This year I’m focusing on anthologies and stories in magazines. Partly because I have eleventy-billion issues of The New Yorker around here that I’ve only partially read; partly because I always say that I want to read more anthologies but then I choose other books instead (I’m reading two, but more about those next time).
When I got to the bottom of the second page of “Understanding the Science” by Camille Bordas, I realised I’d read it before. The part where each of the six women at dinner choose their favourite conspiracy theory stood out more than whether Katherine is “on a journey” or simply trying to lose a few pounds. I didn’t much like it the first time, and I remember being a little annoyed by how quickly the perspectives changed and the sense that I’d barely gotten hold of one character when it shifted away from them.
On this other occasion, I loved the little detail about which item one character would save from another’s apartment if she was visiting it when it caught on fire. And the conversation about birds and dinosaurs—“The real question, though…is, do birds know that they’re dinosaurs? That they’ve been around so much longer than us? Do they have any clue?”—and the impatience another character feels about it. I see Camille Bordas has written some novels: I’m curious.
That set me off on a different reading path with some other stories in TNY. I decided to read them when I was in a short story mood, not when I was in a magazine mood; I chose seven issues randomly, opened to each of the short stories, and waited for that mood to strike. (Pictured above, is one of those groups of seven.)
With one story, I had no ideas about it at all: “Kim’s Game” by Sadia Shepard. This bit, I really loved, for what it captures about childhood and the language: “It makes sense that Kim’s boyhood drama was to be a spy, Helen thinks. To seep into the seams of a place and extract information.” Kim is a graduate student, an anthropologist, and a photographer, and Helen doesn’t like him. Or, more accurately, doesn’t like anyone really, while she’s freshly mourning the death of her brother, while she can’t even milk the cows anymore, because that’s the job of the new farm owners now. It’s too much change in too small a space. Nothing in particular about this story called to me initially, but it took hold within just a few paragraphs.
I expected I’d like Allegra Goodman’s story, “Deal-Breaker”, because I gobbled up her debut novel and liked another. Her decision to begin the story with what’s not being said (that Pam isn’t talking about her love life) intrigued me straight away. As did her swift characterizations. Like this: “He’s shy, soft-spoken, and divorced, which, in Helen’s mind, is a moral failing. Helen would never say it, but Pam knows what she thinks. Helen, who has the most solicitous husband in the world, believes that divorced people give up too easily.” What Pam’s not saying, what Helen would never say, coupled with an observation that someone’s strongest conviction is actually more a reflection of their own limited experience of the world, than any broader truth: astute and unnerving.
And with the story I expected to not enjoy, “The Welfare State” by Nell Zink, well…I must have confused her with someone else because everything about that story impressed. Including her succinct description of familiarity in space and relationships: “Each could contextualize nearly anything the other said, because they had lived for many years in the same small town in Bavaria. They knew dozens, if not hundreds, of people in common; they knew each other’s professors, exes, friends, and favored bartenders.”
The story of Julia’s friendship with Vroni was not at ALL what I expected, and it was exactly what I needed. Just this single passage (which isn’t pivotal) brings back the mood of the piece in an instant. (I can’t say more without spoiling.)
I did enjoy Yiyun Li’s story very much (I still remember the characters, even now) but I really enjoyed Tessa Hadley’s story “The Quiet House”—and maybe that shouldn’t have been surprising (I’ve enjoyed her before) but the bookishness of it left me smitten.
“You could never read everything. Completion or mastery were beside the point. All that counted were those occasions when you picked up a book and opened it and its words attached themselves to that moment and transfigured it, and then the moment passed.” On the next visit to the second-hand shop, I bought the two they had and wished there’d been more.
But I have read some full-length collections too, including Marjorie Barnard’s The Persimmon Tree (1945), Dorothy Edwards’ Rhapsody (1927), and some of Maeve Brennan’s Springs of Affection (1998), which I’ve written about previously—as part of Australian, Welsh and Irish reading plans.
As well as The Last Analog Teenagers by Abigail Myers, which is a collection of linked stories published by Stanchion Press (2025), which has a knack for unearthing voice-driven short prose. The characters shoplift and go to pool parties, they hang out in the 7-11 parking lot and join the debate team (the latter two activities don’t mesh: friendships no longer add up, once the debate team enters the equation).
Nothing really happens, except people care and then they don’t (or, they still do, but it goes unsaid). There’s also a CD that contains three of the stories, just to transport you back to the era when your boom box went with you everywhere.
“But I take what I need-a side exit or a bus ride, a bottle of nail polish or a pack of socks-from the moment. I prepare myself to tell Ryan and Amy that they can have the [bouncing] balls when we get home. I watch Holly grab the hand of a little blonde girl and lead her away from school. I’m so tired. I think of how long it’s been since someone picked me up, from somewhere, anywhere.”
I really enjoyed the Abigail Myers collection, particularly because it’s linked (a favourite form), and it was tempting to simply continue with single-author collections after that; nonetheless, I continue to read “in sevens” and I hope the stack eventually dwindles so that seven doesn’t seem such a modest goal. (Pictured in the group photo above, but not discussed: Annie Proulx’s “The Corn Woman, Her Husband, and Her Child”, Clare Sestanovich’s “Natural History”, Mona Awad’s “The Chartreuse”, Miriam Toews’ “Something Has Come to Light”, Hang Ong’s “Happy Days” and Ottessa Moshfegh’s “The Comedian”.)
Any favourites of yours amongst these, whether stories or authors?
Too much here for me to comment individually on, but Camille Bordas’ stories sound great, and that Allegra Goodman one has also caught my fancy. I think this – “someone’s strongest conviction is actually more a reflection of their own limited experience of the world, than any broader truth” – feels embarrassingly true! I have read one Tessa Hadley story before and liked it. Abigail Myers sounds great, and of course I lerve Marjorie Barnard’s The persimmon tree.
As you know I love short stories. I am slowly reading through a couple of anthologies – both Dover editions, one African American short stories, and the other American women – and I am currently reading a short story collection by Claire Keegan. She is so impressive.
When I didn’t enjoy short stories, I would only occasionally venture into a collection when written by an author whose novels I’d enjoyed (e.g. A.S. Byatt, after Possession). And now I find myself in the opposite situation, reading a short story and, only then, discovering the author has published novels. I suppose it makes sense!
Have I mentioned my Claires project? Both Claire Fuller and Claire Keegan are on my summer list (there are hold lists for both, so the only one en route is a collection of stories… maybe even the one you’re reading!) and there is another Claire as well (part of the reason I started this was I couldn’t keep all of them distinct, even those I’ve read). [Ed. That one was Claire Lombardo.] And I’ve just finished a collection of essays by Claire Messud (who spent time in girlhood in Sydney, it seems!).
No you didn’t, but I like it. Claire Keegan has a couple of short story collections but I’d love it if you ended up reading the one I’m reading. I know Claire Messud, of course, but I don’t know the others. (If our son had been a girl, he would have been Claire, but he was a boy and my the time we had our girl – three years later – we’d moved on!)
The one that came through for me is apparently her second collection, Walk the Blue Fields (2007), but already the list of awards she’d won for her first collection (Antarctica) is tremendously impressive. I’m very curious but will have to keep my own eyes averted somewhat, as it turns out there is a whole bloom of Claires. (Not least of which, your almost-Claire.)
I bet it felt nice to check some of these stories off your list! I have only one magazine subscription, and that is to chatelaine LOL I like the recipes! And I like that its Canadian. I feel like such a Mom when I type that haha
Do you have “Presse international” out west? It only takes me a single browse to find a dozen new mag’s that look absolutely fascinating! (That I can, then, ignore, once subscribed. lol) It feels good to think that maybe I have figured out one tiny part of why these issues often are left unread or, at least, unfinished (different reading moods for fiction and poetry, compared to the other articles). And Chatelaine does have good recipes!
Hmm Presse International doesn’t sound familiar. Glad i’m not the only one who adores those recipes! haha
Love the way you photgraphed your journals – very eyecatching, but sadly they stress me out. I used to subscribe to a couple of journals many years ago, but it was TOO hard to read them all the way through, despite all the interesting articles and stories and photo collages etc etc etc and gradually, as you say, they build up, all these partially read magazines, lying around the house in stacks, sorted by not-read, half-read, read but would like to keep, read but will pass onto such and such a friend. The stress of it all got too much for me so when I decided I wanted to buy a house, I cancelled all my subscriptions. Now I just have anxious unread book syndrome 😀
LOL Ohhhh, this is so relatable, Bron! My “error” has been that I just put it altogther as reading, and expect them to work like books. Potentially I could be a very messy book reader, with at least ten books underway at any moment (for any given mood), but they all get finished. (Only an occasional pause or restart if the combo isn’t quite right.) But I just haven’t figured out the rhythm for this. The fact that they arrive at different intervals (e.g. TNY every day-nooooo, it only seems like that, every week or two- but Granta four times/year) doesn’t help, and the fact that some are good for reading anywhere but others require a laptop nearby (say, for adding items to the TBR)… that doesn’t help. For now, I’m content to experiment, because there are parts of it I really love, but I also understand how you ended up cancelling them all.
I relate to this COM-PLETE-LY Brona. I now only get The Griffith Review, electronically, so I can’t see what I’m not reading – and, as a result I am hardly reading it!! I love that journal, but …
This fits with our other convo, about how it’s easy to choose what not to do when one of those things is “bad” (i.e. doesn’t fit with how you actually want to spend your time/life), but how it’s much harder to choose between two “good” things (i.e. when they both align with the priority you’ve set yourself, as in “read regularly”)!
I only get a copy very occasionally these days if the main topic is something of particular interest, otherwise they too languish on sidetables around the house!
I have had The New Yorker on the mind recently because I reviewed Sarah Braunstein’s story collection and 4 of its 11 originated there. I wrote a related article about the history of publication in the NY. So many thousands of stories! When you look at its most featured authors, though (200+ stories each), they’re not famous names at all — at least not today.
I think I prefer Tessa Hadley’s stories to her novels, and I’d probably say the same for Lauren Groff. I’ve read all of their story collections.
Allegra Goodman is an author I’ve always meant to try.
One of hers I didn’t particularly enjoy, “Abstract Naturalism”, but, y’know, I’ve said that before and returned to find myself thinking differently. It does interest me how certain figures from TNY lodged in my mind (i.e. Mavis Gallant) but others (i.e. John O’Hara) didn’t. Did you actually do the math for that? How interesting! (It sounds like a Bookbrowse pairing?)
That’s interesting, I’ll think about that: I can see where you’re coming from. Maybe. But I have an unreasonable attachement to The Monsters of Templeton. What about Amy Bloom? Lorrie Moore? I feel like I’d be more likely to choose stories for them? But, also, I think that’s because I’ve read more of the Hadley and Groff so I immediately think “but what about…?”. That would be a fun to topic to explore in more detail! (For the writers who are truly dedicated to both, not just occasionally publishing a collection.)
I think of Goodman with Meg Wolitzer, whose books I think you’ve enjoyed? Plus, I think we share a fondness for coming-of-age novels? Kaaterskill Falls was a real favourite for a time.
“AbJECT Naturalism” 🙂 That was her prize winner. I quite liked it. The collection as a whole is accomplished but a little underwhelming, somewhat samey. I was able to rely on others’ stats for my NY-themed article, thankfully. (You are correct, this was a BookBrowse assignment!)
Oh definitely, I would always choose Bloom’s and Moore’s stories over their novels, which have been so-so for me.
I do like Meg Wolitzer. The Interestings and especially The Wife were standouts for me.
One thing highlighted in my anthology/magazine experiment this year, is how quickly one assesses the appeal of a writer’s work. If I am not in the right mood for a single story (and that’s all I’ve read by them), that’s my first impression, even though it’s just one story, and I can’t immediately test the validity. /eyeroll
I could say that I prefer novels to short stories, but you already know that. My real beef is that smart, clever East Coast fiction just doesn’t do it for me any more. The one magazine I read, including short stories, these days is Nigeria’s The Republic. As always, I think, the greatest innovation comes not from the inner circle, but from the outer.
What a fabulous choice: they remind me of Monocle, but from Nigeria. The Republic.
I know you like to make sweeping statements, but wouldn’t that also eliminate writers like Paul Beatty (but technically I see he was born on the west coast LOL). The Sellout is the only one I’ve found/read.
I have to admit to having gotten brutal with New Yorkers (and New York Review of Books as well.) It used to be I’d look at the table of contents and say, oh, that interests me and read one thing. Set it back in the pile & figure I’d read the rest of it later. I ended up with a ginormous pile of half-read magazines and I’d pick one up & start rereading without at first realizing. Now if it doesn’t catch my attention at once, I never go back. I’m sure I’m missing things I’d like in a different mood. AND…I’m still behind, but not as far behind as I used to be, at least… 😉
I did like that Tessa Hadley story, though, and the Nell Zink.
The picture arrangements are fun.
My subscription, I justify for the fiction, but the articles that excite ma are often the profiles, particularly the ones where I know nothing about the individual. And the cultural pieces, usually on an art form about which I know little-to-nothing. It’s the new-to-me bits that end up being the most rewarding, generally, so your technique of selecting the pieces of interest from the TOCs, focusing on those and calling it “read”, it’s very sensible, but I wouldn’t be able to spot the pieces that I’ll actually end up enjoying most. The only time I kept up, was when I was reading on a daily commute, stuck on a subway car with nothing else to read, the day after it arrived (I still think of some profile pieces in relationship to certain subway lines, even tho in some cases I’ve forgotten the individual’s name LOL). I wish we lived close enough to share a subscription: I’d be more motivated to read it, if I was passing it along to another reader…
That’s a lovely Hadley quote. I’ve had a patchy experience with her full length fiction but enjoyed her novella, The Party, so much I bought a couple of her short story collections. I must check if Married Love is one of them.
I hope it’s there! I’m sure you’ll have a similar sense of recognition. One of the novels I bought didn’t grab me, but I think the rest of my stack might have been the issue…
I really like Tessa Hadley so its good to hear her story was an enjoyable one!
Nell Zink is someone I keep meaning to get to…
If it had been my introduction to her, it probably would have landed her on my MustReadEverything list… so delightfully bookish!
And that’s a short list, I’m sure. (heheh)
Interesting selection of stories! I tend to steer away from periodicals nowadays because I never actually get to reading them… But so intriguing that your responses changed to that story when you revisited it. We do react differently at different times in our reading lives, don’t we??
It makes no sense to me why I have absorbed this idea that books=reading and magazines=something else, but I’m trying to crack that nut, because I have loads of them unread; when I force myself to pay attention, and read them instead of books, they leave me excited and engaged in an eintrely different way, which I don’t notice when I’m not reading them, but find quietly thrilling when I manage to sustain the habit. In our lives, yes, but over two weeks? lol That was an eye-opener!
Yiyun Li and Tessa Hadley are almost always winners for me, despite the fact that I’m skittish about short stories. I too am subscribed to The New Yorker, and sometimes their fiction selections really hit for me, and sometimes they just don’t appeal. For a while I was listening regularly to their fiction podcast and reading each story in the magazine, but I’ve gotten out of the habit, and have been skipping the stories in the issues for months. The last one, I think, was Lauren Groff’s “Mother of Men” back in late 2025 (loved; she’s another almost-constant winner of a story writer for me). I have, however, read a couple of story collections this year: Laurie Colwin’s “Passion and Affect”, which was absolutely brilliant, and Naguib Mahfouz’s “The Quarter”, which felt inessential but was still a lot of fun.
That’s how I feel, too, and as much as I enjoy other parts of the magaizne, I’ve subscribed for the stories, so I really want to figure out where my disconnect is, and whether I shouldn’t maybe redirect my subscription dollars, if I’m not actually reading and enjoying (most of) them. I am forever and again losing reading habits and, then, reestablishing the ones I miss (or the ones that I think are useful somehow, even if I don’t miss them). And I definitely have issues all through 2025 (and 2024!) that I either partially read or enitrely overlooked, and even if I see a story by an author I really love (Groff for me, too) I don’t necessarily get to it either… I “save” it, which is ridiculous, I know… cuz a lot of the writers are new-to-me and I feel there’s a greater risk of feeing ‘meh’ or disenchanted. Colwin is fabulous: short and long. She seems to sit on the same shelf as Tessa Hadley. And I liked what you had to say about those Mahfouz stories: when I’ve finished the trilogy, I’ll look for them!