The Collected Stories

by Grace Paley

At long last, here are all of Grace Paley's classic stories collected in one volume. From her first book, The Little Disturbances of Man, published in 1959, to Enormous Changes at the Last Minute (1974) and Later the Same Day (1985), Grace Paley's quirky, boisterous characters and rich use of language have won her readers' hearts and secured her place as one of America's most accomplished writers. Grace Paley's stories are united by her signature interweaving of personal and political truths, by her extraordinary capacity for empathy, and by her pointed, funny depiction a the small and large events that make up city life. As her work progresses, we encounter many of the same characters and revisit the same sites, bearing witness to a community as it develops and matures, becoming part ourselves of a dense and vital world that is singular yet achingly familiar.

Genres: Short Stories, Fiction, Classics, Literature, American, The United States Of America, Womens

386 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1994

About the author

Grace Paley was an American short story writer, poet, and political activist whose work won a number of awards.

Reviews

[Guille · Rating 4 out of 5]

Un libro de cuatro estrellas, sí, pero con no pocos relatos de cinco. Me refiero a todos aquellos que tienen a Fe bien como protagonista, bien como secundaria, bien como pretexto, bien como alguien que pasaba por allí. Los demás, salvo contadas y fantásticas excepciones, me han gustado menos; algunos, sobre todo los que son más explícitamente políticos, poquito.

En cuanto a los primeros, me fue imposible no tener siempre presente a otra gran señora en esto de los relatos, Lucía Berlín y su Manual para mujeres de la limpieza.

"Cerca ya de casa, crucé corriendo nuestro parque, donde había llevado a tomar el aire a mis hijos las tardes de los fines de semana al acabar el verano. Paré en la zona de juegos del nordeste, donde encontré a una docena de madres jóvenes que cuidaban inteligentemente de sus pequeños. Para prepararlas, sin querer herirlas, dije: De aquí a quince años, vosotras, chicas, estaréis como yo, os habréis equivocado en todo" (de uno de los mejores cuentos del libro, La corredora de fondo).

Las dos autoras sitúan a una mujer como columna vertebral de su obra, ambas fuertes en su debilidad, muy libres, de una sexualidad abierta y poderosa; ambas tratan la cotidianidad en sus relatos, la convivencia con padres, hijos, amigos, noviosmaridosparejas, y aunque hablan de ser madres, de no serlo, de ser hijas, de ser esposas, de no quererlo, de necesitarlo, hay mucho más en los cuentos de ambas. Los hombres, en general, son personajes secundarios, y, sin embargo, están profundamente presentes en la mayoría de ellos.

"Sigues pensando que siempre tiene que haber un hombre detrás de todo, Susan, como tantas mujeres. ¿Ah, sí? ¿Y tú no?"

Paley es más intelectual y menos emotiva que Lucia, más dura y con más conciencia política, con más humor también. Sus narraciones se entrecortan, las escenas se superponen unas a otras, con mucho diálogo, sin trama específica. Uno de sus relatos, uno de los más conocidos (yo lo leí hace muchos años en una selección de los mejores cuentos norteamericano hecha por Richard Ford) trata precisamente de su concepción del cuento:

" -Me gustaría que escribieras un cuento sencillo, sólo uno más -dice-. Como los que escribía Maupassant, o Chéjov, los que escribías antes. Sólo gente identificable y luego explicar lo que les pasa.

-Sí, ¿por qué no? Eso puede hacerse -le digo. Quiero complacerle, aunque ya no recuerdo cómo se escribe de ese modo. Me gustaría intentar contar una historia así, si se refiere a ésas que empiezan: «Érase una vez una mujer...» y esa frase va seguida de una trama. Siempre he despreciado esa línea recta irremediable entre dos puntos. No por razones literarias, sino porque desvanece toda esperanza. Todo el mundo, sean seres reales o inventados, merece el destino abierto de la vida.”

En definitiva, otro maravilloso libro de relatos escrito por una mujer y donde las mujeres son absolutas protagonistas. O, simplemente, otro maravilloso libro de relatos.

[Fionnuala]

This book contains three separate volumes of short stories, The Little Disturbances of Man from 1959, Enormous Changes at the Last Minute from 1974 and Later the Same Day from 1985. They were all grouped into one collection in 1994, and this edition was published in 2007, the year Grace Paley died at the age of eighty-five.

The stories mostly concern a group of interconnected characters in the Bronx whose lives from early motherhood to late middle age are charted right through the collection, which makes it particularly interesting to read the three volumes back to back. Indeed, I think a good proportion of the stories need the scaffolding of the collection and might be difficult to access if read separately as Paley doesn't really go in for filling the reader in with back story.

The stories often start in the middle of some action or conversation so the experience of reading Paley is a bit like running to catch a bus, you have to jump on pretty quick once you get close. And you must pay attention or else you might as well step of that bus because it probably isn't going in your direction.

There are lots of comic one liners, as in this first line, The old are modest, said Philip. They tend not to outlive one another. But for every ounce of humour, there is a pound of deep reflection on the big issues like inequality, racism, war. Paley's characters are frequently politically active as she was herself, particularly against the war in Vietnam. For me, there were echoes of Doris Lessing's Golden Notebook (which I liked less on a recent second reading) and Fay Weldon's Down Among the Women (also read years ago) but Paley's voice is more brilliant than theirs, Jewish New York all the way through with amazing dialogue.
If you want to try one of her stories, read Goodbye and Good Luck, the first in this collection. A gem.

[Dov Zeller · Rating 5 out of 5]

I love Grace Paley. My cousin gave me this book as a gift I don't know how many years ago, and I turn to it again and again. Last night some friends were over and they wanted books to read and went through my bookshelves and practically threw books at them saying, "take this, you can keep it. Take this, you can keep it." But when I got to Grace Paley I said, "Take this, but I need it back."

Even the titles of the stories couldn't get better.

Goodbye and Good Luck (a classic, and one which I first heard narrated by Rea Pearlman).
https://archive.org/details/GoodbyeAn...
A Woman, Young and Old
The Pale Pink Roast
The Loudest Voice (I also first heard narrated by Rea Pearlman)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u5q4G...
The Contest
An Interest in Life
An Irrevocable Diameter
Two Short Sad Stories from a Long and Happy Life
In Time Which Made a Monkey of Us All
The Floating Truth

Wants
Debts
Distance
Faith in the Afternoon
Gloomy Tune
Living
Come On, Ye Sons of Art
Faith in a Tree
Samuel
The Burdened Man
Enormous Changes at the Last Minute...

One of my favorite of her stories is a very short one. Maybe one of the shortest. And I always have trouble finding it when I want to read it because, for some reason, I don't remember the title...Here it is. "Wants." I've pasted the whole story at the bottom of this review.

Paley is one of my literary heroes, a comic writer with a real ear for dialogue and a strong understanding of the tragedy of every day life. She writes with a music all her own, informal-seeming prose with a Yiddish lilt, part poetry, part love song, part complaint. The craft is so finely honed it makes the writing both intimate as a letter and also, painfully distant. She writes with a certain fierce, off-hand humility, brave and shrugging (sure life is hard, but look, it's only life. And there are some nice moments, too, no?)

Here is a quote I really liked from the review of another GR reviewer:

"There are lots of comic one liners...But for every ounce of humour, there is a pound of deep reflection on the big issues like inequality, racism, war. Paley's characters are frequently politically active as she was herself, particularly against the war in Vietnam. For me, there were echoes of Doris Lessing's Golden Notebook (which I liked less on a recent second reading) and Fay Weldon's Down Among the Women (also read years ago) but Paley's voice is more brilliant than theirs, Jewish New York all the way through with amazing dialogue. " Fionnuala
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...

WANTS

I saw my ex-husband in the street. I was sitting on the steps of the new library.
 Hello, my life, I said. We had once been married for twenty-seven years, so I felt justified.


He said, What? What life? No life of mine.


I said, O.K. I don't argue when there's real disagreement. I got up and went into the library to see how much I owed them.


The librarian said $32 even and you've owed it for eighteen years. I didn't deny anything. Because I don't understand how time passes. I have had those books. I have often thought of them. The library is only two blocks away.


My ex-husband followed me to the Books Returned desk. He interrupted the librarian, who had more to tell. In many ways, he said, as I look back, I attribute the dissolution of our marriage to the fact that you never invited the Bertrams to dinner.


That's possible, I said. But really, if you remember: first, my father was sick that Friday, then the children were born, then I had those Tuesday-night meetings, then the war began. Then we didn't seem to know them any more. But you're right. I should have had them to dinner.


I gave the librarian a check for $32. Immediately she trusted me, put my past behind her, wiped the record clean, which is just what most other municipal and/or state bureaucracies will not do.


I checked out the two Edith Wharton books I had just returned because I'd read them so long ago and they are more apropos now than ever. They were The House of Mirth and The Children, which is about how life in the United States in New York changed in twenty-seven years fifty years ago.


A nice thing I do remember is breakfast, my ex-husband said. I was surprised. All we ever had was coffee. Then I remembered there was a hole in the back of the kitchen closet which opened into the apartment next door. There, they always ate sugar-cured smoked bacon. It gave us a very grand feeling about breakfast, but we never got stuffed and sluggish.


That was when we were poor, I said.


When were we ever rich? he asked.


Oh, as time went on, as our responsibilities increased, we didn't go in need. You took adequate financial care, I reminded him. The children went to camp four weeks a year and in decent ponchos with sleeping bags and boots, just like everyone else. They looked very nice. Our place was warm in winter, and we had nice red pillows and things.
 I wanted a sailboat, he said. But you didn't want anything.


Don't be bitter, I said. It's never too late.


No, he said with a great deal of bitterness. I may get a sailboat. As a matter of fact I have money down on an eighteen-foot two-rigger. I'm doing well this year and can look forward to better. But as for you, it's too late. You'll always want nothing.


He had had a habit throughout the twenty-seven years of making a narrow remark which, like a plumber's snake, could work its way through the ear down the throat, half-way to my heart. He would then disappear, leaving me choking with equipment. What I mean is, I sat down on the library steps and he went away.
 I looked through The House of Mirth, but lost interest. I felt extremely accused. Now, it's true, I'm short of requests and absolute requirements. But I do want something.
 I want, for instance, to be a different person. I want to be the woman who brings these two books back in two weeks. I want to be the effective citizen who changes the school system and addresses the Board of Estimate on the troubles of this dear urban center.


I had promised my children to end the war before they grew up.


I wanted to have been married forever to one person, my ex-husband or my present one. Either has enough character for a whole life, which as it turns out is really not such a long time. You couldn't exhaust either man's qualities or get under the rock of his reasons in one short life.


Just this morning I looked out the window to watch the street for a while and saw that the little sycamores the city had dreamily planted a couple of years before the kids were born had come that day to the prime of their lives.


Well! I decided to bring those two books back to the library. Which proves that when a person or an event comes along to jolt or appraise me I can take some appropriate action, although I am better known for my hospitable remarks.

[Dagio_maya · Rating 4 out of 5]

” ...e m’aspettavo di essere ascoltata. La voce più alta era di certo la mia.”


Proprio così.
Se si potesse infiocchettare tutti i quarantaquattro racconti di questa raccolta, mettendoci sopra un’etichetta, si dovrebbe scrivere: «da ascoltare!»
Questa sonorità è la prima cosa che mi ha colpito nella scrittura di Grace Paley e la traduzione di Isabella Zani rende benissimo questa sua caratteristica.

Un’atmosfera frizzante che accompagna il ritmo della grande metropoli newyorchese e incalza con un folgorante umorismo perpetuo secondo la migliore tradizione yiddish e la sua caratteristica autoironia.

Dagli interni di case popolari, ai marciapiedi ai parchi dove i bambini scorrazzano e gli adulti sembrano teatranti. Ognuno con in mano il proprio copione recita il ruolo di maschio o di femmina, di padre o di madre sfidandosi a suon di pungenti (e spesso salaci) battute.

Il libro è strutturato in tre macro-sezioni ognuno della quale raduna racconti di un determinato periodo:
---"Piccoli contrattempi del vivere" (1959)
--- "Enormi cambiamenti all’ultimo minuto" (1974)
--- "Quello stesso giorno" (1985)

Sono storie che riflettono con evidenza una materia autobiografica:
la famiglia ebrea di origine ucraina, la maternità, la vita di quartiere, il divorzio e la militanza politica nella sinistra radicale, in parte nei racconti degli anni ’70 ma soprattutto in quelli degli anni ’80.
Paley comincerà a scrivere, poco più che trentenne.
Siamo dunque nella seconda metà degli anni ’50:

” Ero una donna che scriveva nel primissimo momento in cui goccioline d’astio inquieto e nobile furore iniziavano, lentamente e di nascosto, a formare la seconda ondata del movimento femminista. Io non conoscevo la portata né l’utilità della mia gocciolina in questo accumulo.”

Voci di uomini ma soprattutto di donne che hanno dei figli e devono crescerli da sole ma senza rancore piuttosto con l’orgoglio di una fatica che si ha intenzione di portare a termine nonostante tutto.
Apre la raccolta “Arrivederci e grazie” una formula che riflette la possibilità che una donna ha, a volte, senza rendersene conto, ossia quella, di poter dire di no ad una convenzione sociale che la vede appagata solo con il matrimonio, quella di rifiutare un ruolo, salutare e andarsene per la propria strada.

La quotidianità è costellata da "Piccoli contrattempi del vivere".
Impossibile riassumere o distillarne una morale.
Impossibile farseli piacere tutti proprio per la particolarità di questa scrittura che, a volte, mi ha fatto ricordare un’amica propensa alla logorrea che quando voleva raccontarti un episodio iniziava ad inanellare tutta una serie di parentesi e divagazioni che ti sembrava un viaggio in montagna pieno di quei tornanti che nascondono la cima.

Evidentemente un’osservazione del genere era stata fatta alla Paley.
Ecco come nel parla nel racconto (da cinque stelle) “Una conversazione con mio padre”:

«Vorrei che tu scrivessi solo un’ultima volta un racconto semplice», dice, «del tipo che scriveva Maupassant, o Če¬chov, di quelli che scrivevi una volta. Solo gente riconoscibile, e poi scrivi quello che gli è successo».
Io faccio: «Già, perché no? Si può fare». Voglio compiacerlo, sebbene non ricordi di aver mai scritto in quel modo. Mi piacerebbe provare a scrivere un racconto così, se intende uno di quelli che cominciano con «C’era una donna…» seguito da una trama, la linea retta tra due punti che ho sempre disprezzato. Non per motivi letterari, ma perché cancella ogni speranza. Tutti, veri o inventati, meritiamo una vita dal destino aperto.

E più avanti:

”«Sempre a fare battute», ha detto lui. «Come scrittrice, è questo il tuo problema principale. Solo che non lo ammetti. Tragedia! Tragedia pura e semplice! Tragedia della storia! Nessuna speranza. Fine».
«Dai, pa’», ho detto. «Potrebbe cambiare».
«Anche nella tua vita, devi affrontarla, questa cosa».
(...)
«Battute, sempre battute».
«No, pa’, potrebbe davvero andare così, guarda che il mondo oggigiorno è strano».

Uno stile, insomma, il suo, che, alla lunga, può rivelarsi disturbante ma spesso è geniale.
Ad esempio c’è un racconto che s’intitola: “Due brevi storie tristi da un’esistenza lunga e felice” e in realtà contiene due (sotto)racconti:
Il primo “Allevatori di ragazzini di seconda mano” ha un incipit strepitoso in cui il marito e l’ex siedono allo stesso tavolo della colazione e condividono scontentezza:

”C’erano due mariti scontenti delle uova.
In quel modo non piacciono neanche a me, dissi. Fatevele da soli. Loro sospirarono all’unisono. Uno era livido; uno era pallido.
Qui non c’è neanche niente da bere, vero?, domandò Livido.
Ma quando mai, disse Pallido. Non stare a cercare; ’sta casa è un deserto. Spinse via le uova, disgusto e dolore il suo blasone.
Livido disse: No, ma davvero non c’è niente? Una birra?, speranzoso.
Niente, disse Pallido, che aveva già passato in rassegna dispense, armadietti e frigoriferi in cerca di una camicia bianca.”

Il secondo (sotto) racconto è titolato “Suddita dell’infanzia” e una madre single che lavora sente il peso del doppio ruolo:

”In tutta onestà, dal lunedì al venerdì – grazie al successo sul lavoro – il mio ego è rovente; sono una stella; chiunque possa farsi riscaldare da me, ci sta che lo accontenti. Gli insulti che come meteoriti trapassano in volo quella vivace atmosfera ne vengono disintegrati. Io, intatta, ardo secondo la mia piccola termodinamica.
Il sabato mattina a casa, però, mi trovo davanti alla legge sociologica detta Intrusione degli Incontrovertibili. Perché io, questi ragazzini, li ho cresciuti con una mano dietro la schiena che batteva a macchina per guadagnarmi da vivere. Li ho cresciuti tutta sola, senza un padre con cui identificarsi in bagno come tutti gli altri ragazzini del parco giochi. Che ridere. “

Paure, sogni, desideri che semplicemente si rivelano nel bisogno di «essere se stesse».
La raccolta dà sicuramente un quadro di questa evoluzione:
dalla madre e moglie trentenne che osserva il suo mondo alla donna che ha vissuto allargando lo sguardo sul mondo e rifiutandosi di tacere stando al suo posto.


”Rivolsi lo sguardo all’abbagliante riquadro di luce della finestra e mi posi questa logorante domanda: Che cos’è l’uomo, perché la donna si prosterni a adorarlo?

[merixien · Rating 5 out of 5]

Bu kitap her ne kadar bir öykü seçkisi olsa da, okuduğunuzda bir roman taslağı okuyormuş hissi alıyorsunuz. New York’ta aşağı doğu yakası ve Bronx dolaylarında evlerin, ailelerin, geçmişlerin arasında dolaşıyor gibi şehrin ritmiyle uyum içerisinde öykülerde geziniyorsunuz.

Öykülerin ana merkezi Grace Paley’in alter-egosu olan Faith Darwin, hikayeler ise adeta onun ekseninde gelişiyor. Zaten yazarın, gerek Ukrayna’ya uzanan köklerinin, gerek yidiş geleneklerinin izlerinin, boşanmış kadın-anne figürünün ve ironik mizahın öykülerdeki yansımalarını kaçırmanız mümkün değil. Yarattığı kadın karakterlerine de kendinden parçaları dağıtıyor; hayatta kalmak ve hayatta olanı yıkmak zıtlığında ve bu zıtlıktan doğan yaratıcılığı günlük hayata, sokağa, düzene yansıtan; hayal kırıklıklarında zengin bir mutluluk bulup, yaşanan acının ve kederin ardından yükselen samimi bir rahatlama hissini itiraf edebilen kadınlar. Bu kadar yansıtmanın belki de doğal sonucundandır ki kitabı tamamladığınızda bir kadının hayatındaki ruhsal devinime/evrime şahit olduğunuzu hissediyorsunuz. Ben çok sevdim, eğer Amerikan edebiyatı seviyorsanız mutlaka okuyun.


“Hayat o kadar da şahane değil, Ellen” dedim. “Elimizde pespaye günlerden, pespaye erkeklerden, parasızlıktan, iki yakayı asla bir araya getirememekten, hamamböceklerinden, pazar günleri çocukları Central Park’a götürüp o iğrenç gölde kürek çekmekten başka hiçbir şey yok. Bunun nesi harika, Ellen? Hangi büyük kayıptan söz ediyoruz? Birkaç yıl daha yaşa. Çocukların ve bütün bu çerçöpün tamamının, dünyadaki tüm beş para etmez, fare deliği gibi şehirlerin ateşte kabarıp alev dalgaları halinde patlayışını gör...”
“Hepsini görmek istiyorum,” dedi Ellen.

[William2 · Rating 5 out of 5]

Second reading of The Little Disturbances of Man and Enormous Changes at the Last Minute. First reading of Later the Same Day.

[Melissa Ward · Rating 2 out of 5]

Grace Paley – The Collected Stories
Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1994

The late Grace Paley was a woman filled with life and experiences bursting from every seam. The Collected Stories is praised as a finely polished group of Paley’s short stories that let the reader into the small, everyday moments of her life, however the stories did not entirely live up to their reputation. They are certainly a window into a conversation over eggs in the kitchen, or a loving moment between mother and son on the sofa, but they fail to fully entrance the reader and allow them into Paley’s world. There are a few strengths, however, that help show Paley’s natural talent. She makes use of witty humor and uses time in an extremely playful way throughout the entire collection. A common difficulty that Paley encountered with short stories is providing all the details of the experience to the reader in limited words. Each short tale in The Collected Stories seems to flow with the easygoing, content theme. There is a sense of poverty and great struggles, but also a satisfaction that Faith, a main character, has with her life.

There seems to be a very slight, but noticeable, disconnection between the reader and the experience. This seems, in part, due to the constant stream of thought involved in most of her short stories. It is almost as if all the reader is listening to one common stream of consciousness and thought that the multiple characters walk in and out of without proper introduction. Though a very innovative style of writing for her time, this becomes confusing and overwhelming. Various stories are told without a single use of quotation for the dialogue. Since the bulk of the stories contain a great deal of dialogue, they become difficult to follow. By the time the reader can discern between the characters the story is over.

In short stories, it is also hard to provide the right amount of tension and conflict within the time limitations. Paley seems to allow the easygoing style of life seep into her writing and prevent it from truly captivating the reader. All the stories lack a tension necessary for the book to turn its own pages. Though there is never a monumental moment defines the character’s circumstances as in a novel, an internal struggle should still be present. The struggle between Faith’s motherly duties and need for solitary freedom in “A Subject of Childhood,” from “Two Short Sad Stories From a Long and Happy Life,” is the greatest evidence of tension Paley provides. This scene provides simply, blunt descriptions and language that is easy to see the events taking place.

Overall, the disconnection between the reader and stories, along with the lack of tension provided a rough foundation. The collection had a few shining moments, but was difficult to finish and uneventful. It is evident that Paley has a natural talent and the potential to produce great works, but there are very few contained in this compilation.

[Daniel Chaikin · Rating 5 out of 5]

46. The Collected Stories by Grace Paley
published: 1994
format: 386 page paperback
acquired: 2006, from my neighbor
read: Oct 19 - Nov 7 (with something of a break from Oct 29 - Nov 3)
rating: 5

Selected stories from three collections:
- The Little Disturbances of Man (1959)
- Enormous Changes at the Last Minute (1974)
- Later the Same Day (1985)

It’s when trying to review a book like this, that I get a sense of how limited I am as a reviewer. There is a world of stuff to say about this book, a rich atmosphere with numerous different angles intersecting in one place…atmospheres. There is a lot here beyond the sentence, that isn’t overtly in the text and quotable, and that is difficult for me explain. I would say most of what leads me to give this book five stars is elusive to me, and not captured below.

Paley was something of a idealist whose perennial fascination with human passions, experience and disappointment evolves over the course of time. She has an interesting perspective on religion and life meaning, and either by intention or as a side-effect, shows how incongruous these thoughts are to life itself. All this can felt in these stories - three difference collections from three different eras (1959, 1974 and 1985). Each collection is the same in many ways, in style, in characters, who reoccur, and yet they are each different, distinctive, maybe of Paley’s apparent place. The most notable constant is Paley’s fictional alter-ego, Faith Darwin (a play on her own name and on itself), a divorcee, mother two young boys, who ages through her stories.

I think this collection serves as an interesting commentary on its time and the changes through its time, although it dwells on things that did not change - being a woman, being who you are, family and children and the transience of relationships, or really the failure of them, and of judgement.

- The Little Disturbances of Man (1959)

Lillie, don’t be surprised—change is a fact of God. From this no one is excused.

- - -

I was just tangent to the Great Circle of Life, of which I am one irrevocable diameter, when my mother appeared.

Her first collection is striking by the raw power of its voices, and it is all voices. Each story has a narrator who has a lot to say and quickly. The stories are easy to get into, and quickly run through their material, the narrator having kind of exhausted our emotional stamina. I admired these hyper-powerful impatient stories. They “happen” quickly. The contents, the subjects touched on, struck me. I expected the baggage of Jewish culture, but I didn't expect all the sex and god and Christianity. This is great fun and powerfully memorable stuff.

wikipedia tells me the the collection wasn’t particularly successful, just another forgotten work by another unknown author. But it would be republished before her next collection was released.

- Enormous Changes at the Last Minute (1974)

Just when I most needed important conversation, a sniff of the man-wide world, that is, at least one brainy companion who could translate my friendly language into his tongue of undying carnal love, I was forced to lounge in our neighborhood park, surrounded by children.

- - -

She put her two hands over her ribs to hold her heart in place and also out of modesty to quiet its immodest thud.

After Paley’s first collection, there was some kind of pressure on her to write a novel, instead a short stories. Having read that first collection, I find that a painful misfit of author and style. Alas that novel never happened. Instead, this collection came out, and it certainly feels as if this is the scraps of a novel.

The stories are longer, paced slower, less voice, more thoughtful and reflective but extremely intense at the sentence level. In the center story, Faith in a Tree, Faith sits up on a tree limb in playground, a mother watching her children and other parents and life around the playground. Each paragraph, each interaction has so much weight. In my favorite story, A Conversation with My Father she writes about story telling. Her father tells her: ”I would like you to write a simple story just once more…the kind like Maupassant wrote, or Checkov, the kind you used to write. Just recognizable people and then write down what happened to them next.” And after she tries with some back and forth he is moved by the "Poor woman, Poor girl, to be born in a time of fools, to live among fools.", not realizing he is capturing his daughter, but he also concludes, “I see you can’t tell a plain story. So don’t waste time.”

My thoughts on finishing, as I posted on Goodreads, were: “This collection feels like a failed novel, it’s the splinters that couldn’t come together. It was too intense. So she took out the sparkling stand alone pieces, shoved some other stories in the gaps and called it a collection. Of course I got that all wrong, but posting it anyway."

- Later the Same Day (1985)

Once I thought, Oh, I’ll iron his underwear. I’ve heard of that being done, but I couldn’t find the cord. I haven’t needed to iron in years because of famous American science, which gives us wash-and-wear in one test tube and nerve gas in the other. Its right test tube doesn’t know what its left test tube is doing.

- - -

A few hot human truthful words are powerful enough, Ann thinks, to steam all God’s chemical mistakes and society’s slimy lies out of her life. We all believe in that power, my friends and I, but sometimes...the heat.

A different personality writes these stories. The author is older, toned down and so disappointed in life, but can’t get herself to say it. It worth taking a moment to think how different life was for a feminist and activist liberal in 1959 versus and 1985, and yet Paley takes no time to look at the positives, only life experience and aging, and disappointment creeps in.

All of her stories have a slim tether to really, breaking off in various ways without breaking the stories, but this collection goes the farthest, its the collection that most shows an author frustrated with the limits of story telling. It’s like the story isn’t saying enough, so she randomly grabs something nearby and incongruously tosses into the story in a desperate effort to make a point that can’t quite be said, but without breaking rhythm.

These stories lack the raw power of her first collection and even of her second, but maintain a complexity and develop a maturity. Who has Grace Paley become after all these times? She tells about Faith in 3rd person, bitterly and superficially through the voice of a racist old Jewish man, who recalls she was “once beautiful”: “She looks O.K. now, but not so hot. Well, what can you do, time takes a terrible toll off the ladies.”

I don’t know Paley’s life story, but her short story publication would stop here. The novel idea was entombed. She would publish poetry, scraps of which she had integrated into her short stories here, and she would remain an activist. She would publish this book of selected storied in 1994. But it seems the published story telling would go silent until her passing in 2007

Silence —the space that follows unkindness in which little truths growl.

[Gattalucy · Rating 5 out of 5]

Sorellanza

Non amo i racconti: nelle letture ho bisogno di affezionarmi ai personaggi, di portarmeli appresso mentre faccio tutt'altro, di chiedermi preoccupata come andranno a finire, di andarci a dormire insieme la notte, magari pensando di ritrovarli lì ad aspettare il mio risveglio.
Nei racconti tutto questo non succede, appena comincio a riconoscerli, puf, spariscono, lasciandomi lì un po' delusa, spesso interdetta, quasi offesa di tanto poco abbandono nell'allungare la storia, costringendomi ad aprire presto altre porte, con il solo tempo di infilarci un attimo il naso e poi di nuovo, sbam! chiuso un'altra volta.
Ma con la Paley ho dovuto ricredermi: le sue protagoniste, perchè di donne soprattutto si parla, sono me, hanno tutte i miei problemi, si raccontano tra loro le stesse storie, scoprono la vita e la dividono tra uomini assenti, figli che crescono loro attorno senza essere sicure di saperli guidare, capaci di vedere nelle altre gli stessi guai, le stesse piccole rughe attorno agli occhi, le stesse mani sbiancate dai bucati.

”Tu, gioia, senz'altro amerai e sposerai un unomo e ci farai un paio di marmocchi e vivrai per sempre felice e contenta finchè non muori di stanchezza”

“I figli maschi son tutti così: prima scorbutici, poi scomparsi.” Poi se ne è rimasta là triste come in lutto.

“ma smettila” ha detto mia madre. Poi ha chiuso tutte le finestre per prevenire la tonsillite.

Io mi servii un caffè caldo in soggiorno, mi organizzai una poltrona comoda, versai il caffè nero in una tazza bianca con su scritto MAMMA, scossi la cenere della sigaretta in un piattino di ceramca modellato a mano da mio figlio Richard. Rivolsi lo sguardo all'abbagliante riquadro di luce della finestra e mi posi questa logorante domanda: Che cos'è l'uomo, perchè la donna si prosterni a adorarlo?

...così da gioire finalmente di una vera professione e tirarsi fuori dai mestieri di merda di questo nobile paese.

Faith è americana per davvero, e come tutti è stata allevata con la felicità come presupposto tangibile. A causa di Ricardo, dubbi non ce ne sono, da qualunque parte la si guardi ora è infelicissima E davanti ai suoi vecchi se ne vergogna.

Ascolto sempre le raccomandazioni della mia amica Kitty, perchè ha fatto un errore dietro l'altro. Ha un'esperienza impagabile.

Bianchi o neri, dissi, tornando agli uomini, si credono sempre portatori di un raro dono, invece è solo il sesso, che è diffuso come il pane, per quanto essenziale.

Scesi al parco giochi nordest, dove incontrai una dozzina di madri che badavano con ntelligenza ai loro piccoli. In modo da prepararle, senza volergli alcun male, dissi: Ragazze, tra quidici anni sarete come me, avrete sbagliato tutto.

Ci sorridemmo sopra le testoline bionde. In quel momento si strinse un patto, credo, con ogni probabilità più vincolante delle promesse che tutte avevamo fatto ai mariti con cui non siamo più sposate.
I figli ormai cresciuti abitavano in un altro quartiere e cercavano di trovare la melodia giusta per la loro vita. Erano diventati gli uomini di un paio di donne, e quindi venivano a cena solo di tanto in tanto. Si preoccupavano della mia vita solitaria e mi suggerivano nuovi modi di acconciarmi i capelli.

Ho dato voce a lei, perchè si è meritata tutta la mia stima, e io non saprei assolutamente come raccontarla meglio di così.

[Aslıhan Çelik Tufan · Rating 4 out of 5]

14.04.2021

Grace Paley rastlantı eseri keşfettiğim bir yazar, böylesi rastlantıya can kurban dostlar.

George Saunders ile Ursula K. Le Guin 'in övgüler yağdırdığı yazara benim çok söyleyecek sözüm yok aslında.

Bize bazen uzak gelecek bir coğrafyanın zaman zaman sıradan zaman zaman komik ve esasen çok dokunaklı öykülerle bezeli bir kitap.

New York sokaklarında göçmenlerin, bekar annelerin, ötekilerin hikayelerini bazen muzip bazen dramatik bir anlatımla okumak çok keyifli.

Öykü severlere ısrarla tavsiye ediyorum.

Keyifli okumalar 🌼

#readingismycardio #aslihanneokudu #okudumbitti #2021okumalarım #okuryorumu #kitaptavsiyesi #neokudum #delidolukitap #gracepaley #ölüdildebirhayalperest #amerikanedebiyatı

[Andrew]

While Grace Paley's often grouped with Raymond Carver, the comparisons really aren't that many. In fact, her early stories bear few comparisons, and it's rather wonderful to see Grace Paley evolve as a writer over the course of these stories, from very much a New York Jewish-ghetto writer of the '50s a la Malamud to an '80s minimalist (without falling into the cliches that accompanied that particular literary movement). But, rather than coming off as a follower of fashion, she has the same interests throughout-- daughterhood, leftist politics, and the difficulties of being a decent human in the face of evil.

[Michael Livingston · Rating 5 out of 5]

What a spectacular collection! Paley is funny, warm, political and innovative, with a brilliant turn of phrase, a real love for her characters and the ability to do more in 10 pages than most novelists manage in 300. Reading this reminded me of reading A Manual for Cleaning Women: Selected Stories - that feeling, from the first story, that you were reading a classic. A good reminder to occasionally step back from the flood of new releases - classics are classics for a reason.

[Banu Yıldıran Genç · Rating 4 out of 5]

araya başka kitaplar girdiği için çok uzadı okumam ama grace paley amerikan öykücülüğünün yüz aklarından biri. yüz kitap’ın bastığı ilk kitap daha çok etkilemişti beni ama ilk kez okuduğum için olabilir.
bu kitapta özellikle ikinci bölüm “aynı gün daha sonra”daki öyküleri sevdim.
alt sınıf amerikan kadınını, bekar anneliği, anneliği, yahudi kimliğini, rusya köklerini ve tüm politik bilincini o kadar iyi yediriyor ki öykülere.
kadınların kaybolan hayallerini, çocuk doğurup onlara bakmakla geçen hayatlarının yanında kafası karışık, başka erkeklere ilgi duyan yanlarını da anlatıyor. hem de hiç kaybolmayan mizah yeteneğiyle.

[Dolceluna ♡ · Rating 3 out of 5]

Premetto che non sono mai stata una “fan” dei racconti, e infatti, se mi volto indietro, mi rendo conto che, a parte Raymond Carver, Richard Yates, Dorothy Parker e Donald Antrim, di raccolte di racconti ho letto ben poco. Mi piace accompagnare i personaggi, crescere con loro, seguirli fino alla fine approfondendo ciò che fanno e provano invece di essere buttata “in media res” in una storia spesso di qualche pagina, fatico a trovare coordinate, a raccapezzarmi, e se capita di iniziare ad affezionarmi a qualche personaggio…ahimè, è già tempo di lasciarlo andare! Insomma, la mia dimensione di lettrice è il romanzo.
Un libro di racconti di oltre 500 pagine, poi, per farsi leggere con attenzione fino alla fine suscitando il mio pieno piacere, deve essere, poveretto, uno dei libri della mia vita, indipendentemente dal fatto che sia un libro scritto da uno sconosciuto oppure un finalista al Premio Pulizter, come in questo caso. E ahimè, no, questo non è stato uno dei libri della mia vita.
Grace Paley, narratrice, attivista, femminista, sicuramente un personaggio tosto, di spessore, in un certo senso scomodo, e di gran carattere. E gran carattere hanno molti dei suoi personaggi, che seguiamo in una serie di vicende (singole o “spezzettate” nel senso che talvolta ritornano in più racconti) ambientate nella New York degli anni ’50-’60: famiglie chiassose e numerose, fughe e tradimenti, vezzi e pettegolezzi, sesso e divorzi in un microcosmo vivace e colorato, talvolta macchiato da pungente ironia e provocazione, talvolta velato di nostalgia.
L’edizione della Big Sur raggruppa in realtà tre delle raccolte della Paley, intitolate rispettivamente “Piccoli contrattempi del vivere”, “Enormi cambiamenti all’ultimo minuto” e “Quello stesso giorno”, scritti e inizialmente pubblicati in un arco temporale che va dal 1959 al 1985.
L’inizio è stato entusiasmante. E ho apprezzato, in particolare, i racconti in cui, in prima persona, si raccontano storie provocanti in cui emergono donne o giovani donne di forte temperamento, come quella di Cindy, che, contrariamente al parere del padre (il quale la trascinerà in tribunale!) ha una storiella con un uomo molto più grande di lei. Poi, cammin facendo, sono subentrati racconti su altri temi e infarciti di personaggi su personaggi, che ho faticato a capire, e quindi l’entusiasmo ha lasciato pian piano il posto alla noia.
Perché Grace Paley non ha approfondito una di queste storie irriverenti, simpatiche, a loro modo attuali, e non ne ha fatto un bel romanzo, invece di tutti questi “pezzetti” con nomi e fatti legati e slegati? La sensazione, lo confesso, è stata quella di nuotare in un enorme piatto di spezzatino, a volta piccante e gustoso, ma nel quale mi sono completamente smarrita.
Sono una voce fuori dal coro, e non è la prima volta. Capita. Non mi sento assolutamente di bocciare la scrittrice, ma onestamente non posso nemmeno promuovere a pieni titoli un libro che ha smorzato il mio iniziale entusiasmo.

[Xenja · Rating 3 out of 5]

In uno di questi racconti, tutti più o meno di matrice autobiografica, l’alterego della Paley, Faith, va a trovare il padre, il quale critica il suo modo di scrivere, e la accusa di produrre racconti bizzarri, pieni di chiacchiere e vaneggiamenti, di fare troppo la spiritosa. La invita a essere più semplice e profonda. Lei si difende: ha sempre disprezzato “la linea retta tra due punti”.
La penso esattamente come lui: il talento c’è, ma si perde in chiacchiere minime via via sempre più interminabili (man mano che l’autrice invecchia), e sconfina nella militanza politica, cose che poco c’entrano con la letteratura.
Ci sono, è vero, alcuni racconti “seri”, brevi e davvero riusciti che ho molto apprezzato, in particolare il drammatico Samuel e il malinconico Vivere, in cui l’ironia si unisce perfettamente alla tristezza. C’è anche un racconto più che tragico, La ragazzina, inaspettata esplosione di violenza atroce. Ma in grande maggioranza si tratta di quadretti familiari, storie di vicinato, di quartiere, di giardinetti pubblici, nella periferia newyorkese. Ci sono molte ragazze madri e mogli abbandonate, che crescono i bambini alla meno peggio, ci sono mariti assenti, egoisti e mascalzoni, ci sono ragazzi di strada, battibecchi e guai seri, droga, malattie, ospizi, sussidi e assistenti sociali; e tutto è in forma di dialogo, lunghi dialoghi vivaci, pungenti, autentici e spesso divertenti, ma anche parecchio sconclusionati: i racconti non vanno da nessuna parte, e a parte l’amore per questa umanità imperfetta e dolente, che salta agli occhi (ma è sufficiente?), spesso mi sono chiesta quale fosse il senso di tante pagine.
Un autoritratto, nel senso più ampio: io, i miei bambini, i miei mariti, le mie amiche, il mio quartiere, il nostro quotidiano barcamenarsi, il mio impegno sociale e politico, ve li butto là, così come siamo.
Interessante, ma non imprescindibile.

[Larry Bassett · Rating 5 out of 5]

There are three short story collections gathered in this single hard cover. I am going to locate my reviews in their original individual books:

The Little Disturbances of Man was first published in 1959 and is reviewed at https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...

Enormous Changes at the Last Minute was first published in 1974 and is reviewed at https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...

Later the Same Day was first published in 1985 and is reviewed at https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...

All three books receive five stars from me. Later the Same Day has, by far, the most left wing political allusions so is my favorite of the three. Many of the same characters appear in many of the stories in all three books.

[Bill Hsu · Rating 3 out of 5]

I've enjoyed a number of Paley's short stories. The best have beautifully cultivated narrators' voices, sinewy prose with surprising twists, and a fair sprinkling of LOL moments.

The narrator of "Listening", from the collection "Later the Same Day", is an older woman who's politically active in leftwing causes (like many of the characters in the loosely connected stories in the collection). She spots and admires:

I thought, Oh, man, in the very center of your life, still fitting your skin so nicely, with your arms probably in a soft cotton shirt and the shirt in an old tweed jacket and your cock lying along your thigh in either your right or left pants leg, it's hard to tell which, why have you slipped out of my sentimental and carnal grasp?

[Chris Gager · Rating 4 out of 5]

It'll be "current" when it arrives from Amazon in a couple of days. Thanks to sister Connie for the gift card that JUST covered the cost of the one hardbound they had in stock - cool! Another mini-icon of the mid-20th century, and so far little read by me. Only a story or two at the most.

Got this today from Amazon via Julia's Book Store in North Las Vegas, Nevada - bet it's warmer there than it is here today!

Read the first tale last night -excellent! GP is free with her prose and the eschewing of some punctuation. Takes a while to get "into" the flow.

Read another(#2) last night. Ms Paley reminds me of Nabokov and the guy who wrote "The Magic Barrel" - Bernard Malamud. Pretty good company! Once you "get" her idea of writing/communication and imagine she's right there telling you a story it flows nicely.

Still having fun here despite the occasional "whaaaa?" bafflement at the meaning of some semi-sentence or such like. GP lets the words flow in a semi-experimental way at times. At a LOT of times, in fact.

Got back to this after taking a few days break. Last night's reading brought me up against the Grace Paley who apparently liked to stray occasionally over the "line" from eccentric-but-still-"normal" prose into something more experimental/poetic and delirious. I lowered my rating to 4* because of this. I can't say that I "didn't like" it, but I can't say the opposite either. I hope there's not too much more of it, in any case.

Last night's story continued in the experimental prose mode. Meh ... Seems like the author is trying too hard to meld prose with poetry with stream-of-consciousness.

Still enjoying my time in Grace-land, but still not sure how much I like her streamy-dreamy way with words. She definitely catches the feeling of 1950's street life in ... Brooklyn? the Bronx? Perhaps she gives herself a bit too much poetic license - for MY taste.

Last night's reading(The Distance) was excellent. It follows a line of some other stories so far that follow the life of a character named Dolly who has a philandering son in the building trades in New Jersey. More of that free-flowing poetic prose thing.

Read "Faith in the Afternoon," one of the longer stories thus far. A melancholy(also funny) mediation on life and family - i.e. - the usual.

I'm back at this one after leaving off to read other stuff. At any rate it's back to the half/half prose/poetry stuff. She does it about as well as anybody can. Works for me, for the most part, though it can be hard to follow-swallow at times.

Getting back into this now that I've finished "Voss." Last night's reading included "Enormous Changes at the last Minute," which is also the title of one of her books. Good stuff ...

Last night's reading included "The Little Girl," a SERIOUSLY nasty story. All about the perils of clueless youth and sex in the big city. Is it racist???? Reminded me of "Taxi Driver."

Still reading, still excellent.

Aaaaalllllmost done after last night, but I had to go to bed. Will finish tonight.

Finished last night with this interesting, challenging book. Tough to read at any length at one time because the "stories" are so short. Lots of poetry is at times mixed up with the prose. The style is also intimate, imaginative and occasionally annoying as one tries to figure out who is saying what to whom.

- 4.25* rounds down to 4*.

[Sarah · Rating 5 out of 5]

Spring is a great time to be reading Grace Paley. Her skittish snapshots of lives lived in (often cheerful) disarray woke my brain right out of its winter hibernation. These aren’t stories to curl up with on a cold evening, although there’s real warmth to Paley’s writing; you need all your wits about you as a reader, to get the most out of this collection.

Two short sad stories from a long and happy life: A subject of childhood tells of a moment in the life of Faith, a woman who reappears in several of Paley’s short stories. Divorced, a mother with a variety of lovers, Faith is a touchstone for the reader, a linking thread across the stories Paley tells. Always on the brink of some great freedom, Faith is tied first by her status as a single woman, then as a mother struggling to raise two small boys without losing her sense of self, finally as a woman of fifty whose boys are men, political, pessimistic, reminders of her still-unraveling life. It’s easy to love Faith, with her cloudy self-knowledge and her fretful honesty. Finding her in a new story further into the collection was the closest I came to feeling ‘settled’ while reading the book.

But ‘settled’ is over-valued.

Read the rest of my review here: http://www.theshortreview.com/reviews...

[Adam · Rating 4 out of 5]

"Long Stories," a shelf of anthologies I'm erratically working through.
----------------------------
"The Little Disturbances of Man" (1959)
Pleasant reading of a sage and playful disposition, somewhere between Flannery O'Connor's tense skyward longing and Kurt Vonnegut's smiling earthbound cynicism. Most of the first stories revolve around young rustic girls picking the buds of epiphanies from the expanding field of experience. Very enjoyable, if I can't yet say it's essential.
----------------------------
"Enormous Changes at the Last Minute" (1974)
Irresistible. I adore the no-bullshit tone, a perspective hardly flattened to fit drab reality but rather the high plateau of levelheaded intelligence and the settled strata of a life whose deposits of despair are mined for gems of hope. Paley is much sharper in this collection, writing mostly in short, suggestive bursts. Also welcome are the more experimental pieces and others written in a roiling urban patois. More enjoyable, almost essential.
----------------------------

[Shane · Rating 2 out of 5]

This wasn't an easy book to read, as the style was very spoken-stream of consciousness, as if the various narrators were involved in a fragmented dialogue with their readers. I guess it was a new style for its time - I am not sure however that it can endure. In the end I want a story.

I found some of the shorter pieces began in one place and landed somewhere completely diffferent, with new information provided just before they ended, thereby altering the traditional structure of story.

The Yiddish, feminist voice was quirky and original, and in some places the language was "very blue" to reflect the characters. I found the women fell in love rather quickly in some stories and I wondered if that was part of the '50's culture of being conservative about revealing intimacy.

I am sure that Grace Paley was originial for her time, and that her writing certainly would have stretched the short story genre, but these were not stories for me.

[Jesse · Rating 3 out of 5]

I found the variety of styles in this weirdly hit-and-miss. When she's good, she is EXCELLENT, but when she's not excellent she's often engaged in experiments I'm not terribly interested in, or pursuing increasingly long tangents that don't engage me. I think I'd have felt differently had I listened to her reading aloud before and during the process of reading these stories, so I had her voice in my head, they wouldn't have felt quite as disconnected as they did.

[Jessica · Rating 1 out of 5]

I've been trying to finish this book for over six months and I just couldn't do it. I had to give up even though I read more than 300 pages. The stories have fragmented plots and dialogues making them difficult to follow. I know Paley is supposed to be a revolutionary story writer in terms of her style and her ear for dialogue but I could not get into this. Not an enjoyable read.

[Elliot · Rating 5 out of 5]

Yes, Natasha gave this book 3 stars. Yes, we will continue to date

[Rosamund Taylor · Rating 5 out of 5]

A really moving, imaginative and original collection of short story. Grace Paley is a true original, and these stories are so playful, thought-provoking and full of life and emotion. Unlike many short stories, though they deal with difficult themes, they are also often fun or funny, and that levity and joy gives them a great depth of compassion and a sense of humanity.

[Juan Fuentes · Rating 5 out of 5]

¡Que cuentos más buenos! Sobre todo en el primer libro. Una verdadera delicia.

https://liblit.com/grace-paley-cuento...

[Mike · Rating 5 out of 5]

the stories are small in scale--domestic settings; blocks, neighborhood playgrounds--but she fills them with rich, aphoristic asides that are not only cosmically wise but really funny. it's interesting, for all the second-person, interiority-oriented writing, paley's stories are fundamentally social. you get to know the characters, sure, but you never really feel inside them, you only have the pleasure of sharing the room with them. the best part is that none of them are outrightly exceptional; that, of course, is kinda her stroke of genius--the weight of the small story.

[Abby · Rating 5 out of 5]

What a thrill! I feel almost resentful that no one urged me to read Grace Paley before now. I can’t believe it took me so long to encounter her brilliant, febrile, wholly unusual fiction. Every story is wrapped with a radiant, wry humor, suffused with the diction of Brooklyn, and packed with tiny surprises. Let me now be the one to urge you: Your life will be a little brighter for having read Grace Paley.

[Fulya]

Aslında kitabı bitiremedim o yüzden yıldız vermeyeceğim. Ancak şunu söylemek istiyorum, yazarın üslubu anlattığı hikayenin önüne geçti mi artık öyküleri değil yazarın kendisini okuyoruz.
Bu kadar baskın yazarlardan hoşlanmıyorum, hikayelerinden rol çalıyorlar. Tüm öyküler birbirinin tekrarı gibi, dil de kendi kendine söylenenen bir insanın sözcükleri gibi. Sevemedim. Bitiremedim de.

[Marika Salvatori · Rating 4 out of 5]

La mia videorecensione: https://youtu.be/l1k7GGNyrhM