Back-of-the-book blurb: The stories in this remarkable collection—including “An Anxious Man,” winner of the National Short Story Prize (UK)—are vibrant and gripping.  James Lasdun’s great gift is his unfailing psychological instinct for the [...]]]>

• It’s Beginning to Hurt: Stories by James Lasdun
• Hardcover: 240 pages
• Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux (July 21, 2009)
• Language: English
• ISBN-13: 978-0374299026

Back-of-the-book blurb: The stories in this remarkable collection—including “An Anxious Man,” winner of the National Short Story Prize (UK)—are vibrant and gripping.  James Lasdun’s great gift is his unfailing psychological instinct for the vertiginous moments when the essence of a life discloses itself.  With forensic skill he exposes his characters’ hidden desires and fears, drawing back the folds of their familiar self-delusions, their images of themselves, their habits and routines, to reveal their interior lives with brilliant clarity.

In sharply evoked settings that range from the wilds of Northern Greece to the beaches of Cape Cod, these intensely dramatic tales chart the metamorphoses of their characters as they fall prey to the full range of human passions. They rise to unexpected heights of decency or stumble into comic or tragic folly.  They throw themselves open to lust, longing, and paranoia—always recognizably mirrors of our own conflicted selves.

She is Too Fond of Books’ review: Do you remember “Romper Room”?  It was a syndicated American children’s show that ended with the hostess (always a hostess, never a host!) looking through her Magic Mirror, ostensibly to the children watching at home, and calling out a list of names of those who had “fun at play” watching that day’s episode.  Author James Lasdun is British, and likely hasn’t seen the show; however, his craft of writing is a magic mirror straight to the psyches and inner demons of his protagonists.

As I read the stories in It’s Beginning to Hurt I was struck by Lasdun’s ability to so skillfully show the way our minds work, the internal conversations we have, playing opposite sides of an argument as we make decisions.  I thought of the caricatures of an angel and a devil on our shoulders, then jumped to Miss Julie’s Magic Mirror on “Romper Room.”  Imagine my surprise when I returned to the jacket flap and read the phrase “recognizably mirrors of our own conflicted selves.”

Indeed, through the characters’ thoughts, as much if not more than their actions, Lasdun exposes their true selves … the self that is not necessarily shown to the world.

In “The Natural Order”, Abel is a happily married man and father to a young child.  He has a comfortable position assisting with his father-in-law’s business of writing travel guides.  On a research trip to Greece, Abel is accompanied by Stewart, a photographer who is quite the proverbial ladies’ man.  Abel sees himself in contrast to Stewart, and examines the way he presents himself to the world, his outward appearance:

It occurred to him that at the very least there were things about the Stewart approach to life that he could adopt without compromising himself.  For one thing, he could sharpen up his appearance.  Being married didn’t mean you had to relinquish all claim to being regarded as a physical animal, but somehow he had managed just that.  His clothes had become shabby, formless, utilitarian.  The luster and contour he had once taken care to maintain had given way, he realized, to an apparent desire to blur himslef into the background of any situation.  he felt a sudden revulsion for the contents of his suitcase:  dust-colored rags of baggy cotton and courduroy; the horrible beige anorak with its webby lining, its pleated elastic waistband, and plastic black toggles.  Forget hors de combat; the thing was more like a body bag!  But he had worn it almost every evening of their trip … Christ!  What had happened to him.

At the end of the story Abel and Stewart have come to “the gorge, an abrupt, sheer, granite-shaded plunge of nothingness.”  Two pages of text pass with Abel’s thoughts, ending in “He stood motionless, looking out into the gulf of empty space.”  The reader is left to decide if this empty space is the gorge or Abel’s future.

This collection has 16 stories, ranging in length from 2 to 26 pages.  The shortest is the title story, “It’s Beginning to Hurt.”  Sparse it’s not; ten years of conflict, secrets and deception are told in those two pages.  We live through the protagonist’s heart and mind – feeling his sorrow at a loss, the respect shown by colleagues and a store clerk, and the scorn and contemptuous words from his wife.  You can download “It’s Beginning to Hurt”, a sample of Lasdun’s short fiction at the BBC Short Story Award site. You’ll see that, while it may be true that actions speak louder than words, the voice inside our heads is often loudest of all.

About the author:  James  Lasdun has published three other short story collections, two novels (including The Horned Man, a New York Times Notable Book), and three volumes of poetry.  He was born in London and now lives in upstate New York with his wife.

Back-of-the-book blurb: At times stern, at other times patient, at times perceptive, at other times in sad denial, Olive Kitteridge, a retired schoolteacher, deplores the changes in her little town of Crosby, Maine, and in the world at large, [...]]]>

Back-of-the-book blurb: At times stern, at other times patient, at times perceptive, at other times in sad denial, Olive Kitteridge, a retired schoolteacher, deplores the changes in her little town of Crosby, Maine, and in the world at large, but she doesn’t always recognize the changes in those around her: a lounge musician haunted by a past romance; a former student who has lost the will to live; Olive’s own adult child, who feels tyrannized by her irrational sensitivities; and her husband, Henry, who finds his loyalty to his marriage both a blessing and a curse.

As the townspeople grapple with their problems, mild and dire, Olive is brought to a deeper understanding of herself and her life–sometimes painfully, but always with ruthless honesty.  Olive Kitteridge offers profound insights into the human condition–its conflicts, its tragedies and joys, and the endurance it requires.

She is Too Fond of Books’ Review: Olive Kitteridge was on my MUST READ SOON list for three months before I picked it up; I’m hoping I can convince you to put it at the top of yours.  I first learned of the book when I attended an Author’s Breakfast as part of the Concord Festival of Authors this fall.  Elizabeth Strout was one of the authors who read from her novel and took questions from the audience that morning.  Click here to listen to Strout read an excerpt; you’ll appreciate the chuckles and murmurs from those of us in attendance (and please ignore the clinks of flatware and juice glasses).

These thirteen short stories are linked by Olive Kitteridge, who has lived in the coastal town of Crosby, Maine her entire life.  We first meet Olive in her mid-forties, married to her husband Henry (a pharmacist), mother of an only child, Christopher.  Olive is a school teacher, and as the stories are told, we learn that she was feared by many, liked by some, and respected by all.

She’s a pragmatic “Mainer;” some might find her unnaturally cold, but she reads very real to me.  She tells is like it is, and thinks sentimentality is foolish.  In one scene a friend thinks Olive is suffering and asks “Doesn’t it make you angry?!?”.  Olive replies, “no sense in getting angry, what’s done is done.”

I appreciated this exchange between Olive and a young girl who walked in on Olive while she was resting during a party at her son’s house, it shows Olive’s gruff exterior contrasted by her visceral reaction to her own aging and mortality:

“Hello,” Olive says to the little girl, but the child does not reply.  After a moment, Olive says, “How old are you?”  She is no longer familiar with young children, but she guesses this one is around four, maybe five …

Still the child says nothing.  “Run along now,” Olive tells her, but the girl leans against the doorjamb and sways slightly, her eyes fixed on Olive.  “Not polite to stare,” Olive says.  “Didn’t anyone teach you that?”

The little girl, still swaying, says calmly, “You look dead.”

Olive lifts her head up.  “Is that what they teach you to say these days?”  But she feels a physical reaction as she leans back down, a soft ache beating on her breastbone for a moment, like a wing inside her.  The child ought to have her mouth washed out with soap.

The stories are presented in chronological order, so we see Olive and Henry age (and all that comes with it), their son grow, marry and move away.  We also see the intricacies of small town life, and how “small town” doesn’t mean “dull” or “simple”.  Strout has the ability to make the townspeople of Crosby as fully-developed and detailed as any characters I’ve met in a long time.

Olive and her family are the main characters in perhaps half the narratives.  She plays a role in each of the others, whether as a minor character or someone mentioned in passing.  It is through this clever structure the reader gets close to Olive, as if seeing her through a magnifying glass.  We then pull back and see her through the eyes of another character.  She is so intense that this is a much-appreciated break.  After reading several chapters I realized that Olive herself needs a break from this close scrutiny; she has the quirky habit of putting on her sunglasses when she feels uncomfortable or exposed; this is one of her traits that I found most endearing.

Each story is full enough to stand alone as a strong short story.  Woven together, the narratives in Olive Kitteridge form a beautiful and complete portrait of a special woman.

The paperback version I read has the Random House Reader’s Circle “Readers Guide” which includes an interview with the author and “Olive Kitteridge” herself (!), as well as twenty discussion questions, also available online.  Elizabeth Strout is the author of Amy and Isabelle (1998) and Abide with Me (2006); I’ve added both to my wish list.  Author photo credit Jerry Bauer.

I connected with Christopher Meeks when he responded to a post I wrote about the difficulty my book group has had discussing short stories; he wrote an excellent guest post which offered several suggestions on how to approach a [...]]]>  

I connected with Christopher Meeks when he responded to a post I wrote about the difficulty my book group has had discussing short stories; he wrote an excellent guest post which offered several suggestions on how to approach a short fiction collection, including the proposal that there might be a theme of sorts running through the stories.  He says that “short story collections as a whole should be thought of as concept rock albums … some stories are lighter than others, and, as in a good album or concert, the reader’s emotions should be like [a] roller coaster … ups and downs, and the loop is a surprise.” 

Christopher offered me a review copy of his latest collection, Months and Seasons.  I gladly accepted, eager to approach short stories with an enlightened eye!  This is a group of eleven short fiction pieces “about time – narratives of different people at different ages.” 

His simile to a roller coaster is apt here; some of the stories gently unfold, others surprise with their twists and turns.  The work is quite varied in style, but consistent in its high quality.  I was reminded of Roald Dahl’s short pieces when I read “The Farms at 93rd and Broadway”, about an older couple who unexpectedly attend a hypnosis demonstration instead of the Broadway show they had set out to see; by the end of the piece I was wondering which character was showing signs of senility and which was bluffing.

Some pieces are heavy on dialogue, others rely more on detailed narration.  “The Holes in My Door” begins as a piece about a man suffering from depression more than a year after his wife has left him.  Meeks deftly tells the tale in the first person, as the unnamed narrator slips deeper and deeper into paranoia:  “I heard noises outside each night, things I had never noticed from my room before – an odd, loud cawing for instance.  Couldn’t be a bird - few birds are active at night.  Must be a robber calling to his cohort …” 

At the young end of the age spectrum is a 7-year-old girl at camp, afraid of getting in the lake for swim lessons.  At the opposite end is a 78-year old man and his experience of “The Old Topanga Incident.”  This story is based on a ravaging fire that consumed over 16,000 acres in November 1993; it is gripping not only because of the way Meeks tells of the force of nature that is the Santa Ana winds fueling the fire, but also because of the urgency expressed by the point of view Meeks chooses.  “The Old Topanga Incident” is told as if the narrator is telling it to you, not you-the-reader, but you-the-protagonist, as you watch all your worldly, and highly-prized, possessions, burn to ash:

You open the door and you see a number of things simultaneously:  two firemen in bright yellow rubberized coats stand before you, shouting, “You’ve got to get out now!”  Two hundred yards up the hill is a wall of flame, and the house of the svelte woman with the dog burns brightly as if it were made of gasoline.  Flames shoot high.  Embers the size of your fist land in the juniper and cypress trees in your yard, on your car, in the driveway.

The end of Months and Seasons offers a “bonus track”, a story from his upcoming collection The Brightest Moon of the Century.  Each of the stories in the book center around the character Edward, parceling out bits and pieces of his life over a thirty-year period.  “The Hand” is the first story in this upcoming group, which will culminate as a “novel-in-stories” a la Melissa Bank’s The Girl’s Guide to Hunting and Fishing.

For a sneak peek at the “ups and downs,” written about in Months and Seasons, watch this YouTube video of an actor-read excerpt from the story “Whiskers”, introduced by Meeks.  His work has appeared in Rosebud and Clackamas Literary Review as well as other literary journals.  A previous collection, The Middle-Aged Man and the Sea was published in 2005.  Learn more by visiting the author’s website or subscribing to his blog.  Climb aboard the roller coaster that is Months and Seasons; the ride will stay with you for a while!