Summer Reading: Associate Fiction Editor Kate Norris

 

I’m teaching a fiction workshop for the first time this fall, and while putting together my syllabus I realized that a couple of the stories I’m having my students read are ones that make me sob every time I read them. I wondered if maybe I should put an asterisk next to these assignments, with a note to not read these stories in public or in the presence of a skittish boyfriend, but decided I’ll probably just mention it in class, where the opportunity to embarrass myself is richer.

But it got me thinking about how great it can be to cry sometimes, whether out of a desire for some innocent catharsis, or just to feel anything at all after months of being dead inside. So when I was asked to share some favorite things, I immediately thought about these crying stories. If you’re hankering for the sweet ache of despair, prepare a cool, wet cloth for your soon-to-be-puffy eyes and tuck in to these stories.

“Safari” by Jennifer Egan

“Safari” is a perfect counterargument to those who claim that literary short fiction is limited to airless narratives about writers and professors, written by writers and professors, for writers and professors. I mean, a rockstar gets mauled by a lioness! Don’t worry, I’m not really giving anything away—that’s not the sad part. It’s the final few paragraphs where the magic really happens. The ending gives the reader selective access to the future, and it’s as if Egan is giving us the point of view of god, if there were a god, and if he cared what happened to people. Man, knowing the future would probably be the saddest superpower.

“Puppy” by George Saunders

I don’t know how much I would appreciate the virtuosic point of view shifts in this story were I not a writer, but I think the overall emotional impact would be the same: devastating. The reader is given enough of the interiority of two characters to completely understand why they think what they’re doing is right, and the ways in which they’re tragically wrong. Somehow, I care more about what is happening to the people in the story than to the titular pup, which might be a first for me.

“In The Cemetery Where Al Jolson Is Buried” by Amy Hempel

I’d like to remind you that since you aren’t my student, you don’t have to read any of these stories, because this one is, uh, really sad. It forces me to recognize that everyone I have ever loved (myself included!) will die one day. I mean, we all know this all the time, but how often do we really feel it? Basically never, thankfully. But forcing ourselves to acknowledge our mortality is probably a good thing to do, occasionally, by reading this story. Thanks, Amy Hempel!

Let’s say you read these stories, and get to thinking about how at this moment you’re the youngest you’ll ever be again, and how you’ll die one day. You want to cling to those last scraps of youth, and simultaneously stave off death, right? Better head to the gym! You’ll need some music to listen to. So I figured I’d share a couple of the songs that are currently keeping my workouts bearable.

Animal Collective, “Purple Bottle”

Shout Out Louds “Hurry Up Let’s Go”

Broken Social Scene “Stars and Sons”

Snowden “Black Eyes” (This song has the additional perk of reminding one of the dashing Edward Snowden.)

Yelle  “Je Veux Te Voir”

Alternatively, maybe confronting your own mortality just makes you want to get pretty wasted. Keep it classy while you get trashed by indulging in innumerable French 75s. Fun fact: you can totally make these by the pitcher-full if you have company, or if you’ve read yourself into a super-sized sadness. Pour a bottle of champagne into a pitcher, add about 5 oz. gin or cognac, 2.5 oz. fresh lemon juice, and 2.5 oz. simple syrup. Stir gently, then serve in champagne flutes with a lemon twist. Don’t serve over ice, like some recipes suggest—what sort of a brute are you? Drink up, and pretend you’ll live forever.

 

Kate Norris is fiction editor of The Journal and an MFA candidate at The Ohio State University, where she teaches composition and creative writing, and writes about teenage girls who are messed up on drugs, messed up by coyotes, or trapped in ghost towns, where they're haunted by—get this—their past.