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The Collected Stories of Lydia Davis
Lydia Davis is one of our most original and influential writers. She has been called “an American virtuoso of the short story form” (Salon) and “one of the quiet giants . . . of American fiction” (Los Angeles Times Book Review). Now, for the first time, Davis’s short stories will be collected in one volume, from the groundbreaking Break It Down (1986) to the 2007 National Book Award nominee Varieties of Disturbance.
The Collected Stories of Lydia Davis is an event in American letters.
The Collected Stories of Lydia Davis is an event in American letters.
733 pages, Hardcover
First published September 29, 2009
About the author
Lydia Davis
348 books1,202 followersLydia Davis, acclaimed fiction writer and translator, is famous in literary circles for her extremely brief and brilliantly inventive short stories. In fall 2003 she received one of 25 MacArthur Foundation “Genius” awards. In granting the award the MacArthur Foundation praised Davis’s work for showing “how language itself can entertain, how all that what one word says, and leaves unsaid, can hold a reader’s interest. . . . Davis grants readers a glimpse of life’s previously invisible details, revealing new sources of philosophical insights and beauty.” In 2013 She was the winner of the Man Booker International prize.
Davis’s recent collection, “Varieties of Disturbance” (May 2007), was featured on the front cover of the “Los Angeles Times Book Review” and garnered a starred review from “Publishers Weekly.” Her “Samuel Johnson Is Indignant” (2001) was praised by “Elle” magazine for its “Highly intelligent, wildly entertaining stories, bound by visionary, philosophical, comic prose—part Gertrude Stein, part Simone Weil, and pure Lydia Davis.”
Davis is also a celebrated translator of French literature into English. The French government named her a Chevalier of the Order of Arts and Letters for her fiction and her distinguished translations of works by Maurice Blanchot, Pierre Jean Jouve, Michel Butor and others.
Davis recently published a new translation (the first in more than 80 years) of Marcel Proust’s masterpiece, “Swann’s Way” (2003), the first volume of Proust’s “In Search of Lost Time.” A story of childhood and sexual jealousy set in fin de siecle France, “Swann’s Way” is widely regarded as one of the most important literary works of the 20th century.
The “Sunday Telegraph” (London) called the new translation “A triumph [that] will bring this inexhaustible artwork to new audiences throughout the English-speaking world.” Writing for the “Irish Times,” Frank Wynne said, “What soars in this new version is the simplicity of language and fidelity to the cambers of Proust’s prose… Davis’ translation is magnificent, precise.”
Davis’s previous works include “Almost No Memory” (stories, 1997), “The End of the Story” (novel, 1995), “Break It Down” (stories, 1986), “Story and Other Stories” (1983), and “The Thirteenth Woman” (stories, 1976).
Grace Paley wrote of “Almost No Memory” that Lydia Davis is the kind of writer who “makes you say, ‘Oh, at last!’—brains, language, energy, a playfulness with form, and what appears to be a generous nature.” The collection was chosen as one of the “25 Favorite Books of 1997” by the “Voice Literary Supplement” and one of the “100 Best Books of 1997” by the “Los Angeles Times.”
Davis first received serious critical attention for her collection of stories, “Break It Down,” which was selected as a finalist for the PEN/Hemingway Award. The book’s positive critical reception helped Davis win a prestigious Whiting Writer’s Award in 1988.
She is the daughter of Robert Gorham Davis and Hope Hale Davis. From 1974 to 1978 Davis was married to Paul Auster, with whom she has a son, Daniel Auster. Davis is currently married to painter Alan Cote, with whom she has a son, Theo Cote. She is a professor of creative writing at University at Albany, SUNY.
Davis is considered hugely influential by a generation of writers including Jonathan Franzen, David Foster Wallace and Dave Eggers, who once wrote that she "blows the roof off of so many of our assumptions about what constitutes short fiction."
Davis’s recent collection, “Varieties of Disturbance” (May 2007), was featured on the front cover of the “Los Angeles Times Book Review” and garnered a starred review from “Publishers Weekly.” Her “Samuel Johnson Is Indignant” (2001) was praised by “Elle” magazine for its “Highly intelligent, wildly entertaining stories, bound by visionary, philosophical, comic prose—part Gertrude Stein, part Simone Weil, and pure Lydia Davis.”
Davis is also a celebrated translator of French literature into English. The French government named her a Chevalier of the Order of Arts and Letters for her fiction and her distinguished translations of works by Maurice Blanchot, Pierre Jean Jouve, Michel Butor and others.
Davis recently published a new translation (the first in more than 80 years) of Marcel Proust’s masterpiece, “Swann’s Way” (2003), the first volume of Proust’s “In Search of Lost Time.” A story of childhood and sexual jealousy set in fin de siecle France, “Swann’s Way” is widely regarded as one of the most important literary works of the 20th century.
The “Sunday Telegraph” (London) called the new translation “A triumph [that] will bring this inexhaustible artwork to new audiences throughout the English-speaking world.” Writing for the “Irish Times,” Frank Wynne said, “What soars in this new version is the simplicity of language and fidelity to the cambers of Proust’s prose… Davis’ translation is magnificent, precise.”
Davis’s previous works include “Almost No Memory” (stories, 1997), “The End of the Story” (novel, 1995), “Break It Down” (stories, 1986), “Story and Other Stories” (1983), and “The Thirteenth Woman” (stories, 1976).
Grace Paley wrote of “Almost No Memory” that Lydia Davis is the kind of writer who “makes you say, ‘Oh, at last!’—brains, language, energy, a playfulness with form, and what appears to be a generous nature.” The collection was chosen as one of the “25 Favorite Books of 1997” by the “Voice Literary Supplement” and one of the “100 Best Books of 1997” by the “Los Angeles Times.”
Davis first received serious critical attention for her collection of stories, “Break It Down,” which was selected as a finalist for the PEN/Hemingway Award. The book’s positive critical reception helped Davis win a prestigious Whiting Writer’s Award in 1988.
She is the daughter of Robert Gorham Davis and Hope Hale Davis. From 1974 to 1978 Davis was married to Paul Auster, with whom she has a son, Daniel Auster. Davis is currently married to painter Alan Cote, with whom she has a son, Theo Cote. She is a professor of creative writing at University at Albany, SUNY.
Davis is considered hugely influential by a generation of writers including Jonathan Franzen, David Foster Wallace and Dave Eggers, who once wrote that she "blows the roof off of so many of our assumptions about what constitutes short fiction."
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 550 reviews
June 18, 2012
Lydia Davis shits out tiny nuggets of pure golden prose and says 'oh, this old thing?' This is 5 stars of brillance, and an extra star for the stories that will manifest in your mind as your imagination takes over to fill in the unmentioned and try to place the greater horizons of these characters circumstances.
Like her stories, I'm keeping this short. However, these stories will leave a long lasting impression. Highly recommended, especially for fans of flash-fiction and authors such as Amelia Gray.
Like her stories, I'm keeping this short. However, these stories will leave a long lasting impression. Highly recommended, especially for fans of flash-fiction and authors such as Amelia Gray.
August 21, 2014
I almost didn't want to tell anyone I was reading this because it blew my mind so hard that I'd almost prefer it to have been a dream or something. Let's just never mention it.
December 15, 2019
Muchos de estos relatos no tienen más de dos líneas, otros no sobrepasan el párrafo o no llenan más allá de una página. Más que cuentos parecen meditaciones en voz alta, haikus o aforismos en los que no hay trama ni escenario. En ocasiones no hay ni personajes.
Claro está, mi primera impresión fue de sorpresa, todo era muy novedoso para mí.
Claro está, mi primera impresión fue de sorpresa, todo era muy novedoso para mí.
“DESDE ABAJO, COMO VECINALa obra reúne más de doscientos relatos pertenecientes a cuatro libros (Desglose, Sin apenas memoria, Samuel Johnson se indigna y Variedades de perturbación). No todos son como los que arriba describo. También tiene cuentos más o menos al uso, con una extensión, digamos, normal en los que se cuentan historias de infelicidad, de confusión, de desamor, de pérdida de uno mismo o de otros, de frustración, y que también me encantaron. En ellos la autora mostraba toda esa magia que poseen los grandes escritores para elevar a lo más alto las vidas anodinas de la gente corriente o los actos más cotidianos o los pensamientos más comunes o vergonzantes para decirnos con ello algo que nos atañe de forma íntima a cada uno de nosotros y además hacerlo de forma distinta, certera y bella, e incluso, aunque todo lo que llevo escrito pueda predisponer a pensar lo contrario, divertida. Me atrajeron sus mil formas de retratar las mil formas de sentir la incomodidad que nos suponen los demás, la pareja y, casi siempre, uno mismo, su especialísimo estilo, la peculiaridad de sus planteamientos, la dureza de ciertas confesiones, la crudeza de ciertos pensamientos, la tristeza de ciertas acciones.
Si yo no fuera yo, y, como vecina, me oyera desde abajo, hablando con él, me diría qué contenta estoy de no ser ella, de no sonar como suena ella, ni tener la voz que tiene, ni expresar esa opinión. Pero no puedo oírme desde abajo, como vecina, no puedo oír cómo no debo sonar, no puedo alegrarme de no ser ella, como haría si la oyera. Entonces, como sí soy ella, no me pesa estar aquí arriba, donde no puedo escucharla como si fuera una vecina, donde no puedo decirme, como tendría que hacerlo desde abajo, qué contenta estoy de no ser ella.”
“INTENTANDO APRENDERPero desgraciadamente también están los otros (no pocos), esos de los que no entendía nada de nada. Esto fue lo que predominó en los dos últimos libros del volumen. Quizás, agotada la fuerza de atracción que surge del encuentro con algo distinto empecé a no ver la gracia a muchos de estos pequeños lo-que-sean, o, quizás, mi capacidad de imaginación no fue suficiente para dotarles de enjundia, o, quizás, fenecí bajo el peso de una sobreabundancia de relatos. El caso es que en esta segunda mitad del volumen pocos relatos fueron a los que encontré cierto interés y menos todavía los que me gustaron.
Estoy intentando aprender que este hombre alegre que me gasta bromas es el mismo hombre serio, que, al hablarme de dinero con tanta seriedad, incluso deja de verme, y ese hombre paciente que me aconseja en ocasiones difíciles y ese hombre malhumorado que cierra de un portazo cuando se va de casa. He deseado muchas veces que el hombre alegre fuera más serio, y el que el hombre serio fuera menos serio, y que el hombre paciente fuera más alegre. En cuanto al hombre malhumorado, me resulta un extraño y no considero un error detestarlo. Ahora estoy descubriendo que si le digo algo desagradable al hombre malhumorado cuando se va de casa, estoy ofendiendo, en ese mismo momento, a los otros, a quienes no quisiera ofender, al hombre alegre que gasta bromas, al hombre serio que habla de dinero, y al hombre paciente que da consejos. Pero miro, por ejemplo, al hombre paciente, a quien sobre todas las cosas quisiera proteger de palabras tan desagradables como las mías, y aunque me digo que es el mismo hombre que los otros, sólo puedo creer que no le he dicho esas palabras a él, sino a otro, a mi enemigo, que merece toda mi irritación.”
December 6, 2020
Interesting and challenging. At times very funny. She writes excellent stories, but some of the early work has an absurdist/minimalist aspect that is wearying. Though the good stories make it worthwhile wading through the rest. Favorite stories include “In a Northern Country,” “Marie Curie, So Admirable Woman,” “Mr. Burdoff’s Visit to Germany,” and “The Furnace.”
December 5, 2010
People often say they read books for escapism. I certainly read for solace and comfort. This kind of reading is not for escaping, I think, but for enduring - "I will read this until this situation has passed"; "I will read this until this feeling has gone away".
The mood I find hardest to ameliorate with books is that one where you drift restlessly round the house, picking things up and putting them down, starting things and then walking off again - when you're feeling a little fractured, a little uncertain, a bit off-centre. In this mood, non-fiction is too heavy, poetry too insubstantial, fiction too hard to believe in.
I think from now on I'll reach for a copy of Lydia Davis's short stories.
Today, feeling a little fractured and uncertain, I picked up Lydia Davis's collected short stories, a book lent to me by friends several weeks ago, but which I'll need a copy of for myself. Davis's short stories bring new brevity to that term - they range between a few words and a few pages. On the surface they are lucid, sometimes piercing, sometimes funny, sometimes bland - added together, they develop a kind of ruthless honesty or self-enquiry that never strays too far into the straightforwardly biographical.
A deep care for words shines through - a story written as a letter to a funeral parlour, complaining of their invention of the word 'cremains' when 'ashes' would do just fine ("As one who works with words for a living, I must say that any invented word, like Porta Potti or pooper-scooper, has a cheerful or even jovial ring to it that I don't think you really intended when you invented the word cremains.")
Or the story 'They Take Turns Using a Word They Like'
(That's the whole thing. See, I told you - brief)
A sharp social observation also crops up regularly - 'Interesting' is an account of people the narrator meets, who are or are not interesting:
Some leave you unsatisfied - 'St Martins' tells the story of a couple who are housesitting somewhere in France, with barely two francs to rub together - the (presumably female, but never stated) narrator describes them working (but never what on), describes the neighbours and the landscape but never gives the place a name, describes the central (small) tragedy of the story but never gives you the denouement. But this is more like being left a little hungry after tasting something delicious, than being given enough of something you would rather not have eaten.
The story that touched me most was 'Happiest Moment', which I give here in full:
If you ask her what is a favourite story she has written, she will hesitate for a long time and then say it may be this story she read in a book once: an English-language teacher in China asked his Chinese student to say what was the happiest moment in his life. The student hesitated for a long time. At last he smiled with embarrassment and said that his wife had once gone to Beijing and eaten duck there, and she often told him about it, and he would have to say that the happiest moment of his life was her trip, and the eating of the duck.
The mood I find hardest to ameliorate with books is that one where you drift restlessly round the house, picking things up and putting them down, starting things and then walking off again - when you're feeling a little fractured, a little uncertain, a bit off-centre. In this mood, non-fiction is too heavy, poetry too insubstantial, fiction too hard to believe in.
I think from now on I'll reach for a copy of Lydia Davis's short stories.
Today, feeling a little fractured and uncertain, I picked up Lydia Davis's collected short stories, a book lent to me by friends several weeks ago, but which I'll need a copy of for myself. Davis's short stories bring new brevity to that term - they range between a few words and a few pages. On the surface they are lucid, sometimes piercing, sometimes funny, sometimes bland - added together, they develop a kind of ruthless honesty or self-enquiry that never strays too far into the straightforwardly biographical.
A deep care for words shines through - a story written as a letter to a funeral parlour, complaining of their invention of the word 'cremains' when 'ashes' would do just fine ("As one who works with words for a living, I must say that any invented word, like Porta Potti or pooper-scooper, has a cheerful or even jovial ring to it that I don't think you really intended when you invented the word cremains.")
Or the story 'They Take Turns Using a Word They Like'
"It's extraordinary," says one woman.
"It is extraordinary," says the other.
(That's the whole thing. See, I told you - brief)
A sharp social observation also crops up regularly - 'Interesting' is an account of people the narrator meets, who are or are not interesting:
Here is a woman I know coming up to me. She is very excited, but she is not an interesting woman. What excited her will not be interesting, it will simply not be interesting.
At a party, a highly nervous man talking fast says many smart things about subjects that do not particularly interest me, such as the restoration of historic houses and in particular the age of wallpaper. Yet, because he is so smart, and because he gives me so much information per minute, I do not get tired of listening to him.
Some leave you unsatisfied - 'St Martins' tells the story of a couple who are housesitting somewhere in France, with barely two francs to rub together - the (presumably female, but never stated) narrator describes them working (but never what on), describes the neighbours and the landscape but never gives the place a name, describes the central (small) tragedy of the story but never gives you the denouement. But this is more like being left a little hungry after tasting something delicious, than being given enough of something you would rather not have eaten.
The story that touched me most was 'Happiest Moment', which I give here in full:
If you ask her what is a favourite story she has written, she will hesitate for a long time and then say it may be this story she read in a book once: an English-language teacher in China asked his Chinese student to say what was the happiest moment in his life. The student hesitated for a long time. At last he smiled with embarrassment and said that his wife had once gone to Beijing and eaten duck there, and she often told him about it, and he would have to say that the happiest moment of his life was her trip, and the eating of the duck.
April 24, 2018
I was all geared up to declare Lydia Davis the best living author, on the strength of these four collections (I haven't yet read Can't and Won't: Stories or The End of the Story, but I'll get there), and while I stopped myself when I remembered the juggernaut that is Pynchon, I'm still not sure I was too far off the mark. She's certainly, with Borges and O'Connor gone, the best living author of short stories, with apologies to Amy Hempel.
So why am I so impressed with Lydia Davis? Part of it is her impressive pedigree. She strikes me as a combination of David Foster Wallace's meticulous eye for detail with Donald Barthelme's willingness to do anything, only sans DFW's lengthier tendencies (hence, Barthelme) and without as much of Barthelme's playfulness: while humor is a key aspect of Davis' stories, you just have to know where to look. She's a lot more subtle about it than Barthelme, who in his essence is a terrific comedian. But then, there's also a lot of Davis in Davis, especially with the journalistic tone often unseen in contemporary fiction, and a fascination with the minutiae of life.
So what do these facets add up to, you ask? I'll tell ya. They add up to an author apparently determined to chronicle the more mundane aspects of life and reveal how unusual they are. Davis' characters are often driven, if not dictated, by neurosis: problems with marriage, issues of self-image, a tendency to overanalyze, extreme discomfort with concepts as small as a fly landing on their paper. It's fascinating to see the strangeness at play in these seemingly ordinary events, things as mundane as a couple going to a dinner party or a group of children writing to a hospitalized classmate. She writes about the sort of things most authors would probably pass over, and imbibes them with the same fascination as more out of the ordinary topics.
I mean, it's rare to find authors with a stronger sense of purpose than Lydia Davis. Her stories, like Barthelme's, may appear to go nowhere at first - it takes a while for her rhythms to set in. But when they do, they exude a sort of fascination, and they reveal themselves to be less emotionally distanced than they at first seem. Just because Davis never passes any judgment on her characters doesn't mean she doesn't feel for them, of course. I think Virginia Woolf just got knocked off the "favorite female author" pedestal.
So why am I so impressed with Lydia Davis? Part of it is her impressive pedigree. She strikes me as a combination of David Foster Wallace's meticulous eye for detail with Donald Barthelme's willingness to do anything, only sans DFW's lengthier tendencies (hence, Barthelme) and without as much of Barthelme's playfulness: while humor is a key aspect of Davis' stories, you just have to know where to look. She's a lot more subtle about it than Barthelme, who in his essence is a terrific comedian. But then, there's also a lot of Davis in Davis, especially with the journalistic tone often unseen in contemporary fiction, and a fascination with the minutiae of life.
So what do these facets add up to, you ask? I'll tell ya. They add up to an author apparently determined to chronicle the more mundane aspects of life and reveal how unusual they are. Davis' characters are often driven, if not dictated, by neurosis: problems with marriage, issues of self-image, a tendency to overanalyze, extreme discomfort with concepts as small as a fly landing on their paper. It's fascinating to see the strangeness at play in these seemingly ordinary events, things as mundane as a couple going to a dinner party or a group of children writing to a hospitalized classmate. She writes about the sort of things most authors would probably pass over, and imbibes them with the same fascination as more out of the ordinary topics.
I mean, it's rare to find authors with a stronger sense of purpose than Lydia Davis. Her stories, like Barthelme's, may appear to go nowhere at first - it takes a while for her rhythms to set in. But when they do, they exude a sort of fascination, and they reveal themselves to be less emotionally distanced than they at first seem. Just because Davis never passes any judgment on her characters doesn't mean she doesn't feel for them, of course. I think Virginia Woolf just got knocked off the "favorite female author" pedestal.
June 30, 2017
Automat (1927) - Edward Hopper
”Contos Completos” (2009) reúne todos os contos publicados por Lydia Davis, desde ”Acerto de Contas” (1986), ”Quase Sem Memória” (1997), ”Samuel Johnson Está Indignado” (2001) e ”Variedades de Perturbação” (2007).
”Variedades de Perturbação” (2007) – 4*
Em ”Variedades de Perturbação” (2007) Lydia Davis incorpora cinquenta e sete contos, a maior parte são contos com apenas uma ou duas páginas, numa escrita repleta de ironia, observações desapaixonadas e inúmeros monólogos interiores.
Na maioria deste conjunto de contos Lydia Davis não especifica nem o tempo nem o lugar onde ocorre a narrativa, dá-nos detalhes precisos de histórias em que as personagens ultrapassam os limites da sua própria consciência e da sua capacidade de discernimento.
Destaco com 5*: Kafka faz o Jantar, O Passeio, Variedades de Perturbação e Como Se Faz a Coisa.
”Samuel Johnson Está Indignado” (2001) – 3*
”Samuel Johnson Está Indignado” (2001) agrega cinquenta e seis contos, o mais pequeno com uma frase e o maior com dezasseis páginas, numa localização geográfica dispersa, incluindo a Escócia “Samuel Johnson Está Indignado: por haver tão poucas árvores na Escócia.” (Pág. 306); inúmeras narrativas relativas à vida de casais, de mulheres problemáticas e com problemas por resolver; e muito mais…
Mais uma vez Lydia Davis joga com as palavras e com o seu significado, primorosa no detalhe e no uso da ironia, numa lógica de inventariar os problemas do quotidiano, por mais estranho e inexplicável que ele possa ser.
Destaco com 5*: Traição, Marie Curie, Mulher de Alto Valor, Num País do Norte e O Silêncio de Mrs Iln.
”Quase Sem Memória” (1997) – 4*
”Quase Sem Memória” (1997) reúne cinquenta e um contos, num conjunto de retratos quotidianos que emergem sobre o presente e sobre o passado de personagens – quase, sempre sem nome ou apenas identificados pelas iniciais – explorando subtilmente as memórias e os segredos de comportamentos díspares e estranhos, com uma escrita intensa e minimalista.
Destaco com 5*: Carne, O Meu Marido, Professora, Acordo, Mr. Knockly, Quase Sem Memória e A Casa de Trás.
”Acerto de Contas” (1986) - 3*
Trinta e quatro contos num resumo exacto do estilo e das temáticas abordadas por Lydia Davis, com descrições meticulosas e obsessivas, num contexto muitas vezes misterioso, repleto de um humor sarcástico.
Destaco com 5*: História, Acerto de Contas, O Projecto da Casa e Alguns dos Meus Defeitos.
Acerto de Contas - 5*: O narrador está a tentar acertar as contas sobre o custo por hora directamente relacionado com o seu anterior relacionamento amoroso que durou dez dias. Basicamente, as contas envolvem fazer “amor uma vez por dia, digamos, em média”. Bom, deveremos acrescentar o sorrir, o contar anedotas, o momento em que acordas e sentes o corpo dela junto a ti, “a forma como ela persiste dentro de ti como um doce licor”, o seu cheiro, a sua voz, num período em que só houve bons momentos.
"Por isso, somando todas estas coisas, só terás gasto talvez uns três dólares por hora no total."
História - 5*
“O facto de ele não me dizer sempre a verdade faz-me duvidar da verdade do que ele em certas alturas me diz, e então tento descobrir pelos meus próprios meios se é verdade ou não o que ele me está a dizer, e algumas vezes sei que não é verdade, outras vezes não sei e nunca saberei, e outras ainda, só porque ele não pára de mo dizer, convenço-me de que é verdade, porque não acredito que ele seja capaz de repetir tão constantemente uma mentira. Talvez a verdade não conte, mas eu quero saber, quanto mais não seja para esclarecer questões como a de saber se ele está ou não furioso comigo; e, se si, a que ponto; se ainda a ama ou não; e, se sim, a que ponto; se me ama ou não; e a que ponto; e a que ponto é capaz de me enganar em actos, e depois dos actos, ao conta-los.” (Pág. 17)
October 31, 2020
The only complaint I have with this book has nothing to do with Davis marvellous stories. I really liked that part, her tone, her ideas, she's all over it, and I loved it.
The problem for me was the edition. Short stories are not exactly my favourite form of fiction, since they develop to a certain point, and that is it. Putting so many in one edition seems silly to me, I mean, 700 pages? I know I know, why did I read it then? Well, I am an obsessive who can't just leave the book and read another one, I have to finish the one I started. I read it in between other books I was reading, and to tell you the truth, some of these stories are truly memorable. She's great, I just wish she would write novels as well.
The problem for me was the edition. Short stories are not exactly my favourite form of fiction, since they develop to a certain point, and that is it. Putting so many in one edition seems silly to me, I mean, 700 pages? I know I know, why did I read it then? Well, I am an obsessive who can't just leave the book and read another one, I have to finish the one I started. I read it in between other books I was reading, and to tell you the truth, some of these stories are truly memorable. She's great, I just wish she would write novels as well.
February 8, 2010
These stories don’t so much bloom and bleed over their blank pages as hold their breath, fill up their lungs and wait for you to tiptoe past. They’re claustrophobic and lonely, a three floor walk-up to an elbow apartment with pale sunlight and the city below under glass.
“Break It Down,” though, gets five stars.
“Break It Down,” though, gets five stars.
August 8, 2019
I made it!
This omnibus consists of four short story collections by Lydia Davis, written between 1986 and 2007. Being famous mostly for her micro-stories, I expected it to be a sort of coffee-table book you could pick up, read a couple of stories at random and put down again. Only it’s not; it’s four books packed back-to-back begging to be judged individually on their own merits. Once I understood that, I decided to read the books and stories in order, from cover to cover.
What I enjoyed most about the experience was seeing the evolution of her style from book to book. I mentioned in my review of Samuel Johnson Is Indignant (links to reviews below) that it feels like Davis is always rewriting the same book, and consequently reading them this way feels like walking past the many draughts of a famous painting at an exhibition before reaching the well-known masterpiece at the end of the hall.
It took me a while to get Davis. I mean, to really get her. After the dud that was Break It Down and despite enjoying Almost No Memory, it was only in Samuel Johnson Is Indignant that we clicked. So even though I was left cold by the subsequent Varieties of Disturbance, I didn’t feel disappointed. At that point, I was able to read it and enjoy the pleasant boredom one feels when sitting in silence with an old friend.
What I found very strange was the fact that the index listed a number of stories that didn’t appear in the book - with corresponding page numbers and all. It seems like a pretty big oversight, because it blurs the line between the anthology I thought this to be and the omnibus I found it to be.
Book-by-book reviews
- Break It Down ★★☆☆☆
- Almost No Memory ★★★★☆
- Samuel Johnson Is Indignant ★★★★★
- Varieties of Disturbance ★★★☆☆
This omnibus consists of four short story collections by Lydia Davis, written between 1986 and 2007. Being famous mostly for her micro-stories, I expected it to be a sort of coffee-table book you could pick up, read a couple of stories at random and put down again. Only it’s not; it’s four books packed back-to-back begging to be judged individually on their own merits. Once I understood that, I decided to read the books and stories in order, from cover to cover.
What I enjoyed most about the experience was seeing the evolution of her style from book to book. I mentioned in my review of Samuel Johnson Is Indignant (links to reviews below) that it feels like Davis is always rewriting the same book, and consequently reading them this way feels like walking past the many draughts of a famous painting at an exhibition before reaching the well-known masterpiece at the end of the hall.
It took me a while to get Davis. I mean, to really get her. After the dud that was Break It Down and despite enjoying Almost No Memory, it was only in Samuel Johnson Is Indignant that we clicked. So even though I was left cold by the subsequent Varieties of Disturbance, I didn’t feel disappointed. At that point, I was able to read it and enjoy the pleasant boredom one feels when sitting in silence with an old friend.
What I found very strange was the fact that the index listed a number of stories that didn’t appear in the book - with corresponding page numbers and all. It seems like a pretty big oversight, because it blurs the line between the anthology I thought this to be and the omnibus I found it to be.
Book-by-book reviews
- Break It Down ★★☆☆☆
- Almost No Memory ★★★★☆
- Samuel Johnson Is Indignant ★★★★★
- Varieties of Disturbance ★★★☆☆
May 3, 2011
I can't finish this. Someone please tell Lydia Davis that a story is not a quirky ancedote.
August 4, 2022
I return to these stories every few months--to be reminded of the precision, the beauty, the depth that a writer can achieve with just a few words. Davis is a prose magician--she makes it look easy--but it's not.
August 21, 2017
- 5 estrelas pela originalidade. Na primeira vez que peguei neste livro fiquei maravilhada, porque nunca tinha lido algo semelhante. Alguns contos são apenas uma frase inacabada:
"São estes os factos sobre os peixes do Nilo:";
outros apenas um pensamento:
"O meu corpo dói-me tanto...
Deve ser esta cama pesada a comprimir-me para cima.";
outros são extensos. Demasiado...
- 2 estrelas para o editor. Quem o mandou juntar quatro livros numa única edição?
Se fosse uma edição para cada livro: eu lia o primeiro, ficava encantada e dava-lhe cinco estrelas; provavelmente ainda leria o segundo, presenteava-o com quatro estrelas e arrumava a senhora Davis...assim, ainda fui ao terceiro para chegar à conclusão que gosto de histórias com princípio, meio e fim; que gosto de personagens interessantes e carismáticas, que me emocionem e estimulem a imaginação. Como posso apreciar um livro no qual, em certas partes, penso: "Assim, também eu..."?
- 1 estrela (fosca) para mim. Que andei dez meses a ler este livro e durante esse tempo o transformei de um livro fascinante a um livro desesperante.
- 3 estrelas será o resultado final, pois há que, pelo menos, respeitar a matemática...
"São estes os factos sobre os peixes do Nilo:";
outros apenas um pensamento:
"O meu corpo dói-me tanto...
Deve ser esta cama pesada a comprimir-me para cima.";
outros são extensos. Demasiado...
- 2 estrelas para o editor. Quem o mandou juntar quatro livros numa única edição?
Se fosse uma edição para cada livro: eu lia o primeiro, ficava encantada e dava-lhe cinco estrelas; provavelmente ainda leria o segundo, presenteava-o com quatro estrelas e arrumava a senhora Davis...assim, ainda fui ao terceiro para chegar à conclusão que gosto de histórias com princípio, meio e fim; que gosto de personagens interessantes e carismáticas, que me emocionem e estimulem a imaginação. Como posso apreciar um livro no qual, em certas partes, penso: "Assim, também eu..."?
- 1 estrela (fosca) para mim. Que andei dez meses a ler este livro e durante esse tempo o transformei de um livro fascinante a um livro desesperante.
- 3 estrelas será o resultado final, pois há que, pelo menos, respeitar a matemática...
February 10, 2010
Some of the stories in this collection are genius. I especially like the ones where she plays with the whole notion of truth/fiction/lies and how slippery those concepts can be. On the other hand, some of the "stories" are not even really stories. I've written better-thought-out stuff in my personal journal on a bad day. Here is the full text of one "story": "Gainesville! It's too bad your cousin is dead!" Aw come on gimme a break. If I, an unknown writer, were to submit this to any literary journal on the planet, what do you think the chances are that it would be considered for publication for even a second? Go ahead and think about it for a minute, I'll wait....Yeah. Therefore it has no business appearing in the collected works of a respected and much-published author. Just because someone who already has credentials tries to pass off a passing thought or an amusing comment as a story doesn't make it one. Good God, have some respect for your craft and for those of us who are still sweating blood trying to write well enough to get into print.
September 12, 2011
Lydia Davis is certainly different, and i can't say i'd read anything quite like this (except in terms of brevity) up until this collection. i can't say i adored it though, or even that i really liked most of what was here. four story collections are combined: Break it down (1986), Almost No Memory (1997), Samuel Johnson is Indignant (2001) and Varieties of Disturbance (2007), and i want to say as a new reader of hers, i probably did her a disservice by reading her in this fashion, in a complete collection, as the stories she writes would be more palatable if i had an Lydia Davis rss feed and was prescribed just one a day. Reading over some reviews when i was about halfway through break it down made it clear to me I didn't stand a chance of appreciating any of her work by plowing through a collection like this, so i stopped reading it for a while, and then came back to it, chipping away at the collection bit by bit. once i did, i'm afraid i didn't enjoy these stories much more than i did initially. while some of it is really poetic and lovely, a lot of it reminded me of algebraic math problems in cadence and structure, or circular, spiral, repetitive constructions like this:
If she had a husband, she would sit out on the lawn with her husband. She hoped she would have a husband by then, Or still have one. She had once had a husband, and she wasn't surprised she had once had one, didn't have one now, and hoped to have one later in life.
- from "What an Old Woman Will Wear", Break it Down
Henry encounters Jack on the street and asks how his weekend with Laura was. Jack says he hasn't spoken to Laura in at least a month. Henry is angry. He thinks Ellen has been lying to him about Laura. Ellen says she has been telling the truth: Laura told her over the phone that Jack was coming for the weekend to her house up there in the country. Henry is still angry, but now he is angry because he thinks Laura was lying to Ellen when she told her Jack was coming up for the weekend. At this point, with embarrassment, Ellen realizes her mistake: more than one Jack is involved here. Laura said only that Jack was coming to visit her for the weekend, and it was not the Jack that Ellen and Henry know but the Jack that only Ellen knows, and only slightly, who was about to arrive at Laura's house in the country.
-from "Jack in the Country", Almost No Memory
i really didn't like the stories like this, and there were a lot of them -- they seem to recur through all of the collections, and i've taken to calling them in my head "typical Lydia Davis". As i glance through the TOC, i find it difficult to remember individual stories by their names, but there are some i really liked, like "The House Plans", "The Cedar Trees", "Mr. Knockly", in the two early collections. i liked "The Furnace" a lot in the third collection but i was most taken by stories in the last collection, Varieties of Disturbance, "Kafka Cooks Dinner" "Television", "Mrs. D and her maids", and especially the experimental beckett echo "Southward Bound, Reads Worstward Ho".
i'm giving it three stars** for the selection of stories i liked, and the fact that i'm aware of what a good writer she is, even when i really don't like what she's doing. all of these stories are impeccably crafted, and i'm grateful for her innovation. i'm glad i read Lydia Davis but i think i am done with her, unless somebody shoots me that rss feed.
**okay, i actually can't stick with the three stars because i just really didn't like so many of the other stories. SO MANY. so two stars, as i probably really liked ten percent of the stories here.
If she had a husband, she would sit out on the lawn with her husband. She hoped she would have a husband by then, Or still have one. She had once had a husband, and she wasn't surprised she had once had one, didn't have one now, and hoped to have one later in life.
- from "What an Old Woman Will Wear", Break it Down
Henry encounters Jack on the street and asks how his weekend with Laura was. Jack says he hasn't spoken to Laura in at least a month. Henry is angry. He thinks Ellen has been lying to him about Laura. Ellen says she has been telling the truth: Laura told her over the phone that Jack was coming for the weekend to her house up there in the country. Henry is still angry, but now he is angry because he thinks Laura was lying to Ellen when she told her Jack was coming up for the weekend. At this point, with embarrassment, Ellen realizes her mistake: more than one Jack is involved here. Laura said only that Jack was coming to visit her for the weekend, and it was not the Jack that Ellen and Henry know but the Jack that only Ellen knows, and only slightly, who was about to arrive at Laura's house in the country.
-from "Jack in the Country", Almost No Memory
i really didn't like the stories like this, and there were a lot of them -- they seem to recur through all of the collections, and i've taken to calling them in my head "typical Lydia Davis". As i glance through the TOC, i find it difficult to remember individual stories by their names, but there are some i really liked, like "The House Plans", "The Cedar Trees", "Mr. Knockly", in the two early collections. i liked "The Furnace" a lot in the third collection but i was most taken by stories in the last collection, Varieties of Disturbance, "Kafka Cooks Dinner" "Television", "Mrs. D and her maids", and especially the experimental beckett echo "Southward Bound, Reads Worstward Ho".
i'm giving it three stars** for the selection of stories i liked, and the fact that i'm aware of what a good writer she is, even when i really don't like what she's doing. all of these stories are impeccably crafted, and i'm grateful for her innovation. i'm glad i read Lydia Davis but i think i am done with her, unless somebody shoots me that rss feed.
**okay, i actually can't stick with the three stars because i just really didn't like so many of the other stories. SO MANY. so two stars, as i probably really liked ten percent of the stories here.
June 10, 2015
How to read a book like this, that's what's interesting me most in the community reviews on Lydia Davis' collected short stories.
I've begun accidentally, by my boyfriend reading me two of the stories--knowing I'm a Russia fan, reading me the mock historical-travel piece, 'Lord Royton's Tour,' in which she perfectly captures the tone of those old travel writings of the eighteenth century, capturing perfect detail--the names of conveyances, the brilliant sense of landscape. Being somewhat familiar with the places Lord Royton visits, I'm astonished how much she's able to capture of the actual facts, as well as the performance of the genre. Yet, as many people noticed, nothing at all happens. It is a travel journal, precisely. One goes home.
The next story he read to me, here at a rented cabin where we're both writing, was 'St. Martin', the story of a couple caretaking a house and using the time to write. It recalled both our current status, and a time in my student days of staying at an squatted convent outside Oxford, and being regularly out of money. How she does so much with so little. One of the reviewers here hated that story, but it was incredibly resonant for me.
But now he's stopped reading to me, and I have to figure out my own way. Like so many things, the how completely shapes the experience. People here seem to think random is better than starting at the beginning and reading straight through. Maybe I'll combine the random and the sequential by opening at random and reading three stories in a row. Or just go through by title and reading the ones that grab me- 'Jury Duty,' because just what could be remarkable about that? 'The House Behind,' because I have a lifelong love of houses behind houses. 'Cockroaches in Autumn'--how poetic!
******************
Cockroaches in Autumn--incredible. The other two, not so much. The people in the house behind envy the people in the front house--I've seen this on a massive scale in Perec's Life a User's Manual. And Jury Duty, formally interesting (a Q and A, of which we only see the A--how could anything that short be that dull?? So, one out of three. I think i"M just going to mention the good ones from now on.
*********************
A book that I will pick up over time, and complete in small chunks… five or six stories at a time.
I've begun accidentally, by my boyfriend reading me two of the stories--knowing I'm a Russia fan, reading me the mock historical-travel piece, 'Lord Royton's Tour,' in which she perfectly captures the tone of those old travel writings of the eighteenth century, capturing perfect detail--the names of conveyances, the brilliant sense of landscape. Being somewhat familiar with the places Lord Royton visits, I'm astonished how much she's able to capture of the actual facts, as well as the performance of the genre. Yet, as many people noticed, nothing at all happens. It is a travel journal, precisely. One goes home.
The next story he read to me, here at a rented cabin where we're both writing, was 'St. Martin', the story of a couple caretaking a house and using the time to write. It recalled both our current status, and a time in my student days of staying at an squatted convent outside Oxford, and being regularly out of money. How she does so much with so little. One of the reviewers here hated that story, but it was incredibly resonant for me.
But now he's stopped reading to me, and I have to figure out my own way. Like so many things, the how completely shapes the experience. People here seem to think random is better than starting at the beginning and reading straight through. Maybe I'll combine the random and the sequential by opening at random and reading three stories in a row. Or just go through by title and reading the ones that grab me- 'Jury Duty,' because just what could be remarkable about that? 'The House Behind,' because I have a lifelong love of houses behind houses. 'Cockroaches in Autumn'--how poetic!
******************
Cockroaches in Autumn--incredible. The other two, not so much. The people in the house behind envy the people in the front house--I've seen this on a massive scale in Perec's Life a User's Manual. And Jury Duty, formally interesting (a Q and A, of which we only see the A--how could anything that short be that dull?? So, one out of three. I think i"M just going to mention the good ones from now on.
*********************
A book that I will pick up over time, and complete in small chunks… five or six stories at a time.
October 25, 2011
I have been reading The Collected Stories of Lydia Davis like drinking a fine wine. There's a taste of Kafka, a hint of Richard Brautigan, definitely a flavor of Borges... Russell Edson lurking in there somewhere, too. And a couple of others I have not yet been able to identify. Not that Davis in any way derivative, that's not what I mean. It's a distinct pleasure to read her and make all these associations. Her stories are a fine blend of the absurd and the lyrical, the emotionally disturbing and the outright comic. Her "characters", such as they are, are defined sidewise, somehow, by their quirks and neuroses, by their insecurities and their never-quite satisfying relationships with other human beings like themselves. Mostly unnamed, they resonate with simple, difficult humanity. They are us.
Here's the thing: I'm discovering that if I try to read this book "as a book", that is, from cover to cover, it's like drinking too much of the delicious red stuff. It goes to the head and leaves me with a lingering hangover. What's frothy and funny and enlightening and sad can easily become heavy and depressing. So if you're curious and have not yet come across Lydia Davis, my advice is: read her. She's terrific. But do it in small doses. Keep the book by the bedside and check in once in a while, read a couple of her (often very short) short stories, and you'll smile. Read too many and you might need a double dose of aspirin.
(And by the way, thanks to Jean at Tasting Rhubarb for the recommendation...)
Here's the thing: I'm discovering that if I try to read this book "as a book", that is, from cover to cover, it's like drinking too much of the delicious red stuff. It goes to the head and leaves me with a lingering hangover. What's frothy and funny and enlightening and sad can easily become heavy and depressing. So if you're curious and have not yet come across Lydia Davis, my advice is: read her. She's terrific. But do it in small doses. Keep the book by the bedside and check in once in a while, read a couple of her (often very short) short stories, and you'll smile. Read too many and you might need a double dose of aspirin.
(And by the way, thanks to Jean at Tasting Rhubarb for the recommendation...)
December 1, 2014
Soulless stories, lacking heat, heart and blood. As if written by a technical-engineering-report-writing analyst. Or a 1990s version of an AI.
Innumerable times Davis uses the continuous present tense (first person, second and third), but rather than drawing in the reader to the story and character's viewpoint, you soon end up thinking - again and again - that these stories are purely exercises in technique, in the mechanics of storytelling. A clever mind dashing them off over a coffee or cup of tea, much in the same way some people whizz through and complete a daily newspaper crossword and then think no more of it.
Sadly, I can't think of a single story in this collected edition that made me marvel at the writing either for its virtuosity or for its characters. Depressingly, however, I can think of far too many that irritate for their lack of life and feelings, and absence of any real care or consideration for the albeit rice paper-thin characters.
Probably the most disappointing and yet most lauded short story writer I've ever read.
Innumerable times Davis uses the continuous present tense (first person, second and third), but rather than drawing in the reader to the story and character's viewpoint, you soon end up thinking - again and again - that these stories are purely exercises in technique, in the mechanics of storytelling. A clever mind dashing them off over a coffee or cup of tea, much in the same way some people whizz through and complete a daily newspaper crossword and then think no more of it.
Sadly, I can't think of a single story in this collected edition that made me marvel at the writing either for its virtuosity or for its characters. Depressingly, however, I can think of far too many that irritate for their lack of life and feelings, and absence of any real care or consideration for the albeit rice paper-thin characters.
Probably the most disappointing and yet most lauded short story writer I've ever read.
April 27, 2014
A book that took me forever to read, not due to its content (I don't think), but more by design. I tend to read short story collections very slowly, and almost not wanting to finish them. I think I read 80% of "The Collected Stories of Lydia Davis" in the bathtub. So if I take a bath everyday, how many baths is that? Nevertheless it will not have anything to do with Davis' writings, which are precise, focused, and not one wasted word. In other words, they're sort of perfection in practice.
There is no narration to speak of, but more of either a snapshot of a series of moments taking place, or observing something both remarkable and unremarkable. When I read this collection, my first thought is "wow, this is a real writer." There is something almost scientific in the way she constructs her works, which I think is quite musical. I never heard her read her stories in public, but I imagine it would be a performance where you have to pace yourself, and allow a certain amount of silence to come in and out. People have gone on about the length of her stories, but I don't that itself is important. That is kind of like looking at the tree instead of the forest type of issue. When you look at the whole book, it is very much a maximum wide-scope 70mm film, but focusing on small moments, that more likely will lead to something larger or life-changing. It's funny, recently I have been reading off and on Wittgenstein, and either I'm imagining all of this, but I see a connection between his writing and her writing. Maybe they're not meaning the same thing, but there is concern, or the ability to use text as sculpture of some sort. It is not restricted to writing, but it is also craving or shaving off the excess to make the statement or the words more maximum. I can't imagine anyone who is a writer would not be interested in Lydia Davis' stories. Such a mega-importance to have in one's house or in their hands.
There is no narration to speak of, but more of either a snapshot of a series of moments taking place, or observing something both remarkable and unremarkable. When I read this collection, my first thought is "wow, this is a real writer." There is something almost scientific in the way she constructs her works, which I think is quite musical. I never heard her read her stories in public, but I imagine it would be a performance where you have to pace yourself, and allow a certain amount of silence to come in and out. People have gone on about the length of her stories, but I don't that itself is important. That is kind of like looking at the tree instead of the forest type of issue. When you look at the whole book, it is very much a maximum wide-scope 70mm film, but focusing on small moments, that more likely will lead to something larger or life-changing. It's funny, recently I have been reading off and on Wittgenstein, and either I'm imagining all of this, but I see a connection between his writing and her writing. Maybe they're not meaning the same thing, but there is concern, or the ability to use text as sculpture of some sort. It is not restricted to writing, but it is also craving or shaving off the excess to make the statement or the words more maximum. I can't imagine anyone who is a writer would not be interested in Lydia Davis' stories. Such a mega-importance to have in one's house or in their hands.
March 23, 2018
This is the masterful translator of Madame Bovary and Swann's Way, and she just won the Man Booker Prize for her own stories, which some guy who learned how to write from Pitchfork says "fling their lithe arms wide to embrace many a kind," whatever the fuck that's supposed to mean. Would you have described a dude's stories as "lithe," guy?
Anyway, Davis is famous for writing short stories that are very short, and here's an example:
There are so many in here that a guide of some sort could be useful. I've been just idly dipping in and out for over a year now. (This makes a great book to keep on your Kindle, for those awkward times when you've just finished your book and you're two subway stops from home.) Here's a review from Colm Toibin that offers some guidance. If you have your own favorites, I'd love to hear about them. But it's also true that Davis is sortof a cumulative-effect kind of writer. I haven't read any story yet where I thought oh, yes, this is the definitive one that I should suggest to people. I just want to suggest, like, Lydia Davis as an experience.
Anyway, Davis is famous for writing short stories that are very short, and here's an example:
They Take Turns Using a Word They LikeWhich is great fun, obviously.
"It's extraordinary," says one woman.
"It is extraordinary," says the other.
There are so many in here that a guide of some sort could be useful. I've been just idly dipping in and out for over a year now. (This makes a great book to keep on your Kindle, for those awkward times when you've just finished your book and you're two subway stops from home.) Here's a review from Colm Toibin that offers some guidance. If you have your own favorites, I'd love to hear about them. But it's also true that Davis is sortof a cumulative-effect kind of writer. I haven't read any story yet where I thought oh, yes, this is the definitive one that I should suggest to people. I just want to suggest, like, Lydia Davis as an experience.
Want to read
March 5, 2015Preview.
A Man Questions His Future.
Will he ever read this? He doesn't know. And if he does, will it make any difference?
Well, that's my attempt at writing a Lydia Davis story. Of course I'm not the crafter that she is with the sentence and the word.
In the Mar 17 2014 New Yorker, Dana Goodyear writes of Ms. Davis, her stories, her persona, her life, and her translations. (Did anyone in the Proust Group last year read her translation of Swann's Way? She thinks it's better than Moncrieff's, since it's closer to the French: intact word order and punctuation, and no reaching for flashy English renderings. Nabokov would approve I think.)
Here's a real story by her, if I interpreted the article correctly. A long kept Listserv message from a woman named Lisa Hedges: "Round, faux tortoiseshell glasses, bifocal lenses, lost sometime Friday, B Village, A Sacred Space. It would be great if somebody has found them and they aren't in a place covered in a foot of snow."
Lydia's story:
Personal Announcement
Woman named Shrubbs
Has lost faux tortoiseshell eyeglasses
Where?
Somewhere between nursery school and sacred space
They are possibly
covered by snow.
Nice. And not flash fiction either.
A Man Questions His Future.
Will he ever read this? He doesn't know. And if he does, will it make any difference?
Well, that's my attempt at writing a Lydia Davis story. Of course I'm not the crafter that she is with the sentence and the word.
In the Mar 17 2014 New Yorker, Dana Goodyear writes of Ms. Davis, her stories, her persona, her life, and her translations. (Did anyone in the Proust Group last year read her translation of Swann's Way? She thinks it's better than Moncrieff's, since it's closer to the French: intact word order and punctuation, and no reaching for flashy English renderings. Nabokov would approve I think.)
Here's a real story by her, if I interpreted the article correctly. A long kept Listserv message from a woman named Lisa Hedges: "Round, faux tortoiseshell glasses, bifocal lenses, lost sometime Friday, B Village, A Sacred Space. It would be great if somebody has found them and they aren't in a place covered in a foot of snow."
Lydia's story:
Personal Announcement
Woman named Shrubbs
Has lost faux tortoiseshell eyeglasses
Where?
Somewhere between nursery school and sacred space
They are possibly
covered by snow.
Nice. And not flash fiction either.
July 14, 2017
Lydia Davis is a genius. And upon completion of this less-harrowing-than-it-looks collection, she has cemented herself as my favorite short story writer of all time. Words matter to Davis, and the inventive ways in which she uses them connotes her intense love of language and syntax. She is consistently fresh and surprising, shocking and poignant, clever and magical. The thing about Davis is that she never gets bored; her passion seeps through her words like a bleeding wound. She makes eloquence out of our most ineloquent self-effacements. There is way too much here to be too specific, and her stories aren't the type to be anthologized; it's almost impossible for me to proclaim specific stories "favorites" (if I had to, "The Letter," at least, hurt me the most). But really, Davis has made me a better reader.
September 12, 2020
I find Lydia Davis a more glib and wry version of Amy Hempel. Or maybe Hempel is her more emotional and piercing counter-part? Regardless, Davis's short shorts are very smart, and well-crafted. Anyone who aspires to be a writer should study her ability to parse the right amount of dialogue with narration, and to put narration where it best moves the story along. At the same time, I find her work too... academic? Too obviously for the writer-in-training?
Still, someone worth reading if you like looking at sentences from the inside rather than out.
Still, someone worth reading if you like looking at sentences from the inside rather than out.
November 23, 2011
I don't know what this book is supposed to be: poetry, essays or fiction, or some combination, but the title suggests fiction.
I am far too tired to review this nicely, but I will say this book is a cure for insomnia. 731 pages long, I don't know how many "stories," and I found maybe seventy five pages of any interest.
I don't read to see how authors can use words; I don't read to revel in the perceived cleverness of an author; and I really don't like reading books that suggest fiction but seem, instead, to be a variety of things (see above). It throws me, and honestly, in this case, many of these first-person main characters don't interest me. How can they when all I know about them is a paragraph that comes across as introspection and worry? I read for entertainment, for escape, for knowledge, and I am very specific about this.
For some reason, also, the screeching heteronormativity in this book bugs me. Most of what I read is about straight people, and I generally don't have a problem with it. Maybe it's the story called "The Way it's Done," about two straight people having sex (a paragraph of how-to). Maybe it's the tone of the stories, that presume an audience (sometimes the narrator will say something like "you go to the store and there he is" [that is not an exact quote, but just a sample) and the assumption is that the readers will relate. Again, I'm not sure why this bothers me so much, but it's something I picked up on early in the book and something I struggled with throughout (so it's not that story "The Way it's Done" that caused this irritation, since that's near the end of the book.) I'd have to think more about it and I have no inclination to think about this book now that I have finally been freed from its tedious clutches.
(And also, please, it may not be cool for seasoned writers to use a thesaurus, but when the same word is used probably every four pages or so, pick another word! I am so tired of reading the word "certain" as in "certain things" or "a certain way." Ugh.)
I am far too tired to review this nicely, but I will say this book is a cure for insomnia. 731 pages long, I don't know how many "stories," and I found maybe seventy five pages of any interest.
I don't read to see how authors can use words; I don't read to revel in the perceived cleverness of an author; and I really don't like reading books that suggest fiction but seem, instead, to be a variety of things (see above). It throws me, and honestly, in this case, many of these first-person main characters don't interest me. How can they when all I know about them is a paragraph that comes across as introspection and worry? I read for entertainment, for escape, for knowledge, and I am very specific about this.
For some reason, also, the screeching heteronormativity in this book bugs me. Most of what I read is about straight people, and I generally don't have a problem with it. Maybe it's the story called "The Way it's Done," about two straight people having sex (a paragraph of how-to). Maybe it's the tone of the stories, that presume an audience (sometimes the narrator will say something like "you go to the store and there he is" [that is not an exact quote, but just a sample) and the assumption is that the readers will relate. Again, I'm not sure why this bothers me so much, but it's something I picked up on early in the book and something I struggled with throughout (so it's not that story "The Way it's Done" that caused this irritation, since that's near the end of the book.) I'd have to think more about it and I have no inclination to think about this book now that I have finally been freed from its tedious clutches.
(And also, please, it may not be cool for seasoned writers to use a thesaurus, but when the same word is used probably every four pages or so, pick another word! I am so tired of reading the word "certain" as in "certain things" or "a certain way." Ugh.)
June 16, 2011
I'm halfway through this collection of four collections of short stories and I have to take a breather. Dense, like poetry. Formalistically inspiring, like Amy Hempel's work. Hypnotic, funny, strange, aloof. Lots of words to describe the "stories" of Lydia Davis. Often, there is no real story, just a question, an idea, a notion. Frequently, if there are characters, they are lost in time and space. There is very little conventional dialog and scene-setting. A radical departure. Impacted a story I just wrote. I recommend dipping into a collection every few months, like sherbet between heavier courses. I will. For more: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lydia_Davis
January 11, 2017
There is a wonderful tradition of slightly neurotic, self-deprecating American female short prose writers like Lorrie Moore, Amy Hempel and you can include even Jenny Offill into this group.
Lydia Davies is certainly one of them. She stands out for her brevity even in this group. The stories I liked the most in this collection are in average half page long.
The volume is thick, and not all of the stories in there are of the same quality. With hindsight, I would probably have this book to dig into rather than read them all at once. But some of them are proper little gems full of dark humour, the lyric of the mundane and acute observations.
3.5 stars from me
Lydia Davies is certainly one of them. She stands out for her brevity even in this group. The stories I liked the most in this collection are in average half page long.
The volume is thick, and not all of the stories in there are of the same quality. With hindsight, I would probably have this book to dig into rather than read them all at once. But some of them are proper little gems full of dark humour, the lyric of the mundane and acute observations.
3.5 stars from me
November 29, 2015
Lydia Davis is the master. From almost novella length to a few sentences, or even words, Davis has a command of the form and of quick and devastating characterization. It's a brick but an enjoyable brick.
February 4, 2010
I read a handful of stories from this book and decided not to read the whole thing. Based on the reviews I was expecting it to be awesome, and maybe it is, but not for me.
February 20, 2022
favorites:
break it down
the letter
a mown lawn
happiest moment
thyroid diary
happy memories
the silence of mrs. iln
the walk
break it down
the letter
a mown lawn
happiest moment
thyroid diary
happy memories
the silence of mrs. iln
the walk
Displaying 1 - 30 of 550 reviews