Bucak, Irving, Lahiri, Ndiaye, and Towles
Appealing to a variety of reading tastes: Trendy Translations, Honed and Haunting
Trying something a little different with the Quarterly format. For most of the collections, I’ll summarise them in five sentences, followed by a quotation. Except for one, one that’s made me think while reading, frequently, of other readers who would enjoy these stories as much as I have. And I’m also including a single story that’s available to read online. (This month, one of the stories from the exceptional collection happens to be available online as well.)
So many people have mentioned Marie Ndiaye’s fiction, that I was pleased to find “The Good Denis” translated by Jordan Stump in The New Yorker. The narrator’s visiting her mother in a first-class nursing home when she learns that when her parents split, when the narrator was an infant, it was her mother who did the leaving: leaving for a good man who treated the narrator like his own child. As time passes, the narrator’s questions are multiplied and amplified. “But who was I that anyone should have to deign to accept me, and that raising me for two short years should seem the work of a saint?” And as the story unfolds, she both longs for and loathes this good man.
Dionne Irving’s The Islands (2022)
Irving’s islands are literal and metaphorical; she writes about how we are often adrift, from those who are supposed to be closest with us—parents, children, neighbours, lovers, relatives overseas. And about the distance between the lives we imagined living for ourselves and the lives actually lived (a gap widened by class and race). Many of the stories revolve around women’s relationships, but I was also deeply moved by the story she wrote from the perspective of a divorced father. The way she subtly references Jamaica’s past in some of these stories reminds me of Olive Senior’s ease moving between Jamaican and North American settings (bit of Europe here, too), but with a splash of Edwidge Danticat’s bold imagery and spare sentence structure. Both Senior and Danticat write stories but also novels; I would love to read a novel from Irving alongside more stories.
“She won’t be like the other girls and women she knows—hair tied up and life tied down with children and men. Girls and women with something missing in their eyes.”
Contents: Florida Lives, Shopgirl, Weaving, All-Inclusive, The Cape, Canal, An American Idea of Fun, Some People, The Gifts, Waking Life
Jhumpa Lahiri’s Roman Stories (2023)
Lahiri’s one of the few who has had equal success with short and long fiction as well as non-fiction, and now she writes in Italian; she translates most of the stories in her new collection into English, but three are translated by Todd Portnowitz. Her sentences are impeccable, her clarity remarkable. Word choice and audience, scene structure and theme: you feel, while reading, that she’s thought of everything. My favourite in this new collection is the middle section, which operates like a collage of linked vignettes, circling around the idea of where and how we belong to places, familiar and fresh. But overall, there is a cost for her precision in that the emotional resonance is restrained, so while I was always happy to pick up this collection and read the next story, I praised and admired—from afar.
“The employees, all of them women, sit behind the windows and chat with one another like aunts at a wedding.
The rest of us sit silent, like members of a small audience watching a performance.”
Contents: I The Boundary, The Reentry, P’s Parties, Well-Lit House; II The Steps III The Delivery, The Procession, Notes, Dante Alighieri
Amor Towles’ Table for Two (2024)
Two friends had raved about Amor Towles’ fiction previously and I’d begun to read him on four different occasions, but every single time the novel was recalled to the library for somebody’s hold: how were these older novels so endlessly in demand? When the opportunity arose to review his latest collection, Table for Two (2024), I was eager to read it, knowing it would finally mean I’d read his backlist. And how lucky that was my plan because with Towles, his four books read like one massive volume; if I hadn’t read his other books in such close proximity, I would have missed the inconnections and links, the gentle nods to characters and themes that came before. The stories feel a little old-fashioned but their engaging tone balances that, and his appreciation of a satisfying (i.e. not necessarily happy) ending really works for me.
“What follows is a transcription of events based on the direct testimony of my husband and additional intelligence gathered over nine years of marriage.”
Contents: The Line, The Ballad of Timothy Touchett, Hasta Luego, I Will Survive, The Bootlegger, The Didomenico Fragment, Eve in Hollywood
The opening story in Ayşe Papatya Bucak’s The Trojan War Museum (2019) was such a tremendous reading experience that I left the collection for a couple of weeks (“The History of Girls”, online here). This idea—that “Girlhood…was something to be survived”—struck home. But I found myself needing space after each story in the same way, so fully realised was each work, that I did not want to continue with another until I had more fully inhabited what I’d just read. Sometimes because the energy in the story demanded space, as with the first story: so haunting. But sometimes because she tells stories told in such a way that the arc forced me to reroute. Not in a deliberately subversive or experimental way but, still, with elements of surprise.
Many of the stories are historical, some feature historical figures, and more are set in America than I expected (she teaches in Florida). She uses italics in a way—short scenes, even—that makes me want to read those sections with particular attention. Details (like names and dates of paintings or blog posts) disrupt the flow deliberately, so readers settle into perspective or character. Pacing is cultivated thoughtfully, so readers rush into the future, almost unwillingly. Like Nathan Englander, Steven Milhauser, Lauren Groff, and Louise Erdrich, Bucak’s stories are wide-ranging and sometimes deeply moving.
“Children do find us out. Sooner or later they realize we are so much weaker, more flawed, and more scared than they ever imagined, even when they were imagining the worst. And they find out because they, too, become weak and flawed and scared, at least the lucky ones do. I suppose it’s the best we can hope for. Even weak and flawed and scared, sometimes we do all right.”
Contents: The History of Girls, A Cautionary Tale, Iconography, Little Sister and Emineh, Mysteries of the Mountain South, The Trojan War Museum, Good Fortune, The Dead, An Ottoman’s Arabesque, The Gathering of Desire
This year I’ve also been rereading Carol Shields’ stories, and I’ve already written about Lisa Alward’s Cocktail and half the 2024 Best Canadian Short Stories published by Biblioasis (I’m still reading the other half).
You can see some of the collections I’m aiming for next in the photo above. Other recent arrivals in my stack? Jann Everard’s Blue Runaways, Danila Botha’s Things That Cause Inappropriate Happiness, Mark Anthony Jarman’s Burn Man, and Carol Bruneau’s Threshold.
Who wrote the last short story you read? And if you had to choose from these, which appeals to you most in this moment?
Thanks so much for sharing your thoughts on these books! I appreciate that you balance both some light constructive critique for some of these with the positives. Even though I like short stories in theory, in practice they’re hard for me to connect to oftentimes – I’ve read both The Islands and Roman Stories and didn’t enjoy either much. But I loved Lahiri’s Unaccustomed Earth (which I imagine you’ve read?). One of my favorite short story collections I’ve read recently is Green Frog by Gina Chung, which I’d recommend you pick up if the synopsis intrigues you. Thanks again for this wonderful post!
I’ve missed one of Lahiri’s along the way, and I actually think it might be that one? Ohhh, I’ve got Green Frog on my list, but haven’t made it there yet, but now I’m extra interested; I think I can imagine why neither of these collections really landed for you as a reader then. I wonder if you’ve read K-Ming Chang’s Gods of Want? Or Dantiel W. Moniz’s Blood Milk Heat? Maybe you’re still finding your favourite short story writers if they’re not your first choice for reading. And I’m still getting to know where our tastes overlap (although it doesn’t have to either).
I soooo want to read Amor Towles, he’s one of those writers that people seem to feel very strongly about (either in a good or bad way). I like old-fashioned stories, so I’d probably like him?
Do I remember that you mentioned that 300 pages seemed like a really long book to you in recent years? You might want to save Towles until retirement if I’m remembering correctly: his books are super long and they feel like that too, with long timelines and a fair bit of description and mulling-over-of-ideas.
Hmmm I would say 300 is about average, maybe a little longer than average. But good to know he’s wordy LOL
I remember, very clearly, that 300 was a stretch when my (step) kids were young! Plus, I think Towles crams even more words on each page, to look 600 pages long when they’re actually 1000!
Sounds like you’ve been reading some great collections! I see Furies in your top photo so I assume that’s coming up in the future? It’s on my TBR so I will be extra interested to hear what you think 🙂
I was reading it but returned it to focus on finishing the 2024 Biblioasis anthology instead. Guess I’m a single-anthology-at-a-time kinda gal. You might get to it before I do after all!
Interesting re the Towles – I’ve only read A Gentleman in Moscow, which I loved, but have been hesitant about exploring his other works. You convince me…
You would, then, at least enjoy the first story in the new collection. But I also believe that Gentleman could have a unique appeal, especially for you. (You might remember that Gentleman ends with a scene at a Table for Two? That’s the premise of the whole new collection, little epiphanies at tables for two.)
I have a copy of Roman Stories on the shelves and am very much looking forward to it. The idea of a collage of linked vignettes really appeals!
My guess is that that section will be your favourite too, but I’m also certain you’ll enjoy the collection as a whole.
You know I’m not a short story person, but I’m working on the principle that if I start writing something will come into my head. The last short story I read was … Ndiaye’s above, which I thought dragged on to no good effect. Before that, let’s not count the brilliant Arboreality, in which the stories between them carried a narrative; but that reminds me one of the other UKLG shortlisteds was short stories, Yuri Herrera’s Ten Planets, a collection of SF fragments.
I wonder do we in Australia have short story writers, writers known principally for their short stories. Before WWI, everyone wanted to get a story into the Bulletin – Henry Lawson, Joseph Furphy, Barbara Baynton, Steele Rudd. There might be something similar, although less in the popular imagination, these days, but if so it’s entirely outside my field of view. The last Australian collection I read and liked? Heat and Light (2014) by Ellen van Neerven
Haha, yes, I appreciate your willingness to engage with the comments despite your disinclination for the form.
I’m glad to understand a little more about Ndiaye’s style, but the story didn’t make me rush out for her booklength work either. Her books are still on my “Later” shelf in the library record, not deleted but languishing. (Amid hundreds of other possibilities.)
One collection I’ve just finished, which is in the image but not discussed yet, that I think you might appreciate is Saeed Teebi’s Her First Palestinian, which might turn out to be next quarter’s feature collection, BUT it’s from a small Canadian press and, anyway, they’re still short stories. heheh
They all sound good but if you absolutely forced me to choose it would be Bucak and Towles’ collection that I’d lean to – because I’ve read Towles and you’ve convinced me that Bucak is up my alley.
Your comment on Lahiri’s collection that “overall, there is a cost for her precision in that the emotional resonance is restrained” made me think that I’m not sure that restrained emotional resonance is as much an issue in short stories where a playful irony or a powerful rant, for example, can engage even if there’s not a strong emotional connection? Though of course short stories are often great at providing emotional punches.
As for the last short story I read I think that’s Thomas King’s Borders. Now I’m thinking, Did it have strong emotional resonance? I’m not sure it did – though it had some – but I loved its witty exploration of political borders that disregard people and their relationship to land. [Edited to correct typos MM]
The title story in Bucak’s made me think of Pat Barker’s writing about girls’/women’s vulnerbility, writing as though a chorus of sorts.
Lahiri makes it work, for me, because there’s so much to admire in her stories and her characters are so well drawn that you can intuit the emotion. But I think a younger-reading-me might have missed some of that and found them a little…disengaging? cold, even?
Hmm, that’s a good question. His style is very clear-eyed and direct too. For me, the emotional aspect of his storytelling resides in his exposure of injustice, which is intense; but I could see where, maybe, that’s more rooted in an understanding of the issues beyond his stories.
I like your response to my King question. I’m happy to accept that his exposure of injustice can create an emotional response. Different to emotional engagement with a particular character, but strongly emotional nonetheless because you immediately think of all the people impacted by the injustice.
[Thanks for correcting my typo … but you missed the “it’s” which should have been “its”. Can you please correct that too?]
I suppose it’s not that different from the kind of intuitive response that Lahiri leaves to her readers? Both require an investment on the part of readers.
[Haha, I’m happy to make any corrections, because when I make typing errors I lament them after I’ve submitted the comment, but I unilaterally edit only when true finger-mashing has occurred.]
The Bucak volume sounds fascinating & I hadn’t heard of her. Good thing you’ve finished, because I just put a hold on it… 😉
I’m sure the last short story I read was something in the New Yorker, but I can’t think of what off-hand. I read a couple of volumes of Antonio Tabucchi short stories quite recently that were very good.
I’ve just been reading the Alice Munro obituaries. Not a surprise and I had given up hope she’d change her mind about retiring…but sad nevertheless. Now though I’m thinking of a Munro reread bender.
Haha, I was curious about the audiobook too (strange there’s only two copies of the book, but at two of my favourite branches!).
From Archipelago? What a great little imprint. TPL has a novella that looks interesting too. (The Edge of the Horizon)
Not a surprise, no, but still. /sigh That’s been on my mind too. But, for now, I’m resisting.
They both were from Archipelago. I’d meant to read them for #ReadIndies but didn’t get organized. Pereira Declares is still his masterpiece, but the Archipelago volumes are pretty fun.
We’re kinda always reading indies, aren’t we. It’s hard to represent that in a single month! (Even though I love K and L’s event!)
Thank you for reminding me about that Jhumpa Lahiri collection, it’s one I was really tempted by when it first came out and have forgotten about. I think she is such a good writer, though there are a few of her books I have still to read. To write well in two language and do translations, what a talent.
I’m sure you’ll enjoy it when it makes its way into the stacks; her prose is so sculpted and controlled that it’s calming somehow.
It’s nice to have some titles in reserve when you really appreciate a writer’s sensibility.
The Dionne Irving is the one calling my name. Did you finish Chrysalis? I’ve classed Coleman Hill as “linked short stories,” as is Company by Shannon Sanders, which I’ve just started. Barcelona by Mary Costello strikes me as a book for you — do you know her work? I think I’ve read 11 collections so far this year. September is when I really ramp up the short fiction reading.
Nice! Chrysalis is in my third CSP post (draft) but I think I should add two more books so the fourth/final post won’t be inordinately long; I liked it and it inspired me to read two other Astoria collections (Toronto publisher House of Anansi’s imprint for short fiction). Coleman Hill feels like a novel to me at the halfway mark, but maybe I’ll think differently at the end. I love Graywolf’s stuff but I only have an epub of Company: intriguing! Mary Costello is new-to-me, I think, but you’re exactly right: when I read the descriptions of her books in TPL, they immediately and strongly appeal! Eleven is awesome: I’ve read six (with three underway).
I absolutely loved Roman Stories. Her use of language is so impressive; precise, understated but often beautiful. I thought the central piece held it all together so well. Have you read her novella, Whereabouts, Marcie? I’m sure you’d like it. And good to know the Towles works well.
You really get a sense of her authority with language, don’t you. It’s astonishing.
Yes, I still think about that white couch!
It’s good to be acquainted with his work, at long last.
I’ve really lost track of Lahiri, I keep meaning to get back to her. I haven’t read any of her work that she’s translated so I’m really behind!
Amor Towles is an author I do mean to read and never pick up. From what you say maybe I need to start at the beginning, if all his work fits together in that way. David Mitchell does something similar – I read an interview where he said he saw all his work as a macronovel.
That’s true for me with so many contemporary novelists but I think I’ve only missed one of Lahiri’s.
David Mitchell, Wendell Berry, Louise Erdrich, Margaret Laurence, Elizabeth Strout, Julia Glass: I love these sprawling inter-novel worlds!
If you’re keen on the idea of reading him, I think starting with the first book would give you a good sense of whether his style’s a fit. I know the collection was really positively received critically but, for me, the reason it worked so well was my sense of understanding his world and pet themes.