T G I sappy F

I used to think short stories were stupid.

I thought they were too short to get anything accomplished. What was the point? Plus, there are a bunch of crap short stories out there.

And then, slowly, I can to realize that while - yes - there are horrible short stories, there are also magical ones. We know my favorites are Ellen Gilchrist, Alice Munro and Doris Lessing. I find myself, thanks to them, opening up to other short stories.


I am just about to finish Bonnie Jo Campbell's American Salvage. All the short stories take place at and around Comstock (MI) specifically and Kalamazoo (MI) generally. My transient lifestyle has created a romantic spot in my heart for my birthplace, but it should be noted that Kalamazoo is an amazing city. But every city has its issues, and this collection doesn't shy away from them.

It's true I only read it because my aunt photographed the cover, which my cousins are on. But now, it is so much more than that. It is a testament to my childhood, my family, and - though I almost never say it - my home.

Her idea of American salvage runs throughout the book. It is an actual place. It is people. It is a metaphor. So, while AS may not touch you like it has me, I encourage you to go out and find literature - even short stories - which embody your history.

They say literature is an escape, but is sometimes also a home.

"Men didn't understand that you couldn't let yourself be consumed with passion when there were so many people needing your attention, when there was so much work to do. Men didn't understand that there was nothing big enough to exempt you from your obligations..."
Bonnie Jo Campbell

Bright lights, big...sigh

Jen Lancaster. You know I love her. I tell everyone I know they should be reading Bitter is the New Black and Such a Pretty Fat...seriously, read them. They are so touching, I even lose sleep over them, remember?

But then I read Pretty in Plaid, and didn't talk about it here because I thought it was fun but not as fun as the others. And now I am reading Bright Lights, Big Ass...that should be AWESOME, right?

Only...

Only I feel if I say what I am thinking about it so far I am betraying Jen, whom I love so much. Her novels are incredibly personal and you really do feel like you know her. Even though that's crazy talk.

But in a way, I also feel betrayed. What about me.

I'm 100 pages into the book and have yet to feel Jen's pain OR laugh out loud.

The book just isn't speaking to me, I'm not relating to it, which is ridiculous because how does a book about living in Chicago by a hilarious writer NOT speak to me...right?

So now I'm on the fence. I have a bookshelf of books marked To Read and yet here I am trudging through Bright Lights because...I feel I should...it might get better...I am delusional...?

Upsetting. UPSETTING.

“However, when some random girl, naked as a jaybird, strolls into the Quiet Room of the Thousand Waves Spa and spends ten minutes bent over right in front of me with her little brown starfish waving hello to God and everyone while she paws through the magazine rack in search of the most current issue of the New Yorker, please know the line between “appropriate spa behavior” and “graphic peep show” has been crossed.”
That's funny, right? Why don't I think this is funny? Is it all this depressing YAL I am reading?
Usually HILARIOUS Jen Lancaster