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Rat Boy
The last sip is sometimes a bad sip. And this might freak you out, but you cannot always just buy more of everything. An artist dies, the art created in the artist's life hopefully remains, but at the moment of his death there is no longer a chance of any more art coming from that particular artist. No, you can't get any more art out of a dead body. Not unless they did some art when they were still alive and it's been stashed away somewhere and hidden. Not unless nobody ever really knew about its existence and it only reached a very small audience at its very beginning. Not unless it gets discovered. By me. Because that's what I do. Because that's what I've been doing. Discovering shit for you guys like it's my goddamn job.
So, I'm always harping on Breece D'J Pancake, right? Because he was this great writer and he grew up in the same place I grew up. And because he killed himself when he was real young and how fucking romantic and blah blah, right? I even went to his goddamn grave last year and made a big act of it all like I was an adolescent with smallish tits on a pilgrimage to cry at the tomb of Mr. Stephen fucking Morrissey. I've probably overdone it. I have overdone it. I will take none of it back. In fact, here's more.
This story was omitted from the only collection of short stories we have from Breece D'J Pancake. I kind of have to say that I can understand why. He's not really flexing in this piece, he doesn't seem sure of himself, and I almost feel bad showing it to you because he probably wouldn't want anyone to see it if he were still alive (a lot of great writers would like to have everyone believe that they were always great). But this story is something that you should see as a testament to what the practice of writing can do. Pancake is at his youngest here, his beginnings, and it feels fucking amazing to witness how quickly his talent grew, eventually culminating in “Trilobites” (his best, in my opinion).
It's like something major went down in this kid's head and he just learned the shit out of how to do what he wanted to do: Write. You can see what he dropped and what he kept and what he stuck with and what he didn't. Honestly (and why act in any other way?), there are only a couple of shining moments in here. But do yourself a favor and read "Rat Boy" and then read "Trilobites" and see what you think. It's encouraging, yes? You can tell both stories are from the same man, but a man who found his way around his shortcomings in talent and broke through to being able to create truly beautiful shit by just going at it and learning how.
This one time, Robert Frost told a fellow poet that the fellow's poems felt like he maybe worked on them a half an hour too long. Haha. Classic. What an asshole, right? But what a great way to say what he was trying to say! He's not really talking about actual passing time. He's more talking about the amount of effort left displayed in the final product. He'd shown off too much. Or he hadn't hidden the effort well enough. I guess it takes a lot of practice to be able to write a great short story, but you also have to know when something is done (and when it's not done). They say Pancake wrote "Rat Boy" his senior year of high school (not bad at all) but never tried to publish it until years later. They say that it's the second story he ever tried to publish. Around that time, there was this like Appalachian literary guru named Jesse Stuart who helped "worthy" fledgling writers from the area. Breece sent Mr. Stuart "Rat Boy" to see what he thought. He sent him back kind of a nasty, discouraging letter. That's fine. Good. Happens all the time. Gives the writer strength if they're a real writer. But Pancake took this letter that Jesse Stuart wrote to him and attached it to the same story to be sent to The Atlantic with a little note of his own. It's attached below. Thank you, Breece, for that FUCK YOU that we all now have before us to admire. The Atlantic did not publish "Rat Boy" and Jesse Stuart didn't like it either. But who in the fuck thinks of The Atlantic anymore when they think of fiction? And no one thinks of Jesse Stuart. Nobody even knows who that guy was.
So, I'm always harping on Breece D'J Pancake, right? Because he was this great writer and he grew up in the same place I grew up. And because he killed himself when he was real young and how fucking romantic and blah blah, right? I even went to his goddamn grave last year and made a big act of it all like I was an adolescent with smallish tits on a pilgrimage to cry at the tomb of Mr. Stephen fucking Morrissey. I've probably overdone it. I have overdone it. I will take none of it back. In fact, here's more.
This story was omitted from the only collection of short stories we have from Breece D'J Pancake. I kind of have to say that I can understand why. He's not really flexing in this piece, he doesn't seem sure of himself, and I almost feel bad showing it to you because he probably wouldn't want anyone to see it if he were still alive (a lot of great writers would like to have everyone believe that they were always great). But this story is something that you should see as a testament to what the practice of writing can do. Pancake is at his youngest here, his beginnings, and it feels fucking amazing to witness how quickly his talent grew, eventually culminating in “Trilobites” (his best, in my opinion).
It's like something major went down in this kid's head and he just learned the shit out of how to do what he wanted to do: Write. You can see what he dropped and what he kept and what he stuck with and what he didn't. Honestly (and why act in any other way?), there are only a couple of shining moments in here. But do yourself a favor and read "Rat Boy" and then read "Trilobites" and see what you think. It's encouraging, yes? You can tell both stories are from the same man, but a man who found his way around his shortcomings in talent and broke through to being able to create truly beautiful shit by just going at it and learning how.
This one time, Robert Frost told a fellow poet that the fellow's poems felt like he maybe worked on them a half an hour too long. Haha. Classic. What an asshole, right? But what a great way to say what he was trying to say! He's not really talking about actual passing time. He's more talking about the amount of effort left displayed in the final product. He'd shown off too much. Or he hadn't hidden the effort well enough. I guess it takes a lot of practice to be able to write a great short story, but you also have to know when something is done (and when it's not done). They say Pancake wrote "Rat Boy" his senior year of high school (not bad at all) but never tried to publish it until years later. They say that it's the second story he ever tried to publish. Around that time, there was this like Appalachian literary guru named Jesse Stuart who helped "worthy" fledgling writers from the area. Breece sent Mr. Stuart "Rat Boy" to see what he thought. He sent him back kind of a nasty, discouraging letter. That's fine. Good. Happens all the time. Gives the writer strength if they're a real writer. But Pancake took this letter that Jesse Stuart wrote to him and attached it to the same story to be sent to The Atlantic with a little note of his own. It's attached below. Thank you, Breece, for that FUCK YOU that we all now have before us to admire. The Atlantic did not publish "Rat Boy" and Jesse Stuart didn't like it either. But who in the fuck thinks of The Atlantic anymore when they think of fiction? And no one thinks of Jesse Stuart. Nobody even knows who that guy was.
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About the author
Breece D'J Pancake
4 books239 followersBreece (Dexter John) Pancake was born in South Charleston, West Virginia, the youngest child of Clarence "Wicker" Pancake and Helen Frazier Pancake, and was raised in Milton, West Virginia. Pancake briefly attended West Virginia Wesleyan College in Buckhannon before transferring to Marshall University in Huntington where he completed a bachelor's degree in English education in 1974. After graduating from Marshall he spent time out West, visiting his sister in Santa Fe. As a graduate student he studied at the University of Virginia's creative writing program under John Casey and James Alan McPherson. Pancake also worked as an English teacher at two Virginia military academies, Fork Union and Staunton.
While at the University of Virginia, Pancake deliberately styled himself as an uncultured hillbilly, distancing himself from the mostly erudite students at the prestigious school. He was an avid outdoorsman who enjoyed hunting, fishing and camping. Pancake was a devout fan of the music of folk singer Phil Ochs, who had attended Staunton Military Academy, where Pancake later taught. His favorite song was Ochs' "Jim Dean of Indiana". Ochs committed suicide exactly three years and a day before Pancake.
The unusual middle name "D'J" originated from a misprint of Pancake's middle initials by The Atlantic Monthly (D.J., for Dexter John) when Pancake's first published story, "Trilobites" was published in 1977. Pancake decided not to correct it. Dexter is Pancake's middle name, while John is the name Pancake adopted after converting to Catholicism in his mid-20s.
Pancake died from a self-inflicted shotgun wound in Charlottesville, Virginia. His death was officially labeled a suicide, although there has, over the years, been some debate from people who believe the gunshot may have been an accident. Pancake was buried in Milton.
Pancake published six short stories in his lifetime, mostly in The Atlantic. These and six stories left unpublished at his death were later collected in The Stories of Breece D'J Pancake, a 178 page volume published by Little, Brown and Company in 1983. This includes the short story "Time and Again". It was reprinted in 2002 with a new afterword by Andre Dubus III. Pancake was posthumously nominated for the Pulitzer Prize for The Stories of Breece D'J Pancake.
His vivid, compact style has been compared to that of Ernest Hemingway. Most of his stories are set in rural West Virginia and revolve around characters and naturalistic settings, often adapted from his own past. His stories received critical acclaim from readers and critics. The Atlantic's editor recalled receiving letters that "drifted in for months - asking for more stories - inquiring for collected stories, or simply expressing admiration and gratitude ... in 30-something years at The Atlantic, I cannot recall a response to a new author like the response to this one."
Among the writers who claim Pancake as a strong influence are Chuck Palahniuk, author of Fight Club and Andre Dubus III, author of House of Sand and Fog. After Pancake's death, author Kurt Vonnegut wrote in a letter to John Casey, "I give you my word of honor that he is merely the best writer, the most sincere writer I've ever read. What I suspect is that it hurt too much, was no fun at all to be that good. You and I will never know."
While at the University of Virginia, Pancake deliberately styled himself as an uncultured hillbilly, distancing himself from the mostly erudite students at the prestigious school. He was an avid outdoorsman who enjoyed hunting, fishing and camping. Pancake was a devout fan of the music of folk singer Phil Ochs, who had attended Staunton Military Academy, where Pancake later taught. His favorite song was Ochs' "Jim Dean of Indiana". Ochs committed suicide exactly three years and a day before Pancake.
The unusual middle name "D'J" originated from a misprint of Pancake's middle initials by The Atlantic Monthly (D.J., for Dexter John) when Pancake's first published story, "Trilobites" was published in 1977. Pancake decided not to correct it. Dexter is Pancake's middle name, while John is the name Pancake adopted after converting to Catholicism in his mid-20s.
Pancake died from a self-inflicted shotgun wound in Charlottesville, Virginia. His death was officially labeled a suicide, although there has, over the years, been some debate from people who believe the gunshot may have been an accident. Pancake was buried in Milton.
Pancake published six short stories in his lifetime, mostly in The Atlantic. These and six stories left unpublished at his death were later collected in The Stories of Breece D'J Pancake, a 178 page volume published by Little, Brown and Company in 1983. This includes the short story "Time and Again". It was reprinted in 2002 with a new afterword by Andre Dubus III. Pancake was posthumously nominated for the Pulitzer Prize for The Stories of Breece D'J Pancake.
His vivid, compact style has been compared to that of Ernest Hemingway. Most of his stories are set in rural West Virginia and revolve around characters and naturalistic settings, often adapted from his own past. His stories received critical acclaim from readers and critics. The Atlantic's editor recalled receiving letters that "drifted in for months - asking for more stories - inquiring for collected stories, or simply expressing admiration and gratitude ... in 30-something years at The Atlantic, I cannot recall a response to a new author like the response to this one."
Among the writers who claim Pancake as a strong influence are Chuck Palahniuk, author of Fight Club and Andre Dubus III, author of House of Sand and Fog. After Pancake's death, author Kurt Vonnegut wrote in a letter to John Casey, "I give you my word of honor that he is merely the best writer, the most sincere writer I've ever read. What I suspect is that it hurt too much, was no fun at all to be that good. You and I will never know."
Ratings & Reviews
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Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews
August 31, 2014
I can understand why this story was left out of his short story collection; it reads like it's from a different author. The prose is very stripped down compared to his other stories and the subject matter didn't really fit with his other stuff, either. It's not bad, I actually liked it a lot, but you could see how much he grew as a writer after he really found his voice.
August 9, 2016
Pancake's "Lost Story".
October 18, 2017
Breece's first, "lost " story, which is quite different from his later works, and at the same time it gave off similar, nostalgic vibe.
Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews