another recommendation from elissa, poems addressed to various things like “life” and “yes” and “the italian language” and “wars” &tc. a nice study in anthropomorphism with prying reflection.

i only read about a third of this, since 700 pages of short stories seemed like a bit much all at once. even if i have been reading so many short story collections lately. these are set mostly in nyc, various times between the 1930s and 1950s with a range of class focuses. Cheever has exciting insights into his characters. i loved the slightly twilight zone feel to “The Enormous Radio” and the impressingly epic “The Day the Pig Fell Into the Well.”

the repeated references to old-fashioneds prompted me to order one one night, and the bartender had to look it up in a book and follow the recipe. the problem with ordering drinks like that is that the bartender assumes that you’re an expert, and i was too embarassed to admit that i’d never had one before and had no clue if it was good or bad, or how i only ordered it because i’d been reading John Cheever stories lately. you never can tell if that sort of thing is going to go over in a way that doesn’t make you seem like a total dork, the uncharming kind. (it was good though, even if it wasn’t a good old-fashioned.)

theories on photography by someone who is not a photographer. knowing little of the technical aspects of photography, Barthes attaches his own kind of technicality by applying his own terminologies to the observation of photos. the first section is much heavier, laying out his basic theory; though the second part, written at a later date and after the death of his mother, repeatedly references a photograph of her that is not printed in the book. a kind of frustrating work.

i guess i gave up on this one. maybe i just wasn’t in the mood or maybe it’s a little too challenging for my undeveloped poetry palate. (i love the cover photo though.)

sometimes i don’t know if it’s that the stories get better as they come or if it just takes a few to get into the general feel. having been in wyoming last year, it’s nice to have a sense of how attuned the descriptions of scenery and atmosphere are in this collection. the longer stories are easy favorites: “Pair of Spurs” falls open in well-measured time; “Brokeback Mountain” is just heartbreaking, two tough cowboys in love and trying to make sense of it.

The country appeared as empty ground, big sagebrush, rabbitbrush, intricate sky, flocks of small birds like packs of cards thrown up in the air, and a faint track drifting toward the red-walled horizon. Graves were unmarked, fallen house timbers and corrals burned up in old campfires. Nothing much but weather and distance, the distance punctuated once in a while by ranch gates, and to the north the endless murmur and sun-flash of semis rolling along the interstate.

i’m surprised i never read this when i was younger, and reading it now, i wish i had read it then. it’s a coming-of-age story set in williamsburg (long before it was hip and fucked up) at the turn of the century. there are so many wonderful things about this book, even just the little details that are little asides from the story i assume are lifted from real life experiences. i’m pretty sure it was elissa who told me i should read this last summer when i’d just moved to brooklyn—i think because of the part about the piano left behind by its owners because it wouldn’t fit down the stairs.

the metaphor of the ailanthus (the tree) is the core of the book. apparently a lot of people didn’t appreciate Smith’s honest and upfront approach to the “sordid” topics of poverty and alcoholism; i wonder how much that has to do with her obvious personal insight and therefore the lack of condescension towards the characters.

i feel like there is so much i could say about this, but it’s hard to articulate it. this part near the end, a conversation during the first world war, caught my attention though:

“Send Francie. The last time I asked for sauerkraut he chased me out of the store,” complained Neeley. “You’ve got to ask for Liberty Cabbage now, you dope,” said Francie. “Don’t call each other names,” chided Katie absentmindedly. “Did you know they changed Hamburg Avenue to Wilson Avenue?” asked Francie. “War makes people do funny things,” sighed Katie.

“liberty cabbage”?! i guess i’m not surprised it’s true (they also renamed dachshunds “liberty hounds”), though it does make the whole “freedom fries” episode that much more ridiculous.

it’s kind of morbid that i sought this book out after reading Davis’s obituary in march. she also published a novel entitled Wonder When You’ll Miss Me.

the stories are either pretty good or pretty darn good, occasionally with these fantastical elements that are really interesting. a couple of stories read something like folk tales or fairy tales. it’s just bizarre that this is now half of her life’s work.

definitely a good read for the short story obsessed.