Lorrie Moore

the big 10 is a consortium not of ten but twelve more or less midwestern american schools -- the universities of wisconsin, illinois, indiana, iowa, michigan, minnesota, and, academically, chicago (which dropped out of all athletic competition decades ago); penn state, ohio state, and michigan state; purdue; and northwestern. the university of nebraska's joining next year to make 10 thirteen

i don't mean to define tassie's solitude as negative, but unrealistic. i am very painfully aware of how campuses can encourage students to seek solitude and even isolate them against their wills. again though something characteristic of madison, the school where lorrie teaches, is that such students are remarkably unusual. to create such a character, with no explanation, and for no apparent narrative gain, sacrifices a lot of what makes madison such an interesting experience for its students. i'm still surprised she'd portray a wisconsin campus as so generic, whether it's madison or not. in fact i put off reading the novel for a while somewhat intimidated by how her perspicuity might slash apart one of my alma maters

an example of an author who did get one of these big 10 campuses right is denis johnson. the stories in jesus' son set in iowa city (university of iowa) nail the midwestern desolation that creeps around the edge of that campus. there's nothing comparable atmospherically in a gate at the stairs, except maybe the snow? and it's much more artistically daring of johnson to try to render iowa city, since it's the home of the iowa writers workshop, the top writing program in the US, than it would have been of lorrie to try to give us a little of madison, not exactly, aside from her residence there, a node of american literary activity. why she didn't really try, i have no idea

I really liked the ridiculous gothic excesses of Gate At The Stairs, in fact I wanted it to be more excessive, the storyline with the parents wasn't as sinister as I'd hoped.

yeah, between the revelations about the boyfriend and the couple tassie works for, and then her brother, she really piled it on. maybe she could have turned tassie into some stem cell experiment frankenstein who lives on cheese and beer and packers games

It does have some spectacular cringe moments though, she's fantastic at making you feel really embarassed for her characters.

Coffin scene and the boyfriend plot were poor though, and kind of unnecessary.

I've only read the latest one and Frog Hospital. Should get Anagrams at some point. Birds of America I've avoided because I have enough half-read short story collections as it is.

i couldn't finish birds of america. the smugness put me off. self-help is pretty good, though. the last story, "to fill," is lorrie being fantastic at making you feel embarrassed for her characters

Only read The Collected Stories...god, what a book. Picked up A Gate at the Stairs for £2 the other day, will have to wait till I finish my degree before I start it really.

£2!

It's definitely worth £2.

But if you want something dark, shit, read People Like That Are the Only People Here.
― the pr00de abides (pr00de), Thursday, October 13, 2005 10:55 PM (5 years ago) Bookmark Suggest Ban Permalink

just got to this in birds of america...fuck it's so good

yeah that storys p much a modern classic now

moore on memoirs:
http://www.nybooks.com/articles/archives/2011/may/12/what-if/?page=1

on friday night lights http://www.nybooks.com/articles/archives/2011/aug/18/very-deep-america-friday-night-lights/?page=1

Bill believes in free speech. He believes in expensive speech. He doesn't believe in showing "Fire" in a crowded movie theater, but he does believe in shouting "Fie!" and has done it twice himself--both times at Forrest Gump

Certainly 'safe' is what I am now - or am supposed to be. Safety is in me, holds me straight, like a spine. My blood travels no new routes, simply knows its way, lingers, grows drowsy and fond. Though there are times, even recently, in the small city where we live, when I've left my husband for a late walk, the moon out hanging upside down like some garish, show-offy bird, like some fantastical mistake - what life of offices and dull tasks could have a moon in it, flooding the sky and streets, without its seeming preposterous? - and in my walks, toward the silent corners, the cold mulchy smells, the treetops suddenly waving in a wind, I've felt an old wildness again. Revenant and drunken. It isn't sexual, not really. It has more to do with adventure and escape, like a boy's desire to run away, revving thwartedly like a wish, twisting in me like a bolt, some shadow fastened at the feet and gunning for the rest, though, finally, it has always stayed to one side, as if it were some other impossible life and knew it, like a good dog, good dog, good dog. It has always stayed.

knew right away that was from who will run the frog hospital

will be carrying paragraphs of that book with me forever