The Best American Short Stories 1982

The Best American Short Stories 1982 ed. John Gardner & Shannon Ravenel

Introduction - John Gardner

Cathedral - Raymond Carver

Dancing Ducks and Talking Anus - James Ferry

The Courtship of Widow Sobcek - Joanna Higgins

Good Rockin’ Tonight - William Hauptman

Shelter the Pilgrim - Fred Licht

Coach - Mary Robison

Exchange Value - Charles Johnson

K. 590 - Nicholson Baker

The Dolphin Story - Joyce Renwick

The Continental Heart - Lissa McLaughlin

The Cafe de Paris - Roberta Gupta

The Power of Language Is Such That Even a Single Word Taken Truly to Heart Can Change Everything - Alvin Greenberg

The Gift Horse’s Mouth - R. E. Smith

Harmony of the World - Charles Baxter

Coming Over - Edith Milton

The Girl Who Was No Kin to the Marshalls - Anne Hobson Freeman

Prize Tomatoes - Anne F. Rosner

Proud Monster—Sketches - Ian MacMillan

Lamb Says - Roseanne Coggeshall

Theft - Joyce Carol Oates

The Best American Short Stories 1982

I can’t at this time remember which shipment this book was bundled with but I have a feeling it was with a Better World Books order. It is a former library book, and as with previous books from BWB, it is in wonderful condition.

The book is from the Sun Prairie Public Library in Sun Prairie Wisconsin.

The circulation history on the overdue card only dates back to June of 1990 – I’m sure it saw higher circulation closer to its release date. It was also affixed with a computer barcode for circulation when the library updated their system so any history after 1996 is a mystery.

Little funny thing I noticed – It was stamped “non-fiction”.

Accident I’m sure.

Concerning Sun Prarie Library, they seem to be a very cool system.

First thing I noticed was their operating hours. Long weekday hours and they are even open on Sundays!

They have a great online presence and as I finish typing this I’ll start to follow them on twitter and become a fan on their Facebook page. They even have close to 70 pictures on a Flickr account.

Because of their Flickr page, I was able to take a little tour of the former home of my book (great check-out area with a great looking Blue Cow!).

They are very active on both their social networking accounts and post updates and schedules regularly.

It really looks like The BASS 1982 had a comfortable home, and once again, I thank the forward thinking librarian that decided weed out this book and allow BWB to sell it to me.

The Best American Short Stories 1981 - Completed

OK – here are some quick figures on The BASS 1981.

I started reading – or at least posted my first report on the book on Jan. 21, 2010. I am making my last post on Feb. 24, 2010. That works out to:

1 month 3 days

or

4 weeks 6 days

or

34 days

or

24 weekdays

or

802 hours

There were 20 stories and this works out to 1.7 stories per day.

The authors were split right down the center by gender.

As addressed in the Intro to this collection, the most represented literary magazine was the New Yorker, and this collection had the New York literary scene all over it.

My favorite was: The winter father by Andre Dubus

My least favorite was: The Idea of Switzerland by Walter Abish

Overall, I really enjoyed this collection. I suppose I can attribute the speed (slow for most) of my reading/research and thoughts to the excellent collection contained between the covers.

Calisher did a fine job in assembling 20 great stories and her confidence in the strength of the short story form was right on target.

On to 1982

Change – Larry Woiwode

Larry Woiwode - October 30, 1941

The final story of this volume - and just by the luck of having a “W” beginning his last name, Calisher is able to leave us with a pleasant taste in our mouth as we finish this book.

Ordering the stories in these collections alphabetically by the authors last name is surely the most democratic way of presenting the stories but if I do feel it important for the volume editor to point out his/her favorite by placing them in the front of the book because I do not think that most readers of these collections read the book all the way through.

My assumption is that these books find their way onto bedside tables where they get buried under other “to read” books and I’m sure they are placed on the tanks of plenty of toilets where the stories are read during certain “duties”. It’s a shame that this was the last story of the book – it’s a real gem and I hope that more people seek it out.

Woiwode offers a strong story in “Change”. It should be no surprise given his talent and the popularity of his other writings. Today, he is a lesser known author and doesn’t seem to have survived (in the literature world) the early 80s.

One interesting little twist that I feel I must point out and that I am sure I will touch upon in a post concerning The BASS 1982.

Woiwode is the last author in this book. Again - last just because of his last name.

The next volume in The BASS, is of course 1982.

The volume editor for 1982 is John Gardner.

John Gardner died on September 14, 1982.

In addition to being the guest editor that year, he was the director of the Creative Writing Program at SUNY Binghamton.

Now the twist. - Who became the next director of that program after Gardner’s death?

Larry Woiwode.

Interesting.

Now, I’ll write about what passed through my head as I read and finished this wonderful story.

My thoughts are pretty far from the message that I think Woiwode was attempting to deliver – and I received it – but I’m not writing a story review.

I find myself reflecting once again on my father and his life, as his life and mind now seems to be closing in on itself like a dying star.

Just as the family next door to the main character in this short, my father grew up in a rough and tumble family.

Oldest of 4 kids – 2 younger brothers and a sister. They lived in what was considered the poorest part of Des Moines in a “Sears” house. I was told that his father ordered this house from Sears, and constructed on a chunk of land. A quick internet search yields up that yes, there were “Sears” houses...but I am certain that the houses in the catalog look nothing like what I remember seeing in the early 1990s.

My father ran in the alleys with a blonde Mohawk haircut – shoeless – cutoff shorts and most likely shirtless.

He got into fights, picked on kids and got into trouble – as one would expect a kid to do.

He would return home and sleep in the same bed with his brothers and the entire family would crowd around the table for meals where survival of the fittest came into play.

Several years ago, change came to my father’s old house just as change came to the family in the story.

The old white ‘Sears” house was demolished.

The destruction of the house had an impact on my father – I’m sure of it because he mentioned it quite often in the early days before he was officially diagnosed. It was one of those stories that he would tell over and over – and you’d just let him tell it because you figured that he was just getting old and “forget” that he told it several months prior.

Well – I suppose there was something more there – hidden deep inside.

Still of Some Use – John Updike

John Updike - March 18, 1932 – January 27, 2009

Another story by Updike. I was really looking forward to reading it because of my new fondness for his writing. I can’t wait to read more. I’ll say it again – or something along the lines of what I said before – I can’t believe that it has taken so ling for me to read him. What a true master.

Attics are wonderful places. The apartment M and I live in now, does not have an attic – so we are forced to use our closets and my mother’s attic for overflow storage.

My mother’s attic. I lived in that attic from about age 13 through 18 – and it is where I slept when I came home to visit during college breaks.

Through some of the most developmental years of my life, I lived in that attic, and the fact that I did, enhanced those years. I was free from the prying eyes of my mother – my sister and all those that I felt were snooping on me (at that age, someone is always snooping).

I decorated the walls with street signs, posters of bikini models (Cindy Crawford was a favorite) and was able to position my stereo perfectly to allow the outside world to hear the “music” I loved.

I burned incense – which stirred suspicions in my mother that I had turned the attic into some sort of opium den. It may have looked that like one but the strongest thing ingested up there was Pepsi.

I secreted away copies of Sports Illustrated swimsuit issues and even a couple – um- other titles that featured ladies in –um- not a lot of clothes.

It was like a tree house, a guy’s hideaway and I loved it.

A great room to grow up in.

Living in the attic with me was plenty of our family’s past. Old books from my parent’s college days, outdated encyclopedias, a loom, WWII Nazi trophies of war, old clothes, toys, old furniture and countless boxes of “junk”. On boring weekends, I’d venture to that side of the attic and sift through the boxes in an attempt to discover a bit more about my family. At times, I’d come across a nice piece of the puzzle...but mostly, there was plenty of junk.

Today, I venture up to the attic about once a month – usually looking for an old book. I stored most of my bachelor possessions up in the attic back in ’98 before I left for Romania, and about 80% of what I left there remains today. The boxes are filled with books and papers from college. Stuff I’m sure most guys like me have stashed away. There is even a suitcase filled with the remnants of my 2 years in Negresti - letters from home and of course – papers.

Attics are wonderful time capsules of our lives that should be explored from time to time.

One day, I’m sure I’ll find the time to unseal those boxes and open that suitcase and rediscover parts of my life.