Bergen, Guenther, Kellough, Mosley and Thammavongsa
Short Stories in October, November and December
Whether in a dedicated collection or a magazine, these stories capture a variety of reading moods.
This quarter, I returned to three familiar writers and also explored two new-to-me story writers.
David Bergen’s Here the Dark (2020)
There’s not a lot of dialogue and what remains unsaid also matters, like this bit in the novella, “Here the Dark”: “‘I won’t come back,’ Marcie said, and Lily believed her, and she wondered what that would be like, to not come back.” It’s Lily’s silence, her wondering, that matters more. But if Marcie hadn’t left, Lily wouldn’t have even been able to wonder. Sometimes this kind of wondering is what passes for action in these stories. If you’re not big on wondering, you might not be big on Bergen’s stories.
Never Too Late and Saved were in The Walrus, April was in Prairie Fire. Leo Fell was in Toronto Life. Vodka was in CBC Story Prize and pub’d in Saturday Night. Hungry was in Hobart and nominated for a Pushcart Prize.
Contents: April in Snow Lake, How Can n Men Share a Bottle of Vodka?, Hungry, Never Too Late, Saved, Leo Fell, Man Lost, Here the Dark (novella)
Faye Guenther’s Swimmers in Winter (2020)
Arranged in three pairs, these stories revolve around love relationships. “At the start, every new lover is a story you choose to believe. A story about where you have been, where you’re going. A pack of cards shuffled, reshuffled, dealt again.” In the first pair, Magda and Florence move together, apart, and across time; a Rilke poem slips into and behind their story. “I’m an old woman whose world has grown several inches taller.” In the second pair, Eva and Claudia work together at a diner on Yonge Street in Toronto and, seven years later, they remain part of each other’s life, along with Jackie: “It felt like they were standing together in an apartment with all the furniture removed, empty and waiting.” (I never said they were happy love stories.) In the final pair, a shared character moves from a contemporary war to a post-apocalyptic conflict. She is “Not Carmen in the uniform, but Carmen as uniform, as soldier.” Then, generations later, she is an ancestor and her family members cope with the legacy of climate chaos.
Contents: Swimmers in Winter; Fight or Flight; Things to Remember; Captive Spaces; Opened Fire; Flood Lands
Kaie Kellough’s Dominoes at the Crossroads (2020)
One of the powerful themes that resurfaces in these stories is breath and air becoming life and breathlessness representing oppression. The same saxophone player might be playing his horn on a float in the Caribana parade or on the floor of the Atlantic Ocean, inhabiting both the past and the present simultaneously. So, in one story: “Time, like fresh air, grows stale about one story below street level.” And, in another: “I remember her exact inflection, where she cut a word short, paused, and where her voice rose in pitch.” And, yet, another: “A knot tightened in my chest, like a stifled breath, and my body seemed to wrench toward the voices.”
This slim collection, barely two hundred pages long, was stuffed with so many sticky notes by the time I finished reading, it’s like it was strung with bunting. Reading Dominoes at the Crossroads brought to mind works by Jordan Abel, Cecily Nicholson, Catherine Leroux, Rawi Hage, and Kristjana Gunnars. It’s one of those books that I borrow, first, from the library, and then resolve to purchase so that it’s poised for rereading.
Contents: La question ordinaire et extraordinaire; Porcelain Nubians; Shooting the General; Dominoes at the Crossroads; Witness; Petit Marronage; We Free Kings; Navette; Capital; Ashes and Juju; Smoke that Thundered; Notes of a Hand
Walter Mosley’s An Awkward Black Man (2020)
More than one narrator is unhappy in love in Walter Mosley’s collection, sinking as Albert Roundhouse does in “Almost Alyce”, “under all that loving like a leaky rowboat in a summer storm”. This echoes my brief experience of his writing, not with his more famous mystery series starring Easy Rawlins (launched in 1990 with Devil in a Blue Dress) but with Leonid McGill (launched in 2009 with The Long Fall). Because I don’t remember anything about the mystery elements, I remember the relationships.
The stories are decorated with just enough sensory detail to lift them off the page, like the “hiss of tires racing on the wet streets outside” and “salt and butter hair…combed but only just”. New York City features prominently, from the subway entrance near Broadway and Houston to the falafel bar in Times Square and sunbathers on a lawn north of the Financial District. Some are about ordinary events (a middle-aged man quits his job selling insurance in “Starting Over”) and some focus on the extraordinary (like “Cut, Cut, Cut” which was wholly surprising between reading about a man who seeks to make a change in his psychotherapy protocol and a man who can’t bring himself to leave his apartment after Hurricane Laura strikes the city).
Many of them revolve around a man yearning for a love that “could not be erased from this world or her heart or mine”, as in “Local Hero”. Fuelled by dialogue and the kind of direct syntax that makes you feel like you’ve fallen straight into someone’s brain (and heart). Some, like “Reply to a Dead Man” are almost entirely dialogue; others, like “The Sin of Dreams” and “An Unlikely Series of Conversations” experiment with form and subdivide the story into smaller segments. Regardless, these stories read easily and quickly.
Mosley dedicates his collection to Toni Morrison “who raised the dialogue of blackness to the international platform that Malcolm X strove for”. Reading through the collection, I meet so many lonely and dispirited middle-aged and ageing men, that I flip back to check their names, unsure if I’m meeting some of them for the second time. But, even so, when I review the TOC after reading the final story, each story crystallizes for me, only with the title.
Contents: The Good News Is; Pet Fly; Almost Alyce; Starting Over; Leading from the Affair; Cut, Cut, Cut; Between Storms; The Black Woman in the Chinese Hat; Local Hero; Otis; Showdown on the Hudson; Breath; Reply to a Dead Man; The Letter; Haunted; The Sin of Dreams; An Unlikely Series of Conversations
Souvankham Thammavongsa’s How to Pronounce Knife (2020)
When poets create in a longer form, sometimes their prose is characterized by beauty and lyricism. In Souvankham Thammavongsa’s case, the quality that most remarkably translates from her poetry writing to her fiction writing is precision. (I’ve read two of her collections: both wonderful.) Sleek and exacting, her use of language will welcome readers who are not short fiction devotees as well as aficionados.
Contents: How to Pronounce Knife; Paris; Slingshot; Randy Travis; Mani Pedi; Chick-A-Chee!; The Universe Would Be So Cruel; Edge of the World; The School Bus Driver; You Are So Embarrassing; Ewwrrrkk; The Gas Station; A Far Distant Thing; Picking Worms
I loved How to Pronounce Knife, such a well-deserved Giller winner. I haven’t spoken to another bookish person that thinks otherwise, it seems like a universally beloved collection! I’ve read a bit of Bergen before but didn’t love it, too much ‘wondering’ tend to irritate me so I don’t think that one is for me 😉
Her success reminds me of the warm reception for Madeleine Thien’s collection, Simple Recipes (also one of my favourites!) which would bode well for Thammavongsa’s literary future (although she’s already well known for her poetry whereas Thien turned to longer forms after her debut). Yeah, I’m not convinced he’s to your reading taste, but he’s very good at what he does.
I’ve not heard of any of these and could be that I tend not to read a lot of short stories. You’ve come up with some very interesting titles and hope they turn out to be a great reads. Wishing you a wonderful holiday season!
Thanks, Iliana: it seems like you had a lovely holiday, too, I’m glad to hear it! Probably only Mosley would be well known in your corner of the world (and maybe his style of crime story is a little too gritty/noirish for your taste). This quarter’s stories were even more Canadian than usual…
I’m amazed to look back and see that I’ve read 18 story collections this year (because I don’t gravitate towards short stories generally), plus a standalone story or two. My favourites of the recent releases were To Be a Man by Nicole Krauss, Help Yourself by Curtis Sittenfeld, and You Will Never Be Forgotten by Mary South, any of which I can imagine you enjoying too.
I’m not sure if I’ve read that many more than that, and I do gravitate towards them. (I’ll check my stats next week!) Two of those were already on my TBR and I’ve now added the Mary South collection too (I’d added it on GR but hadn’t investigated it at the library yet–long hold lists there, yet).
I just came across Invisible Press lately and was looking at their catalog. (Ordered some from the library.) That makes Swimmers In Winter very timely!
I’m glad they exist, and appreciate their emphasis on women writers, but there’s a certain focus on voice, and it doesn’t always align with my reading taste. I haven’t found m/any favourites from their line-up so far: this one, though, is close (and I love the pairings idea).
I’ve just read Part I of Ursula Le Guin’s collection, The Unreal & The Real, which I think you are going to read too. And much as I love Le Guin, I found her short stories unsatisfying for the reason I find all short story collections unsatisfying, and that is just as I’m getting to know someone we move off somewhere else.
I can relate to that feeling, but at least Le Guin often traverses into novella territory, so you get a l-i-t-t-l-e more than you get from some short story writers. Maybe, though, these novellas are not part of the recent collections. I don’t have my own hard copies of these, and I’m not sure how they align with my separate collections (how selective they’ve been in compiling them), but I still do plan to read them from the library at some point. If I remember correctly, there are some nice introductory pieces?
All authors new to me! I have been reading short stories, mostly vintage seasonal crime – which has been a great comfort!
I’m surprised that Walter Mosley isn’t more recognizable–he’s written many books throughout his long career–but he’s best known here as a mystery writer, and I’m not sure if his gritty American city novels would necessarily be to your taste. I think I commented on Ali’s page that the library system here has started to collect that line of English mysteries so I hope to borrow a couple of them next year–you two have enjoyed them SO much!
I’m a huge fan of How to Pronounce Knife as I may have already commented but also like the sound of Here the Dark and Swimmers in Winter.
I think you’d particularly enjoy Here the Dark. Other than this one, and its novella in particular, my favourite of his for you would be The Age of Hope, because it’s a very quiet, interior story of a woman in a marriage.