Recurring Themes and More of the Same

George Saunders released a new collection of short stories this year, Tenth of December. But that is not the collection I read this past week or so. Instead, it was his first collection, Civil War Land in Bad Decline. I had read the title story back when I was an undergrad, loved it, and had been meaning to pick up the entire collection for some time. Meanwhile, I had read The Brief and Frightening Reign of Phil at some point, which was a very quick read and I don't have the faintest memory of what it was about. This collection left a similar impression on me: breezy, funny, smart at times, but a bit behind the times. (Yes, even in the '90s...hell, especially in the '90s)

Civil War Land in Bad Decline is a collection of six satirical short stories and one novella, "Bounty." Each story is narrated in the first person, relating a skewed, disparate point of view in the face of the mounting madness. The heart of the conflict in most of these stories lies in the workplace, mainly between a disgruntled, inept employee and the boss. The title story outlines the quick decline of a historical theme park and the increasingly desperate attempts on the narrator's part to put things right. In "The 400-Pound CEO," the titular character works at an inhumane "humane" raccoon control business, and finds himself in hot water when he accidentally kills his abusive boss. "Bounty" starts out in a similar vein, but broadens into a dystopic satire featuring the ugly and the misfits.


The first writer that comes to mind in terms of influences is Kurt Vonnegut, who also wrote futuristic, satirical stories and outlandish characters and situations with quick-clipped pacing. This was his first collection, and that is allegedly the collection where an author's influences are most likely to show, but sometimes it seemed like he was trying to be like Kurt Vonnegut. Like Vonnegut, Saunders hardly takes part in the literary trappings of detailed description and rumination, which creates a fuzzy, liquid world in which the characters float--perhaps fitting, because the characters are downright cartoonish at times. This is most detrimental in his more futuristic stories, such as the novella "Bounty," which is  one of the better stories in the collection, handing over an almost O. Henry-esque ending. There's nothing wrong with the reader's imagination filling the blanks, and one almost inevitably envisions a penciled watercolor landscape and exaggerated silhouettes. If that's the effect Saunders wanted, and I just think it might be, then good on him.

Saunders' satire remains to be right on the money. Even though the vision of virtual reality depicted in "Offloading for Mrs. Schwartz" is very much the '90s-inspired heavy-headset kind, the idea that we may live within our own virtual fantasies is not far off from becoming reality (thanks, Google Glass). And all his commentary on the growing specter of corporate power and influence remain as salient as ever. But his heroes all seem to be relics of Vonnegut's era, with even less gumption: bumbling, disfigured, or nerdy men--though one story features a female protagonist--and most of them meet grim endings. With this comes rather old-fashioned ideas about women and people of color--if they are mentioned at all. I kept forgetting that these stories were supposed to take place in the future.

The stories were very similar in other ways. Each story features an odd workplace--theme parks appear no less than three times--and the protagonist is struggling to make ends meet and kiss up to the boss. Not all stories wound up being about the same thing--the main standout story is "Isabelle," about human kindness and compassion that rises out of chaos and ruin, and is almost kind of sweet in the end. But the themes can get tired--I mean, there are ghosts in two of them. Two!

This is not to say that Saunders isn't a skillful writer. The fast pacing of the stories are easily digestible in short periods of time, and rather expertly constructed in terms of thematic and satirical content. They are also quite enjoyable to read, and not painful exercises in 20th century bombast and bigotry. But I have seen it all before, and done better. Saunders may be different from the other literary stars of the last couple of decades, but he is nothing new. Three stars out of five. Oppression score: 4, as he does root for the little guy.

Solidarity with Boston

Hang in there, Boston. You'll pull through. You've already proven how great your citizenry is, and, well, it could be worse.

And while most New Yorkers will go back to hating on the Boston Red Sox when this whole ordeal is over, I will keep rooting for the Sox. You changed me in many ways, Boston, and that was just one of them.

The Longest Dinner Ever

Recently I read another book that's been hitting the hardcover bestseller charts, Herman Koch's international hit The Dinner. Presented as a Dutch Gone Girl (which maybe I should read now), the story takes place over the course of a single evening between Paul Lohman, his brother Serge, and their wives--with plenty of flashbacks throughout to full in the reader on the backstory. The story starts out wonderfully cryptic and tense, but once we get to the main course, it loses a bit of steam, kicking up again for the payoff in "Digestif."

The two couples have met, primarily, to discuss their biological sons and how best to deal with what they have done--which was quite a deplorable act, even if the end result was an accident. A lot is on the line, as Serge is running for prime minister and his brother suffers what appears at first to be a mean temper. As the story and the dinner moves forward, Paul reveals some shady motivations and dark past, almost each chapter ending upon a cliff and pressing you to go forward. It's more of a meditative tale than an action-packed one, with most of the plot having happened well before this dinner is taking place.

Each character in the story is devious and self-centered to a degree, and each member of the dinner party is looking out for themselves and/or their immediate families, to hell with anyone else. All Serge cares about is preserving his reputation, no matter how much he says that he only cares about his son's future. On the other hand, his wife, Babette, wants him to keep quiet about the incident and stay in the running for Prime Minister to protect their son. Claire's final desperate act at the end of the evening was a last-ditch effort to protect her son and Paul from prison and public scrutiny. Even Paul, our protagonist, reveals an unnamed mental illness that makes him prone to rage and see the worst in everyone--especially anyone who is not his wife or son. None seem to think that they boys should confess and suffer the consequences of their actions because what they did was wrong. In the end, this is what the story is about--the lengths at which people will go to protect themselves and their families (and especially their offspring), no matter the consequences otherwise.

But the plot bogs itself down in backstory during the main course--rather than having such juicy details be revealed through brief scenes that Paul reckons back to at some point in their vacuous diner conversation, we are treated to an uninterrupted succession, which makes it easy to forget at what point in the dinner we're at. By the time we return to the dinner as it's happening, thee story has lost a lot of momentum, failing to pick it up again even with a last-minute twist. After all that buildup I had expected a flashier finish, but considering the fact that they were out to protect their family from scandal, and succeeded, it is not much of a surprise. Another frustrating flaw was Paul's intentionally vague description of his and Claire's illnesses--one can only assume that he is talking about real illnesses, though such vagueness almost always leaves me suspicious of its accuracy.

On the whole, The Dinner is a satisfying read, and an interesting character study, even if it seems like the evening went on for much too long. I give it 3.5 out of 5 stars. Oppression score: 3, for Paul's contrarian and quite prejudiced views on such matters as those of the homeless. On the other hand, Paul is kind of a terrible person, like a lot of them, so it's largely harmless.

Karen Russell is different, but not too different

I have read Karen Russell before--and found her to be a good writer, generally, but in the end Swamplandia! was not what I had expected--in a bad way. Her second collection of short stories, Vampires in the Lemon Grove, shows off her literary prowess and the depth of her imagination, but she still sticks to a rather traditional formula. Even if she does mix that of the literary short story and that of fantasy/horror. 

While the reviewer on NPR rained praise upon Lemon Grove, even calling it "completely original," I have to disagree on this point. Not to knock this individual, but he is obviously not very well-read--at least in the mix-it-up literary genre of magic realism and suspense. Various stories reminded me of some by Joyce Carol Oates, Haruki Murakami, and some Stephen King, and others, and apparently one of her stories bears similarities to Ray Bradbury's "The Illustrated Man." Again, nothing is ever completely original. You just invite this kind of criticism when you say something's completely original.

Most of the stories of this collection are a worthwhile read, even if a lot of them get a bit draggy because Russell wanted to show off all the research she did on these stories--and considering that this collection takes us to Meiji Era Japan, mid-19th century United States, and the Antarctic Circle, among other unexpected places, she obviously did some. I commend Russell for writing such a wide range of characters and settings, as in each story they felt vivid and real to my mind's eye. The title story is definitely the strongest in the collection, but I also liked "Proving Up", and the final two stories in the collection a lot--even if they were, as I've mentioned, a bit meandering and pensive. The "Barn at the End of Our Term" is arguably the most creative and brisk story in the collection: mysterious, absurd, and a bit profound--which all of the best stories in this collection seem to have in common.

The weakest story was, by far, "Antarctic Tailgating." The entire story was built upon a gimmicky, nonsensical premise, and I couldn't get past the illogistics of it to glean any sort of significant message from the story. "Reeling For the Empire" is quite good, too, even if the visual of the women working there is unclear--as well as their fates. Finally, "Seagulls," for its clever concept and excellent thematic explorations, falls flat with the most stereotypical teenage obsession of sex and losing virginity--just about everything else in the story was very well-done.

Overall, I do not regret purchasing this collection, and will certainly read some of these stories again in the future. I admire Karen Russell's skill and imagination, but she is hardly a trailblazer in the realm of the literary weird. Worth it if you like something a little bit different, but not too diferent.

I rate the book overall a 3.5. out of 5 stars. And though the collection displayed few instances of oppression and stereotyping, I am disappointed that only two of the stories featured female protagonists--a nitpicky comment, I know. At least in one story it was a horse.

Corn Maidens and Demon Brothers

Joyce Carol Oates is, at the very least, an unsettling writer. I haven't read a lot of her work, but the one novel of hers that I have read, Zombie, made my skin crawl all throughout. This more recent collection of hers maintains that vein of creepiness that seems to have become her trademark. That she is revered in literary circles and not relegated to the genre ghetto is almost incredible. In her stories, though, the idea of supernatural forces influencing the characters is suggestive at best, or nonexistent. The horrors that Oates covers in this collection are entirely the result of the human mind and the society that has failed it.

The title story is unquestionably my favorite, though it is more accurately a novella than a short story. In this tale, a blonde girl is kidnapped by a sociopathic teenager who plants false evidence to implicate the school's computer consultant in her disappearance. While the missing girl's mother frets with worry and regret, the teacher bubbles with anger and resentment, the girl is drugged and kept hidden in a room in the sociopath's mansion, and prepared for a ritual inspired by Native American "corn maiden" tales, twisted in the sociopath's mind. We get a full picture of this story that the characters each grasp only a fragment of, seeing the points of view of all directly involved. Judith's is obviously the most twisted perspective, with her scenes narrated in a manic cadence. And though the mother and teacher's victimization and frustration are understandable and sympathetic, Oates lays bare the very real effects of rumor and prejudices that permeate not only the evening news, but the actors involved. Though the circumstances of the girl's disappearance are highly unusual, Oates presents the harrowing event in a realistic and haunting manner.

Oates' status as a literary writer is quite obvious in the way she richly evokes scenes, weaving into them the characters' emotional state and point of view, following the classic "show don't tell" rule of writing. The final story, "A Hole in the Head," serves as a perfect example, richly detailing the hastened but thorough process of covering up an accidental murder. "Beersheba" also does this quite well, as Oates slowly reveals the details and backstory as we follow the protagonist through his (likely) last day alive. No matter how harrowing or horrifying the experience, we can clearly envision these scenes as if we were there. Oates' stories also debunk the myth that another writing adage, "write what you know," means that you should only write about what you have personally experienced. Because surely Oates has not murdered or kidnapped anyone. With the right amount of research, you can write about anything.

"Unsettling" is a flexible term. In "Nobody Knows My Name," a story with suggested supernatural elements, a large cat kills the protagonist's baby sibling, almost in response to her hatred and jealousy. Supernatural forces are the only explanation that I can think of to explain this bizarre occurrence, because it's just so strange. In a way, though, it doesn't matter how the baby died, for Jessica would have implicated herself in it. "Helping Hands" I also did not enjoy so much, bringing in an out-of-left-field ending. In this story, a recently widowed woman reaches out to an employee and war vet of the titular charity/thrift store. Perhaps she was so stricken with grief that she could not see the "signs,' and perhaps sometimes people whom you'd expect to  be shady are shady, but I thought things escalated much too quickly, in any case.

The other two stories in the collection were very similar, and less nightmarish than the rest. Both involve twin brothers: one handsome and successful yet sleazy, and the other less successful and well-liked, but intelligent and kind. Over the years, the brothers become estranged, but in the end, they reconcile with each other somehow. And yet they are not the same story: the first, "Fossil Figures," the weaker brother was born with birth defects, spending his life as an artistic recluse, and the stronger brother is ashamed of him. However, when the stronger brother falls from grace, he moves back home with his weaker brother and they grow old and die together. It's kind of sweet, really. In "Death Cup", the successful brother is a cad and a con, while the other is merely an introvert. This story is told from the introverted brother's point of view, and we can understand how much he despises his brother, and how much he believes his brother despises him. When the caddish brother returns to the family estate in the wake of their uncle's death, the introverted brother finds himself incapable of killing him, as much as he fantasizes about his death--always the better man even against this will. But, riding together in their uncle's Rolls Royce, just in time to be killed in a car accident, he finds that perhaps there is something to be said of his brother's life after all.

Though not all these tales are nightmares per se (see above), each story stands to shock or creep you out in some way, and you might find yourself sympathizing with characters you may not have sympathized with otherwise. These tales are authentic Oates tales, stories that could only have come from her enigmatic mind, so any fan of hers is strongly recommended to read  this collection. My rating: four out of five stars.

The Writer's Life in the 21st Century

One of my resolutions for this year has been to devote more time to my creative writing, which I had sorely neglected in 2012. By "work", I don't mean the first draft, which I practically breathe on the page, but revealing it to new pairs of eyes for the first time, rewriting and revising, and sending it out to strangers in strange offices for them to judge my work on its publishability. And as I am finding out, this is where the real work in creative writing endeavors lies.

So far this has proved to be a challenge, as I work a full-time job that requires me to sit in front of a computer 35 hours a week. But it's not just these hours I can factor in--there is also commuting time, wake-up time, and decompression when I get home after devoting my entire day to someone else. So the last thing I want to do when I get home is to spend another 3-5 hours on another computer. And do more work--albeit of a slightly different nature.

In order to become a published writer, one has to not only write, but rewrite, edit, and gather enough gumption to send out her work to the best magazines and publishers (and know which ones to send to). This can take several hours out of one's day, and if one has a day job or a life of some kind, this would have to be spread out over several days. And one would also need to have the energy and ability to concentrate on such things for such a large block of time. This doesn't turn out to be so easy. Some days I am just burned out and don't want to deal with anything that is also work.

These elements, of course, apply to all writers who have had to struggle to make their voices heard. What makes this time, this century, unique? The unlikelihood that we will ever be able to make a decent living off our writing alone, for one--the number of writers who could was always small, but it seems to be smaller. This makes the grinding 9-to-5 even more essential to the living of a writer's life.

We also have a lot of distractions to push away in order to devote the level of concentration required to follow through with the remaining steps of the writing and publishing process. Fewer people will also likely read our writing--especially if one decides to write literary fiction, thanks in part to the aforementioned distractions. (As for myself, though I do enjoy literary fiction, have found myself increasingly bored with literary realism, so those of you who specialize in that genre--good luck with that) With the amount of time required in order to even get oneself out there, it's amazing that people manage to do it at all.

Obviously, it's not impossible. But what if you feel like you were more on top of things before? When your schedule was more varied? Before you had broadband internet access, and just had your imagination to keep you company on those long summer days? What about those days when all you want to do is write, but you have to work all day that day?

Grapes of Wrath: Greatest American Novel...until the End

Along with my newfound Doctor Who obsession, I have also been taking my sweet time reading John Steinbeck's greatest novel, The Grapes of Wrath, which also may be the greatest American novel to date. I should have read it ages ago, and as I got started with it, I came to agree with the critics who so highly praised this book...

...until it got to the ending.

The Grapes of Wrath, though it takes place during the worst of the Great Depression, where things were much worse, as a greater proportion of the population was starving or near-starving--still resonates strongly with today's circumstances. The novel, aside from several intermittent chapters that examine the times holistically, follows the Joad family as they reunite (when Tom returns home from jail) only to slowly be torn apart as they travel to California in search of work. Each character has their own epiphany, with only Tom, Rose of Sharon, and their parents holding onto what little hope they have left in the end.

Steinbeck's interludes were poetic and resonant, touching on themes and changes that were both specific to the time and universal: the development of technology, the displacement of poor farmers, the economic disparity, big business' takeover and pushing over of the little guy, the struggle to find work and financial stability. The story could have easily been a dystopian, post-apocalyptic novel had it been any other setting, with the struggling masses, selfish masters, and rare little pockets of freedom. The characters speak in thick accented Midwestern English, put it doesn't make them seem ignorant; they're just expressing their feelings and thoughts in their own way. Sometimes what they say is even profound, characteristically and thematically.

And each character goes through his or her own transformation over the course of the novel. Tom, previously ignorant of the rampant injustice, realizes that he can't take all of this lying down, and leaves the family to fight on for equality and justice. Noah would prefer to live alone in the wilderness. Al realizes he would rather have a career as an auto mechanic than work on farms all of his life. This novel was crafted to perfection--or as perfect as Steinbeck could make a novel.

Some things are obviously dated, however: throughout the novel (moreso in the beginning), objects are often referred to as "she" rather than "it," a very sexist pronoun assignment, and several times the characters try to run over animals ON PURPOSE while they're driving their car--an idea that is completely abhorrent and that I had never even dreamed of before. Then, there is a scene from their time in the government camp in which Al rapes a girl he's met in secret--but of course is not characterized as such, and Al is supposed to be a sympathetic character.

Now, I could largely forgive the characters' lack of respect for animal and women's rights, due to the date of the text and the ignorance and struggle of these impoverished characters, and the prose, characterization, and thematic resonance are so amazingly done. But when I got to the final pages of the novel, when the handful of Joads left abandon their makeshift boxcar home to the floods and take shelter in a barn, I was left scratching my head. In the barn, there is a young boy and a starving man who is near death. Then Rosaharn, clothes soaking wet, snuggles up next to the dying man naked as if to comfort him, then looks upwards with a "mysterious smile" on her face.

Seriously. That's how it ends.

I can't figure whether to interpret the ending as good or bad. Is it good because they will still be kind to those who are even less fortunate than they are? Or is it bad because Rosaharn is acting like a slut, a "comfort woman"? Or bad because they're all just gonna starve anyway, and she's smiling because she's insane from illness? I suppose it's whatever you interpret it to be, but it seemed to be out-of-place with all the other thematically resonant scenes in the novel, and the ending is one that makes an impression.*

Still, this novel is one of America's finest. Our writers don't always make sense. 4 out of 5 stars. Oppression score: 4 (though I think most of it would be obvious to 21st-century readers, anyway). Highly recommended to people who would like to write politically-charged, controversial, or other works featuring people who speak a different dialect.

*Okay, so I did some cheatish research, and it turns out to be a reference of to the painting Roman Charity, where a woman breastfeeds her ailing father back to health. So it is, more likely, kindness that she is expressing. Excuse me for growing up so grossly uncultured. Still, it's an odd scene--even after knowing the reference.