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.

Paper Covers Rock – Jean Thompson

Jean Thompson b. 1950

I really enjoy story rich in details. It has to be the reason why Oates dropped this story in. The story was like eating a nice ripe juicy slice of watermelon in August.

I could hear the conversations; feel the touches between the characters, the glances, the inner thoughts and the shallow breaths exhaled by the main character as she struggled against her lover and herself. I could feel the tension as characters met and dueled silently with sharp eyes.

I reflected back on old relationships as a result of this story. Both relationships I have had with girls (romantic) and the friendships I have had (male and female).

I had a nice circle of friends growing up and continue to have a small but close circle today. I am quite satisfied.

Girlfriends. I didn’t play the field, but through high school I had a steady stream of relationships and 2 years of college (last two) allowed me the time to deal with the opposite sex. I think that all the past relationships I have had have allowed we to be an effective husband. I have been able to take the good from the bad and apply it today. I’ve done pretty well at not making the same mistake twice.

Jean Thompson seems to have done well for herself as a writer.

Score 8 out of 10.

The Eye – Paul Bowles

Paul Bowles December 30, 1910 – November 18, 1999

One can find quite a lot of information on Paul Bowles. I recognized his name from the research done on his wife Jane after her inclusion in BASS 1978.

This was an interesting story and I think it appealed to the readers of 1979. I would thank that a majority of the readers of BASS in the 1970’s would be familiar with Morocco and that it still had the exotic spice surrounding it left over from the Beats. Not to mention Ginsburg’s time there and Leary drawing attention to North Africa.

This story was interesting in that it gave me a chance to gain wisdom once again to the differing cultures that we have in this world but a the same time, basic human desires and behaviors cross all of the potential barriers that we think of existing between the worlds.

Underneath it all, we are human.

I really don’t have much else to say about this story. It hasn’t stirred any particular passions in me. I will say though that I really like the photo that precedes this post and I have included a photo of Paul and Jane below that I am quite taken with.

Score 7 out of 10

Trip in a Summer Dress – Annette Sanford

Annette Sanford ( 1929 - )

Decisions.

We make them daily.

Minute by minute, day by day, and at those special moments of crossroads, those very decisions can alter your future in ways that you can never imagine.

Sanford provided me with a nice device to reflect on my past decisions and those that will arise in my near future.

Concerning the story, I’ve always wondered about young unwed mothers and how the pregnancy alters their lives. It’s too often that we see the result of an unsuccessful life of a single mother and child. Those who are able to pull it off rarely get a second glance because of their success and ability to seamless integrate into the “normal” lives of the rest of us.

Bus rides – they suck and are scary. I’ve made them as a young boy and as a college student. They are cheap, dirty, and long and make the riders feel like ass.

Back to decisions.

I chastise myself daily for some of the decisions I make. They are the decisions I make that I know are wrong but for whatever reason, I continue to make.

For the most part though, I make some pretty good decisions. I have a pretty good set of conservative rails that I ride on but the chance to exercise some freedom from those rails comes often and the decisions I make rarely cause trouble.

Looking at my profile, it’s easy to see the major decisions that I have made in my life. Looking deeper into these posts, you can see the more minute decisions and how they have caused my life to venture off down different roads.

I’m pretty firm in wanting the ability to make my own decisions...liberal and conservative – either way, I want the control.

Sports or NJROTC

Civilian College or Military University

4 years or the rest of your life

New Jersey or Virginia

Virginia or New Jersey

Blue Collar or White Collar

Military Service or Peace Corps

Quitting or finishing what you started

Leaving behind someone you love or taking her with you

Score 8 out of 10.

The Quarterback Speaks to His God – Herbert Wilner

I started this story and soon realized that it had a sports theme. My automatic switch to dislike stories with sports themes tripped, and I sighed and felt myself sink into the couch and began reading with the thought that I am about to waste more of my life.

I’d say about half way into the book, I came to the realization that this story was starting to grow on me and that I might actually like it. I began to draw parallels with the main character – which is what I am attempting to do in all of these stories – and I saw that one end of the line was pointing at me.

The competitiveness of character, the desire to succeed in the face of physical breakdown, the denial of weakness in a once great athlete. The failure to see that the once high performance body is starting to fail in its deliverance.

In my running, I really push myself. I run far and for long periods of time. In doing so, I feel that my body is getting stronger...parts of my body...the muscles, including the heart, lungs and tendons. But my joints are taking a beating. The cement sidewalks and asphalt roads are just crushing me. I have a difficult time admitting that I may need to take a break. I don’t want to stop, to cut the distance. If anything, I want to run further and longer.

As humans, we have limits to what our bodies can handle. I want to push mine to the edge and further. I force my mind to conquer my body and push it further. I use my mind to heal my sore muscles and stiff joints. I use my mind to convince my body that there is no distance that it cannot run.

I love this daily challenge. It strengthens me. It forces me to see myself as something more than just an average human. I can create a superior specimen.

But in this knowledge, I know that this ability to create exists in all of us. We can all push further, be stronger physically and mentally. The spite and anger that I feel towards humans who let their lives waste away at times feels as if it will overcome me and cause me to say nasty things to those who don’t share my outlook.

Harder, Stronger, Faster and Smarter!

Score 9 out of 10.