The Fare to the Moon – Reynolds Price

 

Spanning pages 230-269 in the anthology, and with my battle to regain my attention span, I found this story to be a mountain to climb. In preparation for writing about the story and researching Price, I think this is one of those entries on this blog that will be short, revealing more of my discovery of the author and the publication that ran the story. Having lived in the south my whole life and knowing that Price was just a few hours away in the next state over – both now and before we moved, I always feel a special connection to these southern writers. This story first appeared in The Southern Review – a perfect host. I once had a nice collection of this particular literary journal and found that it featured stories worthy of its reputation. The story was written in the early 90s, with its genesis springing from an encounter Price had at a grocery store, witnessing the interactions between an interracial couple during his adolescence (1940s?). The story shines a light on race relations, an issue that remained and evolved from the 40s to the 90s and remains today in the 20s. It always amazes me where authors can find inspiration. According to my spreadsheet, Price made four appearances in BASS, but only one will be reviewed in this project.

The Names and Faces of Heroes – 1964

Night And Day at Panacea – 1975

Broad Day – 1976

The Fare to The Moon - 1992  

It has also been said that Price did not receive a great deal of scholarly attention …less than other members of his generation, such as John Updike, Philip Roth, Thomas Pynchon, Joyce Carol Oates, Toni Morrison, John Barth, Sylvia Plath, Susan Sontag, Don DeLillo, and Cynthia Ozick. Admittedly, this is the first time I’ve heard of him.

Of course, if I had made my way through my reading at a regular pace, I might have encountered his story before his death.

Price died at the age of 77 on January 20, 2011.

Joyce Carol Oates – Is Laughter Contagious?

 

What a feeling it is. Gently resting on my lap, the opening a book, the paper cover and inner pages under my dry fingers. I rub the pages feeling and listening to the noise they make. A sort of groaning. A swooshing sound as I flatten the pages with my hand to look closer at the ink on the pages. Real ink. Real paper. I move the sticky note that I’m using a bookmark to reveal the title of the story that I read so many months ago and that I’m finally getting around to writing about. I take comfort in reading that it’s by Oates – perhaps she can propel me back into this project as I’ve been corrupted by digital devices. Phones, laptops, tablets, TV. Giving my brain what it unconsciously calls out for—inflicting damage that will only surface over time. 

I’m sad that I have fallen so deeply into the pit of digital distraction – and isn’t it funny how I find myself typing out these characters to be posted on precisely the medium that I concern myself with. Perhaps I can find a happy point of coexistence. Discipline myself enough to exist in the real world and enter into this digital world to conduct this bit of record-keeping.

That’s what this exercise is about. It does serve a greater purpose. Someday, my children will find it…and in doing so, they’ll find a little bit more about me.

It’s now the second week of 2023, and I’ve found the mental space to begin writing here again.

How I love to encounter an Oates story in anthologies from the late 80s and early 90s. She does such an excellent job transporting the reader.

The world I encountered through this particular story was one that I found very familiar.

Back in my early 20s, I encountered middle-aged women, mothers, wives, that fit the description of Mrs. D, a wife and mother in the 90s - perfectly.

I saw them mid-day with their children at a country club pool – passing those last few hours of the day before their husbands came home. Swimsuit covers flowing, hats shade faces, and sunglasses shield puffy eyes. Gliding through the hot, hazy summer days of south Jersey. Bestseller in hand, flipping pages on the lounger, scolding kids between chapters.

I wondered if they were happy. I could sense that there was some effort to mask the strain of their lives.

I was only in my early 20s…what did I know of their lives?

I had it all figured out.

Not- really though.

Written in the 90s, read by me in the 2020s, I can easily see the strain (through their contagious laughter) burdening suburban homemakers today traveling across time from beside a pool in south Jersey.

The passage of time

 

This past weekend marks the passage of another year of this exercise. I named the blog (exercise) and made my first post on this platform on May 29^th, 2008. 

I remember holding the 1978 volume in my hands as I spoke to my father on the phone from a vehicle service shop in Norfolk, making plans for our trip to the island. Fourteen years have passed, and I have recorded some of the changes in our lives (M and I), having our lives transformed from us to them and us when children arrived. I have faced many challenges in this exercise. Writer's block, having my attention sucked away by distractions online, my inability to focus, my lack of sleep, and I can go on and on. 

I suppose that the passage of time also contributes to this exercise as it allows me to encounter the stories at points in my life where perhaps they would hit me differently if I had discovered them earlier. I suppose I wouldn't know unless I reread one or two that had the most impact. I do know that the anthology made me love the authors of the late 70s and early 80s. I would have never discovered them without this exercise – and perhaps I wouldn't have appreciated them now as I did then – wouldn't have come to love them. The foundation was laid, and now new loves are arriving on scene as I move into the early 90s and reflect on a significant developmental period. 

These stories will act as a match to ignite old memories, and fortunately, I still have many of those memories kicking around in my head. 

Let's put this little entry aside now and get back to our regularly scheduled lack of reading and writing as we move into the 15^th year of this exercise.   

Community Life – Lorrie Moore

 

In the early 2000's we took a trip to Vermont. Coincidently, it was almost ten years after the publication of this anthology, and as I pause and look back on that coincidence, I realize that time was so much shorter and closer back then. I'm so far from the 90s and early 2000s now related to progress on this reading adventure, but I'm so fortunate to be able to continue on it with my reading and thinking.

It was just the two of us, and there wasn't a purpose for our getaway – it was just that. We made our base camp at the offseason Killington resort hotel and explored the various attractions within 50 miles. Of course, Norwich was a highlight, and we had a wonderful time walking around the campus and spending some time with some old friends there. And as these stories and this project does, it allows me to drift back to visiting Ellin and reflect on her sudden death several years ago.

One afternoon, as we strolled through a typical Vermont small town, we happened into a small bookstore, and I picked up a collection of short stories. I was still a few years away from truly loving and appreciating the short story form, but the book's subject matter was more aligned with my interests at the time. It was a collection of stories all taking place in or about libraries.

At the time, I was considering making library work a more serious occupation than my work as a library clerk at the newspaper. Of course, library school was on the horizon, but my lack of interest in engaging in any additional schooling at that time was preventing me from moving forward.

Contained in this collection of short stories was the story that BASS 1992 brought forward, "Community Life." Here we are, reunited with this story in BASS 1992, read some 20 years after first coming across it.

Now, I struggle to recall if I read Community Life in the other collection. I would have remembered it since there is a Romanian aspect to it, and to put the icing on the cake, portions of the story occur in Vermont. So, we have libraries, a Romanian and Vermont. The closest I ever came to matches like that was Donna Tartt's "The Secret History" novel.

Given that I felt so close to the main character, Vermont and libraries, I think these story ingredients are what pulled me through it. There is a more profound message that Moore points out in the Author's notes contained at the back of the anthology, and I recognized those messages…but if it were not for my connection to "the three," I would have struggled through this story.

Let's be honest… I'm struggling through all of these stories anyway. I wrote the introduction to BASS 1992 back on February 20, 2020. It's now March 2022, and I still have nine stories to read and write about in this collection.

At this pace, I'll finish the book sometime in 2023?

I've read and listened to a lot of writing advice, and most of it encourages reading and writing to get better at writing.

I'm trying.

I run to get healthier and to be a better runner. I lift weights to get stronger and to be healthier.

I need to work on my reading and writing to be a better writer.

I'd also like to bring my writing about these stories back to what they once were. I invested much more research into the authors and a deeper analysis of the story. I'll work on doing that moving forward.

Unfortunately, as I make this effort, I see that the next Author is Alice Munro…one of my most challenging authors. 

Fortunately, this is the third time we've run into Lorrie Moore in this anthology, and it appears that I'll encounter her several more times as we move through the project – Moore has a total of seven stories included in the BASS.