A Surprise
Last night, I read the best story -- again, in Gargoyle No. 39/40. It was Auden's Toothbrush, by Lucinda Ebersole. And it was GREAT -- it poked so much fun at the literary establishment, how could I resist?
It was about a writer who, after one rather inflammatory New York Times book review -- which dubs her The Feminist de Sade -- gets a coveted invitation to a writer's colony. The wackiness ensues from there. "According to the Director, this was the ideal writer's environment because you had your own private space but also a communal space so you could spend time with your fellow writer. It was clear that The Director was not a writer." That's just one line, and I don't want to give the rest away. I so totally recommend it. I still haven't gotten through the entire beefy fiction section though, so for now, no more on that.
Lucinda Ebersole is one of the editors of Gargoyle, by the way -- not much of a surprise there.
So anyway, I picked up a copy of the The New Yorker because I thought I might have some time to spend waiting for a friend for dinner. I was all set for some self-righteous teeth gnashing over stodgy literary convention.
I was pleasantly surprised that the short story, Adams, by George Saunders, was really quite good. It contained no quotation marks in dialogue -- one of my earlier rants you might recall from my perusal of Glimmer Train -- but I discovered that if used well, it actually does work.
I'm not entirely prepared to eat my words, as I found the rest of the publication to be sort of stodgy in that upper crusty way. I'm sure it's just a matter of taste but it's not really my speed. But I was glad to see a short piece -- damn, so short it almost seemed like flash -- that I liked there. Phew. However, how sad that one of the most coveted literary markets only features one short story per issue.
Anyway, just a little bit of delight and surprise on a Thursday night. Thanks for reading and write on,
LadyLitBlitzin
It was about a writer who, after one rather inflammatory New York Times book review -- which dubs her The Feminist de Sade -- gets a coveted invitation to a writer's colony. The wackiness ensues from there. "According to the Director, this was the ideal writer's environment because you had your own private space but also a communal space so you could spend time with your fellow writer. It was clear that The Director was not a writer." That's just one line, and I don't want to give the rest away. I so totally recommend it. I still haven't gotten through the entire beefy fiction section though, so for now, no more on that.
Lucinda Ebersole is one of the editors of Gargoyle, by the way -- not much of a surprise there.
So anyway, I picked up a copy of the The New Yorker because I thought I might have some time to spend waiting for a friend for dinner. I was all set for some self-righteous teeth gnashing over stodgy literary convention.
I was pleasantly surprised that the short story, Adams, by George Saunders, was really quite good. It contained no quotation marks in dialogue -- one of my earlier rants you might recall from my perusal of Glimmer Train -- but I discovered that if used well, it actually does work.
I'm not entirely prepared to eat my words, as I found the rest of the publication to be sort of stodgy in that upper crusty way. I'm sure it's just a matter of taste but it's not really my speed. But I was glad to see a short piece -- damn, so short it almost seemed like flash -- that I liked there. Phew. However, how sad that one of the most coveted literary markets only features one short story per issue.
Anyway, just a little bit of delight and surprise on a Thursday night. Thanks for reading and write on,
LadyLitBlitzin
posted by LadyLitBlitzin at 9:46 PM
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