TITLE: Tenth of December
AUTHOR: George Saunders
GENRE: Contemporary Fiction, Short Stories
PUBLISHED: 2013
RATING: ★★★★★
PURCHASE LINKS: Itunes Amazon
MOBILISM LINK: Mobilism
Description: A new story collection, the first in six years, from one of our greatest living writers, MacArthur "genius grant" recipient, and New Yorker contributor George Saunders.
George Saunders, one of our most important writers, is back with a masterful, deeply felt collection that takes his literary powers to a new level. In a recent interview, when asked how he saw the role of the writer, Saunders said:
To me, the writer's main job is to make the story unscroll in such a way that the reader is snared-she's right there, seeing things happen and caring about them. And if you dedicate yourself to this job, the meanings more or less take care of themselves.
In Tenth of December, the reader is always right there, and the meanings are beautiful and profound and abundant. The title story is an exquisite, moving account of the intersection, at a frozen lake in the woods, of a young misfit and a middle-aged cancer patient who goes there to commit suicide, only to end up saving the boy's life. Home is the often funny, often poignant account of a soldier returning from the war. And Victory Lap is a taut, inventive story about the attempted abduction of a teenage girl. In all, Tenth of December is George Saunders at his absolute best, a collection of stories and characters that add up to something deep, irreducible, and uniquely American.
Review: I have never reviewed a book before. I also am not a big fan of short stories, and rarely read them. So it's really odd that my first review should be of a collection of short stories. I won't summarize all of them, because some are fleeting, ephemeral. I'm embarrassed to say I wasn't familiar with Saunders before this collection, but he has gained a new fan. I like my fiction disturbing, shocking; I like to be shaken up. Saunders does not disappoint. I felt like I was right there, seeing the story happen, and caring about it. Georgie had snared me!!
Tenth of December has ten stories. They are eerie, macabre little stories. All are dark, intense and brilliant... and very funny, sometimes making me laugh out loud. (Which drew really weird stares while waiting at the vet's office.) Most deal with human nature, and a feeling of danger looms around the corner for each character. All are vivid and thought-provoking. Saunders empathizes with his characters. They are you, me, or someone we all know. He understands the human psyche like no other author I've read. His compassion shines throughout his stories.
Standouts for me are Al Roosten, (a story about a man participating in a charity auction to help raise money for a community anti-drug effort). Saunders use of interior dialogue in this one is amazing. I could hear Al Roosten's mind working like I was inside of it.
Al Roosten stood nervously behind the paper screen. “Let’s fire it up!” shouted the m.c., a cheerleaderish blonde. It was a lunchtime auction of Local Celebrities to raise money for LaffKidsOffCrack and their antidrug clowns. Larry Donfrey of Donfrey Realty stood near Roosten in just a swimsuit. Donfrey was a good guy. Good but flawed. A sort of music started up and Donfrey headed down the runway to sudden cheers and whoops. The blonde cued Roosten by pointing at him. No one whooped. The room made the sound a room makes when attempting not to laugh. An intense discomfort settled on the room and drew a kind of pity-whoop from near the salad bar. Roosten brightened and sent a relieved half wave in the direction of the whoop and someone else pity-whooped him. Roosten smiled a big loopy grin, which cause a wave of mercy-cheers. The blonde threw a butterfly net over Roosten’s head and he joined Donfrey in the cardboard jail. “Don’t worry about it, Ed,” Donfrey shouted. “Give it a week, nobody will even remember it.” What? What the hell? Was Donfrey on some other planet? Donfrey could kiss his ass. Huh. The cardboard jail was now filled with celebs. Was it over? He bent low and booked it as the blonde droned on. In the changing area, he found Donfrey’s clothes slopped over a chair. On the floor were Donfrey’s keys and wallet. Roosten gave the wallet a kick. Wow, did it ever slide right under the risers. He gave the keys a kick. Gosh, too bad. Donfrey burst into the changing area, talking loudly on his cell. What was that about? Well that was sad. The sickness of a kid. He’d do anything to help that kid. A bentfoot, or a clubfoot. Shit. He felt like crying. Off he drove through the town where he’d lived his whole life. Suddenly his face was hot. He felt Mom looking at him from Heaven, as if saying, Hello, are we maybe forgetting something? Well, it had been an accident. What was he supposed to do? Donfrey was probably long gone. Probably his wife had a spare set of keys. Or someone else had driven him home. But they weren’t going home. They were going to the foot thing for their kid. Shit. He’d sneak back in, pretend he’d never left. When they were about to give up, he’d say, I’ assume you’ve already looked under those risers? I’m afraid we’ve underestimated you, Donfrey’s wife would say. Yeah, right. What. That Donfrey doofus never made a mistake in his life?
My personal favorite is The Semplica Girl Diaries, in which a family in an alternate or future reality tries "keeping up" with the neighbors next door. But in this case, "keeping up" means using very strange landscaping!! If you read only one story, I would recommend this one. It blew my mind!
SEPTEMBER 5TH
Oops. Missed a day. Things hectic. Will summarize yesterday. Yesterday a bit rough. While picking kids up at school, bumper fell off Park Avenue. Note to future generations: Park Avenue = type of car. Ours not new. Ours oldish. Bit rusty. Kids got in, Eva (middle child) asked what was meaning of “junkorama.” At that moment, bumper fell off. Mr. Renn, history teacher, quite helpful, retrieved bumper (note: write letter of commendation to principal), saying he too once had car whose bumper fell off, when poor, in college. Eva assured me it was all right bumper had fallen off. I replied of course it was all right, why wouldn’t it be all right, it was just something that had happened, I certainly hadn’t caused. Image that stays in mind is of three sweet kids in back seat, chastened expressions on little faces, timidly holding bumper across laps. One end of bumper had to hang out Eva’s window and today she has sniffles, plus small cut on hand from place where bumper was sharp.
Lilly (oldest, nearly thirteen!), as always, put all in perspective, by saying, Who cares about stupid bumper, we’re going to get a new car soon anyway, when rich, right?
Upon arriving home, put bumper in garage. In garage, found dead large mouse or small squirrel crawling with maggots. Used shovel to transfer majority of squirrel/mouse to Hefty bag. Smudge of squirrel/mouse still on garage floor, like oil stain w/ embedded fur tufts.
Stood looking up at house, sad. Thought: Why sad? Don’t be sad. If sad, will make everyone sad. Went in happy, not mentioning bumper, squirrel/mouse smudge, maggots, then gave Eva extra ice cream, due to I had spoken harshly to her.
Have to do better! Be kinder. Start now. Soon they will be grown and how sad, if only memory of you is testy, stressed guy in bad car.
When will I have sufficient leisure/wealth to sit on hay bale watching moon rise, while in luxurious mansion family sleeps? At that time, will have chance to reflect deeply on meaning of life, etc., etc. Have a feeling and have always had a feeling that this and other good things will happen for us!
Saunders knows how the mindset works, and makes great use of his knowledge! This story amazed me, and I think of it still, though it's been months since I read it.
I also enjoyed Escape from Spiderhead, a futuristic take on the pharmaceutical industry. Well, maybe not so futuristic...!!
Drip on?” Abnesti said over the P.A.
“What’s in it?” I said.
“Hilarious,” he said.
“Acknowledge,” I said.
Abnesti used his remote. My MobiPak™ whirred. Soon the Interior Garden looked really nice. Everything seemed super-clear.
I said out loud, as I was supposed to, what I was feeling.
“Garden looks nice,” I said. “Super-clear.”
Abnesti said, “Jeff, how about we pep up those language centers?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Drip on?” he said.
“Acknowledge,” I said.
He added some Verbaluce™ to the drip, and soon I was feeling the same things but saying them better. The garden still looked nice. It was like the bushes were so tight-seeming and the sun made everything stand out? It was like any moment you expected some Victorians to wander in with their cups of tea. It was as if the garden had become a sort of embodiment of the domestic dreams forever intrinsic to human consciousness. It was as if I could suddenly discern, in this contemporary vignette, the ancient corollary through which Plato and some of his contemporaries might have strolled; to wit, I was sensing the eternal in the ephemeral.
I sat, pleasantly engaged in . . .
Brilliant. Freaky. Darkly humorous. These are strange and creepy little stories, and I didn't want them to end. As dark as the stories are, I think George Saunders is a standup dude. At a speech given to Syracuse University students, Saunders gives this advice:
Do all the other things, the ambitious things – travel, get rich, get famous, innovate, lead, fall in love, make and lose fortunes, swim naked in wild jungle rivers (after first having it tested for monkey poop) – but as you do, to the extent that you can, err in the direction of kindness. Do those things that incline you toward the big questions, and avoid the things that would reduce you and make you trivial.
Very well said, but then, you are the author!
I look forward to going back and reading some of his earlier stories. I would recommend him to anyone and everyone. Do yourself a favor and check out George Saunders' story collection, Tenth of December. But be warned, not every story has a happy ending!
