A Brief Intermission

It's easy to sidetrack me. Over the last few Christmases, I have asked for the latest volume of BASS. I can't help but dive into the introduction to see what the guest editor has to say about the state of the short story, their opinion on literature in general, and of course, "the times we live in…". The editor for The BASS 2025 is Celeste Ng. In her introduction, Celeste does a fine job of detailing her story selection process as well as listing a few details about each story. I decided to place this little intermission into this project, interrupting the reading of the 1993 volume, because Celeste does a fine job of reminding us about the importance of reading fiction (the importance of reading short stories will be in another Intermission, which will feature interview excerpts with the previous BASS series editor Heidi Pitlor).

 

Below you will find Celeste's thoughts about reading fiction as they were published in BASS 2025. The disinformation portion is quite important, but please pay attention to her thoughts on empathy and emotional truths. There's a lot of that missing in our time.        

 

 

Reading fiction matters immensely, especially right now.

 

This is surely not news to you, but we're living in an era of disinformation, in which knowingly false stories—or to put it more bluntly, lies—are purposefully deployed to manipulate others, usually for the benefit of a select few. 2024 is hardly the first year this has happened (and sadly, it surely won't be the last), but this past year we've seen incredibly clearly the real-world effects disinformation can have. I'm reluctant to repeat any of the complete falsehoods that have spread on social media and in the real world alike, often from people in positions of power, but I suspect I don't need to give you examples. If you lived through this year, and the past few years, you already know that the space between reality and fantasy has become increasingly blurred in many people's minds-and to many, the distinction may not even feel important anymore.

 

So why should we still read fiction in a time of lies? If "alternative facts" are running rampant, isn't the antidote (real) facts, rather than made-up stories? Aren't made-up stories part of how we got into this mess?

 

Facts and verifiable data are immensely important-and I'm deeply grateful to those who work to counter false claims with real information. But I'd also argue that that's only one front in the battle. Research shows, again and again, that a single personal story is more likely to change a person's mind than any amount of statistics.

 

Obviously, this doesn't mean that when you read a story, you'll suddenly find yourself in agreement with its characters or author-stories are not magic spells, and I'm not saying that just reading short stories will save the world, either. But stories build our empathy by asking us to imagine what it's like to be in someone else's position, thinking their thoughts and feeling their feelings. Unlike disinformation, a short story tells you up front that it is fiction, and when you know it's all just pretend, you're often more willing to play along: Okay, sure, I'll step into this world, it's just fifteen or twenty pages, and it's all pretend anyway... It's like taking a weekend trip to a place you've never been and aren't sure if you'll like, but hey—it's only a weekend, right?

 

At the end, though—assuming the story's done its job-this made-up story will have allowed you to access an emotional truth. Facts may tap politely at the prefrontal cortex, appealing to your rational brain, but fiction snakes its way into your limbic system and nests deep in your emotions. By skirting all the rational barriers we hunker behind, sometimes fiction can reach us in a more visceral way. And in doing so, short stories in particular can act like little tuning forks, helping us to clarify our own values—then allowing us to bring ourselves into alignment with what we believe. In a time when our values are being tested daily, it's hard to think of anything more important.

 

The Struggle

 

Writing is hard. I'll write it again…writing is hard. Writing now is hard. Readers of this blog – and that is written with the assumption that I have "readers" are, at this point, probably pretty exhausted with reading about my struggles with maintaining a steady writing habit here. I believe I use these few lines about the pains as a sort of runway to get the post off the ground. It's a simple, clear runway that I can return to easily. There are other runways, but at this time, I'll use it until I get better at taking off from other runways.

Another runway I like to use is the mention of how happy I am to read (insert author's name here) again. In this case, we'll use Updike. I usually refer readers to the anthology spreadsheet linked on the side of this page to see how many times I have written about Updike or when we will encounter him again.

So, in this struggle of writing, I am exercising the ability to write and…think. At least, that's what I'm told is happening. And in exercising these two skills, I am supposed to get better at them. Rather than being told what to think, there is a bit of independent thought happening as I poke at the keys. My thoughts are supposed to develop, and the ability to convey those thoughts through writing is also supposed to improve.

At least, that's what everyone tells me… and I tell everyone else.

I guess we'll have to see about that. Perhaps all this will stave off the mental decline that awaits us as the years tick past. (This whole BASS exercise will be a great way to track my ups and downs of the reading/thinking/writing skill, I suppose). I do think this is an impressive collection for me to reflect upon someday, and perhaps this line of thought that I seem to be dwelling upon at this moment is appropriate when reflecting on Updike's story.

Encountering Updike at the beginning of BASS 1993 was a surprise as I glanced over the table of contents on the back cover. The stories are usually ordered alphabetically by the author's last name in the anthology. The last time this order was disrupted was by John Gardner in 1982.  

1993's editor, Louise Erdrich, explains in her introduction:

"I wanted to play with the order so that I could set off the strengths of each piece. The collection begins with the most evocative first paragraph, which I think belongs to John Updike's "Playing with Dynamite," an unostentatious, painful, faultless story about a crack in the ice, a marriage and a man's entry into the uneven, reality of old age."

Wow – "unostentatious, painful, faultless" – an impressive collection of three words, and then the placement of the story at the beginning of the anthology – quite the honor.

As I prepared this morning to sit and write about this story, I glanced at the first paragraph, fully prepared to skim it, and then skim the rest of the story to refresh my memory and then get into writing about it. After a quick skim and moving onto the second page, I realized that I hadn't read this story yet and that, luckily, I had some time to read it this morning before moving into the writing phase. The story quickly absorbed me as I found it relatable, and interestingly, when I came to the part of the story describing the destruction of the bird's nest, I realized that I had already encountered this story. I can only imagine reading it in an Updike collection several years ago, but it was interesting that this portion of the story triggered my memory. Surprisingly, it wasn't the mention of old age or sex that stuck with me; it was the birds. I'll have to unpack that over the next few days.

In any case, I was generally satisfied with this story, as it squared nicely with what I have come to enjoy about Updike's writing, what he submits to The New Yorker, and what they choose to publish.

In the Contributor's notes at the back of the volume, Updike writes that this particular story was written on request from the new editor of The New Yorker. He said it was a woman, so I can conclude it was Tina Brown.

Updike writes – "Flattered silly, I pawed through the slips of paper on which I jot down story ideas, often just the titles, and came upon this title. One thing led to another, as I sat at the word processor, most of them having to do with the sensations and hallucinations of late middle age. I have written about aging, doddery, nostalgic American men whose names begin with "F" before, and let loosely related incidents weave their way around a central theme, or bitter fact, before; but the recipe seemed to produce a warmer, richer dish than usual here — at least its presence in this collection encourages me to think so. Life is an adventure, all right, from beginning to end, but life after sixty is a part of the tale that perhaps is more eagerly told than heard. It is the young we love, in print as on the silver screen, as they play with the dynamite of mating. For some time, I have noticed, my heroes seem older than I feel to myself, as if, lacking sex appeal to make them dramatic, they are cozying up to death."

I chose to include this passage from the Notes section as it hit me harder than the story. The "hit" is the relatable message that is conveyed by Updike. Sure, it was there in the story, but to read the message without it being deciphered caused me to re-read and rub the thick pages of the anthology between my thumb and index finger a few more minutes before setting the book aside.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Best American Short Stories 1993 - Introduction and Contents

 

I rub my dry hands across the thick paper cover of this volume. Its bright yellow cover with orange, blue, and black writing stares back at me, laughing, daring me to ignore it over the next many days, weeks, months, and years that it might take me to finish.

I give this physical book a voice as my hand passes over it. The callouses on my palms act as phonograph needles scraping against the woven pattern of the cover. The pages blow air back at my face as my thumb runs down the side. I hear its voice. Perhaps it’s the collective voice of the authors, the stories, the characters all begging me to discover them again.

With physical objects like this book, I often wonder about the journey it has been on before it landed in my hands. What shelves did it grace? Where did it travel from? How long did it sit with other books in a box in my basement before being pulled for reading? Giving a bit of life to these books allows the development of a relationship with them. Could that be the reason why I spend so long carrying them around?

Over the last sixteen years of this project, various volumes of this collection have moved with me from home to work, room to room in a house, state to state, sheltered from the elements and exposed, and have been a burden physically and psychologically as they have accompanied me through some of the most important years of my life. Am I heaping too much weight on these books? Perhaps. However, their influence on me and the lessons they impart have been something that I value and cherish, and I will endeavor to continue to write about their influence.

BASS 1993

As Katrina Kenison writes in the Forward of this volume, as the BASS Series Editor, the stories for this collection’s anthology were originally published between January 1992 and January 1993. As I do when reading these books, I’ll often try to remember that year, psychically place myself back in that year, and approach the story with that mind. My present mind will creep into thoughts about the story, which is part of this exercise’s magic.

Louise Erdrich is the editor of this volume, and we’ve encountered her twice before. Her story “Scales” was selected for inclusion in the 1983 BASS collection, and her story “Snares” appeared in the 1988 volume.

We’ll get a chance to hear her voice again in the 2003, 2015, and 2016 BASS collections.

I’d like to highlight a point that Erdrich makes in her introduction.

“Usually these collections are structured alphabetically, according to author. I wanted to play with the order so that I could set off the strengths of each piece. The collection begins with the most evocative first paragraph which I think belongs to John Updike’s “Playing with Dynamite,” an unostentatious, painful, faultless story about a crack in the ice, a marriage, and a man’s entry into the uneven reality of old age. I’m also pleased that Mr. Updike should for once appear first since he is usually last by alphabet in this collection.”

At this moment of writing, I can’t recall any guest editor placing the stories in anything but alphabetical by the author's last name since John Gardener’s selections for the 1982 BASS.

I should note here that that collection was one of, if not my favorite, BASS.

 

Additionally, John Updike is a favorite of mine, and to have him kick off the volume, I feel, sets me up for success… perhaps Erdrich gives us a little treat by providing some rhythm to this collection – in what would usually just be a composition decided by our alphabet.

Erdrich does mention the “New Yorker” story “issues” with these collections, and I suppose at this point in my introduction, I should note that there are eight stories from The New Yorker, and coming in second would be two stories from Harper’s.

I can’t say that discovering where the story was originally published has had any sort of impact on my feelings about the story – but I will say that the availability of The New Yorker as a publication that prints great short fiction has kept the fire of interest in this art alive for me. I felt I should mention this as I have commented on it before, and Erdrich took the time to mention it.

Here are the contents as listed on the back cover of the volume and as they appear in this volume.

Playing With Dynamite - John Updike - The New Yorker

The Girl On The Plane - Mary Gaitskill - Mirabella

A Real Life - Alice Munro - The New Yorker

Silent Passengers - Larry Woiwode - The New Yorker

Queen Wintergreen - Alice Fulton - Triquarterly

The Man Who Rowed Christopher Columbus Ashore - Harlan Ellison - Omni

Poltergeists - Jane Shapiro - The New Yorker

Red Moccasins - Susan Power - Story

I Want To Live! - Thom Jones - Harper's

Charlotte - Tony Earley - Harper's

What The Thunder Said - Janet Peery - Black Warrior Review

Naked Ladies – Antonia Nelson - The New Yorker

Man, Woman And Boy - Stephen Dixon - Western Humanities Review

Winter Barley - Andrea Lee - The New Yorker

Concerning Mold Upon The Skin, Etc. - Joanna Scott - Antæus

Pray Without Ceasing - Wendell Berry - Southern Review

Gold - Kim Edwards - Antæus

Great Barrier Reef - Diane Johnson - The New Yorker

Terrific Mother - Lorrie Moore - The Paris Review

The Important Houses - Mary Gordon - The New Yorker

So…I suppose we should start the clock!

Stop the Clock

On February 20, 2020, I typed “Start the clock” when I introduced BASS 1992.

I also wrote this line: “I've written several times about the various stages of my life, and here we are at another. It'll be very interesting to see what develops”.

Here we are

4 years, 11 months, 4 days

Or

1800 days later, and I can finally close the cover on this volume, Finally.

There is simply too much to write about concerning developments in our lives over the past 1800 days, so I’ll just have to revisit this post someday and reflect on our lives from 2020 until 2025. I will say, though, that the highs (good things) vastly outweighed the lows (bad things) over the five years, and I consider us very fortunate in that sense.

Can’t say that I gave the volume a fair shake. I could have easily finished the volume in 20 days if I read and written about a story every day until completion. One month if I took the weekends off.  

No, I had to take 1800 days.

Running into some old friends – JCO, DFW, and Tobias Wolff was great. 

I’ll remember where I was in July 2024 when I read DFW. Where I was in January 2023 when I read JCO, the one story I read in 2022, Community Life by Lorrie Moore, Emergency by Denis Johnson in January 2021, and Days of Heaven by Rick Bass in June 2020 – when the world was very interesting.

So, onward with life and reading. 1993 awaits us.