evil that would imminently befall him.
• The short version of the plot: In November, 1896, the narrator (a genealogist) is travelling by bicycle through New England, when he breaks into what looks like an abandoned house to wait out a storm. He discovers an ancient book about exploration in Africa, that falls open to a woodcut picture of a cannibal tribe’s “butcher shop,” if you will. As he stares at the picture, he hears a creak in the floor above, and a creepy old man comes down to greet him. Rather than demanding he leave, the old man welcomes the stranger and comments on the open book and its pictures. The old man begins describing how the pictures stir up murderous, hungry impulses in him, when suddenly a drop of blood falls from the blood-stained ceiling above and lands on the page. Then (and this is a bit unclear) there is a clap of thunder, and the narrator is struck by the old man and presumably killed. Or so I thought. Per the Wikipedia entry, a bolt of lightning destroys the house and brings oblivion to the narrator, preventing him from a dark fate–which is the plain reading of the text, but I thought that was too easy and that HPL was being more artistic? Silly me.
• If the narrator is killed, in either case, how is he able to write this story? Or am I not supposed to ask?
• But yeah, that’s really all there is to it. A traveler almost (?) falls victim to a cannibalistic recluse in the New England countryside. Also, Puritans are creepy and bad. Thanks, H.P.!
• Okay, I admit, this is probably an unfair summary/review. HPL sets the mood and tone of the story with his descriptions and language, and I admit, there’s a growing dread as the tale unfolds. I just wish he had set aside the unnecessary potshots at Christianity, because it took me out of the story and made me more guarded and critical of the narrator. (A brief Google/wiki search clears this up: HPL rejected his culturally-Christian roots in childhood and from then on held to a persistent and antagonistic atheism/agnosticism throughout his whole life. Yet all that time, he wrote quite often about powerful, malevolent gods/demi-gods who destroy, corrupt, and drive mad the helpless characters in his stories. There’s QUITE a bit to analyze there, eh?)

All this to say, I was…not a fan of this story. While the references and allusions to Lovecraft’s “Great Old Ones” mythology that I’ve come across in other media have been intriguing (including one of my favorite stories so far in #52Stories!), this entry was a dreary mess. I might give him another shot, but if it’s more of the same, I won’t be digging any further into the Lovecraft bibliography.

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Agree? Disagree? Any observations of your own? Let me know in the comments!

52 Stories #20: “A Clean, Well-lighted Place” by Ernest Hemingway

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Today’s selection is Hemingway’s 1933 classic story, “A Clean, Well-lighted Place.” I got the idea to read this one from FX Turk via the Gut Check Podcast. Thanks for the inspiration, fellas.

So what’s this story about? More than just “alcohol,” lemme tell ya.

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The Pitch

An old man drinks alone at a table, while 2 waiters watch and comment.

The Payoff

That really is the entire story, in that one line of description–but it’s so much more than that. This sparse story carried an emotional heft I wasn’t ready for. It resonated deeply with a past season of my life, and I found myself unexpectedly moved. Definitely seek this one out and read it. (I would further recommend finding a printed version, rather than one of the many PDFs floating around the internet. Due to Hemingway’s complete disdain for dialogue attribution, any formatting errors in digital copies end up confusing the reader as to who is speaking at certain points.)

The Takeaways

I have a few thoughts about this story, so sit back and pour yourself a beverage (with or without a saucer to catch the spillage):

• First: Hemingway’s economy of language. I was fully engaged in a scene he describes in only the barest of terms. I could hear the music, I could feel the breeze, I could smell the city. With the briefest strokes, he paints a complete picture.
• At its heart, “A Clean, Well-Lighted Place” is about how people (men, specifically) battle loneliness. The married waiter wants to rush home to sleep beside his wife. The soldier outside is pursuing the company of (presumably) a prostitute. But both the old man who drinks and the older waiter who watches lack such companionship. In a way, they are each other’s company, as they silently occupy the same space. This is why the waiter is hesitant to rush the old man out the door. The old man, despite being rich and having some family nearby, had attempted and failed to kill himself when the loneliness became too much. Now, he just drinks alone in the cafe until closing time.
• As the old man goes and the old waiter closes shop, the waiter then tries to find somewhere else to go. Here is where the title comes into focus: he, like the old man, sought a clean, well-lighted place–someplace he could sit by himself but in the presence of others, so that he didn’t have to confront the loneliness and silence of his empty apartment. It was the emptiness, the all-encompassing nada, that he was avoiding. The waiter recites a version of the Lord’s Prayer and the Hail Mary, as the words are overcome and replaced with nada, nada, nada. It’s this nada that lonely men avoid by seeking out cozy spots to drink (or read, or write). There was a season of my life in which, despite having family and friends nearby, I myself ate many meals and spent many evenings in clean, well-lit places, reading, scribbling notes for stories unwritten, hiding away from my own nada.
• [Now that I think of it, it makes all the more sense that for many years my favorite piece of art was Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks, which depicts the epitome of a “clean, well-lighted place.”]
• “After all, [the waiter] said to himself, it is probably only insomnia. Many must have it.” These final words were a bit heartbreaking, because he’s right. There may be many who have trouble sleeping because they feel isolated.

“A Clean, Well-lighted Place” was short but surprisingly moving, and I grokked it on a fundamental level. One of my favorites thusfar.

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Agree? Disagree? Any observations of your own? Let me know in the comments!

52 Stories #19: “A Brief Moment in the Life of Angus Bethune” by Chris Crutcher.

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Today’s entry in #52Stories is “A Brief Moment in the Life of Angus Bethune” by Chris Crutcher, recommended by my buddy James on Facebook. This 1989 short story was published in a collection called “Athletic Shorts” and would go on to be the basis for a film adaptation (called Angus), which I believe is James’ favorite movie.

So what did I think? Let’s get to it!

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The Pitch

An unlikely candidate is crowned “Winter Ball King” and is determined to make the most of his big moment: a dance with his lifelong crush.

The Payoff

I have mixed feelings about this one. There are elements of the writing that I really liked, and others that took me out of the moment. Some of the story elements seemed unnecessary, but on the whole they don’t really detract from the narrative. The tone of the story is very early 90’s and clearly geared at middle/high-school-aged kids, so it feels a bit heavier on the “Bart Simpson” snark than I would prefer. (I guess that means I’m an “old man yelling at clouds” now?)

The Takeaways

So what worked? What didn’t? Does this story “get its moment”? Let the spoilers commence!

• Right off the bat, I was a bit thrown off by the “voice” of the narrator. Angus is a high-school senior in 1989, but his word usage and cultural referents are sometimes a bit older. You could argue he’s very close to his grandfather and spends most of his time with his parents, so it’s not out of the question that he would consistently refer to older cultural icons like Robert Redford or use words like “tomfoolery” unironically. But in the end, it really does sound like a middle-aged man writing the dialogue of an 18 year old. The fact that the songs that factor into the climax of the story would be considered “dad-rock” by even late 80’s standards only emphasizes the age disparity between author and narrator.
• On top of the weird cultural discussion, there’s the sarcasm. I get it, he’s portrayed as a “tough kid” with a good heart. But even how he mentally describes his parents is pretty mean. I don’t know if Crutcher is consciously or subconsciously channeling Holden Caulfield here, but the thing is, I despise Holden Caulfield.
• You can definitely tell the story was written 30 years ago, because man, some of the terminology would NOT fly in our current PC culture.
• Don’t let all this criticism fool you, reader. I did genuinely like Angus as a character. Crutcher presents a flawed but very sympathetic protagonist, who becomes a kind of everyman for those of us who didn’t make prom king or get our “moment.”
• “All I want is my moment.” This is the driving theme of the story: the pursuit of a perfect moment that will make for a lifelong memory. Angus really needs a “win,” and he’s self-aware enough to know that he won’t get many.
• There are some really nice set-ups and callbacks in the narration and dialogue: Angus saying he has no illusions that Melissa Lefevre (his dream girl) will be so taken with him she’ll want to leave with him; the discussion of how Angus’ football skill comes from his ability to shadow his opponent and watch his hips to know where to go; his fear of his sweat being off-putting to Melissa. Crutcher creates some delightful symmetry throughout the story with these elements.
• Angus’ unusual homelife could have been used as a major plot device (and would have, if the story were written more recently), but Crutcher manages to keep it secondary to the dance plotline. The fact that Angus has 2 sets of gay parents, and his relationship with all of them collectively, does inform much of his character in the story (and gets quite a bit of attention in the middle section of the story), but it doesn’t feel like this is the capital-P Point of the narrative.
• Crutcher employs high-school-movie tropes (the big dance, the football-star bully, the untouchable dream-girl, the nobody who’s thrown into the spotlight by the machinations of others), but he does so in a way that still feels natural–the tropes become touchstones, connecting this story to all the other stories we love in this sub-genre.

In the end, I enjoyed this story, despite its flaws. Crutcher demonstrates he’s a solid writer from a technical standpoint, and he made me cheer for Angus as he “got his moment.” If you’re so inclined, you should check this one out. Not a classic, but not a bad time, either.

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Agree? Disagree? Any observations of your own? Let me know in the comments!