A lot of people hate Hemingway stories because "they don't say anything," or because "nothing happens," or because "he uses sentences that are shorter than the Lollipop Guild." The reason people think that "nothing happens" in his stories is probably because he includes almost nothing that is abstract; he uses clear sentences that state quite clearly what is happening, and little else. His stories are usually very physical and very straightforward, and believe it or not, all kinds of things happen. Just nothing fake.
Hemingway stories are more real than most stories, I think, because they don't claim to be anything or know anything that they could never be or know. Hemingway doesn't have any sentences that are rife with symbolism; he doesn't obsess over sensations and details; he doesn't paint a picture. He tells stories. Stories that can feasibly represent reality, because he doesn't get caught up with all of the little writing tricks that present the prose as an alternate reality where wordplay is more important than reality.
No offense to amateur poets, but sounds don't smell like anything, and touch doesn't taste like anything. There are not actually any worlds underneath your fingernails, it is not raining hatred outside, and ignorance does not look like shackles. Life is not abstract. It is real. It is physical. And that is pretty meaningful in and of itself.
So both parts of "Big Two-Hearted River" make for an incredibly real experience, and that experience is especially real because of everything that is not written. Abstract concepts are, by definition, impossible to ground to reality. So Hemingway works from the ground up.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
"Two Rubber Bands" by Kyle Minor
Does a story have to be "about" something? Does it have to mean something? The best stories probably aren't obviously "about" something so much as just straight-up entertaining. A co-worker says a hilarious story, and your first reaction isn't "but what does that story mean?" Not to suggest that all stories need to follow the conventions of casual conversation, but that all good stories resist simply having meaning.
Two Rubber Bands does an interesting thing in that it explores our natural tendency to try to find meaning through story. It seems aware of the fact that story itself is very much distanced from real life, and as such, crap happens when we move storytelling into the Meaning-Making Realm.
I think it's appropriate to include this story here because it also seems critical of the intrusion of self-conscious literariness. That seems to fit with my theme of Seeking Out Stories That Aren't Necessarily Literary. Story has some real, substantial connection to regular human life, and maybe self-conscious literariness tries to turn stories from being about human life to being about their own literariness. Kyle Minor seems to be at least aware of that problem.
The other reason I find it appropriate to link this story is the fact that it's an exclusively online story. I found it at www.pindeldyboz.com, one of many online journals that post free content. I think the more we get away from the short story tradition being defined by physical literary journals put out by MFA students on the east coast, the better. I'm looking into this online short story thing, and I like how it makes short stories available to people who don't have to pay to find "good stories."
Two Rubber Bands does an interesting thing in that it explores our natural tendency to try to find meaning through story. It seems aware of the fact that story itself is very much distanced from real life, and as such, crap happens when we move storytelling into the Meaning-Making Realm.
I think it's appropriate to include this story here because it also seems critical of the intrusion of self-conscious literariness. That seems to fit with my theme of Seeking Out Stories That Aren't Necessarily Literary. Story has some real, substantial connection to regular human life, and maybe self-conscious literariness tries to turn stories from being about human life to being about their own literariness. Kyle Minor seems to be at least aware of that problem.
The other reason I find it appropriate to link this story is the fact that it's an exclusively online story. I found it at www.pindeldyboz.com, one of many online journals that post free content. I think the more we get away from the short story tradition being defined by physical literary journals put out by MFA students on the east coast, the better. I'm looking into this online short story thing, and I like how it makes short stories available to people who don't have to pay to find "good stories."
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
"A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings" by Gabriel Garcia Marquez
I think another good way of reexamining the value of short stories is by delving into the tales of other cultures. Storytelling is so vital a part of so many different cultures, it makes sense that different cultures tell their stories in different ways.
Not to suggest that A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings is an appropriate way to view another culture, but it carries something real and honest with it because it's from another culture. I love that this story is tied in no way to the Self-Proclaimed Intellectual Capitol of the World (NYC).
Even though "A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings" is different from its original Spanish version, "Senor Muy Viejo Con Alas Enormas," and most of Marquez's nuances in language are completely lost, I absolutely love this story. It deals with different subject matter, it looks at it in a different light, and it does so with confident wisdom. ("Confident wisdom"...I'll have to put that on the back of a book some day.) I think this shows that story does not necessarily have a lot to do with specific decisions in diction, or even with style in general. The story can be good without a reliance on especially clever word choice or snappy descriptions or people in their 30s who live on the East coast.
The story is short, worth reading, makes you look at things differently, and it doesn't suck. Definitely good material for this blog.
Not to suggest that A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings is an appropriate way to view another culture, but it carries something real and honest with it because it's from another culture. I love that this story is tied in no way to the Self-Proclaimed Intellectual Capitol of the World (NYC).
Even though "A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings" is different from its original Spanish version, "Senor Muy Viejo Con Alas Enormas," and most of Marquez's nuances in language are completely lost, I absolutely love this story. It deals with different subject matter, it looks at it in a different light, and it does so with confident wisdom. ("Confident wisdom"...I'll have to put that on the back of a book some day.) I think this shows that story does not necessarily have a lot to do with specific decisions in diction, or even with style in general. The story can be good without a reliance on especially clever word choice or snappy descriptions or people in their 30s who live on the East coast.
The story is short, worth reading, makes you look at things differently, and it doesn't suck. Definitely good material for this blog.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
"Me and Miss Mandible" by Donald Barthelme
In writing my thoughts on structure this Wednesday, I remembered Donald Barthelme and all the good old times we used to have together. By this, I mean that I in no way have ever been in the man's presence and really have no relationship with him.
Before I was ever an English major, I picked up "50 Stories" (one of his story collections) and was absolutely delighted by them. That's evidence to me that his work can be read and enjoyed without the typical required literary information and appreciation that most short stories seem to ask for.
In short, his stories are just ridiculous. But they're very aware of their own ridiculousness, and maybe could be characterized as satirical, and most certainly have been characterized as postmodern. But. Those are the labels that we're trying to avoid in the fear that those labels become engrained in our definitions of "short stories that don't suck." Really, I think that an in-depth, analytical reading of Barthelme ruins what Barthelme is best at: delighting the reader.
"Me and Miss Mandible" is at once hilarious and thought-provoking for its deliberate cleverness, and you don't need the lens of an English major to appreciate him. Barthelme convinces me that short stories do not have to dwell in the realm of Divorces That Take Place In New York that the genre seems so preoccupied with lately. And thank goodness.
Please note, though, that I select "Me and Miss Mandible" not just as a foil to what I see as an unfortunately dominant type of modern short story. As humorous or ridiculous as his stories get, you find that they still pack some real seriousness to them. They're a testament to the role of humor in real life, I think. Which is a topic for another day.
Before I was ever an English major, I picked up "50 Stories" (one of his story collections) and was absolutely delighted by them. That's evidence to me that his work can be read and enjoyed without the typical required literary information and appreciation that most short stories seem to ask for.
In short, his stories are just ridiculous. But they're very aware of their own ridiculousness, and maybe could be characterized as satirical, and most certainly have been characterized as postmodern. But. Those are the labels that we're trying to avoid in the fear that those labels become engrained in our definitions of "short stories that don't suck." Really, I think that an in-depth, analytical reading of Barthelme ruins what Barthelme is best at: delighting the reader.
"Me and Miss Mandible" is at once hilarious and thought-provoking for its deliberate cleverness, and you don't need the lens of an English major to appreciate him. Barthelme convinces me that short stories do not have to dwell in the realm of Divorces That Take Place In New York that the genre seems so preoccupied with lately. And thank goodness.
Please note, though, that I select "Me and Miss Mandible" not just as a foil to what I see as an unfortunately dominant type of modern short story. As humorous or ridiculous as his stories get, you find that they still pack some real seriousness to them. They're a testament to the role of humor in real life, I think. Which is a topic for another day.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
"Gravity" by Stephen Tuttle
I've always been interested in stories with weird structure. Structure, when the writer's conscious of it, just lights my brain on fire sometimes. I think an interesting structure stands out even more in a genre where a reader doesn't have to sit through 300 pages of something written in a way he doesn't normally process fiction. In other words, short stories are short enough that you can experiment with structure.
I think this experimentation's important, because honestly our lives are not usually structured like a traditional story. I think if we want to really examine the intricacies of life, we've got to be able to look at it from an angle other than "Sally did this, Sally did that; now the story's over." We especially need to look at it from an angle other than the oft-abused "Sally did nothing and life is meaningless" structure that Rules The Genre. We look at our lives in a million different ways -- by lists, by forms, by obituaries, et cetera. (Okay, so probably not a million.)
The traditional structure of a story is not usually the way real life is actually structured. The way we structure our stories changes the story; in many ways, it is the story. Structure is how we take the raw materials of our lives and arrange them. Story is us trying to make some sense of those same things. Conscious structure is, then, the story in some respect.
This all comes to mind after reading "Gravity" by Stephen Tuttle. I can't remember being more delighted by a story's structure. (I think Donald Barthelme probably has some stories that'd delight me as much if I went and reread them, though.) Let me know what you think.
I think this experimentation's important, because honestly our lives are not usually structured like a traditional story. I think if we want to really examine the intricacies of life, we've got to be able to look at it from an angle other than "Sally did this, Sally did that; now the story's over." We especially need to look at it from an angle other than the oft-abused "Sally did nothing and life is meaningless" structure that Rules The Genre. We look at our lives in a million different ways -- by lists, by forms, by obituaries, et cetera. (Okay, so probably not a million.)
The traditional structure of a story is not usually the way real life is actually structured. The way we structure our stories changes the story; in many ways, it is the story. Structure is how we take the raw materials of our lives and arrange them. Story is us trying to make some sense of those same things. Conscious structure is, then, the story in some respect.
This all comes to mind after reading "Gravity" by Stephen Tuttle. I can't remember being more delighted by a story's structure. (I think Donald Barthelme probably has some stories that'd delight me as much if I went and reread them, though.) Let me know what you think.
Monday, April 27, 2009
"Otis is Resurrected" by Brady Udall
I hear the short story is dying and that people only want to read novels. This seems counter-intuitive to me. This means that people either spend all day typing and reading things such as “Heather is going out to dinner” and “Michael hates school :(” or plowing through the Oprah Book Club books with the best-illustrated covers. I refuse to subscribe to a belief that the Reading Public simultaneously sits on opposite ends of a spectrum. In an Era when text messaging and Twitter are the h0t new kraze, I don’t see why people wouldn’t be clamoring all over each other at the chance to read short fiction.
The short story is like a writer’s playground, where nobody expects them to accomplish anything Olympian on the monkey bars. The tether ball expert doesn’t have to play tether ball every day, and writers can run straight from jungle gym to slide with nary a regret.
The self-defining characteristic of short stories (ie, the fact that they’re short) offers heightened creativity because it imposes upon the writer a Box. You can’t think outside the Box without a Box. Creativity is best accomplished around or through or in spite of something; the short story gives the writer that “something.” Every time you read a short story, you have to ask: What did the author accomplish with this speck of a word count? Hopefully, something awesome.
I think, also, that short stories have taken upon them the label of “Literariness.” For a genre, that’s not a good label to have. It gets English majors to poke at the text with sticks until it reveals phalluses and orifices. Edward Blake said something about seeing the world in a grain of sand, and just because a story is smaller, everybody wants to be able to analyze the entire world from it – to find evidence of hegemony, influence from a particular philosopher, a political commentary, etc. Can’t a story just be good?
I’m starting this blog as an argument for the short story. Three times a week I’ll post a link to a short story you can read for free online. I’ll post the short stories that made me grin like an idiot while reading them, they were so enjoyable. I’ll post the short stories you don’t need to write a paper about in order to enjoy. I’ll post the short stories that have left an impression on me. In short, I'll post the stories that don't suck.
When I finished "Otis is Resurrected", I felt like I’d finally read a good short story. More important than any discussion of themes or setting or voice or anything else I might want to mention here, I should just mention that it’s a great story. Have a good read.
The short story is like a writer’s playground, where nobody expects them to accomplish anything Olympian on the monkey bars. The tether ball expert doesn’t have to play tether ball every day, and writers can run straight from jungle gym to slide with nary a regret.
The self-defining characteristic of short stories (ie, the fact that they’re short) offers heightened creativity because it imposes upon the writer a Box. You can’t think outside the Box without a Box. Creativity is best accomplished around or through or in spite of something; the short story gives the writer that “something.” Every time you read a short story, you have to ask: What did the author accomplish with this speck of a word count? Hopefully, something awesome.
I think, also, that short stories have taken upon them the label of “Literariness.” For a genre, that’s not a good label to have. It gets English majors to poke at the text with sticks until it reveals phalluses and orifices. Edward Blake said something about seeing the world in a grain of sand, and just because a story is smaller, everybody wants to be able to analyze the entire world from it – to find evidence of hegemony, influence from a particular philosopher, a political commentary, etc. Can’t a story just be good?
I’m starting this blog as an argument for the short story. Three times a week I’ll post a link to a short story you can read for free online. I’ll post the short stories that made me grin like an idiot while reading them, they were so enjoyable. I’ll post the short stories you don’t need to write a paper about in order to enjoy. I’ll post the short stories that have left an impression on me. In short, I'll post the stories that don't suck.
When I finished "Otis is Resurrected", I felt like I’d finally read a good short story. More important than any discussion of themes or setting or voice or anything else I might want to mention here, I should just mention that it’s a great story. Have a good read.
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