Liar

Tobias Wolff’s Liar

This short study is a good way to experience the Salon for the first time: the brief study will give you the room to consider this unique form of writing – the short story is not a novel, and not a poem, but perhaps between – and probably even more. “The Liar” by Tobias Wolff offers a protagonist caught in his own world, using language to separate and shield himself from those he loves – and fears. From a 2008 review on Slate by Judith Shulevitz: “One of the best stories in Our Story Begins, a collection of new and selected older stories by Tobias Wolff, is called “The Liar.” It’s about a teenage boy who regales strangers with dark fictions about his family—appalling accounts of misfortune and disease. These drive his mother crazy; a concrete, pious person, she can’t stand dishonesty, and she sends him to the family doctor. The charm of the story lies in the likability of its characters.”

Edgar Allen Poe argues that the writer of a short story should aim at creating a single and total psychological/spiritual effect upon the reader. The theme or plot of the piece is always subordinate to the author’s calculated construction of a single, intense mood in the reader’s or listener’s mind, be it melancholy, suspense, or horror. There are no extra elements in Poe, no subplots, no minor characters, and no digressions except those that show the madness of deranged first-person (“I”) narrators. Ultimately, Poe took writing to be a moral task that worked not through teaching lessons, but in simultaneously stimulating his readers’ mental, emotional, and spiritual faculties through texts of absolute integrity. As a literary ancestor of the form, Poe’s theories and practice offer a starting point to the development of the short story.

From a 1996 interview in Salon.com: “Short stories, like poems, demand a lot from their readers. Novels may be longer, but they don’t require the same compressed attention. They allow moments of relaxation; their narratives promise to hold you, however casual the concentration you invest.”
But Tobias Wolff, who is one of our great contemporary masters of the short story, says that the difficulty of the short story is its own reward. “The reader really has to step up to the plate and read a short story,” he once said. And the writer’s thrill is “working a miracle, making life where there was none” in the space of a few precisely and elegantly distilled pages. “There’s a joy in writing short stories,” he says, “a wonderful sense of reward when you pull certain things off.”

Boys and Girls & Why I Live at the P.O.

Short Stories by Alice Munro and Eudora Welty

Everybody knows what a house does, how it encloses space and makes connections between one enclosed space and another and presents what is outside in a new way. This is the nearest I can come to explaining what a story does for me, and what I want my stories to do for other people.    (from “What is Real?”)

In this one-evening short story intensive, we will first consider Alice Munro’s “Boys and Girls” and then move into Welty’s “Why I Live at the P.O.” The connections between the two pieces may not be obvious at first, but I think in our discussions we will find how they reflect and address each other while walking very different roads.

“Why I Live at the P.O.” is deeply connected to the place and time period in which it is set. As readers, we are positioned so close to Sister, the narrator, that it may take some time for us to realize we are being persuaded. Her point of view in the story she relays is strongly inflected and makes her narration unreliable, but there is much to be gained even from this dented perspective. The humor is rich and compelling, but there is also strong commentary and more subtle insights on females and familial relationships: the jealousies and tensions, sharp hurts and unspoken wounds. Notice how quickly the mood swings from teasing to rupture: what is suggested here?

Stories available:

“Why I Live at P.O. “ http://art-bin.com/art/or_weltypostoff.html

“Boys and Girls”   http://womeninlit.tripod.com/alicemunro.htm

Below is selection from a review of Munro; please do not worry if you do not have time to read through this material before we meet…these resources will be equally illuminating in the Salon aftermath.

“The Germans must have a term for it. Doppel­gedanken, perhaps: the sensation, when reading, that your own mind is giving birth to the words as they appear on the page. Such is the ego that in these rare instances you wonder, “How could the author have known what I was thinking?” Of course, what has happened isn’t this at all, though it’s no less astonishing. Rather, you’ve been drawn so deftly into another world that you’re breathing with someone else’s rhythms, seeing someone else’s visions as your own.

“One of the pleasures of reading Alice Munro derives from her ability to impart this sensation. It’s the sort of gift that requires enormous modesty on the part of the writer, who must shun pyrotechnics for something less flashy: an empathy so pitch-­perfect as to be nearly undetectable. But it’s most arresting in the hands of a writer who isn’t too modest — one possessed of a fearless, at times, fearsome, ambition.”

From review in the New York Times By Leah Hager Cohen. Published: November 27, 2009
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/29/books/review/Cohen-t.html?pagewanted=all

I suggest that Munro explores juxtaposed worlds in her fiction…that she uses her characters to probe the relationships between psychological spaces and the outside world. Her female characters all have a fine double awareness of community values and of what else goes on outside those limits. They are fascinated by dark holes and unscripted spaces with their scandalous discreditable stories of transgression and desire. The romantic fantasies, the glimpses of interior lives and the rumors and gossip these engender are part of this recognition of other worlds.

FoxFoxesWildAnimalRedStalkingBirdsHunting1

Always amazed how Munro effortlessly uses metaphors of place and event to reveal deep interior turbulence and ambivalences: for ex.; the ‘pelting’ of the beautiful foxes in the ‘Boys and Girls’ becomes wonderful resonance for the way in which the narrator is skinned by the process of growing in to the skin of a ‘girl’- and must go through the act of un-skinning herself to find her sneaky, savage and hostile self that will fight this reduction.

Further reading– http://journals.hil.unb.ca/index.php/scl/article/view/8112/9169

Here you will find an analysis of “Boys and Girls” through a feminist consideration.

Mastiff & Labor Day Dinner

Short Stories by Alice Munro and Joyce Carol Oates


This Salon Intensive offers a one-meeting study that ambitiously considers two short stories in one big, energetic gulp. Participants have described this as a wonderfully dynamic approach– we work hard and have a joyous time.

Our short story study will take two of the genre’s ruling voices, with Joyce Carol Oates’ Mastiff and Alice Munro’s Labor Day Dinner. These two works consider themes around self-knowledge and relational identities, but our focus will be on a holistic consideration of each individuallyand in their comparison. Note how the techniques of language and style probe the murky interior spaces. The Joyce Carol Oates story Mastiff is available here: http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2013/07/01/mastiff. The Alice Munro story is in the collection The Moons of Jupiter.

Here is an extract from Lorrie Moore’s wonderful introduction to the Munro collection:

In so many tales told of romantic love, beauty casts spells that are often greeted or countered by other spells. Jupiter’s mythic moons have lives of deformity and transplant, and the moons themselves are known for their erratic orbits. How like the characters of Alice Munro. Though her protagonists are not explicitly turned into animals or cupbearers or loved by any actual omnipotent, tempestuous god, the wanderings, transformations, mischief, and anguish of possessive love—the kind of love everyone really values, “the one nobody wants to have missed out on,” according to the narrator of “Hard-Luck Stories”—are her most abiding subjects. Like the ancient Greeks, Alice Munro has always known this is where the stories are. Fate, power (gender and class), human nature (mortal strength and divine frailty) all show up there to be negotiated and expressed.

“Life would be grand if it weren’t for the people,” says a Munro character in “Labor Day Dinner,” who also offers up the line perhaps most often quoted from this collection, that “love is not kind or honest and does not contribute to happiness in any reliable way.” It is an acerbic balance to the alkaline lilt of Corinthians 1:13, also quoted in this story, which informs us that “Love suffereth long, and is kind.” That both ideas can be held simultaneously within the same narrative is part of the reason Munro’s work endures—its wholeness of vision, its complexity of feeling, its tolerance of mind. For the storyteller, the failure of love is irresistible in its drama, as is its brief happy madness, its comforts and vain griefs. And no one has brought greater depth of concentration and notice to the subject than Munro. No one has saturated her work with such startling physical observation and psychological insight. “He knew he had an advantage,” she writes in “Connection,” the book’s inaugural story, “and we had reached the point in our marriage where no advantage was given up easily.” And in the final story: “You touch a man that way to remind him that you are grateful.… It made me feel older than grandchildren would to see my daughter touch a man—a boy— this way. I felt her sad jitters, could predict her supple attentions.”

The style in which people circle one another, their mix of lunacy and hard intelligence, the manner in which our various pasts revolve simultaneously around the present, the way that children are always in a parent’s gravitational pull, even when out of sight, the fact that filial love has an infinitude of stories: all these are signalled by the book’s title and in the title story. “I found my father in the heart wing,” it begins, and the very many things it can mean to be a daughter are echoed through three generations gathered in that wing. Munro brings both a warm and cool eye to the project of loss: “I saw how the forms of love might be maintained with a condemned person but with the love in fact measured and disciplined, because you have to survive.”

The Yellow Wallpaper & Runaway

Short Stories by Charlotte Perkins Gilman and Alice Munro

A three hour intensive study of two great short stories: The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, and Runaway by Alice Munro

‘The Yellow Wallpaper‘ by Charlotte Perkins Gilman often disappears into the category of a feminist work. This subversive first person narration gives a glimpse to the dangers of an artistic temperament smothered by care- loving, oppressive care. I will provide readers with notes on the world of late 19th century women, particularly in regards to medical care and psychiatric treatment. This is a haunting and riveting read.

I think it will be thought-provoking to bring our study of ‘The Yellow Wallpaper ’into a more contemporary moment through the rich work of Alice Munro. Although Munro appears to be exploring similar terrain–the outward manipulation of a vulnerable female protagonist– Munro’s gift is to resist any simplification of her characters or the subterranean forces they reveal. This short story will provide an interesting counter-point to ‘The Yellow Wallpaper’.

‘Runaway’ by Alice Munro can be found: http://www.newyorker.com/archive/2003/08/11/030811fi_fiction?currentPage=all

In my research on TYW, I have found many writers summarizing the story as showing how the rest cure resulted in madness for the patient. This is positioned as an extension of the societal oppression of women at the time that Gilman exposes using her passionate narrator. But this is too simple – and disregards the intrigue and complexity of the mind that changes over the course of the story. Pay close attention to the images and patterns of narration: how does Gilman bring the reader into the world of the narrator? How is this world made plausible – up to and through the end? To position this work as a feminist writing can be useful but also runs the risk of reducing the peculiarities of the piece. We may discuss the rubric of feminist writings and how that can be useful to our understanding of the historical context of the story while we attend to the range of questions raised in the piece. What is madness, for example, and can we definitively describe the narrator as mad?

Some Notes on Charlotte Perkins Gilman (outlined from the Norton Anthology of American Literature)
1860-1935: CPG lived her life on the margins of a society whose economic assumptions about women she vigorously repudiated. Through her resistance to the ‘masculinist ideals’ of the time came the body of work, both fiction and non-fiction, that she produced to question and offer a new societal vision.
Raised by her mother alone in Rhode Island after her father abandoned her family, Charlotte describes her upbringing as painful and lonely. Her mother tried to prevent her children from dependency on broken relationships by withholding all expressions of physical love. Charlotte struggled to support herself as a governess and designer of greeting cards before she married, and quickly came to understand the lack of economic opportunities available to women. She became involved in the suffrage movement, writing in defense of prostitutes among other subjects. When she married, she struggled to continue her growing career as a writer and lecturer while taking on the mantle of wife and mother. Her growing despondency led to her treatment at the hands of Dr. S. Weir Mitchell and the use of his rest cure (please read the one page description cited below). Gilman chose to separate from her husband when she became convinced her marriage threatened her sanity; her private choices reflected her championing of non-traditional roles for women. Her writings included Women and Economics wherein she argues that women’s economic dependency on men stunts not only the growth of women but that of the whole human species. In Herland, Gilman imagines a feminist utopia populated only by women (reproduced by parthenogenesis) in a society that is collectively administrated and ecologically sound.

Read more about Dr. S Weir Mitchell’s *Rest Cure
*Google book introduction from Dr. S. Weir Mitchell: http://www.archive.org/stream/doctorandpatien00mitcgoog#page/n13/mode/1up

The Swimmer & Feathers

Short Stories by John Cheever and Raymond Carver

“The Swimmer” by John Cheever and “Feathers” by Raymond Carver

For this one-meeting short story intensive, we will look closely at these two works that share an aesthetic of overturning the rules of normality in suburban life. We will consider each work individually, and find areas of overlap as the impressions of each inform the other.

“When John Cheever first began writing “The Swimmer,” he conceived of it as a novel—and he actually wrote a good chunk of it before reconsidering. As Blake Bailey relates in his biography, “Soon Cheever suspected he had ‘a perfectly good’ novel on his hands,” but his self-assurance gradually turned to dissatisfaction:

“As he began to find the core of the story, he threw away pages and took yet a different approach. The main technical challenge, he realized, could not be sustained over the course of the novel: that is, Neddy could not possibly repress the truth for some two hundred pages. . . .

“From the approximately 150 pages of material he had assembled, Cheever carved out his finely honed story. Michael Chabon, who first read it as a teenager, called it “a masterpiece of mystery, language and sorrow. It starts out, on a perfect summer morning, as the record of a splendid exploit . . . and ends up as a kind of ghost story.”

from The Library of America website

Raymond Carver is considered by some to be the post-modern king of the short story. He refused traditional narrative conventions and was a practitioner of a stripped down minimalist style where significant meaning may lurk in the pauses and silences as much as what is said. His characters at times seem to evoke our pity, other times our disgust: but all are fully drawn and compelling in the shards of the lives that Carver offers us.

Terra Incognita & The Vane Sisters

Vladimir Nabokov’s Terra Incognita and The Vane Sisters

This one-meeting study is an opportunity to notice and savour the details in two of Nabokov’s short stories. We will see things and hear things; we will visualize the rooms, the clothes and the manners of the author’s people. We will read not just with our hearts, not just with our brains, but with our spines. For it is there that the tell-tale tingle occurs.

Although this stand-alone session is an introduction to Nabokov’s stories, it is also a gateway drug to an upcoming study of the author’s addictive novel Pale Fire.

SALON DETAILS

  • One-meeting study
  • The facilitator will provide participants with copies of the stories and pre-session reading material to help situate the reader in the texts.

The facilitated discussion will use these stories as a springboard for our conversation; we welcome participant questions, responses and ideas as we navigate the challenges of the work. There is no expectation of previous study or work with the texts nor in the academic tradition: this study will challenge and invigorate the first-time reader as well as the life-long lover of Vladimir Nabokov’s extraordinary prose.

The Dead

James Joyce’s The Dead

This longer short story is a rich feast through which one may taste the world of Joyce. Nothing – NOTHING – in Joyce is casual. Each image, reference, description carries symbolic resonance. Career Joyce scholars may try to align all the references – but I like W. Tindall’s attitude: “The text is not a system of mathematical equations but a flexible relationship of possibilities. . .” Bearing this in mind, we will dig at some of these references to give a sense of the richness in the writing.

Pay attention to the title even as it sits in contrast with the opening scene of the story itself – how is the image of death and the Dead brought up throughout the work? This story also holds to Joyce’s fascination with epiphanies – that moment of sudden and intense illumination when a profound truth is, or may be, revealed. Joyce describes the epiphany as ‘the most delicate and evanescent of moments’ that offer ‘a sudden spiritual manifestation, whether in the vulgarity of speech or of gesture or in memorable phase of the mind itself’. For Joyce, these moments did not occur at the height of the heroic or dramatic gesture, but in the ordinary acts of life. What are the moments in ‘The Dead’ that fit this description? More importantly, what is revealed?

SALON DETAILS:

  • One-meeting intensive study, 2 1/2 hours
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