The Best American Short Stories 1979 - Completed

The Last Page

I need to pat myself on the back. I’m showing some progress. It only took me 71 days to complete the BASS of 1979. That is a HUGE improvement over 1978 which took me 438 days (1 year 2 months 12 days).

At this rate, there is a chance that I could finish my quest sooner than anticipated. I need to be realistic though. Work, life and the fact that I am just generally not in the mood to read sometimes will hinder my progress.

We’ll see though. I just need to keep pushing forward.

A little review of the volume as a whole.

I think I came into this collection expecting the stories to reflect JCO’s writing. This was an obvious mistake that I realized I should have recognized earlier.

I did enjoy the collection. I have this feeling that I am a dated reader though. My tastes seem to lie in the present...or for stories that have been written within the last 19 years. I often refer to this period of time as my “awakening”. I entered college in 1990, and I became aware of literature. I became aware of it as something that I could enjoy engaging in – time spent with a book- rather than something that was being forced upon me. I also feel that the environment I was in may have forced me into retreating into worlds that contemporary literature provided. My mind was expanded during my years at Norwich, and after graduation, there was a brief period where I once again found solace within pages. I then took a break of several years and it wasn’t really until the “Sundays at the Laundromat” did I fall back in love with reading and more specifically with the short story.

I felt it necessary to include the brief rundown above to qualify in some way my feelings towards writing today versus the reading I am engaged in now. Is the stuff from the 70’s stale? I think there is some of that. I think that the scores I have applied to the stories reflect those that I feel are a bit more advanced than the others which seem to exist in their time.

There is an evolution is writing. I can see it. I can read it. I have never understood the labels that have been given to them, and I don’t know if they would even apply to the period that I am reading.

But once again, this is my page and my opinions. My readings, my thoughts, my lessons being learned.

I enjoyed this volume much more than the previous. I think that the speed in which I finished (not really that fast) indicates such.

So, finally I’ll say goodbye to the 70’s. Stepping into the 80’s and all the years and changes that happened in my life are sure to find spaces on these pages.

Something that Happened – Jayne Anne Phillips

Jayne Anne Phillips Born July 1952

With this selection, I feel that JCO has offered the reader a glimpse into the future of American literature. Phillips had not reached her 30^th birthday on publication of her short in BASS. Quite an honor.

The subject matter she touches on in her story, on refection, is a perfect slice of American society at the end of the 70’s. Divorce, generational gaps, feminism, health and mental issues, relationships between siblings and relationships between parents and their children...both appropriate and what is perceived by a character as inappropriate.

I reflected back once again to the late 1970s and my position in this world during that time. Once again, I think my family was lucky in some senses considering what some other families could have been going through behind the doors of their households. Sure we had divorce, but really, that was the worst thing that happened. There could have been a whole house of horrors that could have visited us.

Phillips is still writing – good books. Books that make lists – good lists. She teaches as well. And, she has found herself writing interesting pieces for interesting times, pieces that cause readers to question her motivation and direction...but, that is the duty of an artist and a writer. Isn’t it? I’m happy to have run into her so early in this journey, and I suspect that I will find her once again down the road in my reading.

Score – 8 out of 10.

The New Music – Donald Barthelme

Donald Barthelme - April 7, 1931 – July 23, 1989

Pwthvwtzzzz....that is my attempt at placing into words/letters the sound that came out of my mouth after reading “The New Music”.

That was a rough one.

Admittedly, I entered into this story knowing a bit about Barthelme from what JCO wrote about him in a recent writing for a collection, on what and who influences writers. She spoke of her relationship professionally and socially. In short, I felt that she held him in pretty high regard. She also addresses him quite a bit in her Journal.

Perhaps I haven’t indulged in enough “experimental” writing.

I suppose I am too accustomed to a certain “type” of story that runs in these anthologies.

I think I expected more from JCO – I can’t hold anything against Barthelme, she chose the story.

Was this his best writing from that year or was there some pressure to include him?

I don’t know – I just feel let down by the selection. Bummer.

5 out of 10.

Home is the Hero – Bernard Malamud

Bernard Malamud- April 26, 1914 – March 18, 1986.

I wrote in my last entry about losing interest early in the particular reading and not giving the story the chance that it deserved...cheating myself out of a lesson. I’m afraid I did the same with this story, but I was able to pull through at the end, and see the gem that was hidden within this boulder.

First about Malamud. As part of this project, I do a bit of research on the authors. I look for a photo to include with the entry, a nice quote by the author concerning life, or more specifically, the writing life, and from time to time, I’ll find an author that has an online presence and I’ll write to them and let them know that there is still a reader out there reading their work.

For some reason, I had heard of Malamud. Not sure where. Perhaps it was from “The Natural” or on of the literary prizes he won. In any case, it was nice to learn about him. I discovered that he was a slow writer. Eight novels and many, many shorts.

He taught at a university and was restricted to teaching lower courses because he had not finished his Ph.D. Due to this, he was able to devote time to his writing which in turn allowed him to develop into on of the greatest American authors.

Flannery O’Connor had this to say about him : “I have discovered a short-story writer who is better than any of them, including myself”. Nice I suppose but a bit haughty...then again, it is O’Connor.

And then a couple of quotes I enjoyed.

"I write a book or a short story three times. Once to understand her, the second time to improve her prose, and a third to compel her to say what it still must say."

"Life is a tragedy full of joy."

So, on to the story and its lesson.

A mistake I made before I started this story was to look to see where I was in the volume, and if I was going to be able to finish it by the end of the weekend. I assured myself that I could, and set out reading the story. Initially found the story dull, and made another mistake of flipping ahead to see how many more pages I had left in the story. I discovered that there were quite a few more pages and this took the wind right out of my sails. I would struggle on 2 or 3 more occasions to finish the story, but once I did finish, I discovered that what I had just read was indeed one of the best stories in the collection.

Perhaps I needed to take the story in parts. Break it up. Read it in different settings. I’ll have to remember this.

The lesson.

Once again, I feel that this story has opened a door to my life and reminded me that the behavior I cast upon my loved ones may not be the finest I have to offer.

I need patience. I need to see that what those close to me are actually doing done out of love. I am so fortunate to have a life and a family that dwell in a sphere of caring and compassion for each other. Especially my wife.

It was painful to read of the actions that the main character put his wife through and eventually himself through. I suppose it was so because they were actions that I could see myself projecting (minus the infidelity part).

Once again, a story comes through at the right time in life and instructs.

I can easily see myself Xeroxing these someday for someone and giving them out as lessons in life. – Why not?

For now though, I’ll use them to instruct me – in love, and care and selflessness.

Score 9 out of 10.

A Lingering Death – Silvia Tennenbaum

Silvia Tennenbaum March 10, 1928

This story started off a bit slow for me and as a consequence, I quickly lost interest. I then had to remind myself that what I was attempting to do was to educate myself in life through the reading of these stories and it was my duty to look and approach each of these stories with an open mind willing to accept their message.

I don’t think that the lesson fully appeared until I read the beauty of the last few lines of the story.

“Where the meadow had been, there hung only a white sheet. Amalie wanted to vomit; the words would not come. In the bathroom her head struck the edge of the basin. The pain was new, a blessing. A song of praise escaped from her mouth. Black paint welled over the sheet.”

I think this story is another fine example of Joyce Carol Oates using her position as the volume editor to provide the reader with a selection that they may find somewhat unsettling.

She feels that it is her duty in her writing to bring forth the subjects that many may shy away from, and this selection, she recruits Tennenbaum to help us face a cause of death that is pretty common, and as such, one that may take us.

–Cancer- a stroke?

Either of these could come at a moment...A stroke like an 18 wheeler smashing through our brain. Cancer sneaking through our cells-a hungry worm.

I don’t think I have an abnormal fascination with my own death, but it is something that I consider and contemplate quite a bit. I wonder when it will come and how it will happen. Quick and painless (preferred) or slow and filled with searing pain (uh...no please).

I also have it in my mind that I will live to a ripe old age. I would really enjoy that. A ripe old age with my mind intact. I am doing my best to prevent any degeneration in my mental facilities and am keeping close watch seeing that I may be predisposed to what “the old man” is suffering through.

Will I shun treatments like the character in this story? Live life? No on the first and yes on the second.

Score 8 out of 10.

Finisterre – Louis D. Rubin Jr.

Louis D. Rubin Jr. b. 1923

I settled into this story and found myself flipping a few pages ahead in an attept to discover how much longer I would be reading this particular story. I found that there were quite a few more pages and this left me a bit disappointed because I felt the story to be dragging a bit. I was southern writing...so what should I expect.

I found after a few more minutes of reading that the story developed some legs and pulled me into it.

The pursuit of a desired object and the lengths and risks that come with obtaining that “thing”. The adventures of a young boy as he pushed his own limits to discover his being.

Tests that are necessary in life. Tests that too many are afraid to subject themselves to these days.

I too had a rowboat as a young boy. It was left to me by my father after he left the family. It was several years before I had the courage to take it out with a friend. We didn’t do too much in it. paddled around, fished, but nothing too daring.

These devices give a young boy freedom. My real rowboat was actually my bike. I rode it all over the neighborhood and as I grew older further distances were covered.

Flashing forward to my time after college, without a car and living under my father’s roof, I found that the bike(rowboat) gave some freedom that I required once more. It allowed me to escape the house. To ride through neighborhoods and stare in envy at the massive houses sitting on perfectly manicured lawns. It allowed me to digest what the last 4 years of my life had encompassed. I would wake in the mornings without direction. Drink coffee...eat something, watch TV and wonder where my life was going. After several months of this I decided to add a bit of 80 proof pain killer to my rides. That liquid made my rides a bit more interesting and allowed me to wallow in my misery several more months. The bike remained by my side as I finally gained employment and it ferried me to and from the restaurant. It traveled with me back to Virginia and put in countless miles between work and my apartment. On nights when I had a few too many, it shuttled me between destinations making sure that if anyone were to be killed by my drinking and driving (a bike) it would be me.

Now, my rowboat is a pair of running shoes and my two legs. I venture down paths and roads drunk on thoughts brought on by too much endorphin being splashed into my brain. I run the same risks as the boy in this story does by pushing the limits of my body as he pushed his boat close to the river.

I would like to think that it is a good thing to push that boat close to the river as often as possible. It makes us human and keeps us teetering on the edge of sanity which is a good thing.

A little bit about Rubin and the series editor of BASS.

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.

Ravenel had been a student of Rubin's at Hollins College, and she and Rubin had remained in touch over the years. Ravenel, series editor of Houghton Mifflin's annual "The Best American Short Stories" collection, eagerly agreed when Rubin asked her to join forces with him to form Algonquin.

Score 9 out of 10.

The Missing Person – Maxine Kumin

Maxine Kumin - Born 6 June 1925

I think it took me a bit longer than usual for me to pick up on what was actually happening in this short. I will give full praise to the author and her editor and the knowledge that the readers of 1970’s didn’t have to be spoon fed to them like so many stories do today. I feel good reading a story like this and not really “getting it” until the last moments.

I mentioned how much I enjoyed the psychological twists and turns with an emphasis on psychosis that stumble across.

I’m sure that this attraction has something to do with my own fear of descending into an altered psychological state. I think what scares me the most is the event that would lead me down that path. There is the very real likelihood the ALZ my father has could make its way to me. Will I know that I am sinking into that state? Will I see the pain and realize the suffering my loved ones will be put through? All of this really fascinates me though.

I noticed after researcher Maxine that the is primarily a poet. It seems that Oates has compiled a collection of authors who have their feet in both rivers of creativity. It really shows in their writing. And how could I not pass on another dig at Solotaroff...his selections were deeply inferior to those by Oates.

Score 9 out of 10.