My God- What Have I Done?!

These new purchases are outside of my reading. Sometimes you are presented with a deal too good to refuse.

"Every man must die sooner or later, but good books must be preserved."
Don Vincente

The Best American Short Stories 1969 ed. Martha Foley & David Burnett

1 The Eldest Child - Maeve Brennan- New Yorker Jun 23 ’68

9 Play Like I’m Sheriff - Jack Cady- Twigs #4 ’68

21 Murphy’s Xmas - Mark Costello- Transatlantic Review Win ’68

37 Walking Wounded - John Bart Gerald- Harper’s Aug ’68

49 The Foreigner in the Blood - Mary Gray Hughes- Esquire Feb ’68

69 The Boy in the Green Hat - Norma Klein- Prairie Schooner Sum ’68

81 Happiness - Mary Lavin- New Yorker Dec 14 ’68

99 The Boat - Alistair Macleod- Massachusetts Review Spr ’68

117 The Day the Flowers Came - David Madden- Playboy Sep ’68

129 Pictures of Fidelman - Bernard Malamud- Atlantic Monthly Dec ’68

147 Porkchops with Whiskey and Ice Cream - Matthew W. McGregor- The Virginia Quarterly Review Spr ’68

165 Gold Coast - James Alan McPherson- Atlantic Monthly Nov ’68

183 The Inheritance of Emmy One Horse [as by Christopher Garrard]- John R. Milton- The South Dakota Review Spr ’68

195 By the River - Joyce Carol Oates- December, 1968

213 The Visitation - Nancy Pelletier- Pansing Intr1 Sep ’68

233 Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams - Sylvia Plath- Atlantic Monthly Sep ’68

249 Paper Poppy - Miriam Rugel- The Kenyon Review #4 ’68

265 The Tea Bowl of Ninsei Nomura - Margaret Shipley- The Denver Quarterly Sum ’68

275 The Colony - Isaac Bashevis Singer- Commentary Nov ’68

287 Benjamen Burning - Joyce Madelon Winslow- Intr1 Sep ’68

The Best American Short Stories 1972 ed. Martha Foley

1 Gold M. F. Beal- New American Review #11 ’71

16 The World War I Los Angeles Airplane - Richard Brautigan- New American Review #12 ’71

20 Covenant - Kelly Cherry- Commentary, 1971

48 A Death on the East Side - Herbert Gold- Esquire May ’71

75 The Supremacy of the Hunza - Joanne Greenberg- Transatlantic Review, ‘71

93 The Breadman - Mary Heath- The Virginia Quarterly Review Sum ’71

113 Drums Again - Edward M. Holmes- The Virginia Quarterly Review Sum ’71

123 The Judge - Mary Gray Hughes- Atlantic Monthly Nov ’71

138 In Black and White - Ann Jones- The Virginia Quarterly Review Sum ’71

153 Three Washington Stories - Ward Just- Atlantic Monthly Dec ’71

180 His Day Out - Robert Kalechofsky- Western Humanities Review Sum ’71

193 The Further Adventures of Brunhild - Rebecca Kavaler- The Yale Review Aut ’71

212 Fox and Swan - John L’Heureux- Transatlantic Review, ‘71

226 Intimacy - Ralph Maloney- Atlantic Monthly Feb ’71

235 The Aesculapians - Marvin Mandell- Epoch Spr ’71

256 The Dock-Witch - Cynthia Ozick- Event Spr ’71

290 The Vacation - Joe Ashby Porter- Occident Fll ’71

309 The Magic Apple - Penelope Street- Occident, ‘71

324 Meet Me in the Green Glen - Robert Penn Warren- The Partisan Review, ‘71

347 Stealing Cars - Theodore Weesner- Audience, ‘71

373 The Guns in the Closet - Jose Yglesias- New Yorker, ‘71

The Best American Short Stories 1975 ed. Martha Foley

1 The Lie - Russell Banks- Fiction International #2/3 ’74

8 The School - Donald Barthelme- New Yorker Jun 17 ’74

12 How to Win - Rosellen Brown- Massachusetts Review v14 #4 ’74

26 Desert Matinee - Jerry Bumpus- Fiction International #2/3 ’74

37 Bambi Meets the Furies - Frederick Busch- The Ohio Review Fll ’74

47 Waiting for Astronauts - Nancy Chaikin- The Colorado Quarterly Aut ’74

59 Paths Unto the Dead - Mary Clearman- Georgia Review Sum ’74

69 Tyranny - Lyll Becerra de Jenkins- New Yorker, 1974

80 Cadence - Andre Dubus- The Sewanee Review Sum ’74

100 Big Boy - Jesse Hill- Ford Atlantic Monthly, 1974

111 The Spirit in Me - William Hoffman- The Sewanee Review Spr ’74

124 The Analyst - Evan Hunter- Playboy Dec ’74

137 How Jerem Came Home - Paul Kaser- The Colorado Quarterly Aut ’74

144 The Lost Salt Gift of Blood - Alistair Macleod- The Southern Review, 1974

162 The Burial - Jack Matthews- Georgia Review Win ’74

178 The Howard Parker Montcrief Hoax - Eugene McNamara- Canadian Fiction Magazine Win ’74

197 Night and Day at Panacea - Reynolds Price- Harper’s Aug ’74

212 Polonaise - Abraham Rothberg- Massachusetts Review v15 #4 ’74

254 Lullaby - Leslie Silko- Chicago Review v26 #1 ’74

264 The Man Who Lived - Barry Targan- Southern Review, 1974

278 The American Sickness - Jose Yglesias- Massachusetts Review v15 #4 ’74

The Best American Short Stories 1977 ed. Martha Foley

1 The Trouble with Being Food - Frederick Busch- Esquire, 1976

15 Tarzan Meets the Department Head - Price Caldwell- The Carleton Miscellany, 1976

24 Falconer - John Cheever- Playboy Jan ’76

43 At Peace - Ann Copeland- Canadian Fiction Magazine Aug ’76

66 Pleadings - John William Corrington- The Southern Review, 1976

102 Growing Up in No Time - Philip Damon- Hawaii Review, 1976

111 The Steinway Quintet - Leslie Epstein- Antæus, 1976

161 The Lover - Eugene K. Garber- Shenandoah, 1976

181 Look at a Teacup - Patricia Hampl- New Yorker, 1976

188 Rider Baine Kerr- The Denver Quarterly, 1976

205 A Questionnaire for Rudolph Gordon - John Matthews- Malahat Review Jul ’76

210 A Passion for History - Stephen Minot- The Sewanee Review Spr ’76

222 The Woman Who Thought Like a Man - Charles Newman- The Partisan Review v43 #4 ’76

235 Gay - Joyce Carol Oates- Playboy Dec ’76

256 Going After Cacciato - Tim O’Brien- Ploughshares Spr ’76

275 The Chink and the Clock People - Tom Robbins- American Review, 1976

291 A Fresno Fable - William Saroyan- New Yorker, 1976

293 Breed - John Sayles- Atlantic Monthly Jul ’76

317 Your Place Is Empty - Anne Tyler- New Yorker, 1976

338 Anthropology: What Is Lost in Rotation - William S. Wilson- Antæus, 1976

Ice – Elizabeth Tallent

Elizabeth Tallent – August 8, 1954

In the introduction to The BASS 1981, Calisher takes the reader aside and discusses what she feels is the typical New Yorker story. She does so right after mentioning that she requested “Ice” be placed into the collection - it was not a story that had been included by Ravenel.

I have no problem at all with the editor of the volume taking some liberties in the selection (Stephen King did so when he was editor), and I think that it can add a bit more substance to the collection. I’m not knocking Ravenel – she does a wonderful job in her selections as the series editor for the volume editor.

Calisher, in her description of the typical New Yorker story states that “Ice” is not a typical “New Yorker” story.

I’d have to disagree with her.

What I mean with mu disagreement is that in 1981, she placed a New Yorker story in The BASS that would fit perfectly in the New Yorker magazine today.

In the 1970s, New York City was still holding on pretty tight to the lead spot for all things lit in America.

Publishing, criticism, the talent – all there.

I can’t help but wonder if the blood of NYC lit is still tainted with what was established and driven into the souls of writers, editors, publishers and the critics of the 70s and 80s.

-As I read “Ice” I saw NYC and “The New Yorker” all over it.

A story from the 80’s that tastes of today.

Now, after thinking about all of the above and re-reading passages of “Ice” once again, and coming to the final line –

“You know, don’t you, that you are not yourself?”

This last line was written long before Tallent had any clue where it was going to be published.

I think that what I felt about this story could be best attributed to what Stephen King wrote about in the NYT Sunday Book Review back in 2007:

"What’s not so good is that writers write for whatever audience is left. In too many cases, that audience happens to consist of other writers and would-be writers who are reading the various literary magazines (and The New Yorker, of course, the holy grail of the young fiction writer) not to be entertained but to get an idea of what sells there. And this kind of reading isn’t real reading, the kind where you just can’t wait to find out what happens next "

Wissler Remembers – Richard Stern

Richard Stern - born Feb. 25, 1928

The story of a Professor recalling his past students – all too easy for me to relate.

The total number of students I instructed back in Negresti during my two years there should be around 250.

I wonder from time to time where some of those students are today. I am absolutely sure where two of them are (successful cell phone salesmen in northern Romania).

The others – no clue.

It’s wonderful to think that they could be out there in the world using the English skills that I taught them over ten years ago.

But, let’s be real.

On a trip back to Negresti about 4 years ago, I ventured into a cell phone shop in an attempt to buy a SIM card to place into my phone so that I could make in-country calls.

The woman behind the counter was acting a bit squirrelly and I quickly dismissed it as just her reaction to a foreigner. After stumbling through the pronunciations of some technical words in Romanian, she switched to very broken English, catching me off guard.

“Mr H......”, don’t you recognize me?

I did a step back, looked her over and shook my head side to side.

“It’s me, Oana B......”.

I let a few words of surprise trickle out and finished off the incoherent sentence with the obligatory “how are you?”

This girl had been sitting in one of my classes only 6 years before...

This girl that I had scolded for smoking in a bar...this girl who I had counseled for bad grades on homework. - was married and had a child.

All of this raced through my mind as we attempted to get the SIM card to work (we never did).

After a few minutes, I wished her well, and made my way out of the store – attempting to hide my obvious state of shock as I made my way back to the bloc.

I hate to let reality intrude on my memories such as it did when I encountered Oana.

Oana was working at a cell phone store.

She would go home in the evening and fulfill her domestic duties.

Tend to a child.

Prepare dinner for a husband.

Purchase bread and salami.

Worry over finances.

And - If the above was the height of her worries, it would be wonderful, but we all know, that things are probably much worse for Oana.

I became so attached to these students, these children, these individuals.

I will forever keep the memory of my students set at the age where I first met them. 14,15,16,17 and 18 year olds.

They will never grow up-.

To place them into the reality that I know- the reality that exists for them within my minds eye, is so painful.

They deserve so much more. Life is not, and was not fair to them.

But, we know that. And so do they.

The St. Anthony Chorale - Louis D. Rubin Jr.

Louis D. Rubin Jr. – 1923 -

A wonderful story - I’ve met Rubin before in this series. He was the author of Finisterre. A wonderful southern writer.

The setting of this story takes place in Virginia and in a region that I happened to visit just last spring. Being familiar with the region allowed a more vivid picture of the story to develop in my head.

What really drew me into the story though was the similarity between the main character and the person that I was between the years 1998-2000.

You see, I spent a great deal of time alone in a single room just as the main character did. I spent time alone in a room in a small town, in a region of Romania that could be best compared to the Southern United States.

This story brought forth pleasant memories, difficult memories, but they were memories of what I once was.

And reflecting back on them makes me feel good.

I spent as much time alone in my single room before I sought out the companionship of others.

I can be solitary for a longer period than most people. Actually, I sort of take pride in this. But, my loneliness, homesickness and just the desire speak from my heart to another person drove me to seek others.

I found comfort in the form of a friendship with a man of questionable character. He was bumped up a few rungs of the social ladder by publicly being associated with me. We fed off of each other – as most friendships do.

Our haunts were cold, dark, smoky bars. 500 gram vodka shots went down pretty easy with him.

Once, twice – lost count.

He was someone I could complain to. Someone who would listen to me as long as he had a drink in front of him. We were seen together almost always after school and into the early evening and then sometimes after dinner. It was all too easy to find us at the bars.

We talked about our lives, America, Romania, money and the lack of it. Women and their beauty...and the desire to be with women.

Countless times, I wandered home to my cold room after hours of drinking and smoking. I’d stumble through the dark streets and alleys of the town with footing designed by my liquid consumption. Stray dogs and gypsies lurked in the shadows. Smoke wafted from chimneys.

And I’d stop. And listen to the world. And hear the beauty in the silence. Silence of my solitary life.

As previously posted, - In 1982 Rubin and Shannon Ravenel, a Hollins graduate, founded Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, one of the most successful commercial trade publishers outside of New York.