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Twilight of the Superheroes
Deborah Eisenberg is nearly unmatched in her mastery of the short-story form. Now, in her newest collection, she demonstrates once again her virtuosic abilities in precisely distilled, perfectly shaped studies of human connection and disconnection. From a group of friends whose luck in acquiring a luxurious Manhattan sublet turns to disaster as their balcony becomes a front-row seat to the catastrophe of 9/11, to the too painful love of a brother for his schizophrenic sister, Eisenberg brilliantly "illustrates the lives of people rubbed raw by what the fates have sent them" ( Vanity Fair ).
225 pages, Paperback
First published January 24, 2006
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About the author
Deborah Eisenberg
38 books293 followersBorn in Chicago, Eisenberg moved to New York City in the 1960's where she has lived ever since. She also teaches at the University of Virginia. Her writing has appeared in The New Yorker, The Yale Review, Vanity Fair, and Tin House. She has won the Rea Award for the Short Story, a Whiting Writer's Award, a Guggenheim Fellowship, and three O. Henry Awards.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 215 reviews
March 13, 2022
The final word in Deborah Eisenberg's marvellous collection of stories is "wartime," and, like every syllable she writes, it's precisely placed and significant.
These are tales for an uncertain time. Eisenberg's characters live lives that teeter on a ledge, with currents of violence, physical or emotional, about to knock them off at any moment.
The fallout of 9/11 hovers over the book, but only appears literally in the title story, a challenging elliptical tale partially set in a luxurious apartment across from the World Trade Center. A bravura piece of experimental narrative, it spans years and peers into the lives of everyone from an extended family of Ellis Island immigrants to an ambitious group of young friends who are trying to make their mark in the big city.
Eisenberg has mastered the art of compressing entire lives into a few dozen pages. A story like "Some Other, Better Otto" begins as a dysfunctional Thanksgiving tale about the absence of a schizophrenic sister at the dinner table, then spreads out to become a meditation on forgiveness and the brutal passage of time.
Another story, the haunting "Like It Or Not," begins as a Jamesian tale of a middle-aged American schoolteacher set loose in Rome, then shifts gears in the final third to show us another character plagued by his own ghosts.
Eisenberg has devoted herself to the short story form as tirelessly as Alice Munro, Raymond Carver or Grace Paley, but has a wider range than any of them and a way of writing - "style" seems too precious a word - that catches life from every angle.
These aren't the easiest stories to read; they demand attention, require you occasionally to turn back a few pages to orient yourself. But you won't be able to read them just once.
***
Originally published in NOW Magazine here
These are tales for an uncertain time. Eisenberg's characters live lives that teeter on a ledge, with currents of violence, physical or emotional, about to knock them off at any moment.
The fallout of 9/11 hovers over the book, but only appears literally in the title story, a challenging elliptical tale partially set in a luxurious apartment across from the World Trade Center. A bravura piece of experimental narrative, it spans years and peers into the lives of everyone from an extended family of Ellis Island immigrants to an ambitious group of young friends who are trying to make their mark in the big city.
Eisenberg has mastered the art of compressing entire lives into a few dozen pages. A story like "Some Other, Better Otto" begins as a dysfunctional Thanksgiving tale about the absence of a schizophrenic sister at the dinner table, then spreads out to become a meditation on forgiveness and the brutal passage of time.
Another story, the haunting "Like It Or Not," begins as a Jamesian tale of a middle-aged American schoolteacher set loose in Rome, then shifts gears in the final third to show us another character plagued by his own ghosts.
Eisenberg has devoted herself to the short story form as tirelessly as Alice Munro, Raymond Carver or Grace Paley, but has a wider range than any of them and a way of writing - "style" seems too precious a word - that catches life from every angle.
These aren't the easiest stories to read; they demand attention, require you occasionally to turn back a few pages to orient yourself. But you won't be able to read them just once.
***
Originally published in NOW Magazine here
February 8, 2024
This was my fourth collection of Deborah Eisenberg’s stories, and although they were all very good, this was my favorite. In terms of the maturity of her story-telling skills, this is the fourth of five collections, so it would make sense that her writing has improved over time.
In this collection there was a story about a group of young men and women trying to establish careers in NYC when 9/11 occurs; I wouldn’t call it a typical 9/11 story. There is a story of a divorced woman, her husband having realized he was gay, raising two boys in conjunction with her husband and his partner. She has gone back to school and then back to work to support her family; she finds herself competing with a younger woman for the attentions of a man she is not certain how much she likes. In another story a woman arrives back on the East Coast to visit her grandmother after the grandmother has a stroke, and finds the older woman so diminished she is no longer the same person. None of the stories are the same; the characters vary in age, background and the life challenges they face, and changes in American culture are layered in very gently.
The only consistency in the stories is that the main protagonist is a woman. I would describe the stories as neither uplifting nor depressing; they are simply life. Loose ends are rarely explicitly tied up at the end of a story. You, as the reader, are left to decide what you think will happen in the future and what you think the story is about.
In this collection there was a story about a group of young men and women trying to establish careers in NYC when 9/11 occurs; I wouldn’t call it a typical 9/11 story. There is a story of a divorced woman, her husband having realized he was gay, raising two boys in conjunction with her husband and his partner. She has gone back to school and then back to work to support her family; she finds herself competing with a younger woman for the attentions of a man she is not certain how much she likes. In another story a woman arrives back on the East Coast to visit her grandmother after the grandmother has a stroke, and finds the older woman so diminished she is no longer the same person. None of the stories are the same; the characters vary in age, background and the life challenges they face, and changes in American culture are layered in very gently.
The only consistency in the stories is that the main protagonist is a woman. I would describe the stories as neither uplifting nor depressing; they are simply life. Loose ends are rarely explicitly tied up at the end of a story. You, as the reader, are left to decide what you think will happen in the future and what you think the story is about.
February 15, 2025
Si Deborah Eisenberg hubiese escrito Caperucita Roja, la protagonista sería un muchacha del Midwest de los EEUU que viaja al Eastern para visitar a su abuela materna antes de comenzar su primer curso en un prestigioso college de la Ivy League donde su abuela solía dar clase antes de retirarse.
El lobo sería un alumno mayor del mismo college que Caperucita conoce durante el viaje y con quien cree tener un momento especial de conexión tácita que le hace albergar esperanzas sentimentales.
La narración estaría trufada de flashbacks desordenados e impresionistas para explicar al lector que Caperucita proviene de un entorno que no satisface sus inquietudes intelectuales, que sueña con realizarse plenamente como persona en la universidad para adquirir un brillo similar al de su abuela (la mujer más sofisticada que conoce) y no acabar como su madre (sepultada en la mediocridad provinciana), aunque eso signifique cortar los lazos con su infancia y con sus amigos del pueblo, a los que recuerda con cariño culpable.
El encuentro con su abuela sería el punto álgido de su ilusión pero poco a poco, durante la conversación posterior, Caperucita empezaría a percibir pequeñas discordancias entre sus expectativas y la realidad.
En el climax del cuento, la abuela, después de oír el relato del encuentro entre Caperucita y el lobo, aconsejaría a Caperucita que no se deje embaucar por el primer seductor de medio pelo que se cruce en su camino si no quiere acabar como la pánfila de su madre. Consejo que afectaría enormemente a Caperucita.
Sin embargo, a pesar de la insistencia con que la narración nos habría ido explicando cómo se siente la protagonista con respecto a todo, el cuento terminaría con un gesto de Caperucita suficientemente ambiguo como para que resulte imposible tener claro si en ese momento se siente más cerca de su madre, de su abuela, del lobo o de ninguno de los tres.
La literatura estadounidense está repleta de cuentos de este tipo. A mí me suelen dar bastante pereza. Y no creo que estos de Eisenberg destaquen demasiado sobre el resto.
El lobo sería un alumno mayor del mismo college que Caperucita conoce durante el viaje y con quien cree tener un momento especial de conexión tácita que le hace albergar esperanzas sentimentales.
La narración estaría trufada de flashbacks desordenados e impresionistas para explicar al lector que Caperucita proviene de un entorno que no satisface sus inquietudes intelectuales, que sueña con realizarse plenamente como persona en la universidad para adquirir un brillo similar al de su abuela (la mujer más sofisticada que conoce) y no acabar como su madre (sepultada en la mediocridad provinciana), aunque eso signifique cortar los lazos con su infancia y con sus amigos del pueblo, a los que recuerda con cariño culpable.
El encuentro con su abuela sería el punto álgido de su ilusión pero poco a poco, durante la conversación posterior, Caperucita empezaría a percibir pequeñas discordancias entre sus expectativas y la realidad.
En el climax del cuento, la abuela, después de oír el relato del encuentro entre Caperucita y el lobo, aconsejaría a Caperucita que no se deje embaucar por el primer seductor de medio pelo que se cruce en su camino si no quiere acabar como la pánfila de su madre. Consejo que afectaría enormemente a Caperucita.
Sin embargo, a pesar de la insistencia con que la narración nos habría ido explicando cómo se siente la protagonista con respecto a todo, el cuento terminaría con un gesto de Caperucita suficientemente ambiguo como para que resulte imposible tener claro si en ese momento se siente más cerca de su madre, de su abuela, del lobo o de ninguno de los tres.
La literatura estadounidense está repleta de cuentos de este tipo. A mí me suelen dar bastante pereza. Y no creo que estos de Eisenberg destaquen demasiado sobre el resto.
September 26, 2013
I've been reading this on and off for the past couple of years. From what I've read about Deborah Eisenberg, she's a self-taught writer and sort of emerged slowly and quietly to the literary scene. That's how these stories feel, too. There's nothing mechanical about them, nothing you'd expect from a writer that followed all the rules, made the necessary connections, and published with fanfare. The stories in this collection are unlike anything I've read, each an original masterpiece in emotional tension. I was drawn to this book after reading "Window" in the O.Henry Prize collection. Jean Thompson, in a review in the NY Times, describes this story, "Eisenberg’s stories don’t always behave as we’re accustomed to seeing stories behave. Occasionally the narrative fragments or takes long detours, gestures puzzle, endings resist closure. Not every story takes such liberties, but those that do sometimes deliver the goods and sometimes fail to do so. “Window” withholds a great deal of information at its beginning and only gradually spools backward to tell us how the young woman sitting in another woman’s kitchen (who proves to be her half-sister) with a child (who is not her own child) has escaped (for the time being at least) abuse and real danger. The story is nearly gothic, shimmering with menace, and its ending, bringing the plot full circle, creates echoes of sadness: who can ever be trusted to protect a child in need?" I wouldn't agree with Thompson that any of these stories fail to "deliver the goods" (I'm not into goods, anyhow), but I think she perfectly depicts the tone of them as "shimmering with menace", an emphasis on shimmering in my view. There's a lot of formulaic writing out there, especially in short stories, much of it's good, but these stories, filled with menace, sadness, tragedy, ultimately shine with an originality almost beyond compare.
January 8, 2025
Lo empecé en enero del 2024, lo terminé hoy y es como si todo hubiera sido en un día
July 2, 2009
I just finished this book a few days ago and, looking through the table of contents now, I'm already having trouble recalling most of the stories. Partly this is because most of the titles don't connect to their stories in any recognizable way, so when I see "Window," it doesn't trigger "oh, yeah, the one where that creepy guy takes the girl to his isolated cabin to babysit his kid." Partly it's also because the stories themselves often didn't stick with me. The two elements most contributing to my lackluster response here are: 1. choppy, disconnected segments. In "The Flaw in the Design," for example, the story of the tension between father and son is bookended by the mother's seemingly random one-time affair, and the family story sandwiched between the affair bits doesn't shed light on the affair or seem connected to it at all. Telling a story through chopped up segments can work, but (with the exception of the title story) I don't think it works overall in this collection. 2. Stories where nothing happens and there are no threads of interest to follow have an uphill battle to keep my attention. "Revenge of the Dinosaurs" is my example for this one. Family members visit a sick/dying relative, bicker a little, make small talk, and that's it. We have a first-person narrator, but we don't get much more than reporting and some bits and pieces of backstory from her outside of basic observation and dialogue. In the end, I'm not sure why I should care (or what I'm even supposed to be caring about), but I'm pretty sure she's not the person to get me there.
Bitch and moan. Here's the silver lining: "Some Other, Better Otto." "Twilight of the Superheroes" was good, and "Window" was the most elaborate and compelling plot-wise, but "Some Other, Better Otto" is the one I'll remember. Eisenberg does a beautiful job making this whiny, selfish man (Otto) sympathetic to the reader. Watching his protective and considerate interactions with his mentally unstable younger sister helps this along. Enough happens to keep me with the story (visit to sister, family gathering, quarrel with partner), the end works for me, and the title even makes sense. I would actually recommend this story, and the title one (where she uses choppy segments pretty effectively to weave separate threads together). The rest I can take or leave.
Bitch and moan. Here's the silver lining: "Some Other, Better Otto." "Twilight of the Superheroes" was good, and "Window" was the most elaborate and compelling plot-wise, but "Some Other, Better Otto" is the one I'll remember. Eisenberg does a beautiful job making this whiny, selfish man (Otto) sympathetic to the reader. Watching his protective and considerate interactions with his mentally unstable younger sister helps this along. Enough happens to keep me with the story (visit to sister, family gathering, quarrel with partner), the end works for me, and the title even makes sense. I would actually recommend this story, and the title one (where she uses choppy segments pretty effectively to weave separate threads together). The rest I can take or leave.
April 27, 2024
Estos seis cuentos tienen en común el anhelo por el encanto perdido de Nueva York. La nostalgia, el desencanto y la imposibilidad de cumplir los sueños se cuelan en cada historia.
En “Peligros como estos”, mientras sus diferencias se van haciendo insostenibles, una pareja de amigos que comparten un pequeño departamento se enfrenta a la realidad de que vivir en Nueva York es mucho más difícil de lo que esperaban. En “Cómo era verse con Chris”, una preadolescente se enamora de un hombre problemático que además es por lo menos quince años mayor que ella. En “El robo”, un grupo de amigos se reúne a cenar y comentan el robo que sufrieron los vecinos, revelando la desconfianza y el racismo que se esconden detrás de su aparente ingenuidad y sus buenas intenciones. “Sirenas” (mi favorito del libro) cuenta, desde la perspectiva de una niña, su viaje a Nueva York acompañando a una chica que no le cae bien, su hermanita y su padre, relatando desde su inocencia el desmoronamiento de una familia. “La venganza de los dinosaurios” muestra la tensión dos hermanos ante las crecientes dificultades de seguir pagando por los cuidados que necesita su abuela anciana y enferma. “El crepúsculo de los superhéroes” enfrenta la nostalgia de la Nueva York del pasado que refugiaba a la gente que huía de la Europa de entreguerras con la que quedó después del atentado contra las torres gemelas del 11 de septiembre.
Aunque los seis cuentos son buenos, no son los que más me gustaron de Eisenberg, pero de todos modos dejan ver que es una escritora brillante. Sus diálogos están cargados de tensión y tienen un toque sutil de humor que los hace irresistibles, sus personajes se hacen entrañables, como si fuesen amigos cercanos, desde las primeras páginas.
En “Peligros como estos”, mientras sus diferencias se van haciendo insostenibles, una pareja de amigos que comparten un pequeño departamento se enfrenta a la realidad de que vivir en Nueva York es mucho más difícil de lo que esperaban. En “Cómo era verse con Chris”, una preadolescente se enamora de un hombre problemático que además es por lo menos quince años mayor que ella. En “El robo”, un grupo de amigos se reúne a cenar y comentan el robo que sufrieron los vecinos, revelando la desconfianza y el racismo que se esconden detrás de su aparente ingenuidad y sus buenas intenciones. “Sirenas” (mi favorito del libro) cuenta, desde la perspectiva de una niña, su viaje a Nueva York acompañando a una chica que no le cae bien, su hermanita y su padre, relatando desde su inocencia el desmoronamiento de una familia. “La venganza de los dinosaurios” muestra la tensión dos hermanos ante las crecientes dificultades de seguir pagando por los cuidados que necesita su abuela anciana y enferma. “El crepúsculo de los superhéroes” enfrenta la nostalgia de la Nueva York del pasado que refugiaba a la gente que huía de la Europa de entreguerras con la que quedó después del atentado contra las torres gemelas del 11 de septiembre.
Aunque los seis cuentos son buenos, no son los que más me gustaron de Eisenberg, pero de todos modos dejan ver que es una escritora brillante. Sus diálogos están cargados de tensión y tienen un toque sutil de humor que los hace irresistibles, sus personajes se hacen entrañables, como si fuesen amigos cercanos, desde las primeras páginas.
November 27, 2010
When people say that they don't read short stories because they want more character development, these are the stories to point them towards. Every character is fully human, with human hopes and baggage frailties. But if they say also that they don't read short stories because not enough happens, well, this book won't change their minds. Most of the plots in this book read like an anecdote about a friend that you might relate to another friend. "She went to New York to be with her family after her grandmother's stroke, and her family was just awful about the whole thing." You might add a few details, but there isn't much more to say. Eisenberg paints that scene and others in painstaking detail and beautiful prose, but I'm not entirely sure I cared to go on all of these journeys. The story I had already read, "Some Other, Better Otto," was my favorite.
February 22, 2017
Where has Deborah Eisenberg been all my life? Or maybe I should ask, how did I miss her?
I picked this volume of short stories on a lark, as I was leaving the library, and what with the lurid cover, and especially after I had read a few of the negative reviews, did not anticipate their brilliance. In fact, I kept thinking that it was a fluke that I loved one, two three. well all of the stories except for the last one.
Everything that happens is out there waiting for you p133
to be continued
I picked this volume of short stories on a lark, as I was leaving the library, and what with the lurid cover, and especially after I had read a few of the negative reviews, did not anticipate their brilliance. In fact, I kept thinking that it was a fluke that I loved one, two three. well all of the stories except for the last one.
Everything that happens is out there waiting for you p133
to be continued
December 6, 2020
Most of these stories have an ensemble cast of oddly named people, which hardly ever works. Harold Brodkey's "Bookkeeping" is the best example I know of how to pull it off: lots of short speeches with interruptions, breakaway-couple conversations, frequent comparisons of one character to another. Eisenberg drops half a dozen names in a paragraph, then has them chitchat, never describes them or compares them to one another. The exceptions are "Some Other, Better Otto" and "Like It or Not," both wonderful. The title story is midcult-kitsch about 9/11.
December 28, 2025
Los relatos de Deborah te acompañan, te llevan de la mano durante el largo camino. Espectaculares, amplios pero concisos en lo que se quiere contar. Me faltó el último, que me lo dejo para cuando lo pueda saborear mejor, porque con este libro pasa eso, necesitas releer para poder descubrir todas las facetas de una misma historia.
September 23, 2025
No es el tipo de relatos que suelo leer, pero aparte de eso, tengo la sensación de que de haberlos leído en versión original podría haberlos disfrutado más (¿?). Vi algunas incoherencias en la traducción y en la edición del libro (defecto profesional, supongo) y se me hizo un poco pesado terminarlo.
September 4, 2007
Okay, I've now finished the book and I have to say that while it did get a little better, it wasn't by much.
The first story is AWFUL. She lectures you on things you already know, repeats the same crap over and over, and while the disjointed sections didn't really bother me, they didn't really add up to anything for me. It just seems like the story was pretty pointless. Unless the point was that after 9/11 we're just totally adrift. Maybe in the year or so afterwards it felt like that, but I don't think that's a prominent feeling anymore. Most people have moved on. So I don't think this story really holds up.
The second story, "Some Other, Better Otto," is almost definitely the best of the six, but that's not saying a whole lot. I somewhat liked the characters, but it's not very well developed at all, and the writing is still pretty atrocious. And again, it didn't really say much. But the idea I think she was going for was pretty good, and, like I said, I liked the relationship between Otto and his sister.
"Like It or Not" was going okay until suddenly she veered off from the lead character completely and shoved me inside the head of the old guy she was traveling with, a guy who then proceeded to have an affair with a teenage girl. If there was a point to this story, it was completely lost on me.
"Window" was okay. Not the worst of the bunch, but with a lackluster ending and a story that didn't really say a whole lot. Like I said before, some of her writing reads like something you'd get in a college writing class. This one is a great example. It's a story...but it just feels like a story for the sake of a story.
"Revenge of the Dinosaurs" was completely annoying. So much preaching. So much drama. So little ACTUALLY HAPPENING. NOTHING HAPPENS IN THIS STORY. They talk. They watch TV. They criticize. And then she stops writing. This one maybe gets my vote for worst of the bunch.
And, last, but not least (see directly above), "The Flaw in the Design." This one sort of has a conflict (the son and father, corporate greed vs. liberal thinking), but the character you see it through is almost completely irrelevant to the conflict (the mom). And then she has an affair which is supposed to be important for some reason? Because that's how the story is framed. But there's nothing in the story about her motivation to do that (other than her whiney family) and nothing about her guilt or pleasure in having this secret. So it felt pretty tacked on.
Actually, most of her stories have a very liberal slant. Mostly it just comes off as either preaching or "OMG LOOK HOW LIBERAL I AM! I USED GAY PEOPLE IN THREE OF MY STORIES! I HATE BUSH!" But at the same time, none of her liberal characters come off all that well, and most of them are really struggling in a world that Eisenberg seems to see as more conservative, more greedy, and more confusing than ever. Those elements are probably a large part of what made the book appeal to so many people. Well, that and the whole 9/11 aspect.
But, as I said, they're not well developed and often derail into preaching (if, as Kenney would argue, they were ever on the rails at all). But they did get me thinking about some things independently of the writing, and *MOST* of the stories managed to hold my attention. And it's a pretty quick read, so that's always a plus. So my final evaluation is a 2 out of 5.
The first story is AWFUL. She lectures you on things you already know, repeats the same crap over and over, and while the disjointed sections didn't really bother me, they didn't really add up to anything for me. It just seems like the story was pretty pointless. Unless the point was that after 9/11 we're just totally adrift. Maybe in the year or so afterwards it felt like that, but I don't think that's a prominent feeling anymore. Most people have moved on. So I don't think this story really holds up.
The second story, "Some Other, Better Otto," is almost definitely the best of the six, but that's not saying a whole lot. I somewhat liked the characters, but it's not very well developed at all, and the writing is still pretty atrocious. And again, it didn't really say much. But the idea I think she was going for was pretty good, and, like I said, I liked the relationship between Otto and his sister.
"Like It or Not" was going okay until suddenly she veered off from the lead character completely and shoved me inside the head of the old guy she was traveling with, a guy who then proceeded to have an affair with a teenage girl. If there was a point to this story, it was completely lost on me.
"Window" was okay. Not the worst of the bunch, but with a lackluster ending and a story that didn't really say a whole lot. Like I said before, some of her writing reads like something you'd get in a college writing class. This one is a great example. It's a story...but it just feels like a story for the sake of a story.
"Revenge of the Dinosaurs" was completely annoying. So much preaching. So much drama. So little ACTUALLY HAPPENING. NOTHING HAPPENS IN THIS STORY. They talk. They watch TV. They criticize. And then she stops writing. This one maybe gets my vote for worst of the bunch.
And, last, but not least (see directly above), "The Flaw in the Design." This one sort of has a conflict (the son and father, corporate greed vs. liberal thinking), but the character you see it through is almost completely irrelevant to the conflict (the mom). And then she has an affair which is supposed to be important for some reason? Because that's how the story is framed. But there's nothing in the story about her motivation to do that (other than her whiney family) and nothing about her guilt or pleasure in having this secret. So it felt pretty tacked on.
Actually, most of her stories have a very liberal slant. Mostly it just comes off as either preaching or "OMG LOOK HOW LIBERAL I AM! I USED GAY PEOPLE IN THREE OF MY STORIES! I HATE BUSH!" But at the same time, none of her liberal characters come off all that well, and most of them are really struggling in a world that Eisenberg seems to see as more conservative, more greedy, and more confusing than ever. Those elements are probably a large part of what made the book appeal to so many people. Well, that and the whole 9/11 aspect.
But, as I said, they're not well developed and often derail into preaching (if, as Kenney would argue, they were ever on the rails at all). But they did get me thinking about some things independently of the writing, and *MOST* of the stories managed to hold my attention. And it's a pretty quick read, so that's always a plus. So my final evaluation is a 2 out of 5.
December 21, 2007
I may just have to give up on reading short stories. Every so often, I am seduced anew by the breathless, hagiographic blurbs on the cover of the latest hip author's contribution to the genre, to the point where I actually allow myself to believe that the book in question really will be "exhaustingly fascinating", "spirited and masterly", the next {Jim Shepard, Alice Munro, Chekhov, Lorrie Moore, John Cheever.....}. Hope springs eternal.
Yet somehow, things never quite turn out as promised. Usually, there will be no more than two or three good stories, nestled in the padding of half a dozen or so truly mediocre efforts. In vain I search for that promised window into the American soul, only to come away empty-handed yet again. Well, that may not be totaly fair; typically, each new collection affords further corroboration that:
America's short-story writers continue to be unduly preoccupied with depression
Self-absorbed, whiny characters are not necessarily interesting; if allowed to dominate the story, they may eventually alienate the reader
A skilled author should be able to convince the reader to care about the fate of even the most obnoxious characters. Deborah Eisenberg doesn't really succeed in doing so; as a result, her stories don't pack that much of an emotional punch. based on this collection, she falls squarely in the middle of the pack. There are just six stories in the book - only one ("Like it or not") was outstanding. Two of the remaning stories were reasonably enjoyable, and one was innocuous (albeit completely banal). The remaining two were just unpleasant (containing the stock set of self-absorbed solipsists and dysfunctional family members, nursing their grudges and sniping at one another throughout). The extravagant praise lavished on this book seems completely unwarranted to me. With only one story exceptional story our of six, it is hard to justify recommending it to other goodreads members.
Yet somehow, things never quite turn out as promised. Usually, there will be no more than two or three good stories, nestled in the padding of half a dozen or so truly mediocre efforts. In vain I search for that promised window into the American soul, only to come away empty-handed yet again. Well, that may not be totaly fair; typically, each new collection affords further corroboration that:
America's short-story writers continue to be unduly preoccupied with depression
Self-absorbed, whiny characters are not necessarily interesting; if allowed to dominate the story, they may eventually alienate the reader
A skilled author should be able to convince the reader to care about the fate of even the most obnoxious characters. Deborah Eisenberg doesn't really succeed in doing so; as a result, her stories don't pack that much of an emotional punch. based on this collection, she falls squarely in the middle of the pack. There are just six stories in the book - only one ("Like it or not") was outstanding. Two of the remaning stories were reasonably enjoyable, and one was innocuous (albeit completely banal). The remaining two were just unpleasant (containing the stock set of self-absorbed solipsists and dysfunctional family members, nursing their grudges and sniping at one another throughout). The extravagant praise lavished on this book seems completely unwarranted to me. With only one story exceptional story our of six, it is hard to justify recommending it to other goodreads members.
December 13, 2012
picked up from library Saturday, read title story last night - reaction to witnessing 9/11, pretty good... and they get better, but maybe it's just me getting accustomed to her style.
for once I agree with the quote on the cover: 'concentrated bursts of perfection'.
more later.. (hopefully)
Clare, my wife, read this after me and she said she enjoyed the beginnings of all the stories and some (Like it or Not) all the way through, but found the rest tailed off into 'wankery'. That is people talking about what life means etc., philosophy, pretentiousness (Poor old Earth, an old sponge, a honeycomb of empty mine shafts and dried wells) or just going off the point. I found a little of that but didn't mind it so much, in fact by the end I was enjoying the wankery. 'spart of life ennit? I just think she's a writer who can catch moments and make you turn aside and wonder now and again. I may have over-starred her here, but at the time, when I put the book down that's what I felt. I think the test if you'd like it or not is this passage (I loved it but Clare thumbed her nose at it and then gave it the Vs - British for 'this is shite'). The protagonist remembers overhearing her parents saying that she is afraid of reality, immature, lazy and confused:
Well, that was a long,long time ago, of course, but I still remember feeling kind of sick and how quiet it was. It was so quiet I could hear the foliage in the painting rustle and the silvery dust particles clashing together.
for once I agree with the quote on the cover: 'concentrated bursts of perfection'.
more later.. (hopefully)
Clare, my wife, read this after me and she said she enjoyed the beginnings of all the stories and some (Like it or Not) all the way through, but found the rest tailed off into 'wankery'. That is people talking about what life means etc., philosophy, pretentiousness (Poor old Earth, an old sponge, a honeycomb of empty mine shafts and dried wells) or just going off the point. I found a little of that but didn't mind it so much, in fact by the end I was enjoying the wankery. 'spart of life ennit? I just think she's a writer who can catch moments and make you turn aside and wonder now and again. I may have over-starred her here, but at the time, when I put the book down that's what I felt. I think the test if you'd like it or not is this passage (I loved it but Clare thumbed her nose at it and then gave it the Vs - British for 'this is shite'). The protagonist remembers overhearing her parents saying that she is afraid of reality, immature, lazy and confused:
Well, that was a long,long time ago, of course, but I still remember feeling kind of sick and how quiet it was. It was so quiet I could hear the foliage in the painting rustle and the silvery dust particles clashing together.
November 13, 2009
Blech!
I tried to muddle through this collection, but it was difficult. I had no idea what the author was talking about half the time. I couldn't figure out if she just had ADHD or I had an attention deficit disorder of my own. Take, for example, the following passage from the title story
"And actually, Russell (who seems to be not only Amity’s friend and possible suitor but also her agent) has obtained for Amity a whopping big advance from some outfit that Madison refers to as Cheeseball Editions, so whatever else they might all be drinking to (or drinking about) naturally Amity’s celebrating a bit. And Russell, recently arrived from L.A., cannot suppress his ecstasy about how ur New York, as he puts it, Mr. Matsumoto’s loft is, tactless as he apparently recognizes this untimely ecstasy to be."
Granted, you may not know who Russell, Madison, Amity, and Mr. Matsumoto are. You don't know the setting. You have no context. Neither did I. Every passage leading up to this was quite the same. Names, places, more names, and phrases that just seemed to run on and make no sense. If you read the passage above, understood it, and enjoyed it, then you should probably buy this book as quickly as possible and never read another of my reviews again. Please.
The only story that had any redeeming qualities was "Some Other, Better Otto." It wasn't the most compelling story, but it made sense. Otherwise, I really felt like I wasted my time on this one.
I tried to muddle through this collection, but it was difficult. I had no idea what the author was talking about half the time. I couldn't figure out if she just had ADHD or I had an attention deficit disorder of my own. Take, for example, the following passage from the title story
"And actually, Russell (who seems to be not only Amity’s friend and possible suitor but also her agent) has obtained for Amity a whopping big advance from some outfit that Madison refers to as Cheeseball Editions, so whatever else they might all be drinking to (or drinking about) naturally Amity’s celebrating a bit. And Russell, recently arrived from L.A., cannot suppress his ecstasy about how ur New York, as he puts it, Mr. Matsumoto’s loft is, tactless as he apparently recognizes this untimely ecstasy to be."
Granted, you may not know who Russell, Madison, Amity, and Mr. Matsumoto are. You don't know the setting. You have no context. Neither did I. Every passage leading up to this was quite the same. Names, places, more names, and phrases that just seemed to run on and make no sense. If you read the passage above, understood it, and enjoyed it, then you should probably buy this book as quickly as possible and never read another of my reviews again. Please.
The only story that had any redeeming qualities was "Some Other, Better Otto." It wasn't the most compelling story, but it made sense. Otherwise, I really felt like I wasted my time on this one.
January 12, 2024
No conocía a esta escritora estadounidense, pero he tenido gratas sorpresas con los libros publicados ppr Chai Editora, cuya colección está dirigida por el notable escritor Federico Falco.
Este libro reúne seis relatos bastante interesantes y bien logrados. En lo personal, me gustó mucho "Cómo era verse con Chris", narrado por un adolescente que rompe el cascarón familiar, transgrediendo ciertas normas y convenciones, en una arriesgada búsqueda de afecto y autoafirmación.
Los relatos desarrollan situaciones realistas y cotidianas donde los personajes se enfrentan a sí mismos y a los demás, con una suma de sentimientos encontrados, dilemas y decisiones que tienden a pasar revista al pasado para entender cómo se llegó hasta ahí.
La autora se suma a la potente tradición de cuentistas estadounidenses contemporáneos que logran abordar con mirada crítica y reveladora de conflictos humanos propios de esta época, donde todos podemos sentirnos identificados o representados en cierta medida.
Este libro reúne seis relatos bastante interesantes y bien logrados. En lo personal, me gustó mucho "Cómo era verse con Chris", narrado por un adolescente que rompe el cascarón familiar, transgrediendo ciertas normas y convenciones, en una arriesgada búsqueda de afecto y autoafirmación.
Los relatos desarrollan situaciones realistas y cotidianas donde los personajes se enfrentan a sí mismos y a los demás, con una suma de sentimientos encontrados, dilemas y decisiones que tienden a pasar revista al pasado para entender cómo se llegó hasta ahí.
La autora se suma a la potente tradición de cuentistas estadounidenses contemporáneos que logran abordar con mirada crítica y reveladora de conflictos humanos propios de esta época, donde todos podemos sentirnos identificados o representados en cierta medida.
April 4, 2007
"The dining room was an aerie, a bower, hung with a playful lattice of garlands. Its white tile floors were adorned with painted baskets of fruit, and there were real ones scattered here and there on stands. But even as the waiters glided by with trays of glossy roasted vegetables and platters of fish, even while Harry took it upon himself to order for her, knowledgeably and solicitously, Kate felt tainted. Despite the room's conceit that eating was a pastime for elves and fairies, Mrs. Reitz's carnality had disclosed the truth: this aggregation of hairy vertebrates, scrubbed, scented, prancing around on hind legs, was ruthlessly bent on physical gratifications—tactile, visual, gustatory, genital... The candles! The flowers! A trough providing mass feedings would be less pornographic."
January 17, 2010
My frustration with these stories comes from feeling, as a reader, that I simply was not clever enough to understand the subtext in at least half of them. I wanted so much to know what was going on but I just wasn't getting enough information. Several were clearly influenced by the events of 9/11. I saw this on a list of some of the best books of the decade (2000-2009) but I'm not sure I'd recommend these stories.
March 22, 2024
1. Twilight of the Superheroes:
Jumping back and forth and back and forth between my past and my future, I try to find the difference. Did I leave my dream and enter the real world or was it the other way around? We all have superpowers, they just might fade over time, or even right away. Regardless, I'm afraid for my life. I feel like I'm being targeted or something. Aren't we lucky to be here and now? To have the space to dream? But what if the dream is destroyed as we dream it? Might as well lay down on the couch.
2. Some Other, Better Otto
My lord, what a delicate and loving story. The riddle of the family. The fact of being alone, of everybody being alone. It's intoxicating and convincing, this loneliness. It allows us to hate others and then hate ourselves even more. Why wouldn't I want to be alone? Why do I deserve company or people who love me? But then one loves. One finds themselves unable to resist caring, even in the midst of so much nothingness and misery. Otto doubts his mind and his spirit, but we are reading his metaphors, his expression of the insoluble pain of his existence, and we can see what he denies: that he does not ruin the lives of those he loves just by being himself, that no one is expecting him to be anything more.
3. Like It Or Not
That little shift near the end really makes the whole thing spin, doesn't it. A somewhat unremarkable trip to a European coast gives time for rumination and reflection. One is lonely, one has been cast aside more than once for things out of their control. Suddenly, all the signs of an opportunity arise. But the opportunity, while remaining ever-present, fades into the background as the soul begins to take precedence over the body. Another story about seeing the value in one's life, seeing it as part of a network of identities rather than a hierarchy of status. One focuses on their soul while the rest chase each other's bodies.
4. Window
A thriller in the midst of a lot of drama! Lots of movement and change and desire for change, then the actual occurrence of change, followed by a feeling of regret and a new desire to go back, but then the fact of reality asserts itself: there is no turning back. So, one has to make do and work with the present they're given. Another story filled with the shadows of our present day, this time with gun violence and domestic abuse. Always, these matters are explored through means other than gratuitous display or ostentatious hand wringing. Another story where someone wants to be more like someone they love.
5. Revenge of the Dinosaurs
My favorite story, so I'll say the least about it! The quietest of them all, maybe the most profound. Childhood, adulthood, middle age, and old age all sit in the same room and watch the television. Old age sits there and speaks in a cryptic whimper. Childhood sits nearby and tries to humor old age. Middle age and adulthood speak in the other room, worrying about old age and childhood, worrying about themselves, worrying about each other. The television is always playing something different. One of two stories here narrated in first person.
6. The Flaw in the Design
Quietly loud, certainly vague, manically depressive. There are about 3 or 4 different streams converging here, each one with a distinct salinity and variety of flora and fauna. You spend enough time looking at one or two of them, you forget that the others exist, that they are always there and forever connected with the limited window that you see. We're all just trying to justify the day that came before, and that means justifying the day that came before that one, and before the one before that one, and so on. It's all very tiring, but maybe we're hardwired for it. With most, it just comes out in tears or wails, an inability to accept one's load. But we're always trying, and we like to help each other out sometimes. We also have a nasty habit of doing hurtful things.
Jumping back and forth and back and forth between my past and my future, I try to find the difference. Did I leave my dream and enter the real world or was it the other way around? We all have superpowers, they just might fade over time, or even right away. Regardless, I'm afraid for my life. I feel like I'm being targeted or something. Aren't we lucky to be here and now? To have the space to dream? But what if the dream is destroyed as we dream it? Might as well lay down on the couch.
2. Some Other, Better Otto
My lord, what a delicate and loving story. The riddle of the family. The fact of being alone, of everybody being alone. It's intoxicating and convincing, this loneliness. It allows us to hate others and then hate ourselves even more. Why wouldn't I want to be alone? Why do I deserve company or people who love me? But then one loves. One finds themselves unable to resist caring, even in the midst of so much nothingness and misery. Otto doubts his mind and his spirit, but we are reading his metaphors, his expression of the insoluble pain of his existence, and we can see what he denies: that he does not ruin the lives of those he loves just by being himself, that no one is expecting him to be anything more.
3. Like It Or Not
That little shift near the end really makes the whole thing spin, doesn't it. A somewhat unremarkable trip to a European coast gives time for rumination and reflection. One is lonely, one has been cast aside more than once for things out of their control. Suddenly, all the signs of an opportunity arise. But the opportunity, while remaining ever-present, fades into the background as the soul begins to take precedence over the body. Another story about seeing the value in one's life, seeing it as part of a network of identities rather than a hierarchy of status. One focuses on their soul while the rest chase each other's bodies.
4. Window
A thriller in the midst of a lot of drama! Lots of movement and change and desire for change, then the actual occurrence of change, followed by a feeling of regret and a new desire to go back, but then the fact of reality asserts itself: there is no turning back. So, one has to make do and work with the present they're given. Another story filled with the shadows of our present day, this time with gun violence and domestic abuse. Always, these matters are explored through means other than gratuitous display or ostentatious hand wringing. Another story where someone wants to be more like someone they love.
5. Revenge of the Dinosaurs
My favorite story, so I'll say the least about it! The quietest of them all, maybe the most profound. Childhood, adulthood, middle age, and old age all sit in the same room and watch the television. Old age sits there and speaks in a cryptic whimper. Childhood sits nearby and tries to humor old age. Middle age and adulthood speak in the other room, worrying about old age and childhood, worrying about themselves, worrying about each other. The television is always playing something different. One of two stories here narrated in first person.
6. The Flaw in the Design
Quietly loud, certainly vague, manically depressive. There are about 3 or 4 different streams converging here, each one with a distinct salinity and variety of flora and fauna. You spend enough time looking at one or two of them, you forget that the others exist, that they are always there and forever connected with the limited window that you see. We're all just trying to justify the day that came before, and that means justifying the day that came before that one, and before the one before that one, and so on. It's all very tiring, but maybe we're hardwired for it. With most, it just comes out in tears or wails, an inability to accept one's load. But we're always trying, and we like to help each other out sometimes. We also have a nasty habit of doing hurtful things.
September 9, 2021
This place is nothing now but a small-minded, mean-spirited, provincial little town - says one character to another, apropos of NYC and the US. Which is sadly the case 15 years from when the book was published, and 20 years from when the book was set. This should have been a good book to read around 9/11's 20 year anniversary, the year the war in Afghanistan has finally ended (crossed fingers) but it wasn't. It was just a confused, confusing collection of short stories that pitted irrelevant human drama against 9/11 occasionally - maybe I missed the larger point, but the book could have certainly tried harder.
Two stories made me actively mad - Like It Or Not, which had a pedophile in it who not only does not get caught, but there's also a Lolita like girl in it who actively seduces him. Blech. Can we please not? It wasn't even this guy's story to begin with. The Flaw in the Design has a psychopath teenager who says he will shoot up someone's classrooms and the dad is concerned and the mom shrugs her shoulders that he will not take his meds, oh what shall I do, because I'd rather go sleep with some rando instead. I cannot take this juxtaposition, I just cannot.
There was one story that had some plot - Windows. But even that, I could have lived without ever reading.
Two stories made me actively mad - Like It Or Not, which had a pedophile in it who not only does not get caught, but there's also a Lolita like girl in it who actively seduces him. Blech. Can we please not? It wasn't even this guy's story to begin with. The Flaw in the Design has a psychopath teenager who says he will shoot up someone's classrooms and the dad is concerned and the mom shrugs her shoulders that he will not take his meds, oh what shall I do, because I'd rather go sleep with some rando instead. I cannot take this juxtaposition, I just cannot.
There was one story that had some plot - Windows. But even that, I could have lived without ever reading.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
October 13, 2023
While these stories are written in that contemporary style considered to be "good" writing these days, I find myself more and more hostile to this clean, unobtrusive prose that wastes no time in exposition or scene setting and gets right into a story of middle class people and their middle class problems. Oddly, although we find exposition quaint and obtrusive, I find I spend more time struggling to figure out where I am than I would spend just reading exposition, so maybe its counter-productive in the long run. I dunno. I can see how good it is, but it's not for me. The only story that's stuck with me is "Window," but even that seemed rather forced and, in the end, pretty mundane--but it was a lot more interesting than the others.
October 18, 2021
“The Flaw in the Design” is, I think, one of her best stories; “Window” is another standout.
February 8, 2013
The structure of the stories is quite unusual to me, Deborah Eisenberg isn't much concerned with the traditional structure. Her stories are very intimate and sudden, as life itself. She ponders problems, inner crises and unspoken feelings of small people.
The stories are in some ways distinctly american, but when one continues reading the gentle tapestry of the sorrows, breakdowns and losses transcends nationality. These stories are very vividly and gently human. They are about all of us, even the structure of the stories is lifelike. Nothing happens in a linear fashion, from start to end. Sometimes, it takes concentration to actually understand when this is going on..
It is a very sad and a very beautifully written collection of short stories. They left a strong impression on me. And, despite all the sadness there is hope. There always is hope.
Some quotes from the book
It was as if there had been a curtain, a curtain painted with the map of the earth, its oceans and continents, with Lucien’s delightful city. The planes struck, tearing through the curtain of that blue September morning, exposing the dark world that lay right behind it, of populations ruthlessly exploited, inflamed with hatred, and tired of waiting for change to happen by.
The wars in the East were hidden behind a thicket of language: patriotism, democracy, loyalty, freedom—the words bounced around, changing purpose, as if they were made out of some funny plastic. What did they actually refer to? It seemed that they all might refer to money.
You couldn’t feel love once it was gone. What you could feel for a long time was the sorrow of its fading, like the burning afterimage of a setting sun. And then that was gone, too. What she would remember for the rest of her life was the fact, at least, of the shocking pain they’d been forced to inflict on one another. Eventually when they’d touched, it was like touching a wound.
Kate contemplated him as he talked decoratively on. One had to acknowledge, even admire, such energy, so strong a will to enjoy, to entertain, even if, as was clearly the case, it was only to entertain himself.
“I never get used to anything—” Kate was startled by her own slightly swaggering tone. “I mean, except for the things that aren’t happening any longer.”
I had my secretary specifically request the view They swore she never did, but a people which is known for its charm is not often known also for its honesty
Harry sipped a cognac and regarded them with melancholy affection. They were still young, almost young. For an instant he could see, as if it were incandescently mapped, the path of years that lay ahead of each of them, its particular sorrows, joys, terrors …
It’s pretty clear, he was saying, the things people know about each other in an instant are the important things. But all right, let’s say the important things aren’t everything. Let’s say the unimportant things count, too—even a lot. The point is, though, we can spend as long as we like learning those unimportant things about each other. We can spend years, if we want, or we can spend a few hours. If you want, I can bring you back here tomorrow We can say goodbye now, if you want.
It’s incredible, I can’t ever quite wrap my head around it—that each life is amazingly abundant, no matter what, and every moment of experience is so intense. But so little evidence of that exists outside the living body! Billions of intense, abundant human lives on this earth, Nana’s among them, vanishing. Leaving nothing more than inscrutable little piles of commemorative trash.
The stories are in some ways distinctly american, but when one continues reading the gentle tapestry of the sorrows, breakdowns and losses transcends nationality. These stories are very vividly and gently human. They are about all of us, even the structure of the stories is lifelike. Nothing happens in a linear fashion, from start to end. Sometimes, it takes concentration to actually understand when this is going on..
It is a very sad and a very beautifully written collection of short stories. They left a strong impression on me. And, despite all the sadness there is hope. There always is hope.
Some quotes from the book
It was as if there had been a curtain, a curtain painted with the map of the earth, its oceans and continents, with Lucien’s delightful city. The planes struck, tearing through the curtain of that blue September morning, exposing the dark world that lay right behind it, of populations ruthlessly exploited, inflamed with hatred, and tired of waiting for change to happen by.
The wars in the East were hidden behind a thicket of language: patriotism, democracy, loyalty, freedom—the words bounced around, changing purpose, as if they were made out of some funny plastic. What did they actually refer to? It seemed that they all might refer to money.
You couldn’t feel love once it was gone. What you could feel for a long time was the sorrow of its fading, like the burning afterimage of a setting sun. And then that was gone, too. What she would remember for the rest of her life was the fact, at least, of the shocking pain they’d been forced to inflict on one another. Eventually when they’d touched, it was like touching a wound.
Kate contemplated him as he talked decoratively on. One had to acknowledge, even admire, such energy, so strong a will to enjoy, to entertain, even if, as was clearly the case, it was only to entertain himself.
“I never get used to anything—” Kate was startled by her own slightly swaggering tone. “I mean, except for the things that aren’t happening any longer.”
I had my secretary specifically request the view They swore she never did, but a people which is known for its charm is not often known also for its honesty
Harry sipped a cognac and regarded them with melancholy affection. They were still young, almost young. For an instant he could see, as if it were incandescently mapped, the path of years that lay ahead of each of them, its particular sorrows, joys, terrors …
It’s pretty clear, he was saying, the things people know about each other in an instant are the important things. But all right, let’s say the important things aren’t everything. Let’s say the unimportant things count, too—even a lot. The point is, though, we can spend as long as we like learning those unimportant things about each other. We can spend years, if we want, or we can spend a few hours. If you want, I can bring you back here tomorrow We can say goodbye now, if you want.
It’s incredible, I can’t ever quite wrap my head around it—that each life is amazingly abundant, no matter what, and every moment of experience is so intense. But so little evidence of that exists outside the living body! Billions of intense, abundant human lives on this earth, Nana’s among them, vanishing. Leaving nothing more than inscrutable little piles of commemorative trash.
July 14, 2024
This is the first time I've tried reading Deborah Eisenberg and I'm simultaneously impressed by her non-linear narrative as much as bothered by it.
This narrative device of moving back and forth between the present and the past is most evident in the titular story about a bunch of young adults whose lives converge at a Manhattan loft. Their fortunes reflect the magnificent view of the vibrant city and also plunge as the twin towers collapse on 9/11.
In each of the six stories in this collection, an ambivalent main character is presented. We have the intense, loving brother in 'Some other, better Otto', the school-marmish Kate in the company of a suave, debonair foreign gentleman in suitably romantic settings of old churches and museums in 'Like it or not', the naive and ditzy Kristina who finds herself saddled with a mysterious free-spirited lover's young son in 'Window', and the wife/mother coping with geographical as well as emotional displacement in 'Flaw in the Design' who turns to adultery for solace.
Perhaps the appeal for some readers would be that none of these characters are perfect and therefore real. However, at times these characters grate on my nerves simply because they are so contrary. Otto, while coping with a schizophrenic sister whom he adores, seems unnecessarily hostile to his patient lover, William, and patronisingly scathing towards his other siblings and their families. While humorous and witty, these exchanges tend to be too smart-assed and show up qualities of the characters that fail to attract this reader. Other characters like the abused Kristina in 'Window' and Lulu in 'Revenge of the Dinosaurs' drop in on friends (possibly unannounced) and are visibly annoyed when they find out that they are not the centre of the universe when their friends tend to their routine lives and arguments.
Fine writing, though just a tad unsettling for its refusing to stay in the moment long enough for the reader to feel involved before it moves into another time zone in the narrative.
This narrative device of moving back and forth between the present and the past is most evident in the titular story about a bunch of young adults whose lives converge at a Manhattan loft. Their fortunes reflect the magnificent view of the vibrant city and also plunge as the twin towers collapse on 9/11.
In each of the six stories in this collection, an ambivalent main character is presented. We have the intense, loving brother in 'Some other, better Otto', the school-marmish Kate in the company of a suave, debonair foreign gentleman in suitably romantic settings of old churches and museums in 'Like it or not', the naive and ditzy Kristina who finds herself saddled with a mysterious free-spirited lover's young son in 'Window', and the wife/mother coping with geographical as well as emotional displacement in 'Flaw in the Design' who turns to adultery for solace.
Perhaps the appeal for some readers would be that none of these characters are perfect and therefore real. However, at times these characters grate on my nerves simply because they are so contrary. Otto, while coping with a schizophrenic sister whom he adores, seems unnecessarily hostile to his patient lover, William, and patronisingly scathing towards his other siblings and their families. While humorous and witty, these exchanges tend to be too smart-assed and show up qualities of the characters that fail to attract this reader. Other characters like the abused Kristina in 'Window' and Lulu in 'Revenge of the Dinosaurs' drop in on friends (possibly unannounced) and are visibly annoyed when they find out that they are not the centre of the universe when their friends tend to their routine lives and arguments.
Fine writing, though just a tad unsettling for its refusing to stay in the moment long enough for the reader to feel involved before it moves into another time zone in the narrative.
August 20, 2021
Tremendous short story collection. This is the second time I’ve read it and it’s still spectacular. The family dynamics in “Some Other, Better Otto,” and to a slightly lesser degree “Revenge of the Dinosaurs” (lesser only because “Otto” is so amazing) are stunningly real and Eisenberg can create a dynamic character with a few lines (pay attention to Wesley in “Otto” and Peggy in “Dinosaurs”…heady stuff!). This collection is from the early 2000s and the impact of 9/11 and the after effects weigh heavily, particularly on the children who, in this collection, are often terrified or broken (read Portia in “Otto,” Melinda in “Dinosaurs,” and Oliver in “The Flaw in the Design”)…tell me if you can read them and not feel gutted. Go ahead. I’ll wait. The story that jumped at me this time, though, was “Like It or Not.” The language used is as ornate and showy as the wealthy Europeans it depicts (the narrator’s vain friend Giovanna and Harry the “art” dealer), which mirrors the decadence this story is about, but it’s the brave jump in point of view to Harry in the last third of the story, and the revelation of his disturbing relationship to Mrs. Reitz (note the name choice here) and her underage daughter that creates a tension that drives the story, quite unexpectedly, far away from where you think you’re going. It’s a bold choice and, really, it shouldn’t work, but it does as it circumvents our main character, Kate, a rather plain American teacher who thinks she may be on a date with Harry and who has lost her most recent lover to a much younger girl. Well, she loses out again here. The story is darker than the others here and, boy, does it linger. Fantastic writing. Ironically, for me, the title story is one of the weakest as it gets a bit too didactic for my taste and the story “Window” I still don’t get. It reads flat and cliched and that has to be intentional but darn if I can figure out why. But don’t let those deter you. This collection is an awesome achievement.
September 8, 2010
These stories deal with today, but more specifically, the "today" of four years ago. The title story is a gem, focussing on 20somethings whose nova like promise has begun to collapse even before the events of 9/11, for which they have an unfortunate front row seat. Shifting focus Eisenberg presents the preceding generation along with its shattered American dream of immigrants for their children and the transformation of New York into an "open wound." Eisenberg is able to compress entire histories into a single paragraph more economically amd fluidly than many writers. Like Alice Munro, she has made short fiction her forte, but she encompasses personal histories interwoven with momentous events whereas Munro tends to probe the human heart almost exclusively. Her depictions of conflicts between generations are not so much gaps as unbridgeable chasms which in many cases leave siblings gazing at each other across insurmountable differences they are baffled to reconcile. I look forward to reading other collections by this writer.
November 11, 2009
"By stripping away quotation marks and the informational fat that might provide obvious explanations, by thrusting readers into the middle of a conversation with characters we have yet to meet properly or playing hot potato with point of view, Eisenberg tests just how much can be left out before a story drowns in enigma." So says Ben Marcus in his effusive New York Times' review, and I don't know if this statement better captures exactly what I found dreary about this book, or the critical aesthetic that causes Ben Marcus to write books that are laughably abstract while being surprisingly repetitive.
June 1, 2007
The best of these stories — the title story and "Some Other, Better Otto" — are perfectly misshapen masterpieces chronicling The Way We Live Now. These are stories not only about the biggest questions of ethics and identity, but also about the processes by which we go about asking and answering such questions for ourselves.
A few of the stories lack the clarity and audacity of the collection's best, and occasionally Eisenberg's structural experimentation becomes frustrating or precious. Still worth your while, though.
A few of the stories lack the clarity and audacity of the collection's best, and occasionally Eisenberg's structural experimentation becomes frustrating or precious. Still worth your while, though.
August 17, 2007
I was disappointed by this book. I remember loving The Collected Stories of Deborah Eisenberg...So Far, and these stories didn't grab me the same way. They seemed to be *trying* to live up to a disaffected postmodern approach. Maybe I'm just not with it right now, but at some points I couldn't even figure out the abrupt time shifts. There were a few well-turned phrases, but not enough to make the book. Oh well.
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