"This is a story with no surprises," starts Ethan Canin in his, the last, selection in this years Paris Review compendium, titled with a self-conscious cleverness The Paris Review Book for Planes, Trains, Elevators, and Waiting Rooms. What makes this collection so frustrating and so devoid of surprises, is that for all its intended purpose it serves up nothing one would want to read while waiting in any of these temporal locations.
Divided by length ostensibly to fit the amount of time normally allotted to the trip on a plane, ride on a train, conveyance on an elevator, or wait in a room, the stories have nothing to do with where the editors think you might be waiting while you're reading them. Not that there's anything wrong with that. After all, surely these stories are meant to distract you from where you're waiting not remind you of it, correct? Unfortunately, unless you enjoy spending your waiting time reading about the depressing, enigmatic, slice-of-life moments that have become the hallmark of modern short fiction, you might want to skip over the "Planes" section. The same goes for the "Trains" section, which consists only of shorter versions of the same. In fact, the "Elevators" section follows along in suit, as well.
Divided by length ostensibly to fit the amount of time normally allotted to the trip on a plane, ride on a train, conveyance on an elevator, or wait in a room, the stories have nothing to do with where the editors think you might be waiting while you're reading them. Not that there's anything wrong with that. After all, surely these stories are meant to distract you from where you're waiting not remind you of it, correct? Unfortunately, unless you enjoy spending your waiting time reading about the depressing, enigmatic, slice-of-life moments that have become the hallmark of modern short fiction, you might want to skip over the "Planes" section. The same goes for the "Trains" section, which consists only of shorter versions of the same. In fact, the "Elevators" section follows along in suit, as well.
Only the "Waiting Rooms" section is given ample space to develop characters and a slight- very slight sense of humor that wouldn't even be noticeable as such if not for the previous three-quarters of this stumbling, repetitive, melancholic anthology.
There are good things about all of these stories and poems and snippets, though. It's only the shell in which they are encased that is the trouble. Call it The Paris Review Book of Sadness, Morose Longings, Suicide, Ambiguous Morality, Drunkenness, and Aging and you've got the same collection with a much more appropriate sense of what you're getting yourself into. Denis Johnson starts things off with a selection from his already published book of short stories Jesus' Son entitled "Beverly Home" about a peeping tom who works at a nursing home. It's fine, yes. It's a good story. A short, Borges-style moment in time that is well constructed and certainly provocative. Now that I've said that, I could continue to say it about nearly every story in this section, with the added quibble that none of these stories would last an airplane ride. Perhaps the whole section would be enough, but I've never been on a plane ride that it would take only a 20-odd page story to fill up.
There are good things about all of these stories and poems and snippets, though. It's only the shell in which they are encased that is the trouble. Call it The Paris Review Book of Sadness, Morose Longings, Suicide, Ambiguous Morality, Drunkenness, and Aging and you've got the same collection with a much more appropriate sense of what you're getting yourself into. Denis Johnson starts things off with a selection from his already published book of short stories Jesus' Son entitled "Beverly Home" about a peeping tom who works at a nursing home. It's fine, yes. It's a good story. A short, Borges-style moment in time that is well constructed and certainly provocative. Now that I've said that, I could continue to say it about nearly every story in this section, with the added quibble that none of these stories would last an airplane ride. Perhaps the whole section would be enough, but I've never been on a plane ride that it would take only a 20-odd page story to fill up.
Alice Munro also throws you a good selection about aging and death. Karl Iagnemma has a good one about, well, the same thing with a dash of love and suicide thrown in and voice that is refreshingly different. Yiyun Li has an excellent fable-esque contribution about eunuchs and Mao-impersonators in China but Philip Roth phones in a contribution about an older married couple. His typical adulterous subject matter which he has handled so deftly in the past here seems flaccid and predictable- but he does give you the "was it accidental?" death/suicide that was apparently the major entry qualification for this collection.
An excellent submission in this section was Helen Schulman's "The Revisionist" with a surprising ending and a tone that you would expect from a younger Philip Roth. But again you will be forced to wonder what exactly the editors were thinking when they put this perfectly satisfying story in the plane section when a good half of it takes place in the waiting area of a train station.
An excellent submission in this section was Helen Schulman's "The Revisionist" with a surprising ending and a tone that you would expect from a younger Philip Roth. But again you will be forced to wonder what exactly the editors were thinking when they put this perfectly satisfying story in the plane section when a good half of it takes place in the waiting area of a train station.
Speaking of trains, the locomotive section is by far the driest wasteland of writing with only a couple of notable exceptions. William Maxwell puts in a brief gem about a couple who've been robbed while at a Christmas party. Singling out this entry is its Kurosawa style structure and Maxwell's ability to create a character history and sense of passage of time in the brief space allotted. Lydia Davis also has an excellent contribution "Break It Down" about the relative value of love, time, and money spent which is also unique in structure and takes the short-form and works it in an interesting way.
Unfortunately, between these two is a lot of the usual from the likes of Raymond Carver, T.C. Boyle (whom I normally enjoy), V.S. Naipul, and Joyce Carol Oates (just in case she wasn't published enough). You can yawn your way through these if you really want to, but it wouldn't be recommended. Your time waiting on the train would be better spent reading the fine print on your ticket or watching the same scenery pass by out the window that you've seen a thousand times on your trip home.
Unfortunately, between these two is a lot of the usual from the likes of Raymond Carver, T.C. Boyle (whom I normally enjoy), V.S. Naipul, and Joyce Carol Oates (just in case she wasn't published enough). You can yawn your way through these if you really want to, but it wouldn't be recommended. Your time waiting on the train would be better spent reading the fine print on your ticket or watching the same scenery pass by out the window that you've seen a thousand times on your trip home.
