E.V. Slate, "Purple Bamboo Park"

The maid and the family go to a park.

(from Pen/O. Henry Prize Stories 2009)

This was a slow build, and there were moments early on where I was sure this was going to be dull, annoying, innocuous. This picked up pretty soon and the end was not just fun and action-packed, but beautifully written. This blog has more and better things to say about this story, and a Ha Jin piece also in the collection.

Geoffrey Becker, "This Is Not a Bar"

A guy and his girlfriend go to his guitar teacher's gig at a bar, where they meet another student.

(from The Cincinnati Review, Summer 2009)

Except it's not actually a bar. It's a fake bar, for show, that for some reason, or no reason, has hired a jazz trio. And none of the characters are curious about the fake bar. They marvel at how realistic it looks but, when left alone, don't get up and fiddle with the taps and bottles. They don't get a straight answer as to why in hell there's a fake bar and they don't pursue it. Oh, of course. Fake bar. Can you get us something from the real bar and bring it on over? How many times will I accidentally sit down at a fake bar? Fake bar fake bar fake bar.
This story was funny, and unsettlingly non-linear. Because the narrator is so wordy and over-explanatory, I assumed things would unfold in some sensible arc. Instead, it surprised me by going free form. It worked and it didn't work in the same way that jazz does and doesn't: Either your audience approves your out-there daring or they drink up and leave because you're just honking out random notes and calling it art. Sometimes a little of both. Eye of the beholder, etc. I liked the story.

Kirsten Sundberg Lunstrum, "The Nursery"

A boy accidentally kills a teammate during wrestling practice and, kicked out of school, goes to work with his mom in the nursery.

(from The Pen/O. Henry Prize Stories 2009)

This one had lots of what I love about short stories, and a lot of what I know people hate. First, the hate. Even though it's short, "The Nursery" is arduously slow and deliberate. It is quiet. Despite its intense subject matter, it builds to a whimper, a decisive but passive anticlimax. All true, but I didn't mind all that. Except the slowness, I guess. I like it when an author immerses the reader in a specific subculture, for lack of a better word. Fisherman stories that teach you how to fish. Time travel stories that lay some theoretical metaphysics on you. This was a story about growing plants and flowers in greenhouses, and it dropped some knowledge on me. Doesn't hurt that I am currently growing my own mint and such in a pot out back. The point is, I was sold on the nursery life, believed in its virtues, believed Lunstrum knew all she needed to know.
Here's Kirsten Sundberg Lunstrum's homepage.That's where I got that photo. I'm gonna be reading a lot from this collection, and I don't wanna use the jacket 20 times. Plus she's cute.

Graham Joyce, "An Ordinary Soldier of the Queen"

A British soldier in the Gulf steps on a landmine.

(from The Pen/O. Henry Prize Stories 2009)

I’m in the turret with the gunner. Phosphorescent flashes keep popping from miles up ahead, and they’re followed by what I want to call a flutter; it’s like your eye goes aquiver for a moment. And there’s a smell in the air, nothing like the usual reek of burning and high-ex. I don’t like it. When it comes to combat I don’t much like anything I haven’t seen or smelled before.

Crazy story. Really seemed like this was going to be a serious, firmly rooted-in-reality kinda story. Horrors of war and such. Turns out it's kinda serious, but insane. Fun and horrifying. The narrator turns out to be an expertly non-reliable kind of guy. Great story to start off the collection. This was originally published in The Paris Review. They have an excerpt here.
________________________________________________

I've never been very successful at maintaining a short-story-a-day pace. And things are about to get a whole lot worse, as I am taking part in Infinite Summer. That's where you read David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest over the summer. A bunch of people are doing it, I gather. The book is huge. I'm enjoying it so far, but I've never been very successful at reading whole novels. Had some good experiences lately, though. So. We'll see.

Right now I've got three songs in my head:
1) "Indian Summer" by Beat Happening, the unofficial theme song for the project, I say.
2) "David Foster Wallace" by Tsunami. Brilliant Mistake still rocks my world.
3) "Out on the Wing" by Superchunk. No DFW-ish reason, it's just stuck in there. Although, hmm, it is about flying, just like the Tsunami song.
So yeah, a bunch of old school indie hits. No apologies. Infinite Jest is from 1997. And it is infinite.

C.C. MacApp, "And All the Earth a Grave"

An overstock of coffins triggers a national trend.

(from 33 Science Fiction Stories)

There’s nothing wrong with dying — it just hasn’t ever had the proper sales pitch!

Everybody wants a coffin now. It's advertising. This is sort of satire, but mostly just a quirky little fable. You can listen to this story here.

John Cory, "Egocentric Orbit"

Early astronauts become unhinged by their journeys around the Earth.

(from 33 Science Fiction Stories)

Because they realize they're the center of the universe. Funny little story. Kinda skipping around this big and harmless sci-fi Kindle e-book. Read it here.

G.C. Edmondson, "Blessed Are the Meek"

Earthlings encounter a civilization of laidback aliens.

(from 33 Science Fiction Stories)

But there's a twist at the end, kind of... Say what? This story's from 1955? That explains some things. What kind of a crackpot sci-fi collection did I buy on the Kindle for like $.99 or whatever? You can read it here, somehow.

Peter Baily, "Accidental Death"

Human astronauts meet some outer space jerks.

(from 33 Science Fiction Stories)

Scientific investigations into this have been inconclusive, but everyone knows that some people are lucky and others aren't. All we've got are hints and glimmers, the fumbling touch of a rudimentary talent.

The Changs are these deviously cruel pranksters who look like cats. They make beer and telescopes. They learn English in Their stunts, it turns out, is not merely a cute little side pursuit. As the doomed astronaut says in his final recording, don't trust them. A funny, weird little diversion of a story. I read it on the loaner Kindle.

Téa Obreht, "The Tiger's Wife"

A tiger escapes from the zoo in WWII Poland (I think).

(from The New Yorker, June 8 & 15, 2009)

The perspective changes every so often, starting with the tiger who's been domesticated by captivity but still driven, somewhat by instincts. After that, we're inside the heads of people (not as cool) who live in the small village where the tiger takes up residence as a rural legend/nuisance/scourge. Kind of an awesome story from start to finish. If there's a tiger genre, I want in.

Chimimnda Ngozi Adichie, "The Thing Around Your Neck"

You win the visa lottery and leave Lagos for America.

(from The Thing Around Your Neck)

You ended up in Connecticut, in another little town, because it was the last stop of the bus you got on. You walked into the restaurant nearby and said you would work for two dollars less than the other waitresses. The owner, Juan, had inky black hair and smiled to show a bright yellow tooth. He said he had never had a Nigerian employee but all immigrants worked hard. He knew, he'd been there. He'd pay you a dollar less, but under the table, he didn't like all the taxes they were making him pay.

This one was awesome. It's the gripping second person story of Akunna, a young woman moving from Nigeria to New England, dealing with all kinds of well-meaning ignoramuses, most notably her trust fund boyfriend whose open-mindedness annoys her from the get-go. Yeah, it's a little preachy, but the heroine is just so three-dimensional, so fleshed out by each phrase and action, you buy it all. I love the way we experience her annoyance, and sympathize, even though she's often unable to put her grievances into words.
Read it here.

Stephen King, "Willa"

David leaves the train station and goes looking for his wife.

(from Just After Sunset)

This warrants a Spoiler Alert tag: It's a rather remarkable coincidence that I read this story right after reading "A Haunted House" by Virginia Woolf. Neither is new. Both concern ghostly couples living in a sort hazy existence between the real world and whatever comes next. David and Willa, though, don't know they're not alive. All they know is they need to take a train that could come by any time now. It's a freaky, tense kind of story. Eerie, I guess would be the word. Simply told, to heighten suspense and keep us in the dark. I keep meaning to read more Stephen King.

Virginia Woolf, "A Haunted House"

Two ghosts wander around their old house.

(from A Haunted House and Other Stories)

Whatever hour you woke there was a door shutting. From room to room they went, hand in hand, lifting here, opening there, making sure — a ghostly couple.

Kind of a peacefully spooky story. Some of the language was so vague, maybe antiquated?, that I wasn't always sure Ii was picking up on everything I was supposed to. Still it was lovely. I wouldn't say I'm afraid of Virginia Woolf, but it's early. This is the first thing of hers I've read.
I read this on a (loaner) Kindle. You can read it here.

Alex Burrett, "My Goat Ate Its Own Legs"

A goat eats its own legs.

(from My Goat Ate Its Own Legs)

Actually I read pretty much all of this collection, but I'm not gonna post about each story, because I'm reviewing it for the mothership. And this would turn into some kind of Burrettblog if I made 31 posts on the same book. My opinions didn't vary that much. I felt about this story the way I felt about most of the stories: It was entertaining. It felt easy. It didn't really tax my brain. My favorites from the collection: "Human Abattoir Project" and "The Beast of Bethgelart." For my more complete thoughts on the book, you'll have to find my review when it becomes available. I don't believe I'll link to it.

Dennis Cooper, "Three Boys Who Thought Experimental Fiction was for Pussies"

The narrator ponders three asses he has known.

(from Ugly Man)

A short paragraph for each butt. Funny, I guess. Didn't do much for me.

Truman Capote, "One Christmas"

A kid leaves his Alabama house to spend Christmas with his dad in New Orleans.

(from The Complete Stories of Truman Capote)

I don't know much about Capote. Seeing the movie was enough to trick my mind's ear into reading this story in Phillip Seymour Hoffman's gentle screech. I was lent this book (thanks LZ!) a long time ago but swiftly lost track of it during a move (sorry LZ!). So, it's possible I was supposed to read "Christmas Memory" — I remembered only that the story recommended to me had something to do with Christmas or holidays reindeer. I have a feeling it wasn't "One Christmas," though I did find it to be a charming little nostalgia trip about a spoiled-ish Depression era kid from a broken home learning a little bit about manipulation and compassion. Fine story. Didn't blow me away.
I'm not sure why this exists, but hey it's related. Looks like they made a movie out of this story, somehow.

Craig Raine, "Love Affair With Secondaries"

Piotr, married to Basia, gets caught having an affair with Agnieszka.

(from The New Yorker, June 1, 2009)

One day he expected to read a poem about his eyebrows. Or a poem with his phone number or his address in the title: “Ul. Sienkiewicza 35 m.5.” Especially since his apartment was often the easiest place for the lovers to meet—as they were going to meet on this rainy day in June.

Quirky little midlife crisis sex story. I enjoyed the over-the-top soap operaticness of it, like some "ribald" indie film where you know how things are going to go and then they go there and you smile because hey, we're all having a good time. As serious as it should be to get caught committing adultery, here the crime felt more like a move in a big, dramatic, silly game. That stakes were low. Fine by me.
I read a Craig Raine story once before. I liked this one better. Read "Love Affair With Secondaries" here. That photo is by far the smuttiest moment in the history of this web site, but if it's classy enough for the New Yorker, I suppose it meets my decency standards.

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, "Cell One"

Her big brother Nnamabia goes to prison.

(from The Thing Around Your Neck)

“How much did they give you for my gold?” our mother asked him. And when he told her she placed both hands on her head and cried, “Oh! Oh! Chi m egbuo m! My God has killed me!” I wanted to slap her. My father asked Nnamabia to write a report: how he had pawned the jewelry, what he had spent the money on, with whom he had spent it. I didn’t think that Nnamabia would tell the truth, and I don’t think that my father thought he would, but he liked reports, my professor father, he liked to have things written down and nicely documented.

This falls into a category of short story I rarely enjoy: Horrible Foreign Prison Stories. They drag the reader through the ringer and beat it into your head that things are so corrupt and cruel. I enjoyed this one, though, since the horribleness was only revealed at an angle, told from the perspective of the imprisoned boy's younger sister. The narration was endearing. There was some hope. Do I need a short story to coddle me, to keep me from the harsh truth of things. Sure, sometimes.
Read this story here.

Kelly Link, "Pretty Monsters"

Cabell saves Clementine's life, leading to a lifelong crush. Lee and friends put Czigany and Parci through an Ordeal.

(from Pretty Monsters)

This story was exciting. An adventure story. So much damn fun. It's got (at least) two major storylines barely connected to each other. Lots of distinct and likable characters, too. Underneath it all, and even when things get meta, there's this feeling that Link gets it. She's part of the modern existence and so are her characters.

Ben Stroud, "Eraser"

His stepfather wants him to toughen up. They go fishing a lot.

(from One Story, #119)

I go sit behind the steering wheel and look at the screen mounted there. It shows how deep the lake is below the boat, and the size of any fish passing below. I wonder if it would show a dead body, if there's a picture programmed in it for that. See, son, a dad'll say, tapping on the screen, that's a child. We only need the small net.

When the kid's not making snide remarks about the polluted man-made lake they go fishing on or his cruel stepfather, he's carefully erasing numbers out of his math textbook. This was a fun one. Very sarcastic, very humorous. This Stroud guy gets good mileage out of shorter sentences, and breaks up the text with logical but unexplained chapter breaks.
One Story has an interview with Stroud here.

Ben Greenman, "Life Begins in Benighted Nonexistence and Hey! It Goes From There"

A French Army captain writes to his daughter.

(from Correspondences)

Among the purposes for this letter: to set the record straight on the surprisingly accurate hollowed-out bullet, which he invented (or co-invented with that noble drunken womanizer Delvigne). I read this story, thought about it awhile and re-read it. It's short and oddly heavy, like every piece in this collection I've read so far. Or maybe every letter written in italics on thick card stock comes haunted by a somber undertow, regardless of the content. Because there's a lot of humor here, too.
Ben Greenman's doing a reading at 7 p.m. at Brickbat Books here in Philly tomorrow. I'm going.

Steven Millhauser, "The Invasion from Outer Space"

The aliens are here, and they're kinda eh.

(from The New Yorker, Feb. 9 & 16, 2009)

From the beginning we were prepared, we knew just what to do, for hadn’t we seen it all a hundred times?—the good people of the town going about their business, the suddenly interrupted TV programs, the faces in the crowd looking up, the little girl pointing in the air, the mouths opening, the dog yapping, the traffic stopped, the shopping bag falling to the sidewalk, and there, in the sky, coming closer . . . And so, when it finally happened, because it was bound to happen, we all knew it was only a matter of time, we felt, in the midst of our curiosity and terror, a certain calm, the calm of familiarity, we knew what was expected of us, at such a moment.

This is a quick one about a small town getting bombarded by single-cell aliens that look like yellow dust and multiply rapidly. The townspeople (the only real characters) are bummed because instead of a benevolent invasion (or even an exciting malevolent one) they've just got this dust. I mean, it'll probably turn out to be a bad thing, but it's gonna be slow and dull.
Read it here. Recommended accompanying track: Brian Dewan, "The Creatures."
I'm trying to work my way through a stack of accumulated New Yorkers. They multiply rapidly. Tom Scharpling is right: A New Yorker subscription is homework.

Robert Boswell, "Almost Not Beautiful"

Two sisters reunite and visit their mutual ex.

(from The Heyday of the Insensitive Bastards)

Opening sentences get a lot of attention, rightfully, but the power of an effective next line should not be overlooked. Here's the first line:

After lunch that day, Lisa's sister drank too much.

That's cool. Not particularly aggressive, but intriguing enough to keep reading. Which brings us to line two (and line three):

"Saying I drink like a fish doesn't make sense," she argued. "It's like saying I read like a word."

Ha. Good story, too. More on Robert Boswell here.

Craig Raine, "Julia and Byron"

A woman with cancer takes an experimental treatment.

(from The New Yorker, March 30, 2009)

And then she dies and the husband reads her diary and realizes he was a jerk to her. After reading this I was torn between "what the hell" and "whatever." I'm not sure why this story did what it did but I'm sure I don't care that much. I read it. It was fine. Good night.
Read it here.

J.G. Ballard, "The Autobiography of J.G.B."

A guy wakes up to find he's the last person on earth.

(from the New Yorker, May 11, 2009)

On waking one morning, B was surprised to see that Shepperton was deserted. He entered the kitchen at nine o’clock, annoyed to find that neither his post nor the daily newspapers had been delivered, and that a power failure prevented him from preparing his breakfast. He spent an hour staring at the melting ice that dripped from his refrigerator, and then went next door to complain to his neighbor.

This strikes me as an easy story. Easy to think up, easy to write. It's also the kinda thing I could read all the time. I like apoca-lit. This was short — less than one New Yorker-page long — and very few answers. In fact, it's got this silly last line that exists only to tease a greater intrigue that will never be sated. But whatever. All the people disappeared. That's so cool. I would find an RV and drive around.
Read it here, if you have five minutes.

Dave Reidy, "Postgame"

A basketball player hangs up the high-tops.

(from Captive Audience)

Sports stories can be a tough sell, but I bought it that Tim was a pro athlete who built a career out of filling holes and playing roles. He's not a star, but he's always had luck finding a place to play until now, when he's gently pushed into retirement and fatherhood by disinterest around the league. This transition turns out to be difficult, and I found myself hoping, like Tim did, that he'd get one more shot at glory. This story pulled me in.

Inés Bortagaray, "At The Table"

A strange dude plays with a little girl at a dinner party.

(from Zoetrope All-Story, Spring 2009)

The tablecloth is white. It covers all four corners of this large wooden table placed at the end of the yard, and is so long it brushes the floor. On top of the tablecloth are plates, serving dishes, spoons, ladles, knives, napkins, forks, bottles, jars, flowers, and bits of bread.

I don't get what's going on here. Is the narrator challenged in some way? And how come nobody seems to notice this grown man crawling around? Weird.

Ronaldo Menéndez, "Insular Menu"

As socialism crumbles (maybe), Cubans get creative to deal with the food shortage.

(from Zoetrope All-Story, Spring 2009)

After some inquisitorial sleuthing, chance hit unerringly upon its answer: At school one of the neighborhood girls remarked, completely off topic, that there was nothing to eat at her house, and then her father cooked a chicken leg like this for dinner. With this last comment, she opened her arms as wide as she could. The teacher pressed further, and the proud girl confessed that the chicken's neck was also like this, and the heart and the wings were like this. And so it was discovered that the zoo director had fattened Pancho and served him on his familial table, as the girl just happened to be the director's daughter.

What a great and sick little story. Or maybe it's not a story but a string of vignettes. There's the part about raising pigs in bathtubs, and crocodiles in backyards, the crazy part about fishing for cats on the roof. Oh, can't forget the ostrich part. Loved reading this, whatever it was.

Kevin Wilson, "The Shooting Man"

He really want to go see the show where the guy shoots himself in the head every night.

(from Tunneling to the Center of the Earth)

Short and neat. I liked this story. It's got a Prestige/Illusionist/Twilight Zone grimness to it. It's mysterious and feels really separate from real reality. I like the murkiness.

Carolina Sanîn, "The Conductor's Daughter"

A little girl on a train won't stop bothering a couple on their way to Armero.

(from Zoetrope All-Story, Spring 2009)

This was a fun and silly little story. Was it about anything other than a precocious bored little girl killing time on the train? Yeah, sort of. The real story might have been the young (high? desparate, somehow) couple who kept making weirdly poetic conversation. The conductor's daughter and the fat man had questions for them, but never got any real info. So neither did we.
This is Zoetrope's Latin American Issue.

Cólm Toibîn, "The Color of Shadows"

A nephew takes care of the aunt who raised him.

(from the New Yorker, April 13, 2009)

A fine but slow and somber story. No twists, no clever language, no surprises or hooks, unless you count warm moments of humanity. Which I don't.
Here's Colm Toibin's site. Read the story here.

Jesse Ball, "Plainface"

The kid is sent out to find food for his starving family.

(from The Paris Review, 188)

But who, or what, is the kid? He's a shapeshifter maybe, sometimes small enough to be carried like a football, other times big enough to be mistaken for a farmhand. Weird thing is, it's not just his shape — he becomes other people, suddenly looks like specific people and seems to know things the original would know. There's probably no chance of making sense of the sci-fi elements. As a freaky little adventure tragedy, it's easy to grasp. Really enjoyed this one.
Jesse Ball was interviewed by Bookslut in February, and he talks about Plainface a little. I wonder if this is the same Jesse Ball.

Pasha Malla, "Long Short Short Long"

A boy teased for his rock star mullet gets his revenge.

(from The Withdrawal Method)

Funny little story. I've never learned to give a crap about the Rolling Stones, but I dug the way the author integrated the music. It put you into the head of our troubled protagonist and yet grounded things. But I'm a rock critic sometimes, so I would say that.

Kevin Wilson, "Tunneling to the Center of the Earth"

Three unemployed friends put off the real world by doing a lot of drugs and digging a lot of tunnels.

(from Tunneling to the Center of the Earth)

And if there's any chance of being happier than that — filthy, cold and almost imperceptible from the ground we slept on — I would like to know how.

Ridiculous. Awesome, but gently, smoothly insane. There was so much left to think about with this story. It could have been ten times as long with all the material this plot has to offer but the author chose to keep things weirdly simplified, not exactly allegorical, but definitely not set in the real world. Am I suggesting this story should have been done differently, maybe exhausted its possibilities? No.
Here's the author's blog.

Jessica Francis Kane, "The Inquiry"

Investigating deaths in a bomb shelter in WWII.

(from VQR, Spring 2009)

Everyone in the audience was staring at the screen, but when the Museum Cinema in Bethnal Green went dark, people turned to the shapes in the seats next to them and asked, “What happened? Did you see?”

Some described what they thought they’d seen, some what they imagined. Several boys switched on torches and when the voices began to subside, the cinema manager, standing on stage, said the usual bit about a raid: “If you wish to leave, please do so quietly.”

Cool. Nonlinear sorta mystery. I had a little trouble following it, but I blame myself. Read it here.
I love the VQR.

Pasha Malla, "Big City Girls"

Alex plays with sis and her friends on a snow day.

(from The Withdrawal Method)

This wasn't the funny, freaky Saunders-ian ramp the back of the book promises (perhaps another selection from the collection) but it was a sharp little story about being young and dumb. I particularly bought Alex, whose adolescent brain doesn't know when a joke is over, and takes things too far, and wants to belong.
Here's another writeup about this story. Tells you a lot of the plot, but as somebody who's already read the story, I dug it. Here's a fan-blog about Pasha Malla.

Bill Cotter, "Pfaff II"

People in mental institutions wanna get out.

(from McSweeney's, issue 30)

This one's a heartbreaker. You know that things can't work out for our heroes, that if things work out for them it might be too Hollywood or unreal, but damn. Really liked this story. It was gentle and true, not particularly surprising but right as rain.

Ron Rash, "Burning Bright"

Marcie thinks her husband might be the arsonist.

(from Ecotone vol. 4, 1 &2)

This is one of those stories that, when I've finished reading it, I think: Now that is why there should be short stories. It's an argument I have in my head when I hear people knock on the form, or when I wonder why there seem to be so many short story writers and so few straight-up readers. And my case, in this case, is a strange one. I like "Burning Bright" because of its simple ambiguity. If we ended up knowing for sure whether Carl was the guy setting fires in the woods, what would be have? Bland moral certainty? An episode of Law & Order, with Sam Waterston holding up a receipt for accelerants found in the subject's dry cleaning? No, it's better not knowing, feeling the conflict Marcie feels, pondering the situation more than the conclusion.

Mary Gaitskill, "An Old Virgin"

A nurse meets a 43-year-old virgin.

(from Don't Cry)

The Steve Carrell version was funnier.

Mary Gaitskill, "Folk Song"

Three unrelated stories sit together on the same page of the newspaper.

(from Don't Cry)

A rumination on the possible interconnectedness of these three items: A murderer awaits trial. A porn star announces her plan to have sex with 1,000 men in a row. Two giant turtles are stolen from the zoo. Not really a story, like with a plot and all, but interesting.

Kevin Wilson, "No Joke, This Is Going To Be Painful"

Ice fights lead to suburban instability.

(from Tin House, vol. 10, issue 3)

When we finally stopped, the cooler emptied of ice, we were breathing so hard it was like we'd all been fucking for hours.

I really liked this story and... Look, I know it's this thing some dudes dream about: the crazy, quirky, don't-give-a-fuck badass chick who's a little into violence, a lot into sex, who lives for the moment and appalls all the stiffs around her. People try to be that girl and it never works out. People try to date that girl and it only works out for a little while. It doesn't work out for the strangely-named Wage in this story, the guy who loved throwing pieces of ice as much as the fuck-up sister-to-a-friend who started the ice fight-as-acceptable party activity. So, this girl doesn't exist, she's a kind of male fantasy, the "Totally Hot Chick Also Way Psycho" who has no place in the real world. Except she does exist, sometimes just long enough to realize she doesn't have a place in this world. Sometimes longer, and that's how it gets really sad. Not because she's outgrowing the role, but because nobody's helping her. They're too busy being apalled or finding the whole idea hot.
Here's Kevin Wilson's site.
You can read the whole thing here, and you should.

Adin Bookbinder, "Meteorology"

She has to take care of her weather-obsessed mentally ill dad.

(from One Story, issue 117)

Liked it, but didn't quite see the fun in it. Nothing much had changed by the time it was finished, and the dad's quirks weren't funny, just sad (not that they were supposed to be funny).

Mary Gaitskill, "College Town, 1980"

Depressed college dropouts sit around hating themselves.

(from Don't Cry)

These people are so annoying. A story like this should have some jokes in it, so the reader knows the author knows that these people suck. But the story wasn't funny. It was plodding and lame and I don't know why I read to the end.

Sheila Heti, "The Giant"

A giant leaves the nest and parties in Paris.

(from The Middle Stories)

One day the giant said to his mother, "I'm thinking of killing myself."

I'm not sure what the point is, but I enjoyed reading this silly little amoral parable. Well it's silly, but it's also got a little depth to it. Fun might be the word. Read it here. Or here.
McSweeney's just had a sale and I couldn't resist picking up a few books, like this one, that I'd had my eye on for awhile.

Wells Tower, "Wild America"

Two cousins — one miss perfect, one bitter — who used to be close, hang out.

(from Everything Ravaged, Everything Burned)

I think this is the first Wells Tower story I've read with female characters front and center. He's usually super sharp and insightful when it comes to the testosterone-addled brain of a douchebag, dirtball or blowhard. He doesn't pull any punches with these girls either. They are transparently mean and petty. It's a fun, dangerous story that ends with an excellent multi-ball humiliation.

Mary Miller, "Full"

A misanthropic woman her cousins and her twins.

(from Big World)

I’m at my cousin’s house, watching her fix dinner for her twins, who are trying to toss themselves out of their highchairs. When I take care of them, my only goal is to keep them alive but I don’t bother with them now because Courtney’s here and if they crack their heads open it’s all on her.

Another really excellent story from Miller. I love these young jerky women characters. It's refreshing for fiction. And it's refreshingly told.
Read it here.

Aharon Levy, "Sasquatch Seeks a Mate"

Sasquatch goes to a club to pick up a chick.

(from Ecotone, Vol. 4, 1 & 2)

I'm glad this is actually a story about Bigfoot trying to get some tail, and not some eh story about dudeliness with a really good title. I mean, Bigfoot's troubles are not unheard of in the world of dudes, but it's not a metaphor, or not only a metaphor. Sasquatch really is in a bar looking to score. Good stuff. Fun, even.
This is Ecotone's Evolution Issue. I've never seen this magazine so far, but I'm liking it so far.

Wells Tower, "Down Through The Valley"

A guy has to pick up his ex-wife's new boyfriend — the one she cheated on him with — and drive him a long way.

(from Everything Ravage, Everything Burned)

This weird situation would be implausible if it weren't also the kind of life's-a-bitch reverse miracles that totally seem to happen once in a while. This trip, with the angry ex and the calm boy scout do-gooder has to end in disaster. And it's so good that it does.
Does this link work for you? I clicked and clicked, but nothing.

Wells Tower, "Retreat (redux)"

Two estranged, combative brothers hang out in the mountains.

(from Everything Ravaged, Everything Burned)

I've read this story before. In a way. I really dug it when I read it in May of 2007, but the author has since had a change of heart about the thing. In a little promotional pamphlet preceding the release of Everything Ravaged, Everything Burned, Wells Tower tells how he was never quite happy with the way "Retreat" came out. "Horrified" is the way he puts it. So here's the story again, told from the perspective of Matthew the rich-ish smug angry jerk, instead of Stephen the young, angry frustrated jerk. I still like em both, and still like Bob, the workaday mountain man who gets to observe the brother's jerkiness from a (nearly) safe distance. So, fine. Good story again for the first time.

Wells Tower, "The Brown Coast"

A guy moves into a shore house he's renovating and begins collecting weird sea creatures that get stranded in the tidepool.

(from Everything Ravaged Everything Burned)

This one kind of teeters on the edge. I don't trust this protagonist, which is different than calling him unreliable. I believe the world is something like the way he sees it, but his morals and disposition make him a tough guy to wanna hang with.

Robert Boswell, "The Heyday of the Insensitive Bastards"

Mushroom-popping philosophical drifter-types take up residence in a house in the mountains.

(from The Heyday of the Insensitive Bastards)

Wonderful and strange. I loved this story. I dug these wastrel characters even though in real life — which is not to say they didn't feel real here — I would have taken them for what they were besides lost: Insensitive bastards. Really good authors can make heroes out of the jerks just by popping their foreheads open and showing us that they're people too. Keen reminds me, a little bit, of Fuckhead, except he's even further off the deep-end. His story is his parole board plea, and he reveals himself to be more than a little stupid and hopeless but most sympathetic.
More than anything, this put the resilient tune of "Palmcorder Yajna" in my head. That's a Mountain goats song about tweakers doing drugs and letting their minds kinda spiral around. They're no bad people, it's just that most who wander are lost.
More on Robert Boswell here.

Owen Egerton, "Of All Places"

A guy goes to Texas because he reads on a dollar bill stapled to the ceiling of a diner that he should.

(from How Best To Avoid Dying)

Top of the ridge, twisting along. Look. You can see for years from here.

Along the way his car breaks down, he pees in the desert and thinks about the religious girl he never had sex with. This was fine. Appreciated it, but never got hooked.

Mary Miller, "Leak"

A girl and her dad deal with the loss of her mom, barely.

(from Big World)

Loved this one, too.

Mary Miller, "Animal Bite"

A woman goes to the ER with her husband after getting bit by their dog.

(from Big World)

My husband put a hand on my forehead. He wasn't a bad guy; we just weren't right for each other.

Here's another thing Mary Miller does really well: Putting you in the head of characters who only mention their sadness in passing and yet still making you feel the sadness.

Carrie Brown, "A Splendid Life"

A psychiatrist retires and returns to his childhood home.

(from One Story 116)

Petey's a funny old guy. I mean, he's dealing with some guilt and regret and all, but he's a charming and spry drunk coot. There was something slick about the way he pounded some vodka and took a spin on the lake in a rowboat. His sudden drunkenness is as much a surprise to the reader as it is to him. I haven't read much John Updike, but this story gave me some of that vibe, a sort of amber-tinted glow around a bygone ugliness. Good stuff.
Read an interview with the author here.