The Afterlife – John Updike

A fine enough story by Updike I suppose. I go through phases with him. There are times when I can’t get enough of his writing and with this story; he isn’t driving me back to his work. I found it hard to relate – to any of the characters in this story and for it, I found myself pushing myself to read faster so that I could put another story under my belt.

As I sit and write these sentences, I am struggling to do just that – I can’t seem to write anything about this story.

I will say this about Updike. He forces me to look at my life, my marriage, my history with women and my future with my wife, and my son…with a much closer eye than perhaps I would have ever done had I never stumbled across his works. I enjoy his style, I find his writing very readable and I always feel comfortable reading him, and I feel certain gentleness about him.

Updike is all over these volumes and in my collections of short stories and I can’t possibly expect to enjoy every one of his works.

The Way We Live Now -Susan Sontag

Susan Sontag.

What could I possibly say that hasn’t already been said about her? This is perhaps the second or third work I have read by her. The first short story from her for sure. I think the other two works were commentaries or essays and honestly, I think I remember having trouble reading them.

During my early years at the paper, I had a co-worker in the library who was also the editor of the Book Page section. I remember her preparing quite extensively for a phone interview that she was granted with Sontag. I hadn’t the slightest clue at this point in my life who Susan Sontag was and I really didn’t feel the need to discover her. From what I remember, the interview was nothing spectacular…meaning that my co-worker didn’t stumble over her questions and Sontag must have gone through the motions of giving answers.

It was perhaps a year later that my co-worker was invited to a local university dinner and Sontag was a guest of the university president. The dinner was held that the president’s house so the affair would be somewhat intimate. My co-worker was very excited about the chance to meet Susan in person and to remind her of the interview and to pick her brain on “who knows what”.

As it often happens, the anticipation and build up to an event or meeting is far greater than the actual event. This was the case with meeting Sontag. For some reason, Sontag wasn’t in the best of moods that evening and that mood also projected out into creating an atmosphere that made her almost unapproachable. My co-worker left the meeting feeling upset and let down at her brush with celebrity and with future mentions of Sontag’s name, a wrinkled nose and disgusted face always seemed to make their way into whatever conversation involved the author.

I actually enjoyed this story. Perhaps I can lay its subject (AIDS and those suffering from it as well as those surrounding the suffering individual) beside what my father is going through now and how we are all attempting to deal with his Alzheimer’s.

My father and his wife came for a visit a week ago to celebrate my son’s birthday. As I’ve written before, each meeting we have opens a new door of enlightenment for me in terms of our past relationship and the one that we will have as his disease progresses.

We will visit him in another couple of weeks…on his home turf and I’m sure all sorts of new feelings will emerge and some of the current ones I carry will be solidified or discounted. I told M the other night that I feel that because he wasn’t present in my life on a regular basis after the age of 8, that his slow degeneration now isn’t hitting me as hard as is possibly could.

Yesterday, as I watched my son crawl, tumble and stumble around the room, a thought that had never entered my head before, surface and caused me to hesitate and pause the normal stream of consciousness that flows at a steady clip though my brain. I thought about my son and his future in this world as a grown man. As a man, my age, as a man who will exist someday without me looking over him (as I will always do while I am alive), and I began to wonder what he will remember and think of me, just as I am having these thoughts about my own father. I thought about my father’s mental state, and the fear that a nasty little Alzheimer’s gene is lurking in my brain waiting to attack.

I look at my son, and wonder if that gene is swimming around in his little brain waiting to destroy it someday.

I’m afraid of that for me and for him. My son isn’t even two, and it doesn’t seem fair that he is growing up with this sword of Damocles hovering above him. And furthermore, as to my own mental makeup, I’m afraid, as to what sort of father I will be. I’m afraid of embarrassing him of not being strong enough for him, of letting him down, of disappointing him and I wonder if my father ever had those thoughts about me…did he ever wonder about my future as I was crawling around on the floor?

It’s a huge charge to be a father, and I am afraid. But, I also realize that I cannot let that fear cripple me or cause me not to even accept the challenge of fatherhood.

Contents – The Best American Short Stories 1987

The Way We Live Now -Susan Sontag-The New Yorker, November 24 1986

The Afterlife - John Updike-The New Yorker, September 15 1986

The Prince - Craig Nova -Esquire, May 1986

Favor - Elizabeth Tallent -The New Yorker, April 21 1986

Kingdom Come -Mavis Gallant-The New Yorker September 8 1986

The Lover of Women -Sue Miller-Mademoiselle, March 1986

The Lie Detector -Madison Smartt Bell-The Crescent Review1986

Circle Of Prayer -Alice Munro-The Paris Review1986

Dreams of Distant Lives -Lee K. Abbott -Harper's November 1986

Men Under Water - Ralph Lombreglia-The Atlantic, January 1986

Boxes -Raymond Carver-The New Yorker, February 24 1986

The Tenant - Bharati Mukherjee-The Literary Review1986

The Blue Men - Joy Williams-Esquire, August 1986

Private Debts/Public Holdings- Kent Haruf-Grandstreet 1986

How I Found My Brother -Charles Baxter-Indiana Review 1986

The Other Miller - Tobias Wolff -The Atlantic, June 1986

Lady of Spain -Robert Taylor, Jr.-The Hudson Review, Spring 1986

The Interpretation Of Dreams by Sigmund Freud: A Story - Daniel Stern -The Ontario Review Spring/Summer 1986

Milk -Ron Carlson-North American Review1986

The Things They Carried -Tim O'Brien-Esquire, August 1986

The Best American Short Stories 1987 - Introduction

I have yet to decide on a reason that would seem satisfactory even for me as to why it has been so long since I have updated. I will admit a certain level of intimidation when it comes to addressing this volume's guest editor Ann Beattie. In past postings I have spent a considerable amount of time devoted to an introduction the editor, but for some reason, I cannot wrap my head around laying out a piece that would be fair to her. Perhaps I should just skip over her as a person and author and just jump into her introduction to the volume. There is nothing that dictates that I have to follow form. I can make my own right?

I read the intro more than a month ago as well as the first two stories. I’ve just been sitting on my hands. It’s time to push through. I need to get over the thought that not spending much time on Ann Beattie is a disservice…I just think that once I get past this post, I can carry on.

One of the new features in this volume is addressed in the Publisher’s Note at the beginning of the volume. “Each of the authors of the twenty stories selected by the guest editor has been invited to describe briefly how his or her story came to be written. Most have accepted what is clearly a challenging assignment, and their short story essays appear at the back of the volume in the “Contributor’s Notes” section.”

Now rather than going into the life and writing life of Beattie, I’ll just pull a few sentences and paragraphs from her introduction…doing this will erase just a bit of the guilt I have for not giving her the same treatment as the other authors.

Beattie takes the route of choosing the story order rather than defaulting to the alphabetical author list of placement. Again, as with the other guest editors, I suppose she has done this to have the first stories in the collection read by the most eyes – assuming that some readers wouldn’t make it through the whole collection.

“It’s often been said that short stories are so popular now because they are an ideal for for our time. That is said in the same spirit, it seems to me, as announcing that finger food that can be eaten in one bite is preferable at cocktail parties. Similarly, a large group of people seem to believe Andy Warhol’s proclamation that “in the future, everyone will be world-famous for fifteen minutes.” My own feeling is that in the future, still only a chosen few will be noticed, and then-if they’re lucky – for fifteen minutes. I do believe that television has altered our ideas about concentration, yet at the same time we must have wanted that: the beast in the jungle has been replaced by the Betamax in the bedroom.”

“Much of the rest of the noise has to do with the current belief that everything and everyone needs discussion.”

“As I see it, writers are willing to take a chance; they like to tempt fate a little. Few writers- even those with outlines and copious notes-sit down to doggedly prove anything. Rather, they like to see if they can shake themselves up, if there are questions that can be raised, narrow roads that may widen.”

“To some extent, when we read fiction, we’re sleuthing to get the facts, and we have to have good instincts so that we don’t get thrown off. I think that with most stories-this group at least- we’re not meant to anticipate what we’re moving toward. The stories are mysteries to which we will be exposed.”

“One of the conclusions I have reached is that people want order, but some part of them craves anarchy, and writers are seen to embody both elements: in a sane, reasonable way, writers will present a situation, but the components of that situation, and the implications, can be dynamite.”

‘In the stories I selected, I found questions that disturbed me, implications I had not thought of, and observed living humans illuminated by art. I picked the stories, I suppose, for the same reason I have picked people and places (when I have been the one to choose). I picked them because they surprised me.

I enjoyed these little insights by Beattie. I hope to learn a little more about her through her choices.

Other truths be told as to why I haven’t been reading and writing. Simply, I’m adjusting to life as a father. At this time in my life, I am working at balancing what I once was with who I am now. Certain things must fall to the side, and reading and writing now will not win out over the boy. Work has really ramped up and I find myself pretty tired at the end of the day, and lunch breaks no longer are used for a quick posting of a pre written post. I will continue the project though at a much slower pace I’m afraid…but one that I am happy to accept.

Best American Stories 1986 – Completed!

Goodbye to the Best American Stories 1986

Some numbers –

To read and report on these stories it took me 5 months and 1 day.

That also works out to:

22 weeks

Or

154 days

Or

110 weekdays.

While we are looking at numbers, I’ll dial it back a bit and see where we are with this little BASS project.

My first post dropped on:

May 29^th 2008.

That was –

3 years 3 months and 4 days ago. I can’t even begin to tell you how my life has changed since then.

1191 days. Pffffffff….long sigh.

How many of these volumes have I read and reported on in 3 years, 3 months and 4 days?

Nine.

Some more numbers? Well, it looks like I spent about 4.3 months per volume. To be more exact, 132.33 days per volume.

I think it goes without saying that I need to speed things up.

Let me now discuss my thoughts on this volume.

The introduction can be found here:

http://yearsofbass.blogspot.com/2011/04/introduction-raymond-carver.html

If you haven’t read the intro – please do, I’m actually proud of that post!

Here are a few words from that introduction.

I highlighted this from Carver’s intro:

“Stories from the New Yorker predominated, and that is as it should be. The New Yorker not only publishes good stories – on occasion wonderful stories – but, by virtue of the fact that they publish every week, fifty-two weeks a year, they bring out more fiction than any other magazine in the country.”

Well, I have discovered a new love for The New Yorker and that love has partially been the reason why I have failed to read stories from this volume. I’ve been too distracted by that magazine AND with working on a database that already existed AND attempting to buy, and eventually succeeding in buying a nice 3 volume set of collected short stories from that magazine.

There were 20 stories in this volume – 3 were from the New Yorker. See previous indexes from past BASS collections and you’ll see the NY’er dominating the collected stories!

Carver goes on to say

“One of the things I feel strongly about is that while short stories often tell us things we don’t know anything about – and this is good, of course – they should also, and maybe more importantly, tell us what everybody knows but what nobody is talking about. At least not publicly. Except for the short story writers.”

Yes – perfect. I’d say there were more than a couple of stories in this collection that did just that. They told us what everybody know but what nobody is /was talking about. The stories were wonderful – the majority of his selections.

Further-

“I deliberately tried to pick stories that rendered, in a more or less straightforward manner, what it’s like out there. I wanted the stories I selected to throw some light on what it is that makes us and keeps us, often against great odds, recognizably human.”

I mentioned in several of my posts the above quote. Carver succeeded.

So how do I feel about Carver’s collection?

Well, I feel that I did the volume a disservice. I took too long to read it and I didn’t fully commit my heart and mind to the project. I gave about 50%.

That, in short, is unsatisfactory.

Therefore, I do not feel I can faithfully pass judgment on this collection. The milk has been spilled, no need to cry. Let’s clean it up and pour another glass.