This is the third year in a row that I’ve made a concerted effort to read more short stories in the alliterative month of September; see also my 2016 and 2017 performances. (I actually finished Sarah Hall’s collection in late August, but I’m going to cheat and include it anyway.) That makes for four volumes in total read recently. Surprisingly, I had my best luck with two that were published back in the early 1990s.
I read Sarah Hall’s book from the library; these three were bargains from my local charity warehouse, the Community Furniture Project.
Like many devoted novel readers, I struggle with short stories because they can feel fragmentary or open-ended, and it takes that much more effort to keep up with multiple settings and groups of characters. Yet I also get frustrated when the narrative voice and themes are too similar across a whole set of tales.
However, when done well short stories can be marvelous, of course. I enjoyed K.J. Orr’s article on short stories in the September 7th issue of the Times Literary Supplement. Among the virtues of the short story, she lists the following:
- “the capacity to stoke questions of definition and instability, resolution and irresolution … ; to deliver its conundrums to the reader in a state of compression”
- “The unpredictability involved means that picking up a new short story always feels to me a moment full of possibilities.”
- “The short story can combine complexity and uncertainty with ebullience and humour. It can take on subjects and situations that risk seeming clichéd and open them to wonder. It can put the familiar and the strange in conversation.”
And yet sometimes the quality of the writing, or at least the intensity of my engagement, can vary wildly within a story collection, which often makes the books difficult to rate and respond to as a whole. That’s what I found with these first two.
Madame Zero by Sarah Hall (2017)
Three corkers; two pretty good; four been-there-read-that. My favorites were the first and last stories, “Mrs Fox” and “Evie” (winner of the BBC National Short Story Prize 2013 and shortlisted for the Sunday Times EFG Private Bank Short Story Award 2013, respectively). Both concern a fairly average marriage derailed when the wife undergoes a transformation. In the former Sophia literally turns into a fox and her husband scrambles for a way to make the relationship last. In “Evie,” Richard’s wife develops a voracious appetite for sweets and sex, and starts talking gibberish. This one is very explicit, but if you can get past that I found it both painful and powerful. I also especially liked “Case Study 2,” about a psychologist’s encounter with a boy who’s been brought up in a commune. It has faint echoes of T.C. Boyle’s “The Wild Child.”
“Wilderness” focuses on an intense episode of fear of heights during a trip to South Africa. In “Luxury Hour,” a new mother meets up with an old lover near the swimming pool they used to frequent and wonders where and why their lives diverged. This one reminded me of the first chapter of Rachel Cusk’s Transit.
As for the rest? “Goodnight Nobody” was completely forgettable, and the other three are in the vague speculative/post-apocalyptic vein that’s been done to death: “Theatre 6” = Red Clocks; “Later, His Ghost” = The Road et al.; “One in Four” = Station Eleven et al. I admire Hall’s writing in general, but The Wolf Border remains the best thing I’ve read by her.
My rating: 
The Outlaw Album: Stories by Daniel Woodrell (2011)
Based on the first six stories, I was planning a 5-star rating. (How can you resist this opening line? “Once Boshell finally killed his neighbor he couldn’t seem to quit killing him.”) But the second half of the book ended up being much less memorable; I wouldn’t say it wasn’t worth reading, but I got very little out of four of the stories, and the other two were okay but somewhat insubstantial. By contrast, the first two stories, “The Echo of Neighborly Bones” and “Uncle,” are gritty little masterpieces of violence and revenge.
I also particularly liked “Black Step” and “Night Stand,” about traumatized soldiers back from war (Woodrell himself was a Marine). Each has a creepy segment where the veteran gives sarcastic answers to the unspecified typical questions they always get; we have to infer that these are: How many people did you kill? What’s it like to kill someone? and What do you do with the bodies? There’s a nice balance between first- and third-person voices; lyrical and unlearned prose; and speech marks and none. I will definitely read more by Woodrell.
My rating: 
I thoroughly loved these next two debut collections. In each case I’d read one or two previous books by the author and not been wild about the writing (White Houses; In-Flight Entertainment and Cockfosters), but these two have convinced me to try more of their work.
Come to Me by Amy Bloom (1993)
Bloom was a practicing psychotherapist, so it’s no surprise she has deep insight into her characters’ motivations. This is a wonderful set of stories about people who love who they shouldn’t love. In “Song of Solomon,” a new mother falls for the obstetrician who delivered her baby; in “Sleepwalking,” a woman gives in to the advances of her late husband’s son from a previous marriage; in “Light Breaks Where No Sun Shines,” adolescent Susan develops crushes on any man who takes an interest in her. My favorite was probably “Love Is Not a Pie,” in which a young woman rethinks her impending marriage during her mother’s funeral, all the while remembering the unusual sleeping arrangement her parents had with another couple during their joint summer vacations. The title suggests that love is not a thing to be apportioned out equally until it’s used up, but a more mysterious and fluid entity.
Linked short stories can be a useful halfway-house for readers who prefer novels and are still unsure about reading stories. Happily, then, the heart of this collection is five pieces that orbit around the same characters. In “Hyacinths” we meet David as a boy in Manitoba and get a glimpse of him as an adult. In the next story we encounter his second wife, Galen, and her lover, Henry. “Silver Water” is about a mental health crisis with David and Galen’s daughter, and the next two stories are about Henry, his wife Marie, and the other bonds they form.
Although I read the book quickly while on holiday and so haven’t marked out any particular quotes, convincing dialogue and insightful observations are on almost every page. I was reminded most of short stories I’ve read by Elizabeth McCracken and Carol Shields.
My rating: 
Four Bare Legs in a Bed and Other Stories by Helen Simpson (1990)
Simpson won the inaugural Sunday Times Young Writer of the Year Award for this in 1991. Her protagonists are women disillusioned with the norms of marriage and motherhood. They ditch their safe relationships, or carry on brazen affairs; they fear pregnancy, or seek it out on their own terms. The feminist messages are never strident because they are couched in such brisk, tongue-in-cheek narratives. For instance, in “Christmas Jezebels” three sisters in 4th-century Lycia cleverly resist their father’s attempts to press them into prostitution and are saved by the bishop’s financial intervention; in “Escape Clauses” a middle-aged woman faces the death penalty for her supposed crimes of gardening naked and picnicking on private property, while her rapist gets just three months in prison because she was “asking for it.” (Nearly three decades on, it’s still so timely it hurts.)
I loved “The Bed,” a kind of fairy tale about a luxurious bed solving all a woman’s problems; “What Are Neighbours For,” in which each woman cattily plans what she can get out of the others; “Labour,” a brief five-act play set in a hospital delivery room; and “Zoë and the Pedagogues,” about a woman learning to drive who has two very different teachers (perhaps inevitably, this recalled Mirror, Shoulder, Signal by Dorthe Nors). “An Interesting Condition,” which takes place in an antenatal class, is like Curtis Sittenfeld’s “Bad Latch,” while multiple stories reminded me of Shena Mackay, especially “Send One Up for Me,” about a woman tiptoeing around her boarding house and trying not to anger the landlady.
My rating:
Bookish Beck = Rebecca Foster. American transplant to England. Freelance proofreader and book reviewer.
Bookish Beck 
So glad you liked _Come to Me_–and I love linked short stories! I wonder if you’ll like Olive Kitteridge, engaging but a tad staid for me. I’m now reading _What it Means When a Man Falls from the Sky_, not usually my kind of stories, some pretty fantastical, but really interesting and layered with meaning.
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I’ve read one other book by Strout, My Name Is Lucy Barton, and enjoyed it. Olive Kitteridge has been widely recommended. I’ve shelved it under linked short stories, but I’m told it feels more like a novel?
What It Means… was one of my favorite story collections of last year.
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I’ve come to quite enjoy short stories – not sure what brought that about. I haven’t read any of these, but I’d pick up the Simpson on the strength of the title alone. 😉
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Any favourite short story authors? Ironically, the title story was one of the lesser ones for me.
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I loved Sarah Selecky’s This Cake is for the Party and Tom Hanks’ Uncommon Type. Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried blew me away.
And I’m slowly making my way through The Collected Stories of Carol Shields, subscribing to the philosophy of Mavis Gallant: “Stories are not chapters of novels. They should not be read one after another, as if they were meant to follow along. Read one. Shut the book. Read something else. Come back later. Stories can wait. I’ve been dipping thus for three years.
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I read all of Shields’s stories some years back, but in separate volumes (three different books from the library, I think it was). I know Buried in Print also has that philosophy, for Gallant stories and everything else! I think I would have to do the same if I ever attempted another author’s complete short stories, e.g. Saul Bellow or Elizabeth Taylor. Do you insist on reading the stories in order? Because sometimes I wonder if I should just pick them at random, but then I think, the author must have arranged them in this order for a reason. And would you make an exception for linked short stories and read that in bigger chunks, more like a novel?
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I read linked short stories (like That Time I Loved You by Carianne Leung which I just finished) as I would read a novel.
As for reading unlinked stories in order – I’m inclined to that only to be sure I don’t miss any. Is it the author who orders them, or the publisher? In any case, I believe the Shields’ collection was published posthumously.
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I thoroughly enjoyed John Grisham’s “Stories,” six delightful short stories, all unique and including a lawyer, judge, police, or prison. Some were so real they were hilarious; others very sad, but all true to life.
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I heard him in interview recently and he spoke about the short stories; immediately I wanted to rush out and pick up a collection of his although I haven’t read one of his thrillers for several years.
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As a recent short story convert, I’m going to try not to proselytise although it doesn’t sound as if I need to! I’m so glad you enjoyed the Bloom. Lots more stories from her to explore.
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I’ll give her novels another try with Lucky Us from my library, and then will certainly seek out her other stories.
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They’re all collected in once volume, Rowing to Eden.
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I don’t read many short stories, but I did enjoy Sarah Hall’s Mrs Fox, and I’d read anything by Daniel Woodrell even if patchy. I should try harder with this genre – for when I get into a collection, I tend to enjoy them, but somehow I find them intimidating, strangely.
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I find short stories intimidating, too, and the longer the book the more so. That’s why I’d be very wary of a Collected Stories volume. I’d be happy to save the Woodrell book aside for you — I imagine we’ll meet before the end of the year at some sort of event?
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I need to make more effort to read short stories. I’m usually rewarded when I do. Some good ideas here.
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The last two collections here are now on my list – the Simpson especially sounds like something I’d like.
Sarah Hall’s “Evie” was in the “Sex and Death” collection I read last year. It was probably the most graphic and uncomfortable of the bunch. Interesting, though, for sure!
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Ha! Well, that was certainly the right collection for it.
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Great reviews; I’m not a big short story fan as you probably know by now. I have read Four Bare Legs but so long ago it was pre-blog and maybe pre-reading diary! Shocking! I don’t think I have any on the TBR although the running book I’m currently reading is a lot of short vignettes rather than a long form piece (and it’s driving me a bit mad, to be honest …)
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Turns out my library has a copy of Elizabeth Taylor’s complete short stories. I have a feeling I’d be reading it forever, though!
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Ooh, if you like Woodrell, have you read Richard Bass? Criminally undersung as a short story writer (I say this as someone who identifies as a disliker of short stories, despite often finding individual stories to be excellent.)
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I’ve only ever read his memoir/journal Winter, but I know you championed his short stories and I do have For a Little While on my Kindle. I don’t find Kindle very conducive for dipping into long collections, though.
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Mm, no. It’s out in paperback and very lovely…
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I nearly always have a collection on the go and most recently finished two collections by Canadian writers (Lauren B Davis’ Unrehearsed Desire, mostly of interest if you enjoy her book-length fiction as she is mainly a novelist; Sinclair Ross’ The Lamp at Noon, mostly of interest for CanLit readers and lovers of bleak and sorrowfilled Prairie stories) and am now catching up on “Summer Reading” magazines and journals (which is sooner than I generally manage this – sad to say). My next Mavis Gallant reading installment is From the Fifteenth District, beginning November 1st; I’ve really enjoyed reading through her work and seeing themes recur. Perhaps my Alice Munro project was more comfortable, but this one certainly has some different elements (a wider variety of settings – mostly European – and more solitary women) which I enjoy. You’ve reminded me how much I adore Helen Simpson (especially her wicked humour) and how much I want to read Amy Bloom. I admire what Woodrell does although I don’t like the feeling of reading him and I haven’t heard of the Sarah Hall collection although I have had her on my TBR generally for about a decade now (and done nothing about it). Which of the lot in the photo do you feel is pulling at you most insistently just now?
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You are a short story champion, and I admire your dedication to your reading projects. Liz highly recommends Elizabeth Taylor’s collected stories and I am tempted by my library’s copy, but feel it would be better to own a copy so I can spend as long over it as I like. I started Aimee Bender’s The Color Master last night: I expect it will be fantastical enough to count towards the October R.I.P. challenge.
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I wasn’t always a short story lover: it can happen over time! That’s one I have on my shelves. I am thinking of working through it steadily once I’m finished with Mavis Gallant’s stories, which is going to take me quite some time however, She doesn’t strike me immediately as someone you would enjoy – but I still feel like I’m getting to know your reading taste. Bender is one that I admire and enjoy in small doses but I don’t know if I’ve ever made it through a whole collection. I usually like her covers more than I like her books! 🙂
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Taylor or Gallant? I’ve read 4 Taylor novels and enjoy her writing. I did read one Gallant collection, but it was years ago now and I can’t say I remember much about it. Just a vague impression of the Paris setting.
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Neither, so I’m surprised to hear how much you’ve enjoyed Elizabeth Taylor (for surely that’s safe to say if you’ve read four)! She ‘s one of my MustReadEverything authors and, for a change, I have nearly read everything, except for the short stories, which was initially because I had trouble finding the collections but then I simply got distracted by other reading (and, now, I have that single volume edition). I wonder if you would find Gallant’s two collections, Montreal Stories and Paris Stories of interest, as you have a Europe/North America thing going on yourself (Gallant being Canadian but having left the country in her 20s to pursue a writing career in Paris and choosing to live the rest of her life there – not saying that you’re planning to follow that path)!
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I checked on Goodreads and it was The Cost of Living that I’d read, back in maybe 2009 or ’10.
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[…] to read more short stories in the alliterative month of September. (See also my 2016, 2017 and 2018 performances.) Short story collections are often hit and miss for me, and based on a few recent […]
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[…] is the third time Simpson has made it into one of my September features (after Four Bare Legs in a Bed in 2018 and In the Driver’s Seat in 2019); safe to say she’s becoming one of my favourite short […]
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[…] stories, “Sleepwalking,” was familiar to me because it is reprinted from her 1993 collection, Come to Me, and another two were originally published in 2000’s A Blind Man Can See How Much I Love You – […]
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[…] the only novel I’ve read so far by Amy Bloom (and one I felt ambivalent about, though I love her short stories and memoir), White […]
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[…] a man’s field. Do read Simpson, but maybe not this (despite the amazing title); I’d recommend Four Bare Legs in a Bed or In the Driver’s Seat (UK title: Constitutional) instead. (Secondhand – Books for Amnesty, […]
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[…] was my second from Woodrell, after the short stories of The Outlaw Album. I don’t think I’ll need to try any more by him, but this was a solid read. (Secondhand – New […]
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