The Graywolf Annual: Short stories
Edited by Scott Walker
A Book Review
Of the twelve short stories in this collection — the very first in the Graywolf Annual series, published in 1985 — only five make the cut; that is, less than half of the collected pieces provide a clear, moving epiphany that generally characterize good fiction.
Yes, the anthology barely makes the grade.
But that’s if you’re looking at it from the bean counter’s perspective.
Overall, the anthology’s not too bad.
In an age of memes, tweets, and status updates, five pieces in this volume provide examples of fiction’s raw, unmediated power, compensating for the shortcomings of the other seven (two of which, by the way, have been previously unpublished).
In no order of importance, these five works are Andre Dubus’ After the Game, Richard Ford’s Winterkill, Elizabeth Cox’s A Sounding Brass, Tobias Wolff’s Our Story Begins, and Bobbie Ann Mason’s Hunktown.
Those familiar with Dubus will find After the Game hardly a departure from his easy, conversational approach to storytelling.
Which is not necessarily a bad thing.
“I wasn’t in the clubhouse when Joaquin Quintana went crazy,” so goes Dubus’ first line.
Direct and honest, the story provides a warm familiarity similar to slipping into an old shirt or an old shoe.
Ford’s Winterkill, Cox’s A Sounding Brass, and Mason’s Hunktown all feature haunting endings, their protagonists lying in wait for tectonic shifts in their damaged, incomplete lives.
Winterkill’s Les Snow preserves what remains of his personal space by slipping outside unobstrusively to get some time to fish by himself to avoid being noticed by his friends.
A Sounding Brass’s Ginny embraces the challenge of raising her two kids immediately after her husband is killed in a freak hunting accident.
Hunktown’s Joann takes it all in stride, despite what appears to be her second husband’s attempt to move to the city and form his own band and her divorced daughter’s carelessness in managing her own life.
Wolff’s Our Story Begins is no less impressive although factual errors slightly disrupt the narrative action.
Charlie, the main character, eavesdrops on three coffehouse patrons who talk about a priest who brings Miguel Lopez de Constanza, a Filipino, into San Francisco.
The whole story is implicitly premised on the fact that Filipinos living in 1980s Philippines speak Spanish.
“Let’s say that for some reason, you, Truman, find yourself in Manila dead broke. You don’t know anybody, you don’t understand anything anyone says, and you wind up in a hotel where people are sticking needles into themselves and nodding out on the stairs and setting their rooms on fire all the time. How much Spanish are you going to learn living like that?”
Too bad — cursory research could have easily corrected this wrong impression, even during that time when the internet was a pipe dream.
Fortunately, the oversight doesn’t prove to be too distracting. Wolff’s piece is still one of the best in the collection.
One more once.
These three words were spoken by Count Basie when he sought to repeat a chorus from April in Paris, moments after it was just played by his renonwed orchestra.
From all appearances, Basie enjoyed listening and playing the chorus so much that he wanted to do it again, prolonging the song — and his enjoyment — further.*
These same words express my sentiments, days after seeing the Fabulous Baker Boys for the second time in my life early this week.
Which explains why I am writing about the movie once more with feeling, as it were.
Ever since I secured a digital copy of the movie — a romantic drama starring Jeff and Beau Bridges and Michelle Pfeiffer — I have played and replayed the film’s opening scene.
It shows Jeff Bridges as Jack Baker, putting his coat on while preparing to leave his naked female companion, still in bed.
“Will I see you again?” she asks.
“No,” he replies and proceeds to leave.
As if on cue, the theme song plays a few bars on the piano, followed by heavy riffs from the trumpet and the saxophone.
Entitled Jack’s Theme**, the tune perfectly captures the film’s mood, emphasizing the contradicting possibilities offered by the city — vice and virtue, hope and despair, success and failure.
Although the opening scene is just two minutes long, it remains potent enough to strike a chord, ring a bell, pop a vein, develop a tic similar to the one gotten by a schoolmate who got it by accidentally drinking gasoline.
But seriously, when I saw the same scene the second time around, I was swept away, the very same sensation I felt when I saw it for the very first time as a pimply-faced teenager, rejected by girls, ostracized by friends, occasionally drunk on cheap gin, and dreaming about living a better life.
And so, here’s the opening scene, one more once:
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*No actual research was undertaken to come up with this observation.
**Go get the soundtrack. Or you can send a request (wink, wink).
From the Grammar Dept. Grammar Police Patrol slept on the job early this morning when it failed to spot an error which has now been corrected. Earlier title of this piece is Up to my ears with Fabulous Baker Boys. The correct preposition should have been in, as what is seen now. Apologies, fans of William Safire, E. B. White, et. al.
The Fabulous Baker Boys, a romance drama starring Jeff Bridges and Michelle Pfeiffer, temporarily interrupted my teenage angst.
How?
For one thing, I was nearly through my teenage years when the movie was shown in Manila sometime in 1990 (initial release in the US was on October 13, 1989).
Second, I immediately fell in love with the movie’s theme song, entitled Jack’s Theme, composed by Dave Grusin, since it encapsulates the rhythm of the City, however American.
At that point in my life, when I religiously saw Moonlighting — starring Bruce Willis and Cybill Shepherd — and the cartoon version of the Ghostbusters (both shown on ABS-CBN), I wanted to be Jack Baker.
Except that I had renounced piano lessons years earlier in favor of tennis.
What good has that decision brought me?
Nothing except to show that I’m a sap for a really good romantic drama movie. If you haven’t seen it, I suggest you do. It’s soundtrack’s not bad too. I got one a decade or so after the movie was released. Apparently, the CD is so good, it was never returned.
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Picture on the upper right is a screen grab from the movie. Lucky bastard behind Michelle Pfeiffer is Jeff Bridges. Now you know why I want to be Jack Baker. For some reason, I can’t upload nor post a video. FT. Will let you know my progress in this matter. Ugh.
