OK, you're all overthinking here, I say, but I'm also over-posting now, so whatever... let's chat. For a reader, it's about believability. You're a tough crowd, you who are familiar with the handling of rifles. We're so hard on this writer because we're analyzing what works for us and what doesn't. Not everyone is sold on the details, cl…
OK, you're all overthinking here, I say, but I'm also over-posting now, so whatever... let's chat. For a reader, it's about believability. You're a tough crowd, you who are familiar with the handling of rifles. We're so hard on this writer because we're analyzing what works for us and what doesn't. Not everyone is sold on the details, clearly, but most are. Most are sold. Again: most are sold on what she has written here, as am I. I'm taking away that message because that is where a writer's power resides. It's the one issue that matters to writers wanting to influence readers. (I say it all the time to my kids: the people who tell the stories that are believed are the most powerful people in the world and across time.) Nonetheless, you asked so I'll offer an answer regarding the gun logistics since no one else has responded so far, and this piece invites us to be focused on guns, gun safety, and potentially the politial issues surrounding all that... Arnold's rifle is an old lever-action rifle (no safety switch) that functions much like the BB guns the kids in my generation and region grew up with. BBs were always gonna put someone's "eye out" but a .22 can do damage. A .22 bullet in the right place will kill. It's a starter gun for hunter kids. That it was a .22 Arnold pulled off the kitchen wall told me some things I believed. That is was old and without a safety in the hands of a 9yo, well I knew what was coming and that it wasn't ducks. That the setup was so clean, I believed the unfolding. The narrow fence pass-through and the lax atmosphere, a snag... In my mind, inside of Arnold, I'd already loaded and levered the gun back in the kitchen because I'm a kid trying to be a grown-up, not someone fresh out of gun safety class. I'd carried it behind my big brother through the narrow opening in the barbed-wire fence (that's what it was in my mind because most modern wire fences are crossed, and anything only horizontal is electric now if not still barbed), and the trigger inside the lever is what caught on the (barbed) wire. Jerking it forward, pulled the trigger back... I believed from inside of Arnold. All of it. The light rifle goes off with a low bang, more than the pop of a BB, enough to scare ducks, enough to kill if it hits in the right place. That place we were told to look on the second page (239).
Bruce & Mikhaeyla, these are both really good points that I hope others will attend to. The writer had a purpose, but this gun handling conduct isn't standard operating procedure for people who are familiar with gun culture for the story's era (or any era, really). To imply that it is gets into the influence of story, and that is what is important for us to grasp as writers. This is a story about the psychology of a type of culture and I saw generational trauma in it, myself. I think it's also about poverty, neglect, larger socioeconomic issues, and a lot of stuff besides guns. It's whatever lands on us and moves us, but the writer had motives for it. Don't we all? Is that just me? What were they, her motives? Do we see them? Was she successful?
(Having written and deleted a really long response) I think it's enough to say that a writer creates a story with certain intentions - and these intentions can be intuited by how they craft the story (what they focus on, how they order information, how they create contrast, how the story escalates and is resolved) - but that, despite these intentions, they can't maintain full control on what meaning is taken from a story. As you say - different things land on and move different people - we all come to stories from different starting points (our own interests, biases, motivations, hang-ups), and these will influence whether we see the signposts created by the author, whether we miss them, or whether we misread them. What can we take from that as writers? 1. Your story ceases to be your story as soon as you publish it, and 2. The more subtle your are in your treatment, the more you invite the reader to fill the gaps/sharpen the image (which is vulnerable to all kinds of divergent views and interpretations). Not necessarily a bad thing - it's like what George says about Chekhov: his stories create in the reader a question of whether something is this or that / good or bad, and Chekhov answers 'yes'. Maybe great stories are there to *move* us, not *mould* us?
Q. You’ve said, “Between the lines of every story, readers write their own lines, shaping up the story as a collaborative effort.” As the writer are you concerned about controlling or directing the reader’s lines, with the question of a “correct” interpretation?
A. Of course the writer wishes to compel and persuade and entice and guide the reader to a comprehension of the story, but there’s no such thing as a “correct” interpretation of a piece of fiction. That’s demanding a scientific precision of the writer. Each reader’s interpretation originates in his or her life’s experiences, in feelings and emotions of intensely personal history. You get more from what you read as you grow older, and your choices change, and, wiser, you bring more to that collaborative effort.
Traci- I think that is a really insightful look into this story. For me, I wondered: what’s more dangerous, a boy with a small gun or a mother who turns her back on her terrified, guilt-ridden son? And then there’s the rest of the adults with their stoic, distant review of the tragedy. I think this is a story about a failure of family and community. It was stacked against Arnold from the start. He was bound to over reach in one way or another, seeking acknowledgement and approval. The gun just happened to be the tool that day.
Kurt, I appreciate your comments. I was struck, too, by the adult's stoicism. That raised the biggest internal question in my: "Where are these people coming from? What is this culture?" The mother evidenced her grief by the wail Arnold heard as his family returned from the site of the shooting. And then she closed her heart to Arnold. As unsympathetic as this was, I found that I was able to entertain it as one of a number of possible grief and shock reactions. She blamed Arnold, who was the most proximal human cause. I was able to extend some compassion to her, and hoped that it would turn out to be temporary. But I was horrified for Arnold--how that shunning must have cut into his fragile psyche. It could have really "sealed the deal" for me to project a horribly scarred and stunted development for Arnold and his future. Finally, even the father, I was able to hold in some compassion. In the immediate shock of a child's death, and the tragically messed up way that it happened, almost anything goes. This, unfortunately, comes at the cost of personal experience. It is another way that this story was able to hook me into its believability. I held the whole family and close community in compassion. This is an event that changes the trajectory of many interconnected lives, for good or ill. It exceeds the ability to cope in any of the unrealistic ways we heap upon it, with our mandates for forgiveness and letting go. Society acts as if a great act of grace were an obligation. We do move on, if we survive, but with a giant hole clean through us, which will never close. These expectations and the trite advice and aphorisms that come with them can only serve to make us feel more alone. Yet even the perpetrators of these things are in need of compassion, for they are only trying to comfort themselves from the close touch of death in a death phobic culture.
Traci, thanks for this perfect, 100%, description of how the gun fired.
The tiny quibble I'd have is with Arnold chambering a round in the kitchen. There weren't gun safety classes in the '50s (that I was aware of), but I believe most kids had drilled into them that you don't chamber a round before you intend to shoot. So that was a mini-moment for suspension of disbelief for me... not a problem at all.
I think the omission of the chambering was a stylistic choice (rather than logical choice) - if Berriault had included that detail in the story, it would have ruined her sleight of hand; if she'd included it earlier (in the kitchen), there would be no way we would have been distracted or put at ease by the trip to the lake, and if she had mentioned it on the way to the lake, she would have been telegraphing what was about to happen. By leaving it out, she allows us to infer (in retrospect) that it happened somewhere along the way. And it works, because the shooting isn't really the point of the story, what comes next is; so that if some details are vague around the edges, it's the details that don't matter.
I agree, Mikhaeyla. It might have been an intentional omission. Specifically mentioning putting a bullet in the chamber would have dissolved almost any ambiguity I had about whether there was going to be an accident involving the gun. It would have worked like a blunt instrument. Nothing else I read in this piece worked that way. I still had some doubt. I still wanted to hope this was a warm, boyhood tale about a little brothers worship of his elder. Arnold could have chambered the bullet when he saw the ducks on the lake, before he ducked to step through the fence. That's when I would have done it as hunting boy. What surprised me is that he didn't put the gun down or lean it on a post before he stepped over. But he was trying to show his smooth competence, what he imagined would be his grownup ability to do such a thing without undue attention--step through in one, graceful motion and be ready to fire. That is what my brain registered as it was happening. That is how I worked when I was a boy--always fretting about making a good impression on the elders, of appearing worthy to be accepted into the brotherhood.
Michael, your point about Arnold trying to project a confidence and skill he didn't quite have yet - "trying to show his smooth competence, what he imagined would be his grownup ability to do such a thing without undue attention" - that hit so true to me. He idolises his brother, his brother has just offered to do the dirty work of getting the duck if he shoots it (because he sees Arnold as puny and likely to drown if he attempts it), and Arnold - who wants the respect of a brother who has just narrowed his eyes to 'slits of mocking blue' - wants to seem as smooth and competent as his beloved Eugie. Poor kid - this new revelation just makes my heart break louder for him...
I wondered about that too but on page 268, top of page, end of paragraph, Berriault writes, Then he sad down on the stool and began to load his gun. It's a good question to ponder as when the gun goes off and Arnold reacts the way he does. It's here, when we ask ourselves as George says in the post, An Incident, Part Two, Dynamism: are we at one with him, do we trust him? We circle back in the narrative for clues to help make that assessment.
OK, you're all overthinking here, I say, but I'm also over-posting now, so whatever... let's chat. For a reader, it's about believability. You're a tough crowd, you who are familiar with the handling of rifles. We're so hard on this writer because we're analyzing what works for us and what doesn't. Not everyone is sold on the details, clearly, but most are. Most are sold. Again: most are sold on what she has written here, as am I. I'm taking away that message because that is where a writer's power resides. It's the one issue that matters to writers wanting to influence readers. (I say it all the time to my kids: the people who tell the stories that are believed are the most powerful people in the world and across time.) Nonetheless, you asked so I'll offer an answer regarding the gun logistics since no one else has responded so far, and this piece invites us to be focused on guns, gun safety, and potentially the politial issues surrounding all that... Arnold's rifle is an old lever-action rifle (no safety switch) that functions much like the BB guns the kids in my generation and region grew up with. BBs were always gonna put someone's "eye out" but a .22 can do damage. A .22 bullet in the right place will kill. It's a starter gun for hunter kids. That it was a .22 Arnold pulled off the kitchen wall told me some things I believed. That is was old and without a safety in the hands of a 9yo, well I knew what was coming and that it wasn't ducks. That the setup was so clean, I believed the unfolding. The narrow fence pass-through and the lax atmosphere, a snag... In my mind, inside of Arnold, I'd already loaded and levered the gun back in the kitchen because I'm a kid trying to be a grown-up, not someone fresh out of gun safety class. I'd carried it behind my big brother through the narrow opening in the barbed-wire fence (that's what it was in my mind because most modern wire fences are crossed, and anything only horizontal is electric now if not still barbed), and the trigger inside the lever is what caught on the (barbed) wire. Jerking it forward, pulled the trigger back... I believed from inside of Arnold. All of it. The light rifle goes off with a low bang, more than the pop of a BB, enough to scare ducks, enough to kill if it hits in the right place. That place we were told to look on the second page (239).
Bruce & Mikhaeyla, these are both really good points that I hope others will attend to. The writer had a purpose, but this gun handling conduct isn't standard operating procedure for people who are familiar with gun culture for the story's era (or any era, really). To imply that it is gets into the influence of story, and that is what is important for us to grasp as writers. This is a story about the psychology of a type of culture and I saw generational trauma in it, myself. I think it's also about poverty, neglect, larger socioeconomic issues, and a lot of stuff besides guns. It's whatever lands on us and moves us, but the writer had motives for it. Don't we all? Is that just me? What were they, her motives? Do we see them? Was she successful?
(Having written and deleted a really long response) I think it's enough to say that a writer creates a story with certain intentions - and these intentions can be intuited by how they craft the story (what they focus on, how they order information, how they create contrast, how the story escalates and is resolved) - but that, despite these intentions, they can't maintain full control on what meaning is taken from a story. As you say - different things land on and move different people - we all come to stories from different starting points (our own interests, biases, motivations, hang-ups), and these will influence whether we see the signposts created by the author, whether we miss them, or whether we misread them. What can we take from that as writers? 1. Your story ceases to be your story as soon as you publish it, and 2. The more subtle your are in your treatment, the more you invite the reader to fill the gaps/sharpen the image (which is vulnerable to all kinds of divergent views and interpretations). Not necessarily a bad thing - it's like what George says about Chekhov: his stories create in the reader a question of whether something is this or that / good or bad, and Chekhov answers 'yes'. Maybe great stories are there to *move* us, not *mould* us?
PS Just discovered Konstantin's comment, which offers a similar take on this and links to a great Marginalian article: https://georgesaunders.substack.com/p/the-stone-boy-3/comment/5172562
PPS And, of course, Berriault answers this question more eloquently herself in the interview Annie posted (https://georgesaunders.substack.com/p/the-stone-boy-3/comment/5174739):
Q. You’ve said, “Between the lines of every story, readers write their own lines, shaping up the story as a collaborative effort.” As the writer are you concerned about controlling or directing the reader’s lines, with the question of a “correct” interpretation?
A. Of course the writer wishes to compel and persuade and entice and guide the reader to a comprehension of the story, but there’s no such thing as a “correct” interpretation of a piece of fiction. That’s demanding a scientific precision of the writer. Each reader’s interpretation originates in his or her life’s experiences, in feelings and emotions of intensely personal history. You get more from what you read as you grow older, and your choices change, and, wiser, you bring more to that collaborative effort.
Thank you, that’s great. I have read somewhere that a good story is only completed by one reader at a time engaging with it in their own unique way.
Traci- I think that is a really insightful look into this story. For me, I wondered: what’s more dangerous, a boy with a small gun or a mother who turns her back on her terrified, guilt-ridden son? And then there’s the rest of the adults with their stoic, distant review of the tragedy. I think this is a story about a failure of family and community. It was stacked against Arnold from the start. He was bound to over reach in one way or another, seeking acknowledgement and approval. The gun just happened to be the tool that day.
Kurt, I appreciate your comments. I was struck, too, by the adult's stoicism. That raised the biggest internal question in my: "Where are these people coming from? What is this culture?" The mother evidenced her grief by the wail Arnold heard as his family returned from the site of the shooting. And then she closed her heart to Arnold. As unsympathetic as this was, I found that I was able to entertain it as one of a number of possible grief and shock reactions. She blamed Arnold, who was the most proximal human cause. I was able to extend some compassion to her, and hoped that it would turn out to be temporary. But I was horrified for Arnold--how that shunning must have cut into his fragile psyche. It could have really "sealed the deal" for me to project a horribly scarred and stunted development for Arnold and his future. Finally, even the father, I was able to hold in some compassion. In the immediate shock of a child's death, and the tragically messed up way that it happened, almost anything goes. This, unfortunately, comes at the cost of personal experience. It is another way that this story was able to hook me into its believability. I held the whole family and close community in compassion. This is an event that changes the trajectory of many interconnected lives, for good or ill. It exceeds the ability to cope in any of the unrealistic ways we heap upon it, with our mandates for forgiveness and letting go. Society acts as if a great act of grace were an obligation. We do move on, if we survive, but with a giant hole clean through us, which will never close. These expectations and the trite advice and aphorisms that come with them can only serve to make us feel more alone. Yet even the perpetrators of these things are in need of compassion, for they are only trying to comfort themselves from the close touch of death in a death phobic culture.
Traci, thanks for this perfect, 100%, description of how the gun fired.
The tiny quibble I'd have is with Arnold chambering a round in the kitchen. There weren't gun safety classes in the '50s (that I was aware of), but I believe most kids had drilled into them that you don't chamber a round before you intend to shoot. So that was a mini-moment for suspension of disbelief for me... not a problem at all.
I think the omission of the chambering was a stylistic choice (rather than logical choice) - if Berriault had included that detail in the story, it would have ruined her sleight of hand; if she'd included it earlier (in the kitchen), there would be no way we would have been distracted or put at ease by the trip to the lake, and if she had mentioned it on the way to the lake, she would have been telegraphing what was about to happen. By leaving it out, she allows us to infer (in retrospect) that it happened somewhere along the way. And it works, because the shooting isn't really the point of the story, what comes next is; so that if some details are vague around the edges, it's the details that don't matter.
I agree, Mikhaeyla. It might have been an intentional omission. Specifically mentioning putting a bullet in the chamber would have dissolved almost any ambiguity I had about whether there was going to be an accident involving the gun. It would have worked like a blunt instrument. Nothing else I read in this piece worked that way. I still had some doubt. I still wanted to hope this was a warm, boyhood tale about a little brothers worship of his elder. Arnold could have chambered the bullet when he saw the ducks on the lake, before he ducked to step through the fence. That's when I would have done it as hunting boy. What surprised me is that he didn't put the gun down or lean it on a post before he stepped over. But he was trying to show his smooth competence, what he imagined would be his grownup ability to do such a thing without undue attention--step through in one, graceful motion and be ready to fire. That is what my brain registered as it was happening. That is how I worked when I was a boy--always fretting about making a good impression on the elders, of appearing worthy to be accepted into the brotherhood.
Michael, your point about Arnold trying to project a confidence and skill he didn't quite have yet - "trying to show his smooth competence, what he imagined would be his grownup ability to do such a thing without undue attention" - that hit so true to me. He idolises his brother, his brother has just offered to do the dirty work of getting the duck if he shoots it (because he sees Arnold as puny and likely to drown if he attempts it), and Arnold - who wants the respect of a brother who has just narrowed his eyes to 'slits of mocking blue' - wants to seem as smooth and competent as his beloved Eugie. Poor kid - this new revelation just makes my heart break louder for him...
I wondered about that too but on page 268, top of page, end of paragraph, Berriault writes, Then he sad down on the stool and began to load his gun. It's a good question to ponder as when the gun goes off and Arnold reacts the way he does. It's here, when we ask ourselves as George says in the post, An Incident, Part Two, Dynamism: are we at one with him, do we trust him? We circle back in the narrative for clues to help make that assessment.
Absolutely right. Thanks!