I asked George the same question a few posts ago! We here in Story Club just feel so much love for George. And for one another! Yes, he is incredibly large-hearted and generous--and makes all of us want to be the same.
"We might say that we read stories to prepare ourselves for the coming trouble." This--along with the whole "oppress the comfortable" discussion--really resonates, and it also sort of points to the great overlap (has a causal link been demonstrated yet?--I'm a scientist, so I have to ask!) of people who read fiction and people with high levels of empathy/emotional intelligence.
Tracy - interesting to posit such a causal link. I'd like to think so, but if so then a figure like a tolstoy would be a paragon of empathy. But alas, ask Mrs Tolstoy.
I think we can be many things at once. This may even be unavoidable, this living in contradiction, difficult as it is. I hear what you're saying, though, but I'm guessing that Mrs. Tolstoy must have seen something in Leo that maybe escaped the rest of us.
I have seen (and likely have been one of) a lot of people who have great amounts of empathy in some situations, and none in others. That’s where good writing (and filmmaking) could help to open eyes.
Do you know the book The World's Wife, by Carol Ann Duffy, the last British poet Laureate? It has a wonderful poem written from the viewpoint of Mrs Tolstoy - they're all wonderful
Of course you were talking about readers more than writers. Writers are possibly more arrogant and insensitive to real world people when they / we are in the zone. Another lovely irony.
Jason, I’m sorry you couldn’t make the event work for you but this is unacceptable. To me, Story Club is a class, and this kind of stuff isn’t welcome. I’ve canceled your subscription and you’ll be getting a prorated refund.
Dear George--I appreciate and admire that you are so active in maintaining the spirit of this space, even as it grows, and even as you are incredibly busy with other things. 🙏❤️
Yes, we all have our differences but mutual respect is the glue that keeps, or should keep, civilization moving forward without a descent into all kinds of calamitous narcissism.
I'm super late to this, but one day, I will catch up! I'm a scientist, too (what's your field?) and there is evidence (not the highest quality but provocative, nonetheless), that yes, indeed, fiction increases empathy (https://www.discovermagazine.com/mind/how-reading-fiction-increases-empathy-and-encourages-understanding). There are also studies showing fiction (and the arts more generally) makes for better doctors, therapists and law enforcement. There's this awesome field, health humanities (narrative medicine) that is exploring this. Fascinating stuff!
Thanks for sharing that article, and for mentioning narrative medicine--I am so happy to hear that that's a thing! Looking forward to reading more about that, especially since just earlier this week my mom had an interesting ER experience that I think could have been significantly improved by the narrative medicine concept. (And I work in biotech--cell and gene therapy, specifically. You?)
Oh I love this post, and I needed this post. As Keats wrote, "Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all/Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know." As Murdoch wrote, "The past buries the past and must end in silence, but it can be a conscious silence that rests open-eyed." It is hard and beautiful work to be in this life, and then to try to tell a story that really, honestly, resembles it. When we feel adrift, there are words like George's that encourage us to see it all, as it is, every shade of it, and that everything will be okay.
George, you write (of Flannery O'Connor's stories): “You are capable of joining me in seeing this,” she seems to say. And you write about her stories that: "they are joyful in the way they celebrate human brokenness." I understand (or think I understand) your point here. Yes, the truth can be painful, but when we are saturated by that truth, when we feel our connectedness to humanity through that truth, there is, as you say, an uplift. But (I think you knew a "but" was coming), that doesn't mean a story isn't "sad" or "dark" or that a story doesn't sometimes throw us into a dark place from which we need to recover. To say all stories that come from a place of non-falsity are uplifting is to stretch things a bit, I think. Because some stories ARE sad. Yes, we may also feel a million other ways. But let's talk about Brokeback Mountain for a moment, a story that killed me. Yes, there is much to lift me up. It's a story about love, first. And that is uplifting. But, it's also a story about thwarted love, and death. Yes, these are real and human--but they also cause me great sadness. Certainly, I feel uplifted by the writing, by the characters' love, by their struggle, by the way I can relate and empathize with their feelings. I yearn for them, and that is a human reaction and one that connects me to the writer and to other readers. But I'm also terribly, terribly saddened by that story. (I chose this story because it ruined me, but it's been awhile since I've read it, so I'm not going into detail here. I'm sticking to my feelings.) It's not that I, personally desire more uplifting stories. I don't. But i do continue to feel for the writer of the question that sparked this discussion in the first place. I feel that person has a right to acknowledge that reading many short stories can take a toll on one's heart. The word "sad" may not be the right one here. But he felt something, and he felt it strongly. And I want to understand and acknowledge his feelings. Brokenness is only an uplift when you see it through your tears. When you see that human pain is shared. But the tears--they are real. And some stories are sad.
I love this post of yours today--it is perhaps my favorite one of yours to date. I agree that Delfina's quiet dignity is uplifting. And I love all that you say here about change in stories and truthfulness. (I do want to acknowledge that some stories offer a character change but that the character does not take it--Remains of the Day had this, I think, no?) Thank you for the photos and the updates. See you soon in Los Angeles!
Hi Mary, I got from George's post a reminder that sadness, if we stop there, is maybe too easy a write off of the value of empathy. If we are in touch with ourselves and our lives how can we not realize what a gift our experiences are, even the 'bad' ones. It's a re-framing I guess. I realize there is true suffering in the world and I'm not trying to minimize that. But I also believe there is far more 'struggling' which is not suffering even though it can be unpleasant. Struggle is a kind of exercising of the full range of our capabilities. We are built to struggle, to learn, to feel, to fall sometimes, then get back up. It's the getting back up that's important. As an aside, I think Delphina gets back up and I think Joe and Missie May get back up. To me, that's uplifting. They acknowledge their struggle and they look for what they can learn from it. Brokeback though....I dunno. That is one sad story. Those two sure seem to have lost the opportunity to love. But perhaps the writer gives us a chance to avoid a similar fate in our lives, which maybe makes it a story of opportunity - ours, not theirs.
This is great, Kurt. My reason for commenting on George's take is maybe kind of strange--in fact, I don't know why such things matter to me. But I think of the person who sparked the discussion, admitting (bravely) to feelings of sadness when he's read several recent stories. And I think to myself, there can be no argument there. If a person tells me they have been left saddened, I don't think it's my place to tell them yes, but look, you can also feel uplifted at the same time. I realize we are simply talking about stories here. But there is something going on beneath that. We are all in this together, in this life, in this world, and in Story Club. And when someone opens themselves to us, says "I feel sadness," I just want to say, "Yes, I hear you." I am positive the question writer understands everything everyone has been saying (I should not speak for him--apologies). But others seem to be asking that he take his sadness and shift his perspective. This is all right, as long as we acknowledge the rightness, the okay-ness, of his take. (To be honest, I've sort of lost the thread. I know he responded in the last post and i don't know where that conversation is any longer. Maybe he already answered to all of this and I'm just blathering on. But George's post today sparked me to continue my blather.) Anyway, yes, it's a re-framing. And yes, Brokeback Mountain is sad. And yes, we can ponder those circumstances and feel for them and then take that forward into our lives, making it a story of opportunity, I suppose. But first things first--read a story and FEEL. And sometimes the initial feeling is simply sadness. And that's okay.
Agreed. I do appreciate the notion that on a second read, you can take your first reaction to a love of storytelling. My strong reaction to Delfina was the knowledge that losing a car in the Central Valley is more than bad news--you are so screwed. I felt a sense of doom for her and her young son on first read. Too much of my own feelings about that area, too. So perhaps it's good to do a first "feeling" read, what George calls "for enjoyment" and some of us call "sad" and then move to noticing how the writer did it.
I agree Stacya and I might go further and say that applies to most moments in life. Listen. Wait. Consider. Then respond. That pause or ‘second read’ is one of the finest things we can give each other.
Thanks Mary. I agree. We are all celebrating depth of feeling and how stories can take is there, and we love it, even when it makes us cry. I was definitely not trying to undermine anybody’s experience of sadness and I agree storyclub is an awesome, considerate space where sharing of experience is valued. A rare tone has been established here. I’m awed.
Awful. (Aw-full) That word to me encapsulates this feeling of both the wonder and terror of life, often at the same moment, often at the same thing, I watched the new version of All Quiet on the western Front last night. Awful film, Aw full.
So this is what we face in a great story aye.
Way out here in this mountain village, Tekapo, New Zealand it is a rare treat to read Story Club, thank you all.
This thread leads me to think that there are two conversations happening with any story. First, the one between the author and the reader. Second, the one within the reader as they wrestle with the first. Each can flow from emotion to emotion as the conversations extend. The false story then can be detected by the lack of any conversation at all. (That said, my spouse and I can have good conversations from bad art as much as good. (Bad and good being imprecise terms.))
Thank you for this comment Mary. I'm late to the conversation but this is exactly how I felt reading the initial thread - that there was a bit of a feeling that the poster was wrong to call the story 'sad' because the story was complex and empathetic and beautifully written. And that jarred for me because it was brave to admit it AND a perfectly legitimate reaction and comment.
I love George's post and how clearly he explains why a 'sad' story feels uplifting to him. I think it's wonderful how some of the commenters are able to see things through a more hopeful lens. However it does not make someone wrong who does not feel that way. Like George says, every reaction is valid. It is yours. Notice it. There's a reason why that story is provoking that reaction in you.
As a more extreme example, it might be like a person who's just lost someone dear to them and so any story that deals with death will feel too much, no matter how truthful and how beautifully written. No one would say that they should feel joyful reading it (well some might), but hopefully there'd be some understanding and validating of why they felt that way.
Rachel, thank you so much for this. You have articulated so well what I've been saying in these threads. "Every reaction is valid." That is exactly right.
You may be right, Kurt, in that Ennis & Jack have lost the opportunity to love, but in order to have lost it they first would have had to have it. And that's what I think it is that allows "Brokeback Mountain" to endure: love is possible. Even in times & under conditions where it may be thwarted if not outright killed off. Or when it's been in hand but has escaped or has been dashed or is otherwise elusive. It is, despite all, possible. Short-lived, maybe, or maybe never even arrived at all, but always, always possible. Ennis & Jack knew this & this, I think, is what their story shows & why it endures. And why I don't think of it as sad, tragic as I also think it can be argued that it is.
I agree, the word "sad" has been taken to new places in these threads. One of my favorite "sad" books is "The Reader." Jeez. Talk about broken. Love the post today, too.
Maybe it’s just that art is like life. You have these really amazing times mixed with terrible times. And it all ends in oblivion. If you can make some truly beautiful sentences or music or paintings or friendships along the way it might almost be worthwhile. This is part of why happiness can be depressing, and tragedy uplifting. Ping and pong, yin and Yang.
That's a really good point about characters who have the opportunity for permanent change but don't take it (or try it out for a little while, but then revert to a former state)--that's one of the saddest things I can think of!
I think love might very well be everywhere. Even hatred for one is based upon love for something else. Which is simply to observe that, just as you can’t have death without life, you can’t have hate without love. The real bug in the system is ignorance.
Hope I'm not sounding too woo-woo, Sallie, but I think death & love go together, can't have one without the other. Okay, yep, death seems to take over sometimes & love seems near to invisible, but I think they both exist at once just not always in equal measure.
I wanted to play with the idea, turn the words around so to read: love is inevitable, but death is a choice. Sounds like a very different planet, but an interesting one, where people choose to die to escape love, or vice versa.
Here is a short story: Just now I am reading the New York Times Book Review on my iPad. I am reading my favorite column called, By The Book. Today the author is Kevin Wilson. When ask about the writers he admires most, part of his answer is the following:
“Aimee Bender and George Saunders came to me when I was a college student, desperate to figure out how to write about weirdness with an open heart, and I feel like they pushed me in the direction that would become my identity as a writer. I could not love them more.”
I was literally just reading those words. And then I received a notification that there was a new Story Club post and in it, George talks about how “the story has given me a boost in love, to take with me.”
There’s a lot of love here. A lot of love! Small wonder how we are all drawn into this amazing journey called Story Club. We can feel it. It’s amazing, and, such a balm in this crazy world. Thank you George for your open heart. My God do words matter.
It's such a coincidence that you shared this, Janice, because I was thinking about Kevin Wilson after reading this post today. Although I normally don't shy away from "darkness," at the beginning of the pandemic all I wanted to read were books that were "lighter," books that might make me laugh. Wilson's "Nothing to See Here" was one of them. Have you read it? If you haven't, the main character becomes a nanny for two children who periodically burst into flames. It's weird and funny and delightful but it also moved me, which I was not expecting from a book about kids who spontaneously combust. I guess it makes sense to me now, reading your comment, that Wilson admires George—they're both weird and funny but at the same time nail something true about the human experience. I suppose that truth can be uplifting, or sad, or challenging, or strange, or any number of things, but it's impossible to encounter it—something that makes me feel seen, or known—and not feel moved. Having a full circle moment here, and hope I'm making sense in this late hour. And yes, there's a lot of love here! What a joy it is that I get to feel that boost and take it with me, too.
also, i just read that By the Book that Janice mentions--thank you, Janice! Kevin Wilson says this (which I love and which reminds me of George's stories): "I tend to love books where freakishness isn’t presented as something inhuman, but rather an affirmation of what it means to be a human being trying to survive in a very inhospitable world." I know what he means by "freakishness" in this sentence, but i like to think of "freakishness" as all of us.
Thanks for this reccy, I don't know Kevin Wilson but I just bought Nothing To See Here because (it sounds great) and I'm trying to find a way to write about a certain 'weirdness' too xx
What lovely glimpses of New York, thanks George. And for the meditation on darkness. Reading your thoughts, I kept turning to the stories of Alice Munro whose work I have often heard described (reductively) as "sad." For me she's like a conductor, or maybe conduit because she seems to channel the whole spectrum of human experience and emotion. It's true many of her stories contain tragedy, but I end up feeling enriched by them, having been so expertly invited to share in her characters' lives. I agree it's the empathy engendered that uplifts.
Envy! Envy! But, George, I heard your wonderful interview on BBC Radio 4 arts programme, Front Row. No substitute for being in the same room and hearing/seeing you, but it was great. You sound, and from the pictures you look and especially you sound just as I imagined you from the way you interact with us here - warm, sharply penetrating in talking about how people write stories and which ones work well, and all the surprising reasons how... I hope you felt welcomed and appreciated here, in this very muddled UK, especially England...
To play with a quote from Anais Nin, “We don’t see the world as it is, we see it as we are" in this case can be, “Sometimes, we don’t see stories as they are, but as we are.”
Also, I love the Greenlight Bookstore! What a great place.
Borges says: " Carlyle observed that the history of the universe is an infinite sacred book that all men write and read and try to understand and in which they are also written"
Thank you George for your lovely, sensitive post from the road (I'm picturing you pecking this one out on your laptop/device...) and struck immediately by the stark contrast between your Zone of Sensitivity and the Zoo of Noise and Rancor that seems to colonize our popular, media and political culture now.
But then, I wonder, thinking back on previous Zoo of Noise and Rancor Eras I've lived through as a boy (Vietnam, Assassinations) and adult (Reagan, The Los Angeles Uprising, Newt Gingrich, 9/11, Trump), hasn't it ever been thus? Artists lived in these eras, made their art, in their hopefully precise and expressive ways, as a counter to the Noise, the Rancor. (Or, thinking of A SWIM, the Russian writers working in the tumultuous late-Tsar era, or Babel amidst the warfare of the 1920s.) A beautiful example that comes to mind is Robert Rauschenberg's magnificent, often funny mega-collages, mixing and blending found images of the moment (a lot of Cold War and Space Race stuff) and turning them into something poetic.
The act of art-making itself is a profoundly positive, life-affirming act, possibly the most life-affirming short of birthing a child; but the ones that last, as you underline (and this is for me the most important point in your post), are those that tell the truth to the reader, that don't spoon out bullshit. A ton of entertainments do bullshit-serving; a great entertainment, like Jordan Peele's NOPE this summer, refuses to do this, and it's interesting to ponder what the difference is. The answer--really, key--might be this in the form of a question: is the artist giving me something true about human nature, or is it off, somehow, not quite true, or maybe wildly phony? The other keys/questions for me: Are we being manipulated? Is the artist setting up straw men, to send a message, to skew things to prove an already baked-in point? And the usefulness of asking these questions to heighten our sensitivity to our own capacity for spooning b-s into our own stories: When am I being dishonest, to myself, to the reader?
"The act of art-making itself is a profoundly positive, life-affirming act..." Yes. (Also, i did not see NOPE, but I did see GET OUT and it was fantastic--an entertainment that went straight to the heart.)
Somehow, I missed this post by George when it was originally posted. And then, serendipitously, I watched NOPE for the first time this past Friday, only to look for lost SC posts today and find your comment. After watching the film, I sat with the three friends in the room, and we discussed our long list of possible "readings" just like we do here at Story Club.
If you're on the lookout for similar storytelling to Peele, I'd recommend the TV series ATLANTA if you haven't already watched it. Similar play with themes, and I love how the show's team turns each episode into a sort of opened-and-closed visual short story.
Hi Andrew. I know I'll end up seeing NOPE at some point--at home, where I can freak out, if need be (I get scared VERY easily). I see that Atlanta is now available on HULU which i finally subscribe to, so I'm looking forward to binging the whole thing. Thanks for reminding me of it!
George: I heard you in Boston—TERRIFIC! And thank you thank you for this post, especially:
"The perfection of the artistry lifts me up, as does the precision of the descriptions. When I’ve read it, I feel more, not less, able to go out into the world and do what I have to do, with attentiveness and as much love as I can summon up – and the story has given me a boost in love, to take with me.
And this is true of all good stories, regardless of their surficial “happiness” or “sadness.” The writer, writing, might be thought of as a sort of role model. What truly uplifts and inspires us is watching that writer thinking through things, in the form of a story, with empathy and warmth and genuine curiosity — then I feel inspired to try to do the same, in my own work, once I’m back out there in the real world."
Who else writes about writing like this? NOBODY.
Thank you for your honesty—it's so shockingly human and direct.
Like Rosanne Scott says "You'll never know how much I needed exactly this exactly now."
Sending out a hug to each and every one of you who showed up here today. May we each find what we need and want. I'm grateful for George, this group, the ability to observe all individual reactions because they expand my awareness, and the opportunity to find light in the darkness. Be well in your words and Life ❤️
Yes, in a few years you'll look like the Amazing Randi.
Nice tee shirt, but still a little expensive - Story Clubbers should get a discount, after all, we are the Elect.
That bottom corner book should have been tucked in. Mr. Monk wouldn't like you.
If all stories are about "triumph," does that make "1984" a story about triumph?
I'm not sure where I'll ever use it, but "AutoDarkness" is now in my vocabulary as an official Saunderism. (Maybe I'll put it on my tombstone - "I'm not really dead, I'm just in AutoDarkness Sleep Mode. Press stone to awaken, or call technical support.")
So onto the show...
This, of course, deserves a longer treatment then I'll give it here because there's an awful lot to unpack, but I think it boils down to the question of is fiction objective or subjective ie is there really a time where an author's thumb isn't on the scale? A character may not appear to have material resources in "real life," (whatever the hell that is nowadays), but they always have their minds - the simpliest yet most stunning example is from "2001" where Moonwatcher looks at a bone, starts playing with it, and realizes it could be a club and changes mankind forever. (Also adding Stanley's wry observation that we haven't changed that much either.)
So is Munoz describing "reality" or did he tilt the scales so Delfina could lose with "dignity"? Is it realistic that someone, especially a poor someone, wouldn't at least hate someone who stole their car? (Hubby sure is probably not going to accept its loss with "dignity," so is he a worse person for probably wanting to pound the crap out of Lis?)
My problem with "dignity" is that it never seems to apply in contemporary mainstream stories as "victory with dignity" but "losing with dignity," that is, Life's a Bitch and then you Calmly Die with Dignity - no rage, raging against the dying of the light. Not Dignified.
So, did Munoz really believe there was nothing to be done? No one has a cell phone? (Even bums have cellphones today) that could call other friends at other groves and say "My Galaxy was stolen by a woman named Lis. Have you seen it?"
I just can't buy it. I can't buy that this woman would have such a passive reaction to the loss of the car, and I don't think many readers (outside the Defeat with Dignity crowd) will/would find it a realistic or attractive reaction either.
I had a similar problem with Cuaron’s Roma. He gave Cleo no voice - no chance to bitch in the kitchen out of the padrona’s hearing, no joshin’ with the kids, just a mute, noble stalwart role, HIS interpretation of her existence, in ‘now that I am a grown-up boy-who-had-a-maid I shall lift this humble figure up and give her her dues’ mode (but she will still do what I say how I say and in the doing also shut up). Ever the maid, in other words.
I didn’t have that with Delfina. Newness often comes with a lot of silence. You watch, you listen, you try to learn fast. You’re in your own head a lot. Likewise motherhood. In this case I think her silence is what I liked the very most. I could identify, even though in ordinary non-new situations I’m not necessarily the silent type, ha ha. Yes, she would definitely have a cellphone nowadays, but for me the pay phone set the story in the past. Isn’t a Ford Galaxie an old car (I’m not very up on my vehicles)? Maybe I have that completely wrong, though. Don’t be tired. Story club is all the better for a bit of good prodding.
That's a point - the time period isn't specified but I get the feeling Munoz writes present day. FYI, the car was the one thing that made me smile - yes, it's an old car, but those old Fords wear well, I know because my first car was a Galaxy. Still see them on the road today.
I'm seriously torn about new cars. I'll die a techie and I love flash, but while my Honda feels like I'm in a cockpit, and it's not even a new Honda, I sorta miss bench seats and the fact car interiors used to feel so open. Back in the day, it was nothing for me and my buds to pile six and even more into my car, not to mention other intramural activities. Plus, there's serious danger that modern cars can be remotely tracked and hacked. Come the time, I think I just want to get my Baby overhauled instead of trading it for a Top Gun model. As long as I've got a tach, my gear shift, and a speedometer, I'm good...
You could also see this as a realization that “our car is gone, I screwed up, but I learned something invaluable.” Of course the story is open ended, so we can’t be sure.
I keep thinking about being trapped in the wilderness some ten years ago, coming to a point where I realized I was probably not getting out alive. Really pissed me off, not to mention the fear. But somehow I got from that to, “Okay, likely I will die, but not without a good fight on my way out.” This ‘acceptance’ of the situation, with or without dignity, seemed to change everything, and I was able to continue on with a measure of joy and delight, mixed in with the pain, cold and hunger. Three days later the chopper arrived. I was safe (for the moment), yet I couldn’t stop myself wondering whether I would ever feel so alive again as I did during those five days at the razor’s edge of death.
I'm glad you made it but wondering how you got stuck.
I used to hike the San Gabriels just above Pasadena. Wonderful old ruins up there of a hotel a civil war general built to emulate the Swiss hotels he loved. You should check out the story of Mt. Lowe. He not only built a hotel two thousand feet above Pasadena that presidents stayed at, but an angled railroad that went up the hillside to reach it, then blasted a five mile trail through the hills for a trolley car that took people back into the mountains to a Swiss style chalet he built back there. The chalet is gone but its a campgrounds so if you hump it back there, you can camp by those ruins as well.
Anyway, a person or two usually die every year hiking in the hills. People never realize all it takes is something as simple as a twisted ankle or getting too close to the edge of a trail to put you in serious trouble; so I always went, even just for a day hike, with survival gear, food, and water Just In Case. Not interested in testing fate or the elements. Not a good plan.
Right. I got stuck through a series of bad decisions, including a ‘shortcut’ that would have worked in Utah but not in the Olympic Mountains. Then I fell and lost my glasses. Funny, that first night going uphill fairly blind I could clearly see a Swiss chalet above me, until I arrived at the front door, and it was only trees, but they sheltered me against the cold and snow until dawn.
But what if she’s not suffering quietly because it’s a triumph of her determination not to curse and rage against injustice, but because she knows (like I assume, all her neighbors) that outward expression of her rage/sadness/whateveremotion won’t bring her car back?
Greenlight is a special place for me as well. From late spring through summer of 2020, one of the pieces of art that I consumed with zeal was Elena Ferrante's Neapolitan quartet of novels. I consider them an essential part of maintaining sanity through those turbulent times. When I finished the first book, I immediately had to get my hands on a copy of "The Story of a New Name". At that point in the pandemic, Greenlight was only doing curbside pickup in scheduled pickup appointment slots; a far cry from the pleasure of going to a bookstore with a specific title in mind and spending an hour browsing the shelves aimlessly. However, I remember a beautiful day biking across Brooklyn to get to the shop and delighting in the pleasure of getting a new book, even in this bizarre, abbreviated manner. I was grateful for the people who showed up to work in so that I could get that book at a time when it was most needed.
Is it okay to say I love you? What a large-hearted person you are. Love the photos. Thank you for sharing! :)
I asked George the same question a few posts ago! We here in Story Club just feel so much love for George. And for one another! Yes, he is incredibly large-hearted and generous--and makes all of us want to be the same.
Get in line, friend!
"We might say that we read stories to prepare ourselves for the coming trouble." This--along with the whole "oppress the comfortable" discussion--really resonates, and it also sort of points to the great overlap (has a causal link been demonstrated yet?--I'm a scientist, so I have to ask!) of people who read fiction and people with high levels of empathy/emotional intelligence.
Tracy - interesting to posit such a causal link. I'd like to think so, but if so then a figure like a tolstoy would be a paragon of empathy. But alas, ask Mrs Tolstoy.
I think we can be many things at once. This may even be unavoidable, this living in contradiction, difficult as it is. I hear what you're saying, though, but I'm guessing that Mrs. Tolstoy must have seen something in Leo that maybe escaped the rest of us.
I have seen (and likely have been one of) a lot of people who have great amounts of empathy in some situations, and none in others. That’s where good writing (and filmmaking) could help to open eyes.
Selective empathy demons, come out!
"Ask Mrs. Tolstoy"-- brilliant.
Do you know the book The World's Wife, by Carol Ann Duffy, the last British poet Laureate? It has a wonderful poem written from the viewpoint of Mrs Tolstoy - they're all wonderful
I don’t know it! Writing it down though. Thanks, Jane.
Good point! Or he could just be an outlier... ;)
Of course you were talking about readers more than writers. Writers are possibly more arrogant and insensitive to real world people when they / we are in the zone. Another lovely irony.
Jason, I’m sorry you couldn’t make the event work for you but this is unacceptable. To me, Story Club is a class, and this kind of stuff isn’t welcome. I’ve canceled your subscription and you’ll be getting a prorated refund.
Dear George--I appreciate and admire that you are so active in maintaining the spirit of this space, even as it grows, and even as you are incredibly busy with other things. 🙏❤️
Thanks, Tracy. SC is, I’m finding, really becoming important to me.
Thank you, George.
Yes, we all have our differences but mutual respect is the glue that keeps, or should keep, civilization moving forward without a descent into all kinds of calamitous narcissism.
Thanks for nipping this in the bud, George.
I'm super late to this, but one day, I will catch up! I'm a scientist, too (what's your field?) and there is evidence (not the highest quality but provocative, nonetheless), that yes, indeed, fiction increases empathy (https://www.discovermagazine.com/mind/how-reading-fiction-increases-empathy-and-encourages-understanding). There are also studies showing fiction (and the arts more generally) makes for better doctors, therapists and law enforcement. There's this awesome field, health humanities (narrative medicine) that is exploring this. Fascinating stuff!
Thanks for sharing that article, and for mentioning narrative medicine--I am so happy to hear that that's a thing! Looking forward to reading more about that, especially since just earlier this week my mom had an interesting ER experience that I think could have been significantly improved by the narrative medicine concept. (And I work in biotech--cell and gene therapy, specifically. You?)
Never trust someone whose television is bigger than their bookshelf.
Oh I love this post, and I needed this post. As Keats wrote, "Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all/Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know." As Murdoch wrote, "The past buries the past and must end in silence, but it can be a conscious silence that rests open-eyed." It is hard and beautiful work to be in this life, and then to try to tell a story that really, honestly, resembles it. When we feel adrift, there are words like George's that encourage us to see it all, as it is, every shade of it, and that everything will be okay.
"It is hard and beautiful work to be in this life, and then to try to tell a story that really, honestly, resembles it." Yes. This, exactly.
George, you write (of Flannery O'Connor's stories): “You are capable of joining me in seeing this,” she seems to say. And you write about her stories that: "they are joyful in the way they celebrate human brokenness." I understand (or think I understand) your point here. Yes, the truth can be painful, but when we are saturated by that truth, when we feel our connectedness to humanity through that truth, there is, as you say, an uplift. But (I think you knew a "but" was coming), that doesn't mean a story isn't "sad" or "dark" or that a story doesn't sometimes throw us into a dark place from which we need to recover. To say all stories that come from a place of non-falsity are uplifting is to stretch things a bit, I think. Because some stories ARE sad. Yes, we may also feel a million other ways. But let's talk about Brokeback Mountain for a moment, a story that killed me. Yes, there is much to lift me up. It's a story about love, first. And that is uplifting. But, it's also a story about thwarted love, and death. Yes, these are real and human--but they also cause me great sadness. Certainly, I feel uplifted by the writing, by the characters' love, by their struggle, by the way I can relate and empathize with their feelings. I yearn for them, and that is a human reaction and one that connects me to the writer and to other readers. But I'm also terribly, terribly saddened by that story. (I chose this story because it ruined me, but it's been awhile since I've read it, so I'm not going into detail here. I'm sticking to my feelings.) It's not that I, personally desire more uplifting stories. I don't. But i do continue to feel for the writer of the question that sparked this discussion in the first place. I feel that person has a right to acknowledge that reading many short stories can take a toll on one's heart. The word "sad" may not be the right one here. But he felt something, and he felt it strongly. And I want to understand and acknowledge his feelings. Brokenness is only an uplift when you see it through your tears. When you see that human pain is shared. But the tears--they are real. And some stories are sad.
I love this post of yours today--it is perhaps my favorite one of yours to date. I agree that Delfina's quiet dignity is uplifting. And I love all that you say here about change in stories and truthfulness. (I do want to acknowledge that some stories offer a character change but that the character does not take it--Remains of the Day had this, I think, no?) Thank you for the photos and the updates. See you soon in Los Angeles!
Hi Mary, I got from George's post a reminder that sadness, if we stop there, is maybe too easy a write off of the value of empathy. If we are in touch with ourselves and our lives how can we not realize what a gift our experiences are, even the 'bad' ones. It's a re-framing I guess. I realize there is true suffering in the world and I'm not trying to minimize that. But I also believe there is far more 'struggling' which is not suffering even though it can be unpleasant. Struggle is a kind of exercising of the full range of our capabilities. We are built to struggle, to learn, to feel, to fall sometimes, then get back up. It's the getting back up that's important. As an aside, I think Delphina gets back up and I think Joe and Missie May get back up. To me, that's uplifting. They acknowledge their struggle and they look for what they can learn from it. Brokeback though....I dunno. That is one sad story. Those two sure seem to have lost the opportunity to love. But perhaps the writer gives us a chance to avoid a similar fate in our lives, which maybe makes it a story of opportunity - ours, not theirs.
This is great, Kurt. My reason for commenting on George's take is maybe kind of strange--in fact, I don't know why such things matter to me. But I think of the person who sparked the discussion, admitting (bravely) to feelings of sadness when he's read several recent stories. And I think to myself, there can be no argument there. If a person tells me they have been left saddened, I don't think it's my place to tell them yes, but look, you can also feel uplifted at the same time. I realize we are simply talking about stories here. But there is something going on beneath that. We are all in this together, in this life, in this world, and in Story Club. And when someone opens themselves to us, says "I feel sadness," I just want to say, "Yes, I hear you." I am positive the question writer understands everything everyone has been saying (I should not speak for him--apologies). But others seem to be asking that he take his sadness and shift his perspective. This is all right, as long as we acknowledge the rightness, the okay-ness, of his take. (To be honest, I've sort of lost the thread. I know he responded in the last post and i don't know where that conversation is any longer. Maybe he already answered to all of this and I'm just blathering on. But George's post today sparked me to continue my blather.) Anyway, yes, it's a re-framing. And yes, Brokeback Mountain is sad. And yes, we can ponder those circumstances and feel for them and then take that forward into our lives, making it a story of opportunity, I suppose. But first things first--read a story and FEEL. And sometimes the initial feeling is simply sadness. And that's okay.
Agreed. I do appreciate the notion that on a second read, you can take your first reaction to a love of storytelling. My strong reaction to Delfina was the knowledge that losing a car in the Central Valley is more than bad news--you are so screwed. I felt a sense of doom for her and her young son on first read. Too much of my own feelings about that area, too. So perhaps it's good to do a first "feeling" read, what George calls "for enjoyment" and some of us call "sad" and then move to noticing how the writer did it.
I agree Stacya and I might go further and say that applies to most moments in life. Listen. Wait. Consider. Then respond. That pause or ‘second read’ is one of the finest things we can give each other.
So many moments in life would have worked out better for me if I'd only paused! Thank you for this reminder, Kurt.
Kurt, yes, more of that. It's something to keep working on.
I love that. There are a few times went impetuous spontaneity is called for, but usually not!
Thanks Mary. I agree. We are all celebrating depth of feeling and how stories can take is there, and we love it, even when it makes us cry. I was definitely not trying to undermine anybody’s experience of sadness and I agree storyclub is an awesome, considerate space where sharing of experience is valued. A rare tone has been established here. I’m awed.
Awful. (Aw-full) That word to me encapsulates this feeling of both the wonder and terror of life, often at the same moment, often at the same thing, I watched the new version of All Quiet on the western Front last night. Awful film, Aw full.
So this is what we face in a great story aye.
Way out here in this mountain village, Tekapo, New Zealand it is a rare treat to read Story Club, thank you all.
I know you weren't undermining anyone. I so appreciate your take on things here in the club.
This thread leads me to think that there are two conversations happening with any story. First, the one between the author and the reader. Second, the one within the reader as they wrestle with the first. Each can flow from emotion to emotion as the conversations extend. The false story then can be detected by the lack of any conversation at all. (That said, my spouse and I can have good conversations from bad art as much as good. (Bad and good being imprecise terms.))
Thank you for this comment Mary. I'm late to the conversation but this is exactly how I felt reading the initial thread - that there was a bit of a feeling that the poster was wrong to call the story 'sad' because the story was complex and empathetic and beautifully written. And that jarred for me because it was brave to admit it AND a perfectly legitimate reaction and comment.
I love George's post and how clearly he explains why a 'sad' story feels uplifting to him. I think it's wonderful how some of the commenters are able to see things through a more hopeful lens. However it does not make someone wrong who does not feel that way. Like George says, every reaction is valid. It is yours. Notice it. There's a reason why that story is provoking that reaction in you.
As a more extreme example, it might be like a person who's just lost someone dear to them and so any story that deals with death will feel too much, no matter how truthful and how beautifully written. No one would say that they should feel joyful reading it (well some might), but hopefully there'd be some understanding and validating of why they felt that way.
Rachel, thank you so much for this. You have articulated so well what I've been saying in these threads. "Every reaction is valid." That is exactly right.
You may be right, Kurt, in that Ennis & Jack have lost the opportunity to love, but in order to have lost it they first would have had to have it. And that's what I think it is that allows "Brokeback Mountain" to endure: love is possible. Even in times & under conditions where it may be thwarted if not outright killed off. Or when it's been in hand but has escaped or has been dashed or is otherwise elusive. It is, despite all, possible. Short-lived, maybe, or maybe never even arrived at all, but always, always possible. Ennis & Jack knew this & this, I think, is what their story shows & why it endures. And why I don't think of it as sad, tragic as I also think it can be argued that it is.
I agree, the word "sad" has been taken to new places in these threads. One of my favorite "sad" books is "The Reader." Jeez. Talk about broken. Love the post today, too.
Maybe it’s just that art is like life. You have these really amazing times mixed with terrible times. And it all ends in oblivion. If you can make some truly beautiful sentences or music or paintings or friendships along the way it might almost be worthwhile. This is part of why happiness can be depressing, and tragedy uplifting. Ping and pong, yin and Yang.
That's a really good point about characters who have the opportunity for permanent change but don't take it (or try it out for a little while, but then revert to a former state)--that's one of the saddest things I can think of!
Mary, death is everywhere. Love is not, but what if, what if it were?
I think love might very well be everywhere. Even hatred for one is based upon love for something else. Which is simply to observe that, just as you can’t have death without life, you can’t have hate without love. The real bug in the system is ignorance.
Hope I'm not sounding too woo-woo, Sallie, but I think death & love go together, can't have one without the other. Okay, yep, death seems to take over sometimes & love seems near to invisible, but I think they both exist at once just not always in equal measure.
Wow, do they balance one another? I think they do.
Yeah, I kinda think so, too. One's inevitable, the other's a choice. So, there's balance of a kind.
Ah, but in the long view, which is inevitable, and which is a choice?
If love were everywhere, oh, sallie, wouldn't that be something?
It probably is everywhere but unfortunately usually buried beneath grief, pain, anger and misunderstandings.
Maybe my comment should have been: Death is inevitable. Love is not. But if it were . . . how would we be different, as a world?
Very different!
I wanted to play with the idea, turn the words around so to read: love is inevitable, but death is a choice. Sounds like a very different planet, but an interesting one, where people choose to die to escape love, or vice versa.
Beautiful post, Mary. Looking forward to the Los Angeles event at Zipper Hall...
Thank you, Robert. And yes, can't wait to see George in person!
This post moved me into a paid subscribership ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
Yay! Welcome.
Here is a short story: Just now I am reading the New York Times Book Review on my iPad. I am reading my favorite column called, By The Book. Today the author is Kevin Wilson. When ask about the writers he admires most, part of his answer is the following:
“Aimee Bender and George Saunders came to me when I was a college student, desperate to figure out how to write about weirdness with an open heart, and I feel like they pushed me in the direction that would become my identity as a writer. I could not love them more.”
I was literally just reading those words. And then I received a notification that there was a new Story Club post and in it, George talks about how “the story has given me a boost in love, to take with me.”
There’s a lot of love here. A lot of love! Small wonder how we are all drawn into this amazing journey called Story Club. We can feel it. It’s amazing, and, such a balm in this crazy world. Thank you George for your open heart. My God do words matter.
It's such a coincidence that you shared this, Janice, because I was thinking about Kevin Wilson after reading this post today. Although I normally don't shy away from "darkness," at the beginning of the pandemic all I wanted to read were books that were "lighter," books that might make me laugh. Wilson's "Nothing to See Here" was one of them. Have you read it? If you haven't, the main character becomes a nanny for two children who periodically burst into flames. It's weird and funny and delightful but it also moved me, which I was not expecting from a book about kids who spontaneously combust. I guess it makes sense to me now, reading your comment, that Wilson admires George—they're both weird and funny but at the same time nail something true about the human experience. I suppose that truth can be uplifting, or sad, or challenging, or strange, or any number of things, but it's impossible to encounter it—something that makes me feel seen, or known—and not feel moved. Having a full circle moment here, and hope I'm making sense in this late hour. And yes, there's a lot of love here! What a joy it is that I get to feel that boost and take it with me, too.
also, i just read that By the Book that Janice mentions--thank you, Janice! Kevin Wilson says this (which I love and which reminds me of George's stories): "I tend to love books where freakishness isn’t presented as something inhuman, but rather an affirmation of what it means to be a human being trying to survive in a very inhospitable world." I know what he means by "freakishness" in this sentence, but i like to think of "freakishness" as all of us.
That was a wild book! I hardly knew what to think while reading it. But yes, delightful.
Thanks for this reccy, I don't know Kevin Wilson but I just bought Nothing To See Here because (it sounds great) and I'm trying to find a way to write about a certain 'weirdness' too xx
I hope you enjoy it as much as I did! He's got some wonderful short stories out there as well ❤️
What lovely glimpses of New York, thanks George. And for the meditation on darkness. Reading your thoughts, I kept turning to the stories of Alice Munro whose work I have often heard described (reductively) as "sad." For me she's like a conductor, or maybe conduit because she seems to channel the whole spectrum of human experience and emotion. It's true many of her stories contain tragedy, but I end up feeling enriched by them, having been so expertly invited to share in her characters' lives. I agree it's the empathy engendered that uplifts.
I flew from Louisiana to St Louis for the event last night. I thoroughly enjoyed it, and I was happy to represent Story Club.
Cool! I can think of no better SC rep!
Envy! Envy! But, George, I heard your wonderful interview on BBC Radio 4 arts programme, Front Row. No substitute for being in the same room and hearing/seeing you, but it was great. You sound, and from the pictures you look and especially you sound just as I imagined you from the way you interact with us here - warm, sharply penetrating in talking about how people write stories and which ones work well, and all the surprising reasons how... I hope you felt welcomed and appreciated here, in this very muddled UK, especially England...
Thank you, George. You'll never know how much I needed exactly this exactly now.
To play with a quote from Anais Nin, “We don’t see the world as it is, we see it as we are" in this case can be, “Sometimes, we don’t see stories as they are, but as we are.”
Also, I love the Greenlight Bookstore! What a great place.
Proust: "In reality, every reader is, while he is reading, the reader of his own self."
Borges says: " Carlyle observed that the history of the universe is an infinite sacred book that all men write and read and try to understand and in which they are also written"
Thank you George for your lovely, sensitive post from the road (I'm picturing you pecking this one out on your laptop/device...) and struck immediately by the stark contrast between your Zone of Sensitivity and the Zoo of Noise and Rancor that seems to colonize our popular, media and political culture now.
But then, I wonder, thinking back on previous Zoo of Noise and Rancor Eras I've lived through as a boy (Vietnam, Assassinations) and adult (Reagan, The Los Angeles Uprising, Newt Gingrich, 9/11, Trump), hasn't it ever been thus? Artists lived in these eras, made their art, in their hopefully precise and expressive ways, as a counter to the Noise, the Rancor. (Or, thinking of A SWIM, the Russian writers working in the tumultuous late-Tsar era, or Babel amidst the warfare of the 1920s.) A beautiful example that comes to mind is Robert Rauschenberg's magnificent, often funny mega-collages, mixing and blending found images of the moment (a lot of Cold War and Space Race stuff) and turning them into something poetic.
The act of art-making itself is a profoundly positive, life-affirming act, possibly the most life-affirming short of birthing a child; but the ones that last, as you underline (and this is for me the most important point in your post), are those that tell the truth to the reader, that don't spoon out bullshit. A ton of entertainments do bullshit-serving; a great entertainment, like Jordan Peele's NOPE this summer, refuses to do this, and it's interesting to ponder what the difference is. The answer--really, key--might be this in the form of a question: is the artist giving me something true about human nature, or is it off, somehow, not quite true, or maybe wildly phony? The other keys/questions for me: Are we being manipulated? Is the artist setting up straw men, to send a message, to skew things to prove an already baked-in point? And the usefulness of asking these questions to heighten our sensitivity to our own capacity for spooning b-s into our own stories: When am I being dishonest, to myself, to the reader?
"The act of art-making itself is a profoundly positive, life-affirming act..." Yes. (Also, i did not see NOPE, but I did see GET OUT and it was fantastic--an entertainment that went straight to the heart.)
Somehow, I missed this post by George when it was originally posted. And then, serendipitously, I watched NOPE for the first time this past Friday, only to look for lost SC posts today and find your comment. After watching the film, I sat with the three friends in the room, and we discussed our long list of possible "readings" just like we do here at Story Club.
If you're on the lookout for similar storytelling to Peele, I'd recommend the TV series ATLANTA if you haven't already watched it. Similar play with themes, and I love how the show's team turns each episode into a sort of opened-and-closed visual short story.
Hi Andrew. I know I'll end up seeing NOPE at some point--at home, where I can freak out, if need be (I get scared VERY easily). I see that Atlanta is now available on HULU which i finally subscribe to, so I'm looking forward to binging the whole thing. Thanks for reminding me of it!
Hi mary!
Hahhaha! I don't know why I started with "Hi Andrew...." Guess I just wanted to greet you properly!
It actually made my day. I'm not the only one here on a Sunday afternoon, scratching a Story Club itch.
Can't wait to see Nope, love Jordan Peele. It's exciting what he's done, creating a whole new genre.
George: I heard you in Boston—TERRIFIC! And thank you thank you for this post, especially:
"The perfection of the artistry lifts me up, as does the precision of the descriptions. When I’ve read it, I feel more, not less, able to go out into the world and do what I have to do, with attentiveness and as much love as I can summon up – and the story has given me a boost in love, to take with me.
And this is true of all good stories, regardless of their surficial “happiness” or “sadness.” The writer, writing, might be thought of as a sort of role model. What truly uplifts and inspires us is watching that writer thinking through things, in the form of a story, with empathy and warmth and genuine curiosity — then I feel inspired to try to do the same, in my own work, once I’m back out there in the real world."
Who else writes about writing like this? NOBODY.
Thank you for your honesty—it's so shockingly human and direct.
Like Rosanne Scott says "You'll never know how much I needed exactly this exactly now."
Hallelujah!
You had me at, “the only sad story is a falsified one.”
Again I am floored by the sensitivity and insight in your analyses, George.
The power and beauty of seeing clearly and communicating honestly, with deep compassion, are so highly honored by your comments.
Holy shit. (Best words I can come up with right now...)
Mine is "hakuna matatta" 💜💙💜💙💜💙
Jessie
Sending out a hug to each and every one of you who showed up here today. May we each find what we need and want. I'm grateful for George, this group, the ability to observe all individual reactions because they expand my awareness, and the opportunity to find light in the darkness. Be well in your words and Life ❤️
Random Brownian thoughts.
Yes, in a few years you'll look like the Amazing Randi.
Nice tee shirt, but still a little expensive - Story Clubbers should get a discount, after all, we are the Elect.
That bottom corner book should have been tucked in. Mr. Monk wouldn't like you.
If all stories are about "triumph," does that make "1984" a story about triumph?
I'm not sure where I'll ever use it, but "AutoDarkness" is now in my vocabulary as an official Saunderism. (Maybe I'll put it on my tombstone - "I'm not really dead, I'm just in AutoDarkness Sleep Mode. Press stone to awaken, or call technical support.")
So onto the show...
This, of course, deserves a longer treatment then I'll give it here because there's an awful lot to unpack, but I think it boils down to the question of is fiction objective or subjective ie is there really a time where an author's thumb isn't on the scale? A character may not appear to have material resources in "real life," (whatever the hell that is nowadays), but they always have their minds - the simpliest yet most stunning example is from "2001" where Moonwatcher looks at a bone, starts playing with it, and realizes it could be a club and changes mankind forever. (Also adding Stanley's wry observation that we haven't changed that much either.)
So is Munoz describing "reality" or did he tilt the scales so Delfina could lose with "dignity"? Is it realistic that someone, especially a poor someone, wouldn't at least hate someone who stole their car? (Hubby sure is probably not going to accept its loss with "dignity," so is he a worse person for probably wanting to pound the crap out of Lis?)
My problem with "dignity" is that it never seems to apply in contemporary mainstream stories as "victory with dignity" but "losing with dignity," that is, Life's a Bitch and then you Calmly Die with Dignity - no rage, raging against the dying of the light. Not Dignified.
So, did Munoz really believe there was nothing to be done? No one has a cell phone? (Even bums have cellphones today) that could call other friends at other groves and say "My Galaxy was stolen by a woman named Lis. Have you seen it?"
I just can't buy it. I can't buy that this woman would have such a passive reaction to the loss of the car, and I don't think many readers (outside the Defeat with Dignity crowd) will/would find it a realistic or attractive reaction either.
I'm tired. All for now.
I had a similar problem with Cuaron’s Roma. He gave Cleo no voice - no chance to bitch in the kitchen out of the padrona’s hearing, no joshin’ with the kids, just a mute, noble stalwart role, HIS interpretation of her existence, in ‘now that I am a grown-up boy-who-had-a-maid I shall lift this humble figure up and give her her dues’ mode (but she will still do what I say how I say and in the doing also shut up). Ever the maid, in other words.
I didn’t have that with Delfina. Newness often comes with a lot of silence. You watch, you listen, you try to learn fast. You’re in your own head a lot. Likewise motherhood. In this case I think her silence is what I liked the very most. I could identify, even though in ordinary non-new situations I’m not necessarily the silent type, ha ha. Yes, she would definitely have a cellphone nowadays, but for me the pay phone set the story in the past. Isn’t a Ford Galaxie an old car (I’m not very up on my vehicles)? Maybe I have that completely wrong, though. Don’t be tired. Story club is all the better for a bit of good prodding.
I'm not sure where I read this (so I can't go back to double check) but I'm fairly positive the story takes place in the 80's...
I think I read that also…maybe in Manuel’s answers?
That's a point - the time period isn't specified but I get the feeling Munoz writes present day. FYI, the car was the one thing that made me smile - yes, it's an old car, but those old Fords wear well, I know because my first car was a Galaxy. Still see them on the road today.
I drive a newer Ford that gets great mileage but sometimes it feels like I’m driving a plastic bottle.
I'm seriously torn about new cars. I'll die a techie and I love flash, but while my Honda feels like I'm in a cockpit, and it's not even a new Honda, I sorta miss bench seats and the fact car interiors used to feel so open. Back in the day, it was nothing for me and my buds to pile six and even more into my car, not to mention other intramural activities. Plus, there's serious danger that modern cars can be remotely tracked and hacked. Come the time, I think I just want to get my Baby overhauled instead of trading it for a Top Gun model. As long as I've got a tach, my gear shift, and a speedometer, I'm good...
Intramurals can be interesting in smaller cars but some proficiency in yoga is required!
So Lis really did get a good deal.
Yes. But I tend to think that kind of thing catches up with you. (Is karma a cliche?)
Silence is often the more interesting mode.
As far as the time period goes, the pay phones and the gas lines made me think mid-1970s.
You could also see this as a realization that “our car is gone, I screwed up, but I learned something invaluable.” Of course the story is open ended, so we can’t be sure.
I keep thinking about being trapped in the wilderness some ten years ago, coming to a point where I realized I was probably not getting out alive. Really pissed me off, not to mention the fear. But somehow I got from that to, “Okay, likely I will die, but not without a good fight on my way out.” This ‘acceptance’ of the situation, with or without dignity, seemed to change everything, and I was able to continue on with a measure of joy and delight, mixed in with the pain, cold and hunger. Three days later the chopper arrived. I was safe (for the moment), yet I couldn’t stop myself wondering whether I would ever feel so alive again as I did during those five days at the razor’s edge of death.
I'm glad you made it but wondering how you got stuck.
I used to hike the San Gabriels just above Pasadena. Wonderful old ruins up there of a hotel a civil war general built to emulate the Swiss hotels he loved. You should check out the story of Mt. Lowe. He not only built a hotel two thousand feet above Pasadena that presidents stayed at, but an angled railroad that went up the hillside to reach it, then blasted a five mile trail through the hills for a trolley car that took people back into the mountains to a Swiss style chalet he built back there. The chalet is gone but its a campgrounds so if you hump it back there, you can camp by those ruins as well.
Anyway, a person or two usually die every year hiking in the hills. People never realize all it takes is something as simple as a twisted ankle or getting too close to the edge of a trail to put you in serious trouble; so I always went, even just for a day hike, with survival gear, food, and water Just In Case. Not interested in testing fate or the elements. Not a good plan.
Right. I got stuck through a series of bad decisions, including a ‘shortcut’ that would have worked in Utah but not in the Olympic Mountains. Then I fell and lost my glasses. Funny, that first night going uphill fairly blind I could clearly see a Swiss chalet above me, until I arrived at the front door, and it was only trees, but they sheltered me against the cold and snow until dawn.
But what if she’s not suffering quietly because it’s a triumph of her determination not to curse and rage against injustice, but because she knows (like I assume, all her neighbors) that outward expression of her rage/sadness/whateveremotion won’t bring her car back?
What? Someone knows this?
Greenlight is a special place for me as well. From late spring through summer of 2020, one of the pieces of art that I consumed with zeal was Elena Ferrante's Neapolitan quartet of novels. I consider them an essential part of maintaining sanity through those turbulent times. When I finished the first book, I immediately had to get my hands on a copy of "The Story of a New Name". At that point in the pandemic, Greenlight was only doing curbside pickup in scheduled pickup appointment slots; a far cry from the pleasure of going to a bookstore with a specific title in mind and spending an hour browsing the shelves aimlessly. However, I remember a beautiful day biking across Brooklyn to get to the shop and delighting in the pleasure of getting a new book, even in this bizarre, abbreviated manner. I was grateful for the people who showed up to work in so that I could get that book at a time when it was most needed.