Interlude: Why "Our Share of Night" by Mariana Enriquez is not pulp and is worth your serious consideration

I'm going to get back to analyzing literature for this blog. I intend to start back soon, picking up where I left off with going through the Best Short Stories 2024, a.k.a. the O.Henry anthology. I stopped in February/March, when I was contemplating giving up the job I've had most of my adult life and stumbling blindly through finding something new. I'm still in the stumbling blind stage, as I haven't managed to find a new job yet, but I'm also a lot happier than I was four months ago. Not having a security clearance and all the bullshit that goes with it has been very liberating. I went to Canada last week, and I didn't have to ask for permission to do it. If my unemployment goes on much longer, this euphoria won't last, but for now, I feel content. Who knows what effect this might have on how I look at literature? Not being miserable might make me suck. I often think that most of what I've accomplished in my life has been motivated by spite. Without it, will I be like Prince Zuko without rage? 

Before I get back into the O.Henry stories, I wanted to whip out a quick post talking about a book I spent most of June reading. It's Our Share of Night (Nuestra Parte de Noche) by Mariana Enriquez. This will be a pretty light commentary compared to what I usually do, but I thought there were a few quick points worth making.

Background: the internet still sucks, and why it took me so long to read

I've been looking for jobs that involve using Spanish. Korean isn't terribly useful around here, but Spanish isn't. While I look, I'm also doing some volunteer work teaching English to Spanish-speaking immigrants. I thought I'd read a novel in Spanish to reinforce the other refresher work I've been doing. To choose a novel to read, I Googled this phrase:

"Las mejores novelas literarias de México de los 2020"

I discovered you had to specify "novelas literarias" because if you didn't, Google would think you meant a telenovela and give you information about that. The reason I asked for Mexican novels is because that's the main kind of Spanish of the people I work with. Well, actually, most are from Central America, but their Spanish is heavily influenced by Mexican Spanish, and I figured I'd have an easier time finding Mexican novels than Central American ones, so that's what I looked for. 

At this point, AI hallucinated and told me that Nuestra Parte de Noche was a highly regarded Mexican novel of the 2020s. It is, in fact, neither Mexican nor from the 2020s. It's an Argentinian novel--something you can't miss from very early on--and it's from 2019. Not realizing this, I bought the book for Kindle and started reading it and was a few pages in before I realized what I had bought. For some reason, I decided to keep going. 

Argentinian Spanish is its own beast, something the characters in the book allude to. It has a second person singular form that doesn't exist anywhere else, and it took me a while to get used to it. That's partly why it took me so long to read. Also, I was spending a lot of time applying for jobs and feeling stressed about it. 

I don't usually write about literature that everyone else has read, because I like to fill niches that aren't already filled. You can easily go find dozens of decent analyses of this book online. All I'll offer here is a quick bit of apologia for the book to anyone who might have read it and wondered why everyone had such high praise for it when it could be mistaken for trash.

Why it's not sensationalist pulp

You might read this novel and be tempted to think it's just a really long pulp horror novel. At least one of the villains, Mercedes, is borderline cartoonish in her evil. There is also a lot of sex. Like, a lot of it. Not really a whole lot of sexual scenes in detail, but just a lot of sex happening casually. Hetero sex, homo sex, drugged-up sex, orgiastic sex, it's all there. Past this cursory consideration of the novel's content, though, there's a profound meditation on the loss that comes from political calamity. 

The novel has countless people who are kidnapped and then used in ritual killings as part of a cult, or they are raised to become monsters like the "imbunche." This all takes place while in the background, Argentina lapses into a period of political tyranny where tens of thousands of people disappeared, taken by the government to languish in prisons, to be tortured, or to be killed. The period of the novel includes time before and after the military dictatorship, but because that is the period the novel begins in, it has more weight than the others. 

It's impossible to write a novel that really gets at the heart of what it means for an entire generation of a country to be impacted by the trauma of having loved ones just go missing and never reappear. This novel comes close, though, and it does it by incorporating the magical and the occult and also through its epic scale. 

There are two types of disappearances that take place in the novel. One is when the leaders of the cult kidnap people whom they suspect nobody will miss, either to sacrifice them to the darkness in cults or to raise them in cages to become monsters. The second type happens when the main characters discover an alternate dimension, one in which the darkness seems to live and to which the living sometimes find openings. 

Having the cult be "real," meaning its dark god they revere can actually wound or even take the lives of those in its presence, has implications for the real-world dictatorship whose presence is always in the novel's background but never fully revealed. It has a different kind of effect than it would if, say, the members of the cult were insane and sacrificing people to a god who isn't real. That effect is to weaken the dictatorship, to rob it of its power and majesty and its self-importance. The dictatorship isn't the real power in the world of the story; they're just one more government of many, all of which are manipulated by the members of the cult. Moreover, the power of all governments is dwarfed by that of the dark god they unknowingly serve, a power that is at times in the novel equated with nature. The novel manages, therefore, to both take seriously the trauma of having had a loved one disappear but also to remove the feeling of dread seriousness with which a dictatorship much clothe itself in order to succeed. 

Even the epic scale of the novel helps in this process of denying the military dictatorship this feeling of grandeur and self-importance. In the scope of history, the dictatorship was just a blip on the radar. 

However, that blip continues to have devastating psychological consequences for those who lost someone to the dictatorship. Throughout all of the horrors of the novel, the story manages to carve out space for real pathos in its human characters living with the guilt and pain of having had a loved one just disappear. The chapter "The Problem with Empty Houses, Buenos Aires 1985-1986" is the best part of the novel, and it builds with slow and perfect timing to the loss that defines one of the central characters of the book. Themes dealing with generational trauma are perhaps a bit overdone these days, but "Our Share of Night" manages to reanimate these themes with new feeling precisely by decentering human psychological trauma at points in the novel. By making human loss and the whirling currents that spin out from it small in comparison with the cosmic powers that cause that loss, we are able to feel what it is that makes human experience of loss so painful: our rediscovery of how nearly complete our lack of power is. This lack of power comes in two varieties: the lack of political power among the weak in comparison to authority, but also the lack of power of all humans before forces greater than us all.

This second type of weakness has two sides to it, and the other edge of the sword means that the very political authorities who imagine they are strong when they manage, for a time, to wield that power, will end up feeling the sting of that reverse side when the power inevitably turns against them. In a sense, the novel is a more powerful dismissal of political power than Shelley's "Ozymandias," because for Enriquez's overturned cruel tyrants, there isn't even a "colossal wreck" remaining as testament to a fallen power. There is only the disappearance into the nothingness of history of those who once made others disappear. 

That's about enough silence

The period of silence that has reigned over this blog for the last three months and change coincided with the end of my former career. In early March, I quit my job as a Korean translator and intelligence analyst at the National Security Agency. 

I didn't always love the job, but I felt some level of satisfaction in the belief I was good at it. The skill of understanding spoken and written texts and explaining their meaning, which I developed as a literature student and which has powered this blog, also made me uniquely built for the position. I was a decent translator, but moreover, I was adept at reporting what had been translated, and by being able to do both, it felt like it was somehow more than the sum of its parts. 

Since resigning, my family and I sold our house in Maryland, moved to Ohio where we are from, and I am currently looking for a new job. Although the deferred resignation program allowed me to continue receiving my salary until the end of September, that would have required me to be on administrative leave. It would have meant technically still being a part of the Department of Defense under Trump and Hegseth (NSA is part of the DoD). When I realized in early March that the deferred resignation program would allow people to move the date of their resignation up to any time they wanted, I sent HR notice that I wanted to resign that day. Then I took care of final administrative things and left. 

From the moment Trump was elected in November, I had a growing feeling of a moral obligation to leave my job. That grew as crazy talk from his camp increased leading up to his inauguration, and then it went into overdrive in the early days of him taking office. If it hadn't been for the deferred resignation, I'd have had to leave with no incentives, so in a way, it rescued me. Because of it, I was able to take early retirement. I don't want to act like I'm so noble I just walked away with nothing. I walked away with less than I could have, but not with nothing. I like to think I'd have resigned anyway, but I didn't have to test it. I now at least have a small pension to help out while I'm waiting to find a new job. It's not a ton, but here in Ohio, it'll go further than it would have in Maryland. I'll take a pension, because I'm not ashamed of the work I've done up to now, but I didn't want to keep getting paid my salary until the end of September, because I'd have been ashamed to continue to be a part of the DoD. 

The new job hunt isn't exactly going great; nobody in Ohio cares that I know a lot about North Korea. It would be better if I knew how a drop forge works. I can't even get interviews for a lot of entry-level positions. It was probably foolish to turn down all that free money, but it seemed right to me. By late February, some of the things that made me realize I needed to leave immediately were:

• Trump's executive order on transgender troops. Look, I've written on here before that I'm a liberal skeptic of some of what trans advocates are telling me. I'm not alone in this. There's a reason Trump spent so much money in October focusing on Harris's support for trans issues: because on some issues, like trans women in women's sports, there is a majority that opposes it. I honestly think that Democrats' refusal to move slower on trans issues is the reason Trump is president again. That being said, Trump went way beyond what was necessary in creating the order. He could have just said that gender dysmorphia was like other conditions that affect readiness, so the military can't allow it. Instead, he attacked the honesty and integrity of trans people who had volunteered for the military. It's the definition of dogma: treating your opinion like obvious fact, the way my sister-in-law talks about abortion. If trans identities are obviously made up, the order reasons, then anyone insisting on having one is obviously a liar. It's making trans people out to be morally corrupt and evil, instead of just too difficult for the military to treat. It was a dangerous demonization of a population.  
• The ambush of Ukrainian President Zelensky in the White House, keeping in mind this is the guy running a country that was invaded.
• Just general talk of using the country's military to strongarm Greenland, Panama, or Canada made me not want to be anywhere near the DoD. That talk apparently isn't going away. 

I'm not judging anyone who stayed, nor am I judging anyone who took the admin leave as part of severance. I'm not speaking for anyone myself, or claiming I have special knowledge informing my decision because of my former job. My beliefs are based on nothing more than reading the same news anyone else could read. 

Many friends argued I should stay, based on the "one of the good guys" idea, that good people needed to remain in order to have at least some level of influence. Some people in government reason that we all serve the people, not the administration, and so doing whatever the administration asks is fine, unless it very clearly crosses legal boundaries. These arguments have their points, but I think something as outrageous as Trump II demands a tougher line, one less fraught with the possibility of putting me in a morally compromising position. Trump has made it clear he intends to push the boundaries of what is legal as far as he can get away with them, leaving civil servants to have to carry out a number of policies that are right on the border of what they should be doing. I didn't want to potentially be in such a position. And while every civil servant will have to work at some time during their career for policies they think are mistaken, there is a point at which those policies become so mistaken that I don't know how you can achieve the necessary separation from them to be part of carrying them out. I know that nobody will care that I left, and it won't be any skin off anyone's nose, nor will it change any discourse, but that isn't the point. I made a decision I could live with for my small life. 

A friend asked what made this administration so bad I had to leave, without even taking the severance pay. Surely I had tolerated questionable moral judgement from previous administrations, including the growth of drone attacks, which had no due process and which could sometimes hit innocent bystanders. Also, I stayed through Trump's first administration. 

As a matter of fact, during Trump's first administration, I was often the liberal in the room trying to get other liberals not to overreact. The first time, he spent most of his administration surrounded by grownups and trying to act like a semi-normal president. There is some merit to his criticisms of the neo-liberal world order, even if he's a terrible communicator of those criticisms and he has even worse proposals to offer as replacements. I actually liked his attempt to reach out to Kim Jong Un. I thought that whatever its faults, at least it was an attempt to do something different, and since nothing the U.S. had ever done with North Korea really worked, different was good. Until the final days of his term, I thought concerns about him wanting to be a king were overblown, and even after he did lose his marbles completely, he did, eventually, leave on his own. 

The reasons I left are also the reasons behind my shell-shocked "time for silence" post in March. This version of Trump is so obviously off the rails, so openly corrupt, I can't understand the lack of opposition from his own supporters. The only time he starts to face a real backlash is when tariffs look like enough of a reality the stock market crashes or people start to face the possibility of paying more for things they want. But if he gets Qatar to invest billions in his cryptocurrency and his business, that's too abstract for anyone to care about. It's so bad, I feel like I don't even understand the world, and my thoughts on it can't possibly have value. I couldn't have functioned professionally in that world, and I have a hard time even writing personally, when it seems like I've misread reality so completely.  

My plans for the future

Like I said, the job hunt isn't going great. An M.A. in English isn't a draw to employers. I don't have a teaching certificate, so I can't use my education for that. Even if I could, I have had an issue with my voice for a few years now that I can't seem to fix. My ENT said it was reflux-induced, but I've been taking antacids faithfully for years, and doing all the voice rehab exercises they prescribed, and I still often struggle to get my voice out. I had mentioned earlier that I might want to try blue collar work, but I have chronic foot pain that comes and goes, and recently I've had issues with my elbow, as well. I think both the foot and voice issues stem from the Marine Corps, but I never applied for disability, and now that it's been twenty-eight years since I was discharged, I will likely not be able to prove any service connection. Especially since the diagnoses I've gotten for both issues seem to suck and not help. I've had two job offers, both of which would be a challenge to my medical issues. We'll see how it all works out, but money's definitely going to be a concern again in a way it hasn't been for a long time. 

Now would be a great time, of course, for my writing career to suddenly take off. Sadly, it seems like I just keep missing the cut. I recently got another encouraging rejection from The New Yorker. This one said they weren't taking my story although "we continue to admire your writing." There's a lot to unpack in those six words. We? More than one person? Continue? So more than one person at TNY remembers who I am from one submission to the next and tracks it with some level of enthusiasm? It's certainly possible to make too much of a polite rejection, even though it's clearly more than a form rejection, but this does seem promising. However, I've gotten so many of these promising-seeming rejections from so many good outlets, it seems like that is now my level. I'm a not-quite-there writer. 

It's frustrating to me that I never made it, partly for reasons that every wanna-be writer would find true, but also because I feel like I have a novel draft that would be successful. I wrote a novel about NSA. Not a potboiler, and not even really a tell-all. It's more of a speculative, satirical novel. Like what Vonnegut would have written if he'd had my job. My writing resume isn't the best, but it includes wins in a few contests and about twenty short stories published in total. I can't believe that I can't send out a bunch of cover letters that say this is my writing resume, I worked at NSA, and I have a novel draft about NSA that's already been through pre-publication, and based on that find an agent willing to work with me. As it is, all I've gotten is the same we-like-it-but-it's-still-not-for-us line that seems to follow me everywhere. 

I'm confounded by it all, as I am by so many things these days. A decent book sale number is 3,000 copies. I feel like an NSA book would have that many more or less baked in. A lot of employees or former employees would buy it, as would people curious about it. Only one other NSA novel by a former employee has come out, as far as I know, and that one was kind of a rah-rah NSA book that wasn't very good. 

I tried to tell a different kind of truth in my novel. Maybe it's all a little too high-concept to pitch well, but my basic approach was this: I took the fictional country of Zendia, which NSA has used to teach basic analysis concepts for years, and I pretended that Zendia was actually a real country whose very existence is so secret that the government had to hide it. They chose to hide it in plain sight by pretending it was a made-up country and using it as an example for training. My main character is one of the few people read in to the very secret "Roman A Clef" project who knows that Zendia is real. He's a Zendian linguist, one of the few who still exist. By using a made-up country, I was free to talk about surveillance in ways I wouldn't have been able to if I'd used a real country. (I guess. This guy seemed to be able to talk about a whole lot I wouldn't think you'd be allowed to say.) 

My point wasn't really to do a tell-all about NSA. I was intentionally silly, because specific facts about NSA aren't really what matters to me. I wanted to take a deeper, more philosophical look at the notion of surveillance itself. Because I was once religious and will never really be free of magical thinking, I often let myself believe that writing this book was the whole reason I was put on the Earth. So when I think that this book will never happen, it's easy to start asking myself what, exactly, I'm doing here.

There are also concerns about what would happen if I ever did get the book published and it did succeed. NSA has a pre-publication requirement, and while the official policy makes it seem like it's not all that strict in terms of what you'd have to get pre-publication review for (not for something like this blog post, for example, because general thoughts about my life and NSA don't qualify as "official NSA  information"), I certainly have heard versions of my obligations while at NSA that would suggest I'd never be able to do an interview about the book without first getting all the questions and answers approved. It would make publicity kind of hard. 

Also, I'm kind of done with NSA. I'm ready to do something else. I don't really want to spend the rest of my life being "the NSA writer." If I could do the novel and move on, that would be great, but I have a feeling the novel would come out and that's who I'd be forever. I guess that's what happens if that really is my purpose for being here, but I'd also be happy if from this moment forward I never thought about NSA again.  

The future of the blog

As far as the future of this blog, I do really enjoy taking stories apart and showing how they work for readers who don't necessarily have the literary background to do it but who would still like to enter into a deeper relationship with texts. It's also nice to try my hand at reading something challenging and discuss that reading with other literary people. A few times in the last month, I've had the crazy idea to try to make this blog my job. I'd certainly have to switch platforms, I think. I might even have to turn it into a podcast, but if I did that, I think it would be a lot harder for people to find what they're looking for. The audience I have in mind has a job in something very non-literary, but they've picked up Best American Short Stories or something like it, and they're giving it a go. They get stuck and Google to see what they can find, and they spend five to twenty minutes on my blog, hopefully getting unstuck. A podcast is way harder to do that with. It's harder to skim and harder to tell ahead of time if it's what you want. 

Also, when you run a podcast or a blog you make a living off of, there's kind of a heavy sales element to your life. I haven't been assiduously avoiding sales work in my job hunt just to fall into it on my own. Having a podcast is like having a Mary Kay business: you don't have friends, only potential customers you socialize with. 

There are also some possible futures in front of me that would make continuing the blog difficult. I will probably need to go back to school if I don't want to work low-paying jobs the rest of my life. Law school is a possibility, but if I did that, law school would become my life, and I can't see finding the time to keep this blog up. I've been volunteering lately for the Immigrant Worker Project, tutoring in English. When I went in there to meet them, I spoke with the head of the IWP, who is a lawyer with the stereotypical piles of cases on his desk, working overtime lately to just try to get the government to follow basic due process with his clients. If my purpose in life isn't to write the great philosophical-satirical spy novel, helping people to keep working and keep living their lives isn't a bad alternative. I've been working at improving my Spanish (and quickly forgetting my Korean, which, sadly, I think has no future in my life) in order to be of more use to them. 

If not law school, I probably need to learn something else. There's a small chance, I guess, that I could try to finish my Ph.D. in English at Kent State and use that knowledge here on the blog, but that chance seems remote. Much like that chance that I'll ever find I have some actual special purpose in life. 

I recently heard Michael Lewis on a podcast talking about his book Who is Government? He had so much belief in the power of stories to change the world. He said it doesn't seem like there is change for the longest time, and then suddenly there is a whole lot of change at once. I don't know if I believe that, or if that's just something that people who traffic in stories tell themselves to feel better. It's certainly hard to explain the direction the world seems to be headed when there are all these great stories. If the problem isn't the stories, but the readings that given interpretive communities give to those stories, then I've been happy to try to improve the interpretive communities I am a part of. My optimism about the world varies wildly from day to day and month to month, which is why my willingness to throw myself into the blog and writing also varies along with it. Right now, it seems like maybe it's time to close the literary chapter while I'm closing other ones and worry about taking care of my family and tending my own garden. We'll see how I feel in the fall when BASS comes out again, this time under a new editor. 

For today, though, I didn't want the silence of bewilderment to be the last word on this blog. Consider this my contribution, pointless as it is, on this day when so many are pushing back against the possibility of kings here in America. 

A time to be silent

Whatever it is I've been doing, I don't think it's working. 

I've exhausted myself most of my life to try to understand the world, but as I look out at it now, I don't understand anything. The things I'd come to believe tell me that we shouldn't be here, but here we are. 

A major part of my regimen to understand the world has been reading, studying, and writing fiction. That must be where at least a big part of the problem lies. I know I've said many times on here before I would stop writing or blogging, but I think now is different. I have a unique opportunity to remake myself, to turn aside from all the projects I've been working on and go in a totally new direction. 

When you realize that you don't understand anything, I think it's appropriate to be silent. I'm going to take time to see what silence teaches me. I know some will say that times like these call for speaking up, rather than silence, but I don't believe my speaking up has ever done any good, so I'm just going to try something else and see how that goes. I intend to make this an all-encompassing discipline, almost monastic. If it works out, I'd even like to pick an occupation that makes long periods of silence possible, something blue-collar. I don't have much ability in this realm, and I'm kind of old now for that kind of work, but I'd like to try. 

I think this might really and for real be the last post I make, after all the previous threats to not post anymore. Thanks to those who've shared a quest to understand stories with me. If there is any power behind the universe with power and will to intercede, I'd ask it to show pity and mercy to us lost humans trying to figure out the world and caught up going along for the ride on an attraction we didn't volunteer to get on. I'd couple that appeal with one to anyone reading this to also show pity and mercy toward those stumbling through life alongside us. 

"Junior" by Katherine D. Stutzman (O.Henry Anthology)

Once upon a time, when the influence of the American New Critics was at its height, it was considered de rigeur that a work of literary art should have an ending that called back to the beginning. Above all, a work should feel whole and unitary, the critics of that era felt. This is no longer considered a necessity, but it is still nice to find a work that feels as whole as "Junior" by Katherine D. Stutzman. It makes it easy to understand why critics have felt this was such an important goal to strive for. 

Nearly all of the story has a very limited scenery. It almost all takes place at the farm along the Herne River where Junior has lived his whole life. Junior takes care of cows and his father in equal measure. When he finds out that the Herne is going to be dammed up and the town of Willards Mill flooded, "Junior Ogilvy does not alter his routine." 

That opening line of the story could well serve as a synopsis for all of it, in that most of the slow drama in the story involves Junior trying to maintain equilibrium and normalcy as his town is about to disappear, along with his farm, his way of life, and, it so happens, his father, who is dying in the room upstairs. Junior and his father are a perfect example of individuals trying to live their private lives when something big and public comes along to interrupt them. In this case, there has evidently been some kind of eminent domain claim made on the land where they live that means they will have to move. It's the sort of event that reminds those affected how contingent everything in life is, how the things we've done for so long that we not only take them for granted, but even take for granted taking them for granted, can be taken from us. It's a reminder that there is a public and political side to life even for those trying the hardest to keep it out and live privately. 

"Try to keep it out" is what Junior does to the very last. There is a great moment when he gets a letter from a sister he hardly knows. She lives at Fort Drum in New York, where she is married to a soldier. She is offering to bring their father to live with her, since Willards Mill is about to be flooded. She can provide for the old man's comfort while Junior goes off to make a new life for himself. It's a very fair and thoughtful offer, but Junior can't bring himself to accept it. He can't even respond, because responding would be acknowledging that the thing is about to happen. When he first gets the letter, he "does so in the morning, feeling that it will be better to carry the letter's contents out into the cold, into the barn, among the cows with their breath steaming from their nostrils, rather than carrying it into his little room under the stairs and into his sleep." He physically removes the letter as far from his inner life as he can, hoping this will also keep it emotionally and psychologically removed. 

This story reminds me of TMBG's best album

Junior isn't in complete denial. He worries that his father might not die before they have to leave. He sells his herd, knowing they can't stay. He does prepare for leaving on some level, including building a coffin for his father with the scraps of lumber left at the Willards Mill hardware store. He sees signs all around him of other people preparing to leave, and he knows he will have to, as well, and soon. Nonetheless, he stays until almost the very end, until at last his father dies and he can put him in the coffin he built. He puts the coffin on the cart he used to use for carrying milk, and he heads off. Here is where the end loops back to the beginning so neatly: "When at last Junior Ogilvy leaves Willards Mill, he does not go down through town and away along the River Road. He walks beside his mule out behind the farmhouse and across the pasture. He will find his way up and over the hill, to another valley, to a place where he can put his father into the ground and begin again." 

The beginning of the story was Junior trying to maintain normalcy as the big world was forcing change upon him. The end is him determined to reestablish a new normalcy after enduring the change. Junior is an incredibly normal and unremarkable person--even the name "Junior" suggests that he is not original--but his determination to continue on with his normal life, to find meaning in it for himself, is admirable. In a setting largely circumscribed by the shabby furniture of his bedroom or the bleak landscape seen from the window or the cold air of the barn, Junior struggles to make it all mean something and to remain steadfast in his belief in what it means. 

Aside one

Let's be honest. For most of human history, and very much including the present, country folk have been conservative and city folk have represented change. Pastoral settings are the site of people with traditional morality, while cities contain those with a more flexible moral vision. Free-thinking city folks tend to either idealize the country or to belittle it. When they are belittling it, it's by calling its denizens things like "xenophobic." 

Junior doesn't spend much timing musing about outsiders. The story takes place less than a year after the end of World War I, but Junior doesn't even consider this fact. He doesn't waste any breath or thought cursing those city slickers who came up with the idea to flood the valley, undoubtedly to build something that will benefit them and not him. But I think we can understand why someone in Junior's position might be a little suspect of outsiders. Part of the psyche of working the land, I suppose, is to believe in the importance of permanence. Putting all that work into the soil would be impossible if one didn't believe things would be more or less the same tomorrow as they are today. Putting this story in Junior's perspective makes the supposed "xenophobia" of country dwellers a little easier to understand, because there isn't much that comes from outside that is really there for their benefit. 

Aside two (the Internet sucks now) 

Where the hell was Willards Mill? Where is the Herne River? A Google search, which is now more about Google's AI than its old algorithms, keeps insisting I mean the Rhine in Germany, which apparently goes by a town called Herne. I cannot convince it that this isn't what I mean. The story is pretty clearly not in Germany, not with a town called "Willards Mill" and a complete lack of mention of the war. If I try to search Willards Mill, I get deluged (hahahhaha deluged) with stuff about a fictional town from some show called "Stan Against Evil." Flipping it all around and adding in terms about flooding and so on doesn't improve my results. The Internet sucks now, because it's trying to think for me, and it won't believe me if I try to tell it that's not what I'm thinking of. 

So either this is historical fiction set in a town someone in the U.S. with a local history known only to those from the area, or this is a completely made-up episode. It doesn't really matter too much to me, but I do wish I had more confidence that the Internet wasn't ganging up on me to make it harder to find out.  

Obviously, my O'Henry read-through is delayed

This is just a note to say that I realize it's been a while since I last posted. I do intend to try to get back to the short story anthology blog-through soon. Just been a lot going on personally the last few weeks. Like, a lot. I know I'm not unusual to be going through stuff, and generally, I've got it okay. I'd say I'm grateful, but it always seems weird to me to be grateful when, as an agnostic, I have no object of gratitude. I guess I'm just grateful to the universe, although that never feels quite right, either, because part of gratefulness is that I have it better than most, which is sort of including the relative badness that others endure as part of being thankful. So maybe not grateful, but more that I acknowledge my relative good fortune. I apologize for having been self-indulgently self-pitying at times on this blog, although I guess that goes with the territory of being a writer sometimes.

I will attempt to both get back to the literary analysis soon and to be a better person in general. It's never clear to me if those two things are linked, if reading literature closely can help one to be a better person of if it's actually the opposite, and literature is bad for one's moral development. In any event, I'm going to try to accomplish both things, and soon. Thanks for reading.  

 

This story might as well be written by AI: "Hiding Spot" by Caroline Kim (O.Henry Anthology)

"Hiding Spot" is a boilerplate, familiar-to-the-point-of-tedium, well-worn story of Korean immigrants. If you were to create a "Korean immigrant story" bingo card ahead of reading it, you'd be yelling "bingo" in very short order. We have: Korean immigrants who hide valuables in the house, a Korean mom and dad who run a dry cleaning business, a dol (a party thrown when a child turns one), and old Korean parents who go to church and are disappointed in their child. It's full of the kinds of Korean cultural markers that would be part of a one-hour introduction to Korea class. They might as well serve bulgogi and kimchi with it. 

The few times the story starts to introduce something interesting or insightful about Korean-American life, it doesn't keep pulling the thread. There is a part where Mrs. Lee observes that Americans think you need special breakfast food for breakfast, but Koreans just eat soup and rice or whatever they were eating the night before. Okay, but what of it? Stay with that for a second. Likewise, we see Mr. Lee reading Chosun Ilbo, maybe the most conservative of the mainline Korean newspapers. You can't have him reading that and not have it matter, but it doesn't. Other than disappointment in his son for being a drug addict, Mr. Lee doesn't show any real conservative tendencies. He's old-person conservative, not politically so. 

In the end, it's another story where immigrants and their families in America have psychological issues because of a divided identity. That's got to be the most common theme in immigrant literature. This story is linguistically dull and uninventive and overall lacks any ambition. It's a story that's been told a thousand times, and not in terribly different words. It's the second story from the New England Review I've read written by a Korean-American writer about Korean-American life, and both times I felt that the editorial staff got duped by a dull story that they couldn't tell was dull.  

Solidarity is a pipe dream: "Serranos" by Francisco Gonzalez (O.Henry Anthology 2024)

I've fallen behind on my analysis of stories from the 2024 Best Short Stories collection, a.k.a. the O.Henry Prize Winners anthology. It's been a trying time. I'm going to try to push through. This is going to be a half-assed post. The next few might be. Apropos of nothing, I'm looking for a new job, and if you happen to think I'm an amazing writer and know someone willing to offer anything remotely reasonable for this golden ergonomic keyboard of mine, please let me know. 

Two groups that should be on the same side and aren't

That's "Serranos" in a nutshell. There's the old school undocumented laborers who live in Ranch View Mobile Estates, the ones who work in a vineyard serving rich people, and the new school "Serranos" from the highlands back home who move into the Holiday Rambler next to all of the older laborers. The Serranos aren't circumspect like the old schoolers; they are loud and proud and set of fireworks on Fourth of July and play loud music and put American flags on the backs of their bikes that they ride to their jobs at the Greek restaurant. 

The children of the lowlanders admire the Serranos. Because the children have citizenship (for now! Stay tuned to see how this 14th Amendment drama shakes out!), they aren't as timid as their parents, and they like that the Serranos aren't timid, either. The children resent the parents for being--in their view--jealous of the freewheeling nature of the Serranos. The lowlanders begin to want the Serranos out, because their behavior draws too much attention. Although the mother figure among the Serranos, "Mother Paz" eventually charms the lowlanders with her southern-style tamales, and the elders finally appreciate the raw "sincerity" of the Serranos, the damage has already been done.  The Serranos are eventually picked up by Immigration before any real bond of solidarity can form. The old-timers become even more cautious not to be noticed. One day, before heading off to work, the lowlanders see Mother Paz back at Ranch View. She slips quietly into the Holiday Rambler. The old-timers recognize their fears toward their neighbors, how it was "easy to hate them," but they "couldn't bear to love them." They knock on her door in a belated, small gesture of understanding. 

It seems like nearly every best-of short story anthology has at least one hard-luck Latino story. This one stands out for the realistic way it portrays how people under stress actually behave, which isn't always nobly. There are too many things to worry about to be noble. The point of view of the narrator, the first-person plural "we/us," is always a loaded one. It can emphasize community by making all of the characters in the story belong together, or it can emphasize the opposite, which is polarity, because "we/us' implies a "they/them" who aren't part of the community. That's how it was in "The Little Widow from the Capital" by Yohanca Delgado. This story's use of we/us is also the latter type of use. 

The vast majority of people on the globe have every reason to work together to make their lives better, and yet it seldom happens. If it does happen, it usually happens too late to do much except remember. This story is incredibly timely, probably too timely. I should probably switch to reading werewolf romances for a while.