Hamid, Alexis, Plett, Clark and Beaty

Short Stories of Late

Whether in a dedicated collection or a magazine, these stories capture a variety of reading moods.

This time, I returned to eight writers and also explored four new-to-me story writers.

My reading has been disrupted this year, so some of these collections were in my stack awhile ago. There are other collections that I’ve read recently but discussed elsewhere: Inuk author Norma Dunning’s collection Tainna (2021), Kim Fu’s Lesser Known Monsters of the 21st Century (2022), and Conor Kerr’s Avenue of Champions (2020).

In The New Yorker, I was riveted by Mohsin Hamid’s story “The Face in the Mirror”. And Lauren Groff’s “To Sunland” (because I’m all up-to-date with her stuff and wanted a peek at something new). And André Alexis’s story “Houyhnhnm” which is heralded with a beautiful photograph of a horse so I should have known it would end badly.

This year, I’ve also read some excellent collections. I consistently enjoyed Kali Fajardo-Anstine’s Sabrina & Corina (2019), a collection of eleven stories that I only dabbled in previously. This time I appreciated the swiftly established relationships, the natural dialogue, and the focus on women’s relationships.

For readers with a keen interest in dialogue, check out Amber McMillan’s The Running Trees (2021); I loved the title story so much that I reread it immediately.

Biblioasis, 2022

That doesn’t happen very often, but one doesn’t come across a story that’s part Paul Gallico, part Krishnamurti, and part Odd Couple either. She reminds me of early Aimee Bender with a dash of Miranda July, but I’m actually most interested in what she can do with a long form.

And if voice is your thing, Alex Pugsley’s Shimmer (2022) offers a character for every reading mood. (Be warned: they’re not necessarily good company!) Sometimes these stories are poignant and moving, other times bold and cringey, and occasionally they made me laugh aloud, like this observation from Twyla, who appears elsewhere in the collection as well: “I mean I’m sort of over Toronto real estate gossip but they just sold their house in Cabbagetown—that her father basically bought for them—for two million dollars so they can move to Galiano Island. Because now Sally’s all into sustainable biodiversity and ethical kale and I’m totally just like, ‘Fuck off, murder me now, pardon me while I shrivel up with my desire to kill you.’”

Casey Plett’s A Dream of a Woman (2021) landed on my TBR because I fell hard for her debut collection, A Safe Girl to Love (2014). I inhaled them sharply, as I did Imogen Binnie’s Nevada, which also focuses on the quotidian detail of living as a trans woman who is in search of a more authentic self, from the same indie press.

Readers are right beside Plett’s characters, her analytical and heart-sore view of the world on display. Not only do the stories resonate on an emotional level, but the mechanics allow the story to hum. I particularly enjoy the specifics about life in small and large cities in Canada, the geography and the contents of kitchens and bars (for many of the characters in these relationships, their love affairs with alcohol are their longest-lasting).

I believe every word and the characters’ inconsistencies and contradictions, as they navigate the twined territory of vulnerability and strength and self-hood, only add to their credibility and support Plett’s nuanced view of humanity. Even though I’m not convinced that pleating a longer narrative throughout the collection strengthens the volume, I’m there for Plett’s storytelling and I’ll read whatever she writes.

“In the sickest, most awful way, it feels like being a teenager again. All these strangers, they have lives and they’re going on without you and what you can do is nothing, nothing, nothing bur walk alone and sit in your room. Supposedly, one day, life will be different, but how does that mean anything how can you believe that? The strangers say they’re feeling the same way. I know I should believe they are.”

Contents: Hazel & Christopher, Obsolution, Perfect Places, Obsolution, Couldn’t Hear You Talk Anymore, Obsolution, Rose City City of Roses, Obsolution, Enough Trouble, Floodway

Austin Clarke’s When He Was Free and Young and He Used to Wear Silks (1971) is a collection of ten stories. The reprint from House of Anansi includes Rinaldo Walcott’s introduction, which situates the collection in the context of Clarke’s oeuvre, as an established and skilled writer’s fourth book, published years before he was instrumental in establishing Black Studies programs at Yale, Duke and the University of Texas. Ultimately, he would publish eleven novels, six collections of stories and two of poetry, and three memoirs. He has won all the prizes and started writing when CanLit was taking root.

Walcott identifies a conceit in Clarke’s work, that his immigrant characters “know as much if not sometimes more about Canada than Canada knows about them.” One observes that “I have escape from that blasted past-tense village in Barbadoes to come up here, in Canada” and another that “Be-Jesus Christ, it isn’t no bed of roses for a black woman living in this blasted country.” In the latter story, Dots appears; she and Bernice and Boysie are part of the Toronto trilogy (which begins with 1967’s The Meeting Point). LINK

The cover calls to the opening story, simultaneously about a cramped pair of shoes and the sense of never meeting one’s elders’ expectations. Both Black immigrants and white Canadians “share a common if disjunctive culture, riven in them through their experience as subject peoples of empire.” Calvin “wash motor cars back in Barbados till his back hurt and his belly burn” in “The Motor Car”, but “a certain kind of white people in Canada didn’ sit too close to him on the street car” too. From cricket and curry, to housekeepers to campus grounds, these stories are rich with detail, dialogue, and observation.

Contents: An Easter Carol, They Heard a Ringing of Bells, Waiting for the Postman to Knock, Four Stations in His Circle, Give Us This Day and Forgive Us, A Wedding in Toronto, The Motor Car What Happened, Leaving This Island Place, When He Was Free and Young and He Used to Wear Silks

While I was reading Georgina Beaty’s The Party Is Here (2021), I was often struck by the idea that she is attuned to a different frequency. Everyday events resonate within her differently, and they emerge into sharply funny and authentic statements. Like “Honesty is like a pair of indoor shoes that you can just change out of when the situation isn’t right.” And in Güeras (a story largely driven by Anne Carson’s poetry): “…but it was Monday, a bad night for transformative possibilities.”

There’s an ever-present awareness of audience that serves us well, as readers. Storytelling is a craft, not a cheap trick. Dr. Hernández, in “Shelter Seekers,” says “I can’t wait to see how you will turn this data into a story” as if “that had always been the plan, as if he was waiting for me to do the world’s shittiest magic trick” readers understand that Beatty’s respect for narrative is something uncommon and valuable.

Perhaps more akin to what the supervisory teacher of the debate team, in “Be It Resolved” is responsible for: “His main work was to get them to simulate empathy while holding the opposing team by the neck and shaking them dead.” With a satisfying zing of sensory detail now and again, like the “slushy surf between sleep and wake” and lipstick that “left a beet-coloured bruise on his cheek”. This is Beatty’s debut collection, and I’m already committed to reading her next collection.

Contents: Nat Has Herpes, The Party is Here, Shelter Seekers, Citizens Also Kill, We Were Trees, Let It Be Good, Be It Resolved, Public Diddler, The Ruende, Homing, Güeras, Whiff

Have you read any of these? Is there a collection of short stories you would recommend?
Has one of your favourite writers written stories, but you’ve only ever read their novels?