Looking back, I have to say that this year made an impression. I highlighted a full half of the stories!
I also forgot that it was Heidi Pitlor’s final year editing! :0 I’m pretty sure I skimmed through a couple of BASS issues before she came on board, but I’ve surely only been reading closely while she’s been at the helm. What will be coming for us next year?? Guess I’ll find out by this time in 2026.
But anywho. As Pitlor started listing off her editorial forebears, I got feklempt! Unsurprisingly, she leaves while still debating what a short story is, and this year’s entries do feel a little eclectic.
It’s also touching that Lauren Groff’s first BASS publication aligns with Pitlor’s first year on the job. I went back through the editions I’ve reviewed, and I highlighted Groff’s stories twice: once in 2016 (“For the God of Love, for the Love of God,” which I called “complex…everyone has their issues—and [I like] how Mina ties it all in together in the end.”) Then again in 2023 (“Annunciation,” which I called “an unsettling story” and I appreciated the way Groff’s narrator “live[d] cheaply and romanticize[d] her first home away from home.”)
When it comes to BASS intro, Groff went for the grandiose history of the short story from beginning to now. From there, she goes into the proliferation of first person POV, but instead of clinging to the “selfie narcissism” narrative, she talks about the latest breakdown of institutions. It’s ultimately a more interesting take. It’s a thoughtful rumination, and today, perhaps rather than stories being “masterful,” they can be “gorgeous, generous, three-way collaborative acts between the writer, the work, and the reader.”
Anyway, from Pitlor and Groff’s selections, here’s what spoke to me the most.
“Blessed Deliverance” by Jamel Brinkley (Zoetrope: All-Story) A vibrant, first-person plural story regarding a group of five teens from Bed-Stuy NYC whose communal friendship is reaching a natural end. Amidst this reality, and including nods to college and other life shifts, they encounter a rabbit rescue in their gentrifying neighborhood. Two new relationships—with the ignorant store owner and a mercurial homeless man called “Headass”—briefly animate the friends before bringing some individuality to the narrator.
“The Happiest Day of Your Life” by Katherine Damm (The Iowa Review) I guess what grabs me here is that Greg, deserted by Nina at one of the many weddings of her exes (particularly the ex she considered going back to when Greg proposed,) feels no envy or abandonment, as the author explains in the contributor notes. Of course this is because he’s drunk, which the author portrays very effectively on the page.
“The Bed and Breakfast” by Molly Dektar (Harvard Review) A family frays as a US father moves the lot to Italy to try and chase down a new dream with no money. The extreme lifestyles of the family led to some visceral imagery. The young daughter wanted to cling to a childhood, somewhere between eschewing her individuality and demanding to be seen. She complicated the story in surprising ways.
“Engelond” by Taisia Kitaiskaia (Virginia Quarterly Review) Atmospheric story about how a lonely young woman from a solitary life turned to her love of Chaucer and Christie while trying to make sense of a spooky, Air B&B ranch. I may have felt a little too much personal empathy for this protagonist, and the author’s stated fears of losing her own parents.
“A Case Study” by Daniel Mason (The Paris Review) It’s a little unsettling, the way the relationship with the therapist is at the center of the story, and not the “real” events of the patient’s life. We don’t even know why he decided to seek treatment or anything he divulged in said treatment. His later life is glossed over in a perfunctory manner without any real attachment. The patient’s feelings, even years later, are tied into the relationship with the therapist—or the lack of relationship. So truly, this story epitomizes what therapy is supposed to be about—understanding yourself. And I think the big reveal of this at the end is that, decades later, the patient is still at a loss there.
“Baboons” by Susan Shepherd (The Kenyon Review) I think this captures two prickly characters very well—the teenage daughter and the girlfriend of the addict. I especially feel for the girlfriend, even though for most of the story the addict is clean (after a scary relapse as the story’s inciting incident.) The mixed family feels complex to me on their camping trip through Kenya. But I was on edge the whole time, waiting for the dog to die (because he was miraculously safe in the beginning after the relapsed addict ran away with him.) I guess I was looking for the wrong pattern; the author was thinking about the difference between sickly camps of drug addicts vs restorative camping in nature. I found the wildlife encounters to be tense, but ultimately their behaviors are easier to navigate than that of humans, I suppose.
“Mall of America” by Suzanne Wang (One Story) My one concession to experimental fiction. The entire story is a report the AI is giving to executives. The AI exists as part of a near future mall interface, and thus is automatically commentary on corporate capitalism and the loosening of privacy laws. The story follows an elderly Chinese immigrant and how the AI builds up an intimate, illegal and ultimately tragic relationship with the man. It's all based on the AI protocol to increase customer engagement and spending at the mall. One interlude, where the AI rhapsodies into poetic rather than technical language about what Grandpa Li taught him about humanity, feels a little forced. But overall this is a clever, thoughtful and emotionally resonant story.
“Valley of the Moon” by Paul Yoon (The New Yorker) This follows two characters and some slice of life realities about living on an isolated farm in the tumultuous years after the Korean War. There’s not much character development beyond trauma and reaction, but it’s a gripping look at a particular time and situation.
And in the mixed feelings camp…
“Phenotype” by Alexandra Chang (Electric Literature) It’s a propulsive story about an undergrad, Judith, being courted by the graduate assistant in one of her college classes, named KJ. To me—and to most of the supporting cast—at best, this feels like two people, one a bit naïve and the other unassuming in the lab but violent in sports—giving more into loneliness and lust than an actual, healthy relationship. Chang writes in the contributor notes about Judith being “misunderstood,” and perhaps that’s accurate. But I don’t think the character fully understands the relationship she’s in, either.
“P’s Parties” by Jhumpa Lahiri, and translated in collaboration with Todd Portnowitz (The New Yorker) I’ve been putting off reading ROMAN STORIES, so this is my first foray. And I do find it more enticing and engaging than Lahiri’s earlier translated/published Italian fare. I like the protagonist’s ruminations on the passage of time and of relationships….but I dislike writer narrators in general. It makes the story feel artificial. Most of his life is dedicated to breaking down that fourth wall and trying to forge too much of a circumscribed plot into his life. TD;LR—writers make for horrible narrators.