"Vida" by Patricia Engel (2010)

One of the things I admire most about this book is Engel's decision to not translate her inclusion of Spanish. This made me reflect on Anzaldúa's use of Spanish in the same way or Red Shirt's choice to always translate Lakota, even after a definition had been given.

Where Red Shirt's narrative began to feel bogged down as the translations were repeated throughout the book, Engel does an excellent job at keeping the center plot moving without rushing through important details or character development.

The book is organized in primarily in chronological order following the protagonist, Sabina, as she navigates growing into herself through a variety of romantic, platonic, and familial relationships. The last story is the only standout as not being chronological, though it mirrors the first story, "Lucho" in a lot of ways: Sabina forms relationships with people that no one else wants to deal with outside of the person's romantic capabilities/availability until meeting an unfortunate and untimely end of their current existence in a motor accident.

The setup for the structure is very similar to Cisneros' House on Mango Street as there are many stories where the central character is not Sabina, but the person she's forming a bond with (most notably in the titular story/chapter "Vida" but also in the first story "Lucho" is when this stands out most to me in memory). The result of this is a touchstone (Sabina) for the reader as they see what being an immigrant or first-generation American can mean for someone's existence/survival.

The book seems to exist in a liminal space. Sabina never really figures out who she is or where she belongs (a theme most explored in the final story as she returns to Columbia and receives criticism, paralleling the bullying she received growing up in the U.S.). Sabina exists in the in-between in her relationships, her geographical location (bouncing between NYC, Jersey, and Miami most frequently), and most of all, her identity. Though I followed this character and her relationships for the 179 pages that make up this book, I came away knowing very little about Sabina specifically. I mostly remember how the setting and other characters impacted her and revealed hidden truths (a call-back to "Lucho" where she references peeling Lucho's onion while getting to know each other). It's this disconnect from the protagonist (also seen in Cisnero's book) that lends itself more to a collection of stories than a novel. Just as I cannot remember anything about the protagonist of Mango Street I doubt I will remember anything about Sabina in a few weeks.

"Nocturnes: Five Stories of Music and Nightfall" by Kazuo Ishiguro (2009)

SPOILERS AHEAD

Ishiguro's collection is a marvel as a learning writer. His ability to incorporate audio in prose is fluid and inspirational. Most authors tend to either get too into the weeds of writing about music (isolating a non-musician) or end up mentioning a beat or artist's name. Still, somehow Ishiguro was able to *embody* what it feels like to listen to music.

No character outshines the other, no plot overshadows its collection-mates, if I were to sum this collection up in one word it would be: balanced. Perhaps what I enjoyed the most was the humor sprinkled throughout. Some lines were enough to evoke an audible laugh while reading, something objectively difficult to accomplish. A rivalry with a gondola captain, being the pitied third wheel of a dissolving marriage, tormenting a rude tourist, retrieving a coveted trophy from a bird carcass, and watching a non-musician musical prodigy giving musical advice are all plot points into which Ishiguro injects his humor. He is also, though small, humanizing moments, able to subvert reader expectations and remind them that the characters are worthy of our sympathy.

The only distracting factor for me was the inclusion of Lindy Gardner as the celebrity in the titular story, "Nocturne." With Ishiguro's ability to build characters that are memorable and unique, I wish that he used the opportunity to feature a different faux celebrity. I did enjoy her character, but I also think it could've been someone else instead of Lindy since we didn't get a lot of her personality from the first story, "Crooner." That being said, this distraction was not enough to inhibit my ability to enjoy this collection for the masterpiece it is.

"The Elephant Vanishes" by Haruki Murakami (1993)

The biggest compliment I can give a short story collection is: I never knew what was coming next. Murakami is a chameleon. His ability to transition between gendered POVs, varying styles (traditional prose, epistolary, combination), mastery of punctuation (frequently used to provide interiority or heighten tension), and subtle, subversive, surprising plots are something to behold.

Unlike Keret or Blasim where the surreal was the standard, Murakami only ventures into the surreal for short periods, breaking up the stretches of stories that are, more likely, held in a universe bound by rules like our own. The result is a collection that never feels weighted, one whose stories and style never outstay their welcome.

All the stories featured have a certain discomfort associated. The reader always has a sense that something is wrong, even if they cannot pinpoint it right away. Part of this comes from the aforementioned expertise in creating tension, something that the reader can recognize from the first story (not knowing who is calling the phone, counting the minutes of the conversation). However, the other part comes from Murakmi's ability to craft specific details that demonstrate what it means to *show* your reader what is happening. Perhaps one of the most impeccable skills demonstrated in this collection is how Murakami is able to describe sound. It's unusual to find an author who can take something audible and translate it into a physical accompaniment, which I find he does remarkably.

I will absolutely have to revisit this collection and take detailed notes on how Murakami is able to provide both substance and detail in such harmony. This is a collection I simply cannot get enough of.

"The Return" by Robert Bolaño (2010)

Bolaño's collection, while impressive, does not hold up throughout. By far, the most engaging stories are in the first half, with the exception of the titular story, "The Return."

The stories that I found most impactful were, "Snow," "William Burns," "Detectives," "Joanna Silvestri," and "The Return." Each of these stories is unique from the other following a Chilean immigrant in Russia, a man whose paranoia results in the death of an innocent, two men in conversation about past events while on patrol, a porn actress who catches feelings, and a man who observes the treatment of his recently deceased body as a ghost (similar to stories by both Blasim and Keret), respectively. This variety of the collection is what is most remarkable. None of these tales feel like they are from the same author, in the best way. Bolaño appears as though he can shape shift as he explores the most raw features of the human condition from numerous perspectives.

Unfortunately for the collection as a whole, this shape shifting is not sustainable. The biggest deficit of this collection is the feeling of repetition that begins to occur regarding plot and subject matter, which begins to water down the stories in the first half that felt (upon first reading) so fresh and revived. Another deficit of the collection (for my personal taste) is half of a double-edged sword: Bolaño's vast knowledge of European and Russian literature and poetry. While this knowledge enhances some of the stories (like "Snow" where the protagonist is constantly trying to keep up with the literary knowledge of his criminal colleagues) by adding characterization, in others it completely detracts from the purpose of the story altogether (most notably in his story "Photos" which becomes nearly indecipherable at points due to the rattling of names). The ending result is a collection that is half magnificent and half droning and pretentious, a clear sign of what can happen if you take one trait too far.

"The Corpse Exhibition and Other Stories of Iraq" by Hassan Blasim (2014)

SPOILERS AHEAD

Blasim uses varieties of form and POV to explore the hardships experienced by Iraqi citizens spanning multiple wars and occupations in a way that is wholly unique and horrifying. Blasim uses brief moments of repetition (like the use of the word "one" in "Thousand and One Knives") and slipping in and out of 2nd person POV to highlight the tone of the collection, specifically by bringing the reader into the protagonist's experience as vividly as possible for each story.

The first story, "The Corpse Exhibition" is the perfect choice to set the tone of this collection and is written in 2nd person POV though it mostly feels like standard 3rd person limited narration. The story functions as almost a training video for murders who display the bodies of their victims in a variety of increasingly shocking ways for the sake of message and "art." Functionally, this piece lets the reader know that the rest of the collection will be violent, gory, and as exploitative as the media (as briefly discussed using the example of Al Jazeera in "The Reality and The Record") to depict the unpleasantries of war.

Blasim is able to capture complex emotions and characters where heroes and villains don't really exist. The cycle of war portrayed by Blasim is one where everyone is unable to escape the violence and anger, much like "The Bus Driver Who Wanted to be God and Other Stories" by Keret. The distinguishing factors between Blasim and Keret is primarily one of author perspective: Keret writes about war and occupation from the perspective of the occupiers (Israel) where Blasim writes from the perspective of the occupied (Iraq). The occupiers change throughout the collection, from the U.S. military, to racial groups (for example, the Kurdish), and terror groups, but the result is always the same: anger, fear, violence, a desperate need for survival. This lends itself to the overarching tone of the collection: impending doom.

"The Bus Driver Who Wanted to be God and Other Stories" by Etgar Keret

SPOILERS AHEAD

Keret's collection is a surrealist collection that uses black humor to dissect the mentality of war. He uses short, punchy sentences to keep the stories vibrant while highlighting the disturbing twists of the content. The stories are tied together with two main themes: religion and anger/rage.

Many of stories feature characters with a God-complex. The titular story is an excellent example ("The Bus Driver Who Wanted to be God"), though this can also be found in "Hole in the Wall," "Kneller's Happy Campers," and most disturbing of them all, "Cocked and Locked" where the feeling of superiority is blanketed by the theme of rage as it depicts an Israeli soldier in a verbal (and later physical) altercation with a Palestinian man.

With current world events, "Cocked and Locked" is almost nauseating to read. However, Keret does depict the events as something no one really wants to happen. The Palestinian man shows his detest and anger-driven by Israeli occupation as the Israeli soldier shows equal contempt as someone who is forced into a military and faces harassment. Everyone is angry. Everyone is losing. Only some people have to lose more than others. Keret does pick apart Islam throughout the book, however, he also picks apart every religion.

This is most easy to see in "Kneller's Happy Campers" (the longest story of the collection, by far). There is a chapter in which two Israeli men who have killed themselves and are now on a quest in the afterlife come across an Arab (no details about nationality are given) man who admits to being a suicide bomber. The climax of the scene is when one of the Israeli men is mocking the Arab man about the belief in the "72 virgins waiting for him" to which the Arab man responds: "Sure, they promise [...] and look what it got me. [...] And you, what did they promise you?"

Keret's characters are vastly unlikable, some even admitting to being racist. His saving grace for the collection lies within the protagonists. The protagonists are typically characters that act as a proxy for the reader, someone who is on the outside (in one way or another) and are watching atrocities and horror occur around them. Again, the primary deviant from this is "Cocked and Loaded" where the protagonist is the Israeli soldier that ends up severely assaulting the Palestinian man. Though further research into both the occupied and occupier positions (pre-October 7th, 2023) would be helpful in understanding the climate and purpose behind this piece in particular.

"Friend of My Youth" by Alice Munro (1987)

The blurbs weren't lying when they said Munro fits what feels like a full novel in each of her stories. Her prose is decisive, descriptive, full-bodied. The use of third-person limited (and occasionally omniscient) POV is smart here as it gives the reader a feeling that "what has been will always be." This intergenerational continuation of events is a theme prominent from the first story. Each piece bounces between generations, looking at people, businesses, place, and Canadian border culture in a way that makes every character and each decision they make feel inevitable (a phenomenon highly praised by Zinsser's "On Writing Well"). It is mostly Munro's views of place throughout time that hold the stories together. Arguably, the main theme here is "history" in all its forms (personal, geographic, cultural).

Munro does engage with socio-economic class, particularly the dichotomy of how the "haves" view the world versus the "have not's." In comparison, Allison’s "Trash" does something similar, but remains zoomed in on the experience and associations that come from being a "have not." Perhaps this is partially due to the POV (Allison often writes in first-person which gives a feeling of rawness and immediacy), though Munro does have an air of "old-school" to her prose.

This can be found particularly in romance. Munro's depictions of romance feel driven by duty, obligation to maintain the status quo, and occasionally, as a means for escape (literally and metaphorically). Munro's characters feel like they are in a relationship because they haven't a choice, and because of this, they are frequently unfaithful to their partners for the same reason. Again, if we are to look at Allison we see relationships fueled by lust, desire, desperation. They too feel like inevitable relationships, but mostly because the characters appear as though they need the external validation from their partner where Munro's characters feel they need it from society at large.

"Baboon" by Naja Marie Aidt (2006)

SPOILERS AHEAD

Aidt's collection, "Baboon" is unflinching in its examinations of the beauty and horror of the human experience. Primarily featuring incredibly unlikable characters, they do not appear as evil caricatures. A woman can abuse her son, a husband can cheat on his wife with her sister, an assault can unlock fetishes in a married couple, and Aidt's use of language, form, and style keep all the characters believable, often acknowledging the horror themselves.

What holds the collection together are the common themes throughout the pieces. Betrayal (often also seen as abandonment), resentment, family, vulnerability, and desire can be found in each story, some more so than others. The arc in which the stories are assembled is fairly standard, starting with the most striking and ending with the second most striking. However, the morbidity of the final story and the final line ("...he sites down and cracks opens his long-anticipated beer, suddenly feeling like a new-born with everything to look forward to") could also contribute to the story placement.

Perhaps the final story could also be pointing to another theme throughout the collection: resilience. All the characters learn to adapt to the horrors they experience, none are conquered even if who they are at the end is not who they were at the beginning. It's within this final theme that Aidt's collection becomes a master class in writing about the "real world."

"The House on Mango Street" by Sandra Cisneros (1984)

This book is a classic for a reason. Cisneros tackles themes of sadness, shame, and belonging in this beautifully constructed bildungsroman. The each story is told from the perspective of the protagonist, Esperanza with shifts in point of view throughout. Cisneros is excellent at bringing Mango Street to life by showing small snippets (facts, fiction, observations) of the neighborhood and the people who reside there. While we follow the protagonist, the book seems to focus on Mango Street itself more than Esperanza.

Cisneros is unflinching in her depictions of abuse, the desire to escape one's socio-economic position, cultural clashes, and perceptions of the "other." The book shows the connection to Latin, particularly Mexican, culture throughout, but through the "other" lens. Every piece of information the reader gleans in this book is done through a snippet.

Perhaps most notable about this book is Cisneros' ability to characterize her nouns in unique ways that demonstrate her training as a poet. One that stuck with me the most was her description of an apartment that "breathed" a musty smell into the hall, demonstrating Cisneros' ability to be clear, concise, and impactful in even a single word.

"The Twelve Tribes of Hattie" by Ayana Mathis (2012)

Mathis follows a matriarch, Hattie, and her kin in a series of short story-esque chapters that show the hardships and complexities of trying to raise a family during the first half of the 20th century. The locations vary between primarily Philadelphia and Georgia, with sprinkles of New Jersey and Baltimore as the characters try to find their place. This text is a bildungsroman for not only Hattie, but her children and grandchildren and continues to show the evolution of the family unit over decades.

The book is haunting in its depictions of war, Jim Crow, loss, grief, anger, and love. Each chapter is dedicated to a member of Hattie's family, some are dedicated to two ("Philadelphia and Jubilee" and "Alice and Billups") as the title character undergoes a transformational time in their lives. Mathis' ability to have clear, defined characters that are rounded enough to sustain each chapter is impressive enough, but I found I wanted more of all of them. Mathis also experiments with changing formatting and POV throughout, keeping the reader engaged as they zoom in and out from the family. The chapter, and my personal favorite, "Franklin" gives present tense, past tense, third person narration, first-person narration, and most astoundingly, they all fit together in a way that enhances the emotion and tension of the piece.

Not enough good things can be said about this text. I would recommend it to anyone at any time.

"The Woman Warrior" by Maxine Hong Kingston (1976)

SPOILERS AHEAD

Kingston's collection of essays is a beautiful blend of culture, folklore, and memory in this bildungsroman. Difficult enough, Kingston excels at becoming an omniscient third-person narrator for stories her family does not want to tell, as most clearly evidenced in the essay, "At the Western Palace." Paired with her use of first-person in essays like "No Name Woman" and "White Tigers," the reader has to remind themselves that the Orchid sisters are not characters from Kingston's imagination, but her mother and aunt. The skill with which she blends the essays together feels as though they are a larger story, told in succinct parts that tell us what we need to know about Kingston, her family, her ancestors, and their culture. "White Tigers" is the most excellent with blending culture and folklore with personal story as Kingston embodies Mulan as a form of establishing her identity.

While the previously mentioned essays may best demonstrate Kingston's ability to shift between real and imaginary without leaving any seams, the final essay, "A Song for a Barbarian Reed Pipe" is the one that tells the reader the most. Kingston hints at her individualism throughout the collection, but she always remains in relation to something else: folklore, her family, China. In the final essay, that is stripped and we can see how being a child of immigrant parents affects her as an individual. She has been told to be more demure by her aunt, has had her tongue cut by her mother in an effort to expand her linguistic capabilities, she has remained "boring" and grateful that she, a self-perceived family failure, was not still in China for fear of being turned into a daughter-in-law or slave. This tension is what leads her to torment another girl at her school, torturing her in a basement for what feels like an eternity to Kingston, the girl, and the reader. Having this scene precede her blow-out argument with her mother, the reader is witnessing how feeling like someone who cannot belong, either with her ancestral culture or her transplanted one, can result in anger, desperation, and outsiderdom. The final essay is the ending of Kingston's coming-of-age arc. The history of her family and the foreignness she experiences stop pushing her into a box she does not fit within and she becomes, as she imagined in "White Tigers," a warrior in control of her own destiny.

"Lost in the City" by Edward P. Jones (1992)

Lost in the City is a collection of fourteen stories written by Edward P. Jones. The collection shows a personal look through various protagonists into the Black community in Washington, D.C, taking place between the 1950s and 1980s. The collection is predominately told in third-person omniscient point of view with only two stories deviating. The protagonists are a wide range of ages, from a child entering kindergarten to the elderly. Jones is unflinching in his writing, showing the dichotomy of “good” and “evil” within each character. He deconstructs the ideas that one who has run-ins with the law is inherently a “bad guy,” just as someone who seems to be a productive member of society can do strange, occasionally cruel, things. All the stories stand alone, but together, they paint an image of Washington D.C. that does not, as discussed in the story “Young Lions,” appear on postcards.

His intimate knowledge of place allows him to use Washington as a symbol for his characters, so the reader, just like Lydia in the title-story, finds it impossible to get lost in the city. Even if the reader is unsure after an initial reading of what the narrative spine is that holds the stories together, they can remember the vivid descriptions of the characters as if they were real people telling their real stories. At first glance, it appears that exploring interpersonal relationships and the location of the stories are the only two things connecting the stories within. However, the meat of every narrative is how the protagonist interacts with other members of the Black community within the city and the disconnect many of them feel with both the community and city alike.