When Things Go Bad (Saramago, The Live Of Things, 2012)

 Jose Saramago. The Lives of Things (2012) Saramago is a Nobel P:riz winner. I have mixed feelings about the Nobel Prize for Literature. By its very nature it tends to reward translatable literature,  which usually means literature that’s heavy on theme and thesis and light on language and style. Saramago wrote during the Salazar dictatorship in Portugal. His stories are fantasies; their ambiance and tone is claustrophobic, stifling. There’s a sense of a fate that can be neither evaded nor comprehended, only endured. The “things” are both actual objects that turn on their owners, and people that have become objects, lacking the autonomy that would make them free agents..

An oddly unengaging read for the most part. I don’t know if that’s the effect of translation. I suspect that in Portuguese there are allusions, puns, verbal effects etc that add nuance, scope, and satirical point, but which would be difficult to render in English. Another book that drew me in despite its flaws, which testifies to the power of theme. ***

Barrel Fever (Sedaris, 1994)

  David Sedaris.  Barrel Fever. (1994) A very mixed bag. In some of the stories, Sedaris comes across as the little boy that tries to shock his elders. But the elders are not shocked. Merely irritated by having a good story spoiled by affected naughtiness. Or if in a more kindly mood, perhaps amused that Sedaris feels that naughtiness is necessary to make his stories worth reading.

Many of the stories read like fictionalised memoirs. Staying true to background reality makes them involving in a personal way; Sedaris comes across as someone with a deep and charitable interest in his fellow human beings, but also with a sardonic awareness of their (our) self-delusions, and of the ways in which they (we) strive to keep our amour propre intact. That justifies the cover blurb describing him as “shrewd, wickedly funny...” despite its exaggeration.

His essays are better, I think. He is both outsider and insider, which adds flavour and spice to his observations about what are after all fairly ordinary slices of a fairly ordinary life. His ability to see what’s odd about the ordinary makes his writing both funny and valuable. It also reassures us that our own fairly ordinary lives are worth living after all. *** 

My Heart is Broken (Gallant, 1957)

Mavis Gallant. My Heart Is Broken. (1957) Gallant’s second collection, not published in Canada until 1964. 

The settings of her stories vary geographically, but socially they are small. Like Austen, her subject is human nature. A ruthless observer, she presents characters who lack self-knowledge, or who deliberately dissemble. They may edge towards a revelation, but rarely achieve it.  Gallant shows that lack of self-knowledge is the obverse of lack of awareness of others. The result is misunderstanding, pain, social disgrace, lives descending into an uneasy equilibrium of failure.

This may sound like Gallant’s stories are dreary, but they’re not. The almost offhand insertion of the telling detail that reveals the complexities of human nature drew me in. I ended up understanding her characters more than I understand most of the people I know. Her method shows us not only how to create character in fiction but how to observe character in real life. The  result is to understand, and with understanding comes the ability to accept.

Not a page turner, but I kept returning to it. Recommended. ***

The Pegnitz Junction (Gallant, 1982)

Mavis Gallant. The Pegnitz Junction. (1982) The title novella plus five short stories, all about post-war Germany. They have the ring of truth; Gallant knows herself, and so knows the human heart and mind. She notes the small gestures, the shifts in voice and posture that express emotions and hint at thoughts, the conventional speech that hides true feelings. She is a writer “on whom nothing is lost”. She has a subtle and ruthless moral sensibility, presenting us with characters who condemn themselves with their words and actions.

Post-war Germany was unmoored, aware of but unwilling to face its past, unable to do more than reconstruct a material prosperity that served as a shield against unpleasant thoughts and memories. Austria also was mired in this moral vagueness and ambiguity. That’s likely why I found these stories strangely familiar and unsurprising.

An early collection, before Gallant’s skill and artistry were widely recognised. Recommended. ****

Fin de siècle fiction: Daughters of Decadence (Showalter 1993)

Elaine Showalter. Daughters of Decadence (1993) Showalter has selected a representative sample of short fiction written by women around 1890. These stories were published in women’s magazines and literary journals. The writers were at least semi-professional. Like their male counterparts, they wrote to satisfy the market, which at the time wanted moody pieces that suggested sensuality and luxurious indulgence in emotions, or melodramatic examinations of moral failure and just punishment.

The pieces that Showalter chose have an edge of defiance and rebellion. These writers knew their skills were equal to those of their male competitors, and naturally they did not like the lower pay and lack of recognition. They were  part of the second wave of feminism, which among other things gained the vote.

Given the heavy political freight these stories carry, are they worth reading? Yes, but like all fin-de-siècle art, they are as interesting for what they tell us of our ancestors’ taste and sentiments as for their artistic merit. As stories, they are well constructed. They cover a wide range of genres, from naturalistic fiction to romance to fantasy. I like the satire and social critique that most bring with them. They’re generally set in the upper middle and upper classes. The dialogue is artificial, but oddly enough it gives an impression of truth. I suspect that’s because men and women of those classes were always on their guard. They could not assume the language of intimacy among equals without also suggesting a sexual intimacy that could damage their reputations.

The stories are about personal and social relationships. Most tell of the emotional costs of presenting oneself as available, or withholding oneself because of some unsuitability. Women must play their roles, and so must men. It’s all very civilised in tone and style, but often viciously mean in substance. Many of the male characters display their prejudices and misogyny unwittingly. It’s no wonder that the critics objected, especially to the stories that suggested or showed that personal happiness requires the freedom to make moral choices for oneself.

The anthology apparently was assembled for use in a course on feminist literature, but the stories don’t need academic justification for reading them. If you like short stories, I think you will like these. If you also want to know something about the taste of your ancestors, I think they are good data. If you see popular literature as the mirror of the moral and ethical concerns of its times, these stories are essential reading.

Recommended. ***

Vinyl Café Classics: Extreme Vinyl Café (2009)

Stuart McLean Extreme Vinyl Café (2009) Some of McLean’s classics, the ones we want to hear again and again. Such as Petit Lac Noir, when Dave and Morley stop at the wrong cottage, and do the renovations and repairs their friend asked them to do as rent. Or A Trip to Quebec, where Sam misses the bus because Murphy answers "Present" for him. And then meets a girl with a skateboard and has the first love of his life.

There’s one more book of stories to go. I’m enjoying this wallow in McLean’s brand of not-quite-sentimental nostalgia. Well, I suppose other people will see sentimentality where I see bitter-sweet acceptance of the fragility of life, the fragility that makes it precious.

****

Two More From The Vinyl Cafe (Vinyl Cafe Unplugged, Vinyl Cafe Diaries)

Stuart McLean. Vinyl Café Unplugged (2000) #3. It begins with a story about Arthur the dog, who figures out how to insinuate himself into Dave and Morley’s bedroom and onto the bed. It includes the story of Eugene and the fig tree, and how Sam helps Eugene bury the and later resurrect the tree.

McLean’s stories are classified as humour or light reading, differentiated from more serious fare. “More serious” usually means “more gloomy” when applied to literature and the other arts. When I see “realistic” in some blurb or review, I know that there will be blood, if not on the saddle (1) then elsewhere. I think there’s  a misclassification, aka “category error”, in these descriptions. Yes, McLean’s stories are humorous. They are also profoundly serious. Dave’s errors of judgement could lead to catastrophe. That they don’t comes down to kindness, love, forgiveness, extended to him by Morley, his children, and his neighbours. And Arthur the dog.

To affirm that these virtues exist, and that without them we would lead Hobbesian nasty, brutish, and short lives, is a serious matter. The cynic will raise his eyebrows, the pessimist will roll her eyes, the moralist will frown and prepare a sharp rebuke. But they’re all wrong. Life isn’t perfect, humans are flawed, and that will cause pain and sometimes worse. But life is a gift, family and friends are treasures, and joys large and small enrich our lives. That’s what McLean’s stories affirm.

Read any of the Vinyl Café collections. Read them all. ****

1) Blood on the saddle
blood on the ground,
great big gobs of blood all around.
Pity the cowboy
lying in the gore,
he ain’t gonna ride the range no more.

Stuart McLean.  Vinyl Café Diaries (2003)These stories fill in the back story of Dave and

Morley and their family. I’m still bingeing, haven’t yet tired of McLean’s bitter-sweet humour, more certain than ever that he’s a major writer.

Humour may be a matter of temperament, but writing humour takes great skill. Getting the timing right is essential, and that’s hard enough live, and  much more difficult in writing. McLean is a master of the momentarily distracting detail, the aside that pauses the narrative just long enough, the word that triggers the insight that makes us laugh. Merely as examples of skill, his stories are masterpieces. In their apparently artless evocations of everyday life, they raise deep questions about what makes life worth living. He occasionally suggests answers, but these at best merely hint at the meanings of his tales. ****

Vinyl Cafe, 1st collection (Stories from the Vinyl Cafe, 1995)

 Stuart McLean. Stories From The Vinyl Café. (1995) The first collection, and it sets the high standard that all the other collections met. Dave and Morley aren’t yet the focus of the history that McLean relates in the rest of his stories. But they are already what they will be: very much ordinary flawed people who try their best to do their best, and fail and succeed as we all do.

McLean’s gift is his ability to stir nostalgia, regret, joy, contentment, and grief without descending into sentimentality. His style is journalistic without being reportorial. We get a mostly neutral narrator who tells us what’s happening, and occasionally allows himself a comment on what he thinks it all means. And what does it all mean? That love makes life worth living.

I’m on a Vinyl Café binge, and I find it hard to stop reading. ****

P D James Short Stories (The Mistletoe Murder, 2016)

P. D. James. The Mistletoe Murder (2016) ... and other stories. Like other successful mystery writers, P D James was asked to contribute to Christmas mystery story collections. Here we have four examples, and a short essay on the short story. The stories are nicely constructed, with plausible crimes and well paced discoveries of the perpetrators. As in James’s novels, the denouements are psychologically nuanced. James understood that the reasons for crime are more interesting than the crimes themselves. The artistic problem in writing a short story is to sketch the characters well enough that they are believable criminals. James also knows that discovering the criminal does not bring what’s labelled “closure”. The effects of crime spread like a stain though the family and community, and will affect lives long after the case files are closed. In one story, a death caused in all innocence leads to blackmail that lasts a lifetime.

A very good read. A nicely designed and made book, too. ****

Dave Cooks the turkey and other mishaps (Home From the Vinyl Café, 1998)

Stuart McLean. Home from the Vinyl Café. (1998) The second collection. It begins with Dave Cooks The Turkey, which has become a fixture on CBC's  As It Happens during the week leading up to Christmas Eve, when they play Alan Maitland reading The Shepherd. It’s as funny on the page as in the audio. The rest of the stories are the same quality. They have the ring of truth, no matter how bizarrely the situation develops. As in Laurel and Hardy movies each consequence follows logically from the previous one, driven by circumstances and character, and ends in bizarre catastrophe. The stories are also elegies for a way of life that’s past, a way of life that never existed, except in the rosy-dark memories of our childhoods and youth. Nostalgia is the common leavening of these tales. They evoke wry smiles and bitter-sweet memories.

Recommended. ****

Losers that Win: Morley Callghan Stores

 Morley Callaghan. The Lost and Found Stories (1985) A conversation between Morley Callaghan and his son Barry led to the discovery of a box of manuscripts “up there with the bills.” Callaghan apparently dumped all his bills into a box. I don’t know how he settled his debts. Barry sorted through the manuscripts and selected 26. My copy is a reprint. I enjoyed these tales in an often gloomy kind of way. Callaghan worked as a reporter, so he saw a lot of losers. Most news is about someone messing up. I think this enabled him to imagine stories about ordinary people.
     The characters in these stories achieve at least a kind of insight, and often slightly larger victories, such as mended relationships, or escapes from the life-destroying consequences of a more or less unwitting bad decision. Callaghan writes a plain style, reporting rather than telling the tale. Only his assumption of omniscience raises these tales above news reports. Not that any of them would qualify as printable news. The fates of ordinary people facing everyday dilemmas aren’t exciting enough for newsprint.
     It’s Callaghan’s insight into how people feel and think that makes these stories worth reading. That, and Callaghan’s generally amiable charitable attitude towards the failings of his fellow humans. Underneath that attitude there’s what I now think is a typically Canadian ruthlessness of observation. Like Munro, Govier and others, Callaghan doesn’t try to make his characters nice people.
     Recommended. ***

The Vinyl Cafe Wreaks Its Vengeance

Stuart McLean. Revenge of the Vinyl Café (2012) Ninth in the series, as laid back and weird as ever, a pleasure to read. If you’ve heard McLean on radio or live, his voice will inform your reading. I think most people would want to live in a world where a used record store has enough business to support a family. Dave and Morley live on a street where everybody knows everybody else. McLean’s vision is of a world where people of many different kinds and personalities live together in mostly unruffled harmony. The occasional dissonances add interest, but never spoil the tune. 

     I’m a fan of McLean’s work. Many years ago, we saw him in Sault Ste Marie. A memorable evening, but I can’t recall the story he told.

    I have no idea why McLean chose that title.

     Recommended. *** to ****

More tasty chips from Binchy: Chestnut Street (2014)

Maeve Binchy. Chestnut Street (2014) A posthumous collection, and like all Maeve Binchy works, a potato chip book. Binchy, like Munro and others, shows how people’s character flaws, quirks, ill-considered decisions, and willingness to believe anyone who offers what they wish for, in short, the common human weaknesses, cause the troubles that hurt them. She has the gift of sketching a whole life in a few paragraphs. Unlike Munro and others, she tends to provide happy endings, many enabled by some lucky coincidence, or some necessary but somewhat improbable insight. This comforts the reader, but doesn’t fully satisfy. So one (me, that is) reads the next story, and the next, and the next. The stories are tasty, flavoured with ironies and poetic justice, confirming popular notions about psychology, with enough realism to soothe the critical faculties.

Binchy’s stories take place in the borderland between fantasy and realism. She knows the contours of her talent, and has adapted her vision to her market. I enjoyed reading these stories, and was happy to suspend disbelief. ***

Dylan Thomas as a Young Dog

 Dylan Thomas. Portrait of the Artist as a Young Dog (1940) Thomas was two years old when Joyce published his Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. I’m pretty sure Thomas’s title is an allusion to Joyce’s novel (which to me feels more like a group of linked short stories). Thomas doesn’t attempt a coherent time-line, though some of his characters appear in two or more of the stories.

The stories themselves, like Joyce’s novel, don’t have much of a plot. Both writers tell us about epiphanies, some large, some small, which trace the development of the artist’s awareness of self and place in the world. The difference, I think, is that Thomas takes religion, respectability, and customary morality less seriously than Joyce, who tends to pomposity. For Joyce, the artist must resist and rebel. For Thomas, the artist should observe and enjoy whatever presents itself to them. Joyce resists moral judgements of the artist's life and work, Thomas ignores them. I think I prefer Thomas. ***

Fables of Brunswick Avenue (Govier)

 

Katherine Govier. Fables of Brunswick Avenue (1985) Sixteen stories, sixteen people who win some and lose some. Govier’s tales tend to gloom and faint despair. Most of her characters are or were young women hoping to make a career in some art or craft. Govier tells of how they came to settle for something less than they expected, of how love and marriage demand compromises and accommodations that are rarely apportioned equitably. But losing the game doesn’t equate to defeat, a paradox that elders like me have come to understand only too well. Something like self-respect can be reconstructed from the salvaged bits. And at the very least, there’s new insight, which sometimes is worth the cost.
     Govier writes well. Throughout, there’s the feeling that she writes from experience. Like Alice Munro, she shows us how people’s characters define or limit their choices. But her portraits are kinder, like photos taken with a soft-focus lens to hide the wrinkles.
     Recommended. ***

Munro: The Moons of Jupiter (1982)

 

Alice Munro. The Moons of Jupiter (1982) Munro’s short stories could be called micro-novels. She gives us not only a whole character but a whole life. How does she do it? It looks like magic. It is magic, if by “magic” we mean the control of our attention so that we see what the magician wants us to see. The magician (to paraphrase Teller) takes advantage of our ability to process data swiftly and efficiently by leaving out unnecessary details or small changes in stimuli. We see what we expect to see. We see what the brain insists must be there, even when we know it’s not. Hence the illusion, and the pleasurable surprise at our inability to see it any other way. Fiction uses the same technique, whatever the medium. We know only what the author decides we should know.
    Munro does this very well. She drops a detail here and an aside there, and we pick up on these cues to fill in the gaps that the short-story form inevitably leaves. The result is that we see the story exactly as Munro wants us to see it. And what does she want us to see? That people are damaged by others and by themselves, but somehow manage to survive, and sometimes to thrive. She’s ruthless in showing us how stupid, thoughtless, and malevolent decisions prevent the happiness that we seek, and how some unexpected felicity creates those moments of joy that keep us hoping for the best. She presents people as they are, and as they see themselves, and how the tension between those realities bends their paths in unexpected but inevitable directions.
    I always enjoy reading one of her collections, but on some level they leave me exhausted. Recommended. ****

Academic Exercises: Short stories

 

 Glimmer Train #47 (2003) A journal of short stories founded Linda Swanson-Davies and her sister, Susan Burmeister-Brown, appearing from 1990 to 2011. I can’t recall how I came by this copy. I didn’t read all the stories, though I sampled every one. The author bios almost all mention a BFA or similar academic qualifications, which makes it a sample of what University writing programs produce. My take: Interesting, but by and large too self-consciously “engaged” with whatever theses the authors could derive from their tales. Carefully constructed, they attempt to give meaning to the lives of ordinary people caught in the web of ordinary life.
     But too often, you see the cogs being carefully assembled into a gear-train, and the crank beginning to churn the contraption. Too often, I didn’t want to know more about the characters than the first few paragraphs told me. Too often, the near total avoidance of plot (ie, of the intersection between a character’s decisions and the random events that make up reality) meant I didn’t want to know what happened next, let alone how the characters coped with it. For even if life is a tale told by an idiot, the sound and fury do signify.
     The first story The Accident, or the Embrace is one of two stories that took me into their world. Beginning with an accident in which a boy loses his leg, it ends with a discreet menage a trois (so discreet, it’s unclear if the husband knows he’s part of it). Midnight Bowling is told by a girl who manages to escape her mother’s plans for a religious life with her new man (married, hence adulterous, but a self-proclaimed Christian). She hides her intentions from her mother, and hides a good deal of what she know or suspects from the reader, who must tease together the few bits of the puzzle that suggest what’s missing from explicit telling.
     The collection’s interesting as much for what it reveals about the esthetic and craft standards of academic writing programs as for the tales themselves. I felt the writers knew what they wanted to achieve, but didn’t know why it might be worth achieving. Entertainment? Demonstration of narrative skill? Revelation of some overlooked aspect of being human? I can’t tell. They wrote good stories, but not memorable ones. **

Winners (Short Story Contest finalists)

 Michael Blackburn, Jan Silkin, Lorna Tracy, eds. Stand One. Winners of the Stand Magazine Short Story Competition. (1984) Just what it says, 13 stories by unknown writers, all good to very good. The first-prize winner tells of a Vietnam vet suffering from what we now call PTSD, told by his sister. The satire on ignorant law enforcers, venal TV personalities, and the fear engendered in uncomprehending neighbours and family arise naturally from the narrator’s naive and loving story. It’s a well-constructed story, but also a well-told one.

     Most of the rest are well-constructed, but not well told. Reading them, I don’t feel that the narrator felt compelled to tell me the story. For example, Hakanono, a satire on colonial attitudes, achieves its aim of showing the stupidity of assumed superiority, but in the end we care neither about the colonial administrators nor about the natives they despise. Well, I didn’t. And the suggestion of supernatural intervention didn't supply the frisson apparently intended by the author.

     The stories are very much of their time, relentlessly well-intentioned in their depiction of life's shadows. Most of the authors (and I suspect the editors, too) haven’t forgiven life for not fulfilling the promises of childhood. They haven’t yet seen that the loss of illusion is necessary to gain what little wisdom we can bear. ** to ****

Small defeats: Govier's short stories

     Katherine Govier. The Immaculate Conception Photography Gallery (1994) The title story tells how professional photographer Sandro slides into doctoring photos, and eventually repents after a period of adding or removing people from group photos. A small defeat, but characteristic of the fates of Govier’s characters. It seems to me to be a Canadian characteristic, for Munro, Atwood, Garner, Mitchell etc all tell similar stories. Yet these defeats as often as not strengthen the characters. They have found their proper place in the scheme of things, and accepting that is a kind of victory.
     I enjoyed reading the book, but not enough to read it without interruptions. Worth a look if you find a copy. The title refers to Sandro’s shop, which he has named after the nearby church. **½

Stories of love and grief by Maeve Binchy

    Maeve Binchy. The Return Journey (1998) Binchy’s usual mix of bittersweet near-sentimentality, and sharply observed foolishness and vice. She’s very good at showing how self-deception and fantasy are more likely to cause trouble than the intentional wickedness of others. Her morality is straightforward: cheaters get their comeuppance as often as not, and good folk often get unexpected opportunities for happiness. Respectability is no shield against grief. And the apparently small injuries and disappointments of ordinary lives are as significant as the failures of the famous and powerful. More so, if anything. For most of us lead ordinary lives. Binchy’s talent is compressing a lifetime’s meaning into a few scenes. She loves ironic twists and poetic justice.
    I like her stories. This is an early collection. In her later work, she’s more willing to look at the evil that indifference, selfishness, and folly can cause. ***