Last month’s discussion of A Swim in a Pond in the Rain, on February 15th, was dedicated to the first Chekov story (1897). My post is here, Bill’s here, and Bron’s here. Rebecca U. is unsure just how long she will be spending on page 3 (in the various comment-threads so far, you will find plenty of commiseration, Rebecca)!

We’re each coming at this from our own perspectives, with different reading experiences heretofore, different motivations to pick up this volume (or return to it), and different ways of engaging with both the stories themselves and the commentary George Saunders offers. There’s a space for anyone who’d like to join.

This month’s story, with a mid-March discussion, will be dedicated to Turgenev’s “The Singers” (1852). In searching for an online option, I’ve learned the story is assessed at a sixth-grade reading level. For those of us who have been struck by the effort these stories require, it’s a reality-check to understand that all we need to do is channel our inner eleven-year-old.

I’ve only read the first page, to see whether Saunders would follow the same pattern: one page of the story, followed by several pages of commentary. After the first page of the first story, “In the Cart”, there is a footnote: “One of the features of this page-at-a-time exercise: the better the story, the more curious the reader is to find out what’s going to happen and the more annoying the exercise is.” This, all three of us agreed, was exactly as advertised: annoying.

This makes me wonder whether he viewed the first story as the strongest of the bunch because, after this, the format seems to be complete-story, followed by complete-commentary. Immediately I was relieved to know there would be no question and answer, nothing to write in my notebook (no written evidence of my not-enough-ness). Then I realised that’s only a matter of formatting: the assignment doesn’t change. (It seems each of us is choosing a slightly different route.)

By И. С. Тургенев, Public Domain

Flipping to the bibliography to see which translations Saunders chose, I read the page of acknowledgements opposite. Among those thanked on that page are his students and his readers, but also specific individuals including Deborah Treisman. Looking her up, I found a discussion between them about ASiaPitR (which is a line from the sixth story considered herein, if you were wondering) from a literary festival in Charleston, North Carolina.

Treisman makes an interesting point about how she can view Saunders’ training as an engineer in this volume: in terms of his structure and lucidity. Her approach reminds me of Saunders’ in the sense that she, too, boldly states her thinking but simultaneously leaves a space for discussion. She says, for instance, that she doesn’t actually believe there’s any such thing as forms (i.e. short stories and novels, for instance…one simply ends sooner); but, she also says that she’s not sure she’s right.

Saunders had a choice in this volume, she says: he could have chosen to make pronouncements, to show off— but, instead, he invites us all into the conversation. They speak for an hour, and it seems like they could continue for hours. At the end of the interview, there’s some talk of how people have responded to ASiaPitR so far, and he mentions that he has enjoyed the challenges that readers have brought to him, about different interpretations of certain stories.

On my first attempt with this volume, a couple years ago, I didn’t feel invited. I felt like I had arrived late for the class and was hovering near the door, prepared to deke as soon as I could. But upon my return, there’s no evidence for my having felt that way.

Both in this interview and the commentary in ASiaPitR, Saunders emphasises the importance of each reader responding individually to each story (he does not say that his interpretation is the only or the best response).

His goal is for readers to query their own responses in order to understand their own preferences (it’s not right or wrong, if it’s yours—he says, in this interview).

And he does not use examples from his own work in a masterclass but, instead, describes his sense that even if he writes for a lifetime, he won’t be as good a writer as these four. And he continues to reread the same stories, continues to require of himself no less than he requires of his students.

So even if I don’t feel invited, I can also see that, at the very least, there’s a seat in the back that I didn’t notice before. I won’t take up much space. Can I take off my coat? Sometime in the next two weeks, I’ll read the next story.