Short Story Wednesday: MUTTER, Esther Yi from the New Yorker

 

A mother has traveled from Korea to visit her daughter who lives in the US. now. She works in a zoo and takes her mother along with her one day. They are especially interested in Zelzah, the last California Condor who lives in the zoo. The animals are now arranged by how endangered their species is. She encourages her mother to walk the length of the zoo while she does her job in security. Later they have dinner and the mother combs the daughter's hair. She then tells her daughter that she has come to tell her daughter she's been diagnosed with dementia. The daughter tells her that she will care for her but the mother refuses it. "Understand that your human mother has gone away. Don't try to find her in what I've become. Only then is there a chance you will love me still. 
Is there any of us who doesn't have a relative or friend suffering from this? 

Monday, Monday

 

Those balloons are a major part of YIYI. You forget how much fun a kid can have with a simple thing. This was a terrific film about a year in the life of a Taiwanese family. An awful lot of screaming and angst. Not much fun. I also saw SEND HELP, which was good. It is streaming on HULU. ALSO POWER BALLAD at the theater, which was likable if not compelling. 

I am binging LANDSCAPE ARTIST OF THE YEAR (On Prime). Love seeing the amazing British countrysides.

Reading THE GRIFTERS by Jim Thompson. Excellent writing, not sure if it will get too violent for me but the signs are there.  So many writers I have never read-David Goodis among them. 

Weather is up and down, sunny and then not.  

What about you? 

FFB: A GREAT DELIVERANCE, Elizabeth George

 

A Great Deliverance is the debut novel by Elizabeth George, published in 1988, and the first in the Inspector Lynley series, introducing the aristocratic Thomas Lynley and his working-class partner, Sergeant Barbara Havers, as they investigate a brutal murder in the Yorkshire Moors where a woman confesses to beheading her father. The book won multiple awards, including the Agatha and Anthony Awards for Best First Novel, and explores the complex relationship between the two detectives as they uncover dark secrets in a seemingly peaceful village. I read much of this series and enjoyed the dynamics between the very much have Lynley and the have-not Havers. It also was a wonderful TV series, perfectly cast.  At some point, I fell out of reading it. Perhaps because the books were very long. Anyway, this first one was great. 

Short Story Wednesday: "Flipflops" from HIGH INFIDELITY, Robert Boswell

 

A couple, who are both straying for the first time, go to the beach. As the man is trying to tell a joke, the woman notices someone in distress in the ocean. The man, a strong swimmer, joins the drowning man's friend, in trying to save him. They both fail. As the couple is leaving the beach he notices his purple flipflops are gone. Then he notices a woman stumbling away, wearing them. He demands she return them and then figures out she is the  wife of the drowned man. The couple is unable to consummate their afternoon and go home. This was a successful short story for me. Well- written and had a point. 

 

George Kelley 

Monda, Monday

 Got home in time to say Stratford's version of GUYS AND DOLLS was amazing. What a great musical it is to-not a bad song in it. I saw the Nathan Lane version in the nineties on Broadway and since the staging has become more sophisticated in those years, this was even more thrilling. Such a huge cast. 

We also saw THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST, which was about as good as that play can be. So many of the Stratford actors have been in plays for thirty or more years there so you watch them age from playing Juliet to the elderly women in EARNEST. Lots of good food too. So nice to spend time with Kevin especially. He has to decide on a major by December and still hasn't decided. Between plays we played a game called SPLENDOR which was really difficult to understand. Board games have gotten more difficult since even my kids' times. 

Great weather on the whole. Reading a Japanese novel that takes place on a subway line. I haven't unpacked yet so I can't tell you the title. Perhaps Tracy knows. I am betting she recommended it.  

What about you?  

Short Story Wednesday" My First Job, Patricia Abbott

 

My First Job

In 1966, I returned home to Philadelphia after a botched attempt at elopement during my second semester of college. My parents, learning that I had withdrawn, alerted the state police, and I was eventually tracked down in Virginia after a long Greyhound bus trip from the college in Massachusetts. As I have reported the full story of this escapade elsewhere, I will just say it was a full-scale debacle, expensive for my parents and humiliating for me. Later my children would ask to hear it at family gatherings and find it very amusing.  Their misdeeds were minor when compared to this.

The morning after I came home in February 1966, I found the Want Ads (a newspaper section I didn’t know existed till then) of the Philadelphia Inquirer on the kitchen table. Several ads were circled in angry red. Lots of exclamations points decorated it. Most of the ads were for jobs at diners and pizza places or as store clerks in pet stores or Kresge’s, but one was for a job at Curtis Publishing Company in downtown Philadelphia, a bus and a subway ride from my house.  I had no idea what the job entailed, but the skills listed seemed basic enough for a high school graduate with one semester of college under her belt. So newspaper in hand, I made my way on public transportation to 6^th and Walnut Street. I was hired on the spot. Apparently my one semester in college and decent high school grades has won me the position—a job I soon realized I was ill-equipped to do. I had no idea if the salary listed was reasonable, having never had a full-time job before. ($55.00 a week). My parents had given me no advice on what I could expect and whether I should try to barter them up. So I said nothing, just filled out the paperwork and was shown my desk. Most of the other employees in the large office were forty years my senior.

Curtis Publishing Company was unknown to me although it was a famous Philadelphia landmark. The only downtown buildings I was familiar with were the four major department stores (John C. Wanamakers, Lit Brothers, Gimbels, and Strawbridges) and the handful of elegant movie houses. Center City Philadelphia was ground zero to dozens of well-known movie theatres (today there are just a handful). Clustered in districts on Market, Chestnut, South, and North 8^th Streets, these entertainment venues (such as the Boyd, the Fox, the Stanley and the Goldman) lined the sidewalks with blinking lights and glistening facades, drawing thousands of visitors downtown. Many Saturdays, my girlfriends and I traveled down to see first-run movies at these palaces. We would dress up (heels and gloves included) for the occasion as was the custom in the early to mid-sixties. The movies playing there would not make their way to our shabby neighborhood theaters for weeks. They didn’t seem like the same movie at all viewed in the Renel Theater that carried a smell that was not just popcorn.

Curtis Publishing Company, my future place of employment, was founded in 1891, and was a major publisher and home to Ladies Home Journal, The Saturday Evening Post, Country Gentleman, Jack and Jill Magazine and several other notable publications. It was an historic building right across the street from Independence Hall and had features such as the Tiffany-designed “Dream Garden” mosaic, atriums, a lot of bronze fixtures and chandeliers, and other notable architectural elements. It occupied an entire city block and still sits there today. From the floors to the ceilings and everywhere in between, there were exquisite details inspired by the French Beaux-Arts architectural movement. The Dream Garden mosaic, designed by Philadelphia-born artist Maxfield Parrish, is composed of 100,000 pieces of iridescent Favrile glass. The building was 12 stories high.

By the time I arrived at its door in 1966, it was in decline as a first-tier publisher, and various departments had been combined to save money. Many attempts had been made to rescue it with bank loans and money from a multitude of investors, and all of them had failed. Its failure was mostly blamed on a lack of diversification in its publications and the aging population who subscribed to them. Its publications were no competition for magazines such as Cosmopolitan, Vogue, Playboy and Glamour, which had many more subscribers. They looked to be from different centuries. Today, the building still stands it all its glory, but it largely offers services to self-publishing authors.  

During my six months in this building, I didn’t notice a single one of the architectural glories it featured. I walked to the bank of elevators that day and took one to Personnel. I was hired in purchasing. None of the departments that had a hope of interesting me had jobs. I had left college thoughtlessly with no idea of what I might do instead. I had hitched my wagon to a cartoon aficionado with no ability to draw. Much like I had given no thought of what I would major in when I traveled off to Massachusetts, I gave no thought on how I would support myself once I left. That would be the concern of my intended husband whose greatest skill was shooting a basketball into my wastepaper basket.

Curtis Publishing Company seemed to think I was someone who could have a fairly responsible job. Or they weren’t exactly flooded with applicants. So within a week or so, after mastering the antiquated adding machine, my job seemed somewhat above my pay grade. When things were delivered to various departments in the building, I marched down to that department and checked that the order was complete and signed for by the department head. Then I went back to purchasing and checked to make certain the bill was correct, and then authorized payment. I expected someone senior to me would check on the process (or at least on my math), but Curtis was so short of personnel by then that no one did. My high school math skills were apparently expected to keep the place afloat. Most of the offices on my floor of the building were either empty or occupied by jocular men who seemed to do little more than banter and flirt. Clearly they could see which was the wind was blowing.

But I soldiered on, spending an hour or more to get to the office each day. My parents decided to ask me to pay room and board since I had cost them a semester’s non-refundable tuition with my stunt. By the time I paid them and my taxes, I could probably have made more money babysitting. As summer drew near, I noticed there was no air-conditioning in my office. Just a couple of lazy ceiling fans that moved Philadelphia’s humid air around. One day a woman in my office had a stroke and died on the gurney.

Around then, I started looking for a new job. My search was sped up when I was accosted by a man in a convertible who blocked by way in crossing a street with his huge car coming home from work. In the sixties in Philly, many screen doors were still open so I swiveled and ran up a walk and into  a house. The woman, who was ironing, called the police once I told her what had happened. The police escorted me home and my parents and I decided I would look for a job with an easier trip home.

My next -door neighbor was a lineman for Bell of Pa and suggested I apply for work as a service representative. So that is what I did. My mother worked near the Bell office and would give me a ride. And my pay would be $75 a week. I’d start my three month’s training in two-weeks time.

Unfortunately when I told some of my colleagues at Curtis about my new job and new salary, it created dissent in the office and the next thing I knew two burly men were escorting me out of the building after I bundled my few personal items. We exited via the main door and I finally saw the attractive mural I hadn’t laid eyes on in the six months I worked there. 

 

TracyK 

Steve Lewis 

Monday, Monday

 

What a beautiful week. One thing though when you live in an apartment, it is harder to be outside. You can take a walk but no sitting in your backyard reading or gardening or even chatting. I have a park a block away but the benches are incredibly uncomfortable. 

Saw the movie TUNER, which I thought was pretty good. It had action but it still managed to show you the lives of its characters and had lovely music.  Watching MAXIMUM PLEASURE GUARANTEED on APPLE. Also WIDOW'S BAY. Finished HACKS and THE BURROUGH. Didn't get much out of the BURROUGH but HACKS ended well. 

Reading a collection of short stories by Ha Jin. Friday I go to Stratford to see THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST and GUYS AND DOLLS with my son, his wife and my grandson. I will put a posting up for next Monday and respond later.

So what are you up to?  

FFB THE PRINCE OF TIDES, Pat Conroy

 

I think I read just about all of Pat Conroy's books back in the day. I guess he is most famous for THE GREAT SANTINI but almost all of them were best sellers, even MY READING LIFE, a non-fiction book about what he read. This is my favorite because it's such a romantic and heartbreaking family saga. It's about the affect of a dysfunctional childhood on two adults. The sister is suicidal and her therapist gets involved with her brother, a married man with three children. They really don't make them exactly like this anymore. A perfect beach read although there's so rough going. A very good movie too with Nick Nolte and Barbra Streisand. 

Short Story Wednesday: "The Best of Everything" Richard Yates

 

From the archives

Richard Yates wrote two of my favorite novels, REVOLUTIONARY ROAD and THE EASTER PARADE, but he also wrote this fabulous collection of ten short stories (among others). Written in the fifties "The Best of Everything" almost seems like a story written earlier. Were people in their twenties this naive? This innocent? I have to assume some were.

It is the story of a couple on the day before their marriage is to take place in Atlantic City. The point of view switches between the two of them and you can't help but notice how drastically different they are from each other once you are in their heads. You also realize they don't know each other at all and that their marriage will probably fail quickly. 

The woman is a typical middle class young woman working as a secretary. She speaks well and is respected in her office. The man is a step or two down the socioeconomic ladder and has a poor grasp of English, which the woman's roommate makes her constantly aware of, calling he and his friends, "Ratty little clerks." 

But for whatever reason, Grace goes forward with the marriage plans although we sense her worry. Her roommate, feeling badly about the things she has said about Eddie, leaves her alone the night before the wedding and Grace plans an early consummation, feeling this will set things right.

But Eddie has been the man of the hour with his friends at a bachelor party and he is stunned by their good will. You get the feeling he has never been the center of attention before this night. He hurries to Grace's apartment to tell her he is going back to the party and her attempt to seduce him goes to naught.

We understand now that Eddie will always choose his friends over his wife and that will destroy their marriage quickly. She goes so far to put his hand on her naked breast. Nothing.

There is a lot of discussion online about this story. One teacher said it was the cause of a female student in his class dumping her boyfriend. Yates' real gift here is capturing the mind and language of both characters so clearly and with sympathy. Eddie is not a bad man and Grace is not a snob, but they certainly don't belong together. They seem to have reached an age when they believe it is time to marry no matter to whom.

Here is a nice piece by Stewart O'Nan pondering the fate of the writing of Richard Yates. He had an unhappy life and an undeserved disappearance from the shelves. His resurgence in the early nineties quickly died out. A real shame. 

George Kelley 

Jerry House 

TracyK 

Happy Memorial Day 2026

 

FFB: NOTHING IN HER WAY, Charles Williams

 

Book Review: Charles Williams, Nothing in Her Way (1953)(From Noirboiled Notes 2009)

Charles Williams' Nothing in Her Way is a novel of the con game--one con involving mining sand for glass, the other involving horse racing--in which Cathy Dunbar and Mike Belen seek belated financial revenge on the men who ruined their fathers' business more than two decades before. A nice read with the obligatory twists and turns

Short Story WednesdayA Tangle by the Rapid River, Anthony Doerr

 I have always admired writers who can describe nature well: the sounds, the smells, the look of it, even the feeling. This is so well done. This is about a man going fishing. Sometimes his fishing is an excuse for meeting up with his lover. His lover is giving him an ultimatum. This day he is just fishing. First he gets tangled in his fishing lines and nearly drowns. Then he gets in a battle with a fish. Beautifully written.

 Jerry House 

Kevin Tipple 

George Kelley 

Monday, Monday

 Three good movies this week. An Icelandic film, THE LOVE THAT REMAINS

An old French film called SOFT SKIN by Truffaut that really shows Hitchcock's influence on him and the old Tracy and Hepburn film DESK SET, which was startlingly modern with the issue of people being replaced by machines. Finishing up HACKS, which was pretty mediocre, love WIDOW's BAY. 

Reading SMALL TOWN GIRL by Jayne Anne Phillips.Looks like spring has arrived. What's new with you?  

Short Story Wednesday: "Standings," Chang Rae Lee

 

Chang Rae Lee has always been one of my favorite writers, especially A GESTURE LIFE and NATIVE SPEAKER. This is a piece from his forthcoming novel. It takes place almost exclusively in a school yard atmosphere. Rather like LORD OF THE FLIES.  Our hero is Korean and he gets into a ongoing fight with a Jewish boy and some sorry names get thrown around. I don't know why it works so well because it is a familiar theme. But Lee is a terrific writer who makes it come alive. I remember fights like this so well from my schoolyard days. 

George Kelley 

Jerry House 

TracyK 

Monday, Monday

 

                        A bit under the weather here, but tell me what you're up to. 

Short Story Wednesday: CAVES OF THE RUST BELT, Joe Kapitan

 (from Matt Paust) 

CAVES OF THE RUST BELT – Joe Kapitan

I've just finished reading Joe Kapitan's second fiction collection, Caves of the Rust Belt: Ohio Stories, and am virtually paralyzed with admiration. My reactions whirl at an unfathomable depth. Occasionally I have to remember to breathe. But my fingers still work, being less emotional, and are doing my thinking on the keyboard.

Kapitan is sneaky. A startlingly inventive wordsmith with a plain voice, innocent of the conventionally snarky tone so many young writers affect to advertise their cleverness presumably distinct from the herd. He seduces you to lay aside conditioned “smarter than thou” defenses, drawing you into a seemingly familiar narrative until of a sudden you’ve no idea just where in hell you are, where he’s taking you. This happened time and again when a story already was moving too fast for me to jump off with an oh, this is just too damned weird shrug, and find some Kafka or Lovecraft to calm the nerves.

His seduction starts at the get-go, with words like Ohio and Rust in the title. I heard earnestness there, the clang of labor, hard times, solid heartland humdrum. And then Caves gave me a peek at something unexpected beyond the abandoned factory’s dusty window. A hint of promise, teasing. Beckoning. Eyes wide, curiosity tugging my sleeve, I entered.

Well...Willie Wonka’s chocolate house Caves of the Rust Belt is not. Closer to a step through the looking glass with Wondering Alice. Moments of mystery appear in the commonplace and segue slyly from clever to profound. Involuntary chortles continue to burble from my throat with recalled abrupt comic ironies and turns of phrase, a particular the bawdy chanty gently redacted by dead mariners in deference to the boardinghouse landlady who summoned them from the depths hoping to find her lost son:

Hers is the reason we set out to sea,

And hers is the reason it burns when we pee,

And these are the three things we know to be sure:

A sailor needs tailwinds and whiskey and hers!”

Flashes of brilliance dance among steadier, darker reflections, challenging readers to accept life’s marriage of opposites with its attending happenstance and heartfelt yearnings. Though surprise is a constant in Caves, an occasional story’s title alone reveals enough for either laughter or gravity to cue up at the start. Most often each are in play by the end. Brothers of the Salvageable Crust is one of these. I had no idea what the title means (and still don’t), but somehow it suggested that I pee before reading and avoid sipping a hot beverage during the narrative. Trusting my intuition thus saved me from scalding pain and incontinent shame.

I’m not going to mention every one of the twenty-eight tales in this collection, despite how truly amazing each of them is. In the words of one of our most ludicrously quotable modern Presidents, it wouldn’t be prudent. I won’t be able to sleep tonite, however, if I don’t mention one of the most jaw-droppingly startling, sweetest little pieces I have ever come across. It is titled Mr. Foreclosure. And that is all I shall reveal. If you read nothing else in Caves of the Rust Belt, please please please...Mr. Foreclosure!

Oh, my, yes, and this one (do not be misled by the seemingly silly title—this piece is a definite contendah!): What We Were When We Drew What We Drew. Read it, or I’ll unfriend you forever!

You can skip How Cold Wars End. NO! WAIT! JUST KIDDING! (read it, but use the same precautions you do with Brothers of the Salvageable Crust).

Have tissues nearby when you get to Letter from a Welder’s Son, Unsent. Just in case...um, salt gets in your eyes.

My favorite of them all? That is a really rotten question, but right up there among the top twenty-eight is The Basic Problem with Interior Decoration. I think it’s the longest, too, although the astoundingly brilliant Brothers of the Salvageable Crust stretches out a tad, as well.

I suppose it might aid my credibility were I to use some of the standard critical literary language in discussing this collection, but I’m so uncomfortable with linguistic sophistication I’d likely get some of the requisite terms and phrases ass backwards, doing more harm than good. Maybe Michiko Kakutani can be lured out of retirement to do the honors. I’d kiss her feet if I thought it would work. Caves of the Rust Belt deserves no less.

Joe Kapitan

Clicking over to Joe Kapitan’s Amazon.com page you’re apt to see references to Rust as his “debut” collection. That is a lie. His brief bio there tells us he published an award-winning short-fiction chapbook in 2013. “He began writing short fiction and creative non-fiction in 2009, and has had more than 60 pieces appear online and in print in such venues as The Cincinnati Review, PANK, Wigleaf, Midwestern Gothic, Smokelong Quarterly, Booth and Notre Dame Magazine.”

“Ohio,” he tells us, “is like that weird uncle with the cheesy mustache and outdated clothes; the one who always has the best stories.”

And now we know where “weird uncle” gets those stories. 

 

Barry Ergang 

Monday, Monday

 

WIDOW'S BAY looks like a good one (APPLE)  Hoping it's not too scary for me. HACKS has been a disappointment so far. It had three good years and maybe that's all most shows with strong arcs have. It is hard to feel too sorry for a 75 year old who has reached the end of a lucrative career. 

Reading GHOST TOWN, but it's too soon to tell. I have liked most of Perotta's books thus far. 

Megan has an interview with David Chase (THE SOPRANOS) for any one who has Criterion Channel.  She also discusses a bunch of movies with him-none of which I have seen but are all on Criterion. 

It is still going down to freezing here at night. But at least it seems to have stopped raining.  

How about you?  

FFB; A PLACE OF EXCECUTION: Val McDermid

 

As I am suffering from a stomach flu, I will just say this is the best mystery I have ever read. What is your favorite? (You only get to pick one) 

Wednesday Short Stories: The Whimper of Whipped Dogs, Harlan Ellison

 From Randy Johnnson

 Forgotten Short Stories: The Whimper of Whipped Dogs – Harlan Ellison

Harlan Ellison is hardly a forgotten writer, but I’m working under the assumption there are people today that haven’t read him. They should go right out and find anything by the man. He’s a writer worth reading. I’ve written about him before HERE.

My selection for the first edition of Patti Abbott’s Forgotten Short Stories is THE WHIMPER OF WHIPPED DOGS, the story of a woman brutally murdered in a courtyard while residents watched, not one responding to her cries for help, not even calling the police. The story concerns the aftermath and the decision the young woman protagonist, one of the watchers, makes at the end of the story.

It was inspired by the true life murder of Kitty Genovese in 1964. A news story two weeks later reported on the non-response of neighbors to the brutalization that went on only a hundred feet from her apartment door. Stabbed twice, the attacker left, only to return ten minutes later to continue the assault.

The report may have been in error, no one knows for sure anymore. Nevertheless, it inspired a powerful story from Mr. Ellison on the general malaise enveloping people living in the city, the constant violence on TV, the mind your own business attitude of to many of us. It won the Edgar for best short story in 1974, one of the many awards(to numerous to list here) his writing has won in a long career.

It’s easily available in numerous editions.

1. Bad Moon Rising, eidted by Tom Disch: first appearance and reasonably priced with a little search
2. Deathbird Stories: good prices
3: Dreams With Sharp Teeth: omnibus containing Deathbird Stories, Shatterday, and I Have No Mouth & I Must Scream. A nice introduction to the man’s stories for anyone new to Mr. Ellison’s work
4. The Essential Ellison: A 35 Year Retrospective and the expanded 50 Year Retrospective 

 Kevin Tipple

Jerry House 

TracyK 

Monday, Monday

 I have become quite fond of LOVE ON THE SPECTRUM, a reality show about people with autism trying to find love. All of them seem to have been raised to be very polite. Maybe things like manners are easier to teach than how to have a conversation. Anyway, you can't help but root for them. And their parents. 

Also watching ROOSTER, HACKS, MARGO'S GOT MONEY TROUBLES, and a show on PBS with people in the UK trying to find their parents (or children). Most of them were adopted during the time when those records were hidden. 

Reading SHE READ TO US IN THE AFTERNOON, Kathleen Hill and some short stories by James Lee Burke. 

The weather is still unpredictable.

How are things there?  

Went to an art show at Cranbrook. Cranbrook is a school, art museum and lovely grounds. We all find it hard to identify with installation art, which students mostly seem attracted to.  I know photography brought representational art to a crossroads but looking at a table full of broken pottery does not do much for me. Or the recreation of a sixties living room. 

FFB-NO RETURN ADDRESS, Anca Vlasopolos

 

Anca is a good friend of mine, but I didn't know her well when I read this wonderful, sad, intelligent book. It recounts her flight from post-war communist Romania, to France, to Belgium, and finally the U.S. It tells about the persecution and death of her father in that communist period too. It is an honest account of the good and bad she and her mother found in the Detroit area. This is an excellent text on how to write memoir. And how to tell the story beautifully even when the events are not.