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The Emerald Light in the Air
Nothing is simple for the men and women in Donald Antrim's stories. As they do the things we all do―bum a cigarette at a party, stroll with a girlfriend down Madison Avenue, take a kid to the zoo―they're confronted with their own uncooperative selves. These artists, writers, lawyers, teachers, and actors make fools of themselves, spiral out of control, have delusions of grandeur, despair, and find it hard to imagine a future. They talk, they listen, they hope, they dream. They look for communion in a city, both beautiful and menacing, which can promise so much and yield so little. But they are hungry for life. They want to love and be loved.
These stories, all published in The New Yorker over the last fifteen years, make it clear that Antrim is one of America's most important writers. His work has been praised by his significant contemporaries, including Jonathan Franzen, Thomas Pynchon, Jeffrey Eugenides, and George Saunders, who described The Verificationist as "one of the most pleasure-giving, funny, perverse, complicated, addictive novels of the last twenty years." And here is Antrim's best book the story collection that reveals him as a master of the form.
These stories, all published in The New Yorker over the last fifteen years, make it clear that Antrim is one of America's most important writers. His work has been praised by his significant contemporaries, including Jonathan Franzen, Thomas Pynchon, Jeffrey Eugenides, and George Saunders, who described The Verificationist as "one of the most pleasure-giving, funny, perverse, complicated, addictive novels of the last twenty years." And here is Antrim's best book the story collection that reveals him as a master of the form.
176 pages, Hardcover
First published January 26, 2014
72 people are currently reading
1892 people want to read
About the author
Donald Antrim
23 books180 followersDonald Antrim is an American novelist. His first novel, Elect Mr. Robinson for a Better World, was published in 1993. In 1999 The New Yorker named him as among the twenty best writers under the age of forty.
Antrim is a frequent contributor of fiction to The New Yorker and has written a number of critically acclaimed novels, including The Verificationist and The Hundred Brothers, which was a finalist for the 1998 PEN/Faulkner Award in fiction. He is also the author of The Afterlife, a 2006 memoir about his mother, Louanne Self. He has received grants and awards from the John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation, the National Endowment for the Arts, and the Dorothy and Lewis B. Cullman Center for Scholars and Writers at the New York Public Library.
Antrim is the brother of the artist Terry Leness and the son of Harry Antrim, a scholar of T. S. Eliot. Antrim has been associated with the writers David Foster Wallace and Jonathan Franzen, and the visual artist Christa Parravani.
He has taught prose fiction at the graduate school of New York University and was the Mary Ellen von der Heyden Fellow for Fiction at the American Academy in Berlin, Germany, for spring 2009. Antrim teaches in the MFA program at Columbia University. He lives in Brooklyn.
Antrim is a frequent contributor of fiction to The New Yorker and has written a number of critically acclaimed novels, including The Verificationist and The Hundred Brothers, which was a finalist for the 1998 PEN/Faulkner Award in fiction. He is also the author of The Afterlife, a 2006 memoir about his mother, Louanne Self. He has received grants and awards from the John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation, the National Endowment for the Arts, and the Dorothy and Lewis B. Cullman Center for Scholars and Writers at the New York Public Library.
Antrim is the brother of the artist Terry Leness and the son of Harry Antrim, a scholar of T. S. Eliot. Antrim has been associated with the writers David Foster Wallace and Jonathan Franzen, and the visual artist Christa Parravani.
He has taught prose fiction at the graduate school of New York University and was the Mary Ellen von der Heyden Fellow for Fiction at the American Academy in Berlin, Germany, for spring 2009. Antrim teaches in the MFA program at Columbia University. He lives in Brooklyn.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 148 reviews
October 2, 2023
3 stars
Short review for busy readers: DNFed this collection at 70%, not because of the writing or narrative voice which are rather good, but because of the length of the individual stories, the slow pace, the inconsequentalness of the characters' relationships/lives, all the extraneous details, and the repetitive, typical New York settings.
In detail
I like short stories. I write short stories. It's not that. I just couldn't muster the energy to finish this collection. Made it barely through 5.5 out of 7.
It's because for the most part, the damaged, somewhat off-the-rails New Yorkers that appear in Antrim's stories are not only typical of New York fiction, but tediously typical of New York fiction in their damage and off-the-rails-ness. If you asked me to randomly come up with some "New York" characters/situations, I'd have rattled off at least half of these.
High life people who spend their way into poverty? Check. Mental health issues that cause a character to commit petty crime? Check. Valium and other prescription meds addiction? Check. A couple who uses and abuses their friends and acquaintance's apartments and possessions for their cliched affair? Check. A character whose life is the theatre, even when they aren't in the theatre? Check.
Don't be fooled by the praise from Jonathan Franzen, Jeffrey Eugenides et al on the cover. They are all personal friends of Antrim's. That, to me, is like putting a recommendation from your mother on your book jacket. What famous writer friend wouldn't offer a nice quote for their not-famous writer friend's collection, no matter what they really think? (Answer: 0)
All was not wasted, however!
Reading this collection did show me one thing: the best POV for really enjoyable short stories is 1st person or close 3rd. You have the individual voice and see their take on things....but you can follow Vonnegut's advice to "get in late as possible, and out as early as possible," much better than with a novel. You aren't tied to them for 300 pages, nor to their blabbing.
A number of readers who enjoy modern short stories will like this collection, but I expect somewhat more from my shorties.
Short review for busy readers: DNFed this collection at 70%, not because of the writing or narrative voice which are rather good, but because of the length of the individual stories, the slow pace, the inconsequentalness of the characters' relationships/lives, all the extraneous details, and the repetitive, typical New York settings.
In detail
I like short stories. I write short stories. It's not that. I just couldn't muster the energy to finish this collection. Made it barely through 5.5 out of 7.
It's because for the most part, the damaged, somewhat off-the-rails New Yorkers that appear in Antrim's stories are not only typical of New York fiction, but tediously typical of New York fiction in their damage and off-the-rails-ness. If you asked me to randomly come up with some "New York" characters/situations, I'd have rattled off at least half of these.
High life people who spend their way into poverty? Check. Mental health issues that cause a character to commit petty crime? Check. Valium and other prescription meds addiction? Check. A couple who uses and abuses their friends and acquaintance's apartments and possessions for their cliched affair? Check. A character whose life is the theatre, even when they aren't in the theatre? Check.
Don't be fooled by the praise from Jonathan Franzen, Jeffrey Eugenides et al on the cover. They are all personal friends of Antrim's. That, to me, is like putting a recommendation from your mother on your book jacket. What famous writer friend wouldn't offer a nice quote for their not-famous writer friend's collection, no matter what they really think? (Answer: 0)
All was not wasted, however!
Reading this collection did show me one thing: the best POV for really enjoyable short stories is 1st person or close 3rd. You have the individual voice and see their take on things....but you can follow Vonnegut's advice to "get in late as possible, and out as early as possible," much better than with a novel. You aren't tied to them for 300 pages, nor to their blabbing.
A number of readers who enjoy modern short stories will like this collection, but I expect somewhat more from my shorties.
November 11, 2018
L’illustrazione di copertina (l’autore è un certo Floc’h, per me un signor sconosciuto) e il titolo del libro (che è quello dell’ultimo racconto) mi hanno spinta all’acquisto, e mi è andata bene perché ho scoperto Donald Antrim.
Sette racconti
Un attore si prepara ***
Stagno, con fango ***
Consolazione ****
Ancora Manhattan *****
Lui sapeva ****
Da quando *****
La luce smeraldo nell'aria *****
i cui protagonisti non sono attrezzati ad affrontare la vita senza l’aiuto di una buona dose di alcool o di qualche psicofarmaco (o addirittura di un ricovero nel reparto di psichiatria); uomini fragili, spaesati, goffi, che tendono a complicare le cose più semplici, che si infilano in situazioni paradossali o grottesche.
Antrim non rasenta mai il cinismo o il ripiegamento su di sé; con uno stile complesso e al tempo stesso sobrio dimostra una capacità di analisi fuori dal comune, che sfocia in finali sempre aperti… non saprei se proprio alla speranza, ma almeno a un domani, quello sì.
Sette racconti
Un attore si prepara ***
Stagno, con fango ***
Consolazione ****
Ancora Manhattan *****
Lui sapeva ****
Da quando *****
La luce smeraldo nell'aria *****
i cui protagonisti non sono attrezzati ad affrontare la vita senza l’aiuto di una buona dose di alcool o di qualche psicofarmaco (o addirittura di un ricovero nel reparto di psichiatria); uomini fragili, spaesati, goffi, che tendono a complicare le cose più semplici, che si infilano in situazioni paradossali o grottesche.
Antrim non rasenta mai il cinismo o il ripiegamento su di sé; con uno stile complesso e al tempo stesso sobrio dimostra una capacità di analisi fuori dal comune, che sfocia in finali sempre aperti… non saprei se proprio alla speranza, ma almeno a un domani, quello sì.
February 28, 2021
Capaz si estás en un viaje de LSD podés disfrutar este libro. Yo totalmente sobria tomando un té tuve ganas de tirarlo por la ventana.
March 5, 2018
There is something dream-like in Donald Antrim's writing. Things are real enough, but with the usual real issues of loss and despair and sometimes surrender. Then, unexpectedly, things turn surreal. A car wheel slides in the mud and we are not on the same road at all. A different dimension, perhaps, or someone else's story. And it is so hard to get that traction. Sometimes we get back on the real road. But sometimes we don't.
The first story in this collection is very much like the author's three published novels, in the way I have just described above. The rest of the stories, less so. I liked five of the stories fairly well, but I won't bore you with plots. I think you should know, though, that the protagonist of the first story, Reginald Barry, is the great-great-great-grandson of the Reverend William Trevor Barry. A nice homage, that.
The final, seventh story, which happens to be the title story, begins with a longish paragraph of two sentences, one very long and one short, broken up, copiously, with commas, semi-colons, and even hyphens, all having the effect, to me at least, of a pounding; a pounding. Here:
In less than a year, he'd lost his mother, his father, and, as he'd once and sometimes still felt Julia to be, the love of his life; and during this year, or, he should say, during its suicidal aftermath, he twice admitted himself to the psychiatric ward at the University Hospital in Charlottesville, where, each stay, one in the fall and one in the following summer, three mornings a week, Monday, Wednesday, Friday, he'd climbed onto an operating table and wept at the ceiling while doctors set the pulse, stuck electrodes to his forehead, put the oxygen meter on his finger, and then pushed a needle into his arm and instructed him, as the machines beeped and the anesthetic dripped down the pipette toward his vein, to count backward from a hundred; and now, another year later, he was on his way to the dump to throw the drawings and paintings that Julia had made in the months where she was sneaking off to sleep with the man she finally left to marry, along with the comic-book collection--it wasn't a collection so much as a big box stuffed with comics--that he'd kept since he was a boy. He had long ago forgotten his old comics; and then, a few days before, he'd come across them on a dusty shelf at the back of the garage, while looking for a carton of ammo.
Maybe the Ativan in his pocket will help; if not him, then someone else, someone who needs it even more than him, someone out there after the wheel slips, and the emerald light in the air finds him.
The first story in this collection is very much like the author's three published novels, in the way I have just described above. The rest of the stories, less so. I liked five of the stories fairly well, but I won't bore you with plots. I think you should know, though, that the protagonist of the first story, Reginald Barry, is the great-great-great-grandson of the Reverend William Trevor Barry. A nice homage, that.
The final, seventh story, which happens to be the title story, begins with a longish paragraph of two sentences, one very long and one short, broken up, copiously, with commas, semi-colons, and even hyphens, all having the effect, to me at least, of a pounding; a pounding. Here:
In less than a year, he'd lost his mother, his father, and, as he'd once and sometimes still felt Julia to be, the love of his life; and during this year, or, he should say, during its suicidal aftermath, he twice admitted himself to the psychiatric ward at the University Hospital in Charlottesville, where, each stay, one in the fall and one in the following summer, three mornings a week, Monday, Wednesday, Friday, he'd climbed onto an operating table and wept at the ceiling while doctors set the pulse, stuck electrodes to his forehead, put the oxygen meter on his finger, and then pushed a needle into his arm and instructed him, as the machines beeped and the anesthetic dripped down the pipette toward his vein, to count backward from a hundred; and now, another year later, he was on his way to the dump to throw the drawings and paintings that Julia had made in the months where she was sneaking off to sleep with the man she finally left to marry, along with the comic-book collection--it wasn't a collection so much as a big box stuffed with comics--that he'd kept since he was a boy. He had long ago forgotten his old comics; and then, a few days before, he'd come across them on a dusty shelf at the back of the garage, while looking for a carton of ammo.
Maybe the Ativan in his pocket will help; if not him, then someone else, someone who needs it even more than him, someone out there after the wheel slips, and the emerald light in the air finds him.
July 31, 2019
Ammetto la mia totale ignoranza: non conoscevo Donald Antrim. E, quando ho scoperto questo libro in rete, la prima cosa che mi ha colpito, è stato il disegno in copertina e che, a lettura compiuta, posso dire rappresenti perfettamente l’essenza di quanto narrato: sullo sfondo di una metropoli, un uomo cammina su un marciapiede innevato trasportando un enorme e colorato mazzo di fiori ma, invece di mostrare un’espressione felice (saranno fiori per l’amata, no?), nasconde completamente il viso nel mazzo, quasi volesse celare, a se stesso e al mondo, ciò che ha fatto. Perché?
I protagonisti degli essenziali e nichilisti racconti che compongono “La luce smeraldo nell’aria” mi hanno dato tutti, l’impressione di volersi celare al mondo. Sono personaggi disadattati, anti-eroi dipendenti da alcool, affetti da problemi psicologici, carenti di affetto, complici di strani vizi, votati all’autodistruzione. Apriamo brevemente la finestra sulle loro situazioni tristi, grottesche, paradossali, incasinate, giusto quel poco che ci consenta, non tanto di comprendere in toto la storia (sarebbe impossibile, e comunque non credo sia lo scopo dell’autore) quanto di riflettere sulla loro straordinaria e complessa psicologia.
“Consolazione” e “Ancora Manhattan” (da quest’ultimo fra l’altro deriva il disegno in copertina) sono quelli che mi hanno colpito maggiormente, ma anche “Un attore si prepara”, il primo racconto, un po’ per l’ambientazione “bucolica” e il tuffo nel mondo del teatro (dove tutto è già finzione) mi ha lasciato una strana e piacevole sensazione di malinconia e straniamento.
Non credo di essere riuscita a trovare, in tutte le storie, quel momento in cui il disagio si trasforma in consapevolezza, come indicato nell’aletta di copertina, la lettura, per le riflessioni che pone, non è così facile, a scapito dello stile essenziale. Ciò non toglie che io abbia apprezzato la lettura.
Chi ha amato Carver e Yates secondo me amerà anche questo libro di Antrim.
I protagonisti degli essenziali e nichilisti racconti che compongono “La luce smeraldo nell’aria” mi hanno dato tutti, l’impressione di volersi celare al mondo. Sono personaggi disadattati, anti-eroi dipendenti da alcool, affetti da problemi psicologici, carenti di affetto, complici di strani vizi, votati all’autodistruzione. Apriamo brevemente la finestra sulle loro situazioni tristi, grottesche, paradossali, incasinate, giusto quel poco che ci consenta, non tanto di comprendere in toto la storia (sarebbe impossibile, e comunque non credo sia lo scopo dell’autore) quanto di riflettere sulla loro straordinaria e complessa psicologia.
“Consolazione” e “Ancora Manhattan” (da quest’ultimo fra l’altro deriva il disegno in copertina) sono quelli che mi hanno colpito maggiormente, ma anche “Un attore si prepara”, il primo racconto, un po’ per l’ambientazione “bucolica” e il tuffo nel mondo del teatro (dove tutto è già finzione) mi ha lasciato una strana e piacevole sensazione di malinconia e straniamento.
Non credo di essere riuscita a trovare, in tutte le storie, quel momento in cui il disagio si trasforma in consapevolezza, come indicato nell’aletta di copertina, la lettura, per le riflessioni che pone, non è così facile, a scapito dello stile essenziale. Ciò non toglie che io abbia apprezzato la lettura.
Chi ha amato Carver e Yates secondo me amerà anche questo libro di Antrim.
October 24, 2014
A short collection of stories that are short, frequently populated by characters who comment with regret or consternation that their partner is either taller, by comparison, or shorter, than they themselves may be. Things here are measured scrupulously.
Author Donald Antrim seems to be on a quest to define brittle, aided by the clipped dialogue, the instant-- perhaps too-immediate rejoinder, the front-loaded extra-dense bit of exposition, and the general New York air of we've-all-been-there-why-bother-really.
This makes it seem a bit more grotesque than it really is, and on the plus side of things it is quite a bit like the New Yorker sensibility. The citizenry, not the magazine. One story totally encapsulates an NYC book-launch or gallery-opening party in a loft, with complete accuracy. (If I were a Donald Antrim character I'd be saying with blasé affect, "if that's something you're interested in...")
But that brings up another angle, that of the general tonality of things. As it happens, all the stories here have in fact appeared in The New Yorker, the magazine, and so there is a kind of expectations/ house-flavor thing going on that stages Antrim's stories, in a kind of a familiar proscenium. And keeps the reader thinking well, yeah, in the ten pages of magazine space, broken only by those little arty design-squiggles, ads for Talbot's trenchcoats, and dogs-on-shrink's-couches cartoons, this would seem quite the pithy moment, urban life neatly sliced.
And that makes the goods a little too set, in a specific kind of editorial stone, a little security-hardened, something behind the tempered plate glass rather than something with life or blood in its veins.
Author Donald Antrim seems to be on a quest to define brittle, aided by the clipped dialogue, the instant-- perhaps too-immediate rejoinder, the front-loaded extra-dense bit of exposition, and the general New York air of we've-all-been-there-why-bother-really.
This makes it seem a bit more grotesque than it really is, and on the plus side of things it is quite a bit like the New Yorker sensibility. The citizenry, not the magazine. One story totally encapsulates an NYC book-launch or gallery-opening party in a loft, with complete accuracy. (If I were a Donald Antrim character I'd be saying with blasé affect, "if that's something you're interested in...")
But that brings up another angle, that of the general tonality of things. As it happens, all the stories here have in fact appeared in The New Yorker, the magazine, and so there is a kind of expectations/ house-flavor thing going on that stages Antrim's stories, in a kind of a familiar proscenium. And keeps the reader thinking well, yeah, in the ten pages of magazine space, broken only by those little arty design-squiggles, ads for Talbot's trenchcoats, and dogs-on-shrink's-couches cartoons, this would seem quite the pithy moment, urban life neatly sliced.
And that makes the goods a little too set, in a specific kind of editorial stone, a little security-hardened, something behind the tempered plate glass rather than something with life or blood in its veins.
September 25, 2021
Сборники рассказов — это, пожалуй, единственные книги, которые опасно бросать. Может получиться, как у меня с этой книжкой: ужас, ужас, ужас, бред, ужас, акварельно-нежная история про несчастную любовь в Нью-Йорке. Потом опять немного ужас, но зато точно знаю, что все равно не зря читала.
September 24, 2014
Every time I tried to tell someone how excited I was that Donald Antrim had a new book out - and that it was short stories - I was invariably greeted with, "Oh...well...I don't read short stories. I feel like just as I start to get interested in the characters, the story's over." Here's why you should read short stories in general, and these short stories in particular:
I love having friends who know some (but never all) of my good and bad qualities. I like being able to have a conversation with them that might seem like we're starting in the middle, but we both know what we're talking about. But, I never want to give up having random encounters with strangers. Like the woman on the bus in Chicago who told me all about her grandchildren. Or the young man in Seattle who talked about his binge drinking, his suicide attempt and his subsequent and nearly miraculous recovery. Talking with a stranger, in what you know will be a limited encounter, engenders a level of freedom not available with close friends. Frequently, I remember - years later - something poignant that was said.
Short stories are the same. There's a freedom (meticulously crafted) to just show a tiny slice of someone's life. And, Antrim's slices are delightfully skewed. The writing is top notch (as it always is). His characters are all desperately searching for something...mostly just someone who can understand them, save them, love them. Read this book...it's okay to wonder what happened to them next.
I love having friends who know some (but never all) of my good and bad qualities. I like being able to have a conversation with them that might seem like we're starting in the middle, but we both know what we're talking about. But, I never want to give up having random encounters with strangers. Like the woman on the bus in Chicago who told me all about her grandchildren. Or the young man in Seattle who talked about his binge drinking, his suicide attempt and his subsequent and nearly miraculous recovery. Talking with a stranger, in what you know will be a limited encounter, engenders a level of freedom not available with close friends. Frequently, I remember - years later - something poignant that was said.
Short stories are the same. There's a freedom (meticulously crafted) to just show a tiny slice of someone's life. And, Antrim's slices are delightfully skewed. The writing is top notch (as it always is). His characters are all desperately searching for something...mostly just someone who can understand them, save them, love them. Read this book...it's okay to wonder what happened to them next.
January 22, 2021
Santiago La Rosa, editor de Chai editora, me contó que Antrim era del grupo de amigos de Jonathan Franzen y de David Foster Wallace. Ahí entendí todo. Tiene el estilo de Franzen con el bajón de la vida de Foster Wallace. Agradezco a Chai editora por poner a nuestro alcance a estos autores que son parte de la familia de los autores que nos gustan (al menos a mí). Cuentos sin héroes, en los que la gracia está en lo que se escribe sobre ellos.
February 1, 2017
Ottima raccolta di racconti questa nuova di Antrim (e dire che i suoi primi romanzi non mi avevano per niente entusiasmato). Si muove per scarti minimi nelle storie, dando però sempre un'impronta molto definita e sentita, riuscendo così anche a creare uno sorta di spirito comune che attraversa tutto il libro.
Un attore si prepara ★★★
Stagno, con fango ★★★★
Consolazione ★★★★
Ancora Manhattan ★★★★★
Lui sapeva ★★★★
Da quando ★★★★★
La luce smeraldo nell'aria ★★★★★
Cit.
Un attore si prepara ★★★
Stagno, con fango ★★★★
Consolazione ★★★★
Ancora Manhattan ★★★★★
Lui sapeva ★★★★
Da quando ★★★★★
La luce smeraldo nell'aria ★★★★★
Cit.
September 28, 2016
la luce smeraldo del dolore
brevi racconti nichilisti, disposti in ordine di pubblicazione, come fossero una finestra sull'alienazione urbana newyorkese, con una sola puntatina nella campagna ai bordi di un torrente, ci si immagina l'evoluzione del linguaggio di Antrim, il suo affinare a mano a mano il rasoio con cui affetta il contenuto di dolore che si porta appresso, un rasoio sempre più attivo e più efficace nel sezionare il carico della vita dei suoi protagonisti, un carico che non si può portare come fosse una valigia, è di quelli che devono essere condivisi, portati all'attenzione del lettore per cercare di scaricarne un tantino il portato, ma attenzione, Antrim non cerca la nostra comprensione, no affatto, quello che cerca è una lavagna su cui proiettare un film postmoderno pieno di parole e di sentimenti immaginati, vissuti, elaborati e poi ridisegnati con un compasso, mentre tu, lettore, sei là che guardi scorrere i titoli di coda e ti chiedi: ma quanto ha ragione quest'uomo?
brevi racconti nichilisti, disposti in ordine di pubblicazione, come fossero una finestra sull'alienazione urbana newyorkese, con una sola puntatina nella campagna ai bordi di un torrente, ci si immagina l'evoluzione del linguaggio di Antrim, il suo affinare a mano a mano il rasoio con cui affetta il contenuto di dolore che si porta appresso, un rasoio sempre più attivo e più efficace nel sezionare il carico della vita dei suoi protagonisti, un carico che non si può portare come fosse una valigia, è di quelli che devono essere condivisi, portati all'attenzione del lettore per cercare di scaricarne un tantino il portato, ma attenzione, Antrim non cerca la nostra comprensione, no affatto, quello che cerca è una lavagna su cui proiettare un film postmoderno pieno di parole e di sentimenti immaginati, vissuti, elaborati e poi ridisegnati con un compasso, mentre tu, lettore, sei là che guardi scorrere i titoli di coda e ti chiedi: ma quanto ha ragione quest'uomo?
February 15, 2021
Tengo este libro gracias a una suscripción literaria mensual. Originalmente, me suscribí para leer cosas que no suelo leer. Expandir mis horizontes. No me sorprende entonces que me costara muchísimo terminar de leer este libro.
El primer cuento (Un actor se prepara) me pareció nefasto. El tercero (Consuelo) y el quinto (Él lo sabía) me gustaron bastante. El resto no me van ni me vienen, realmente no me generaron mucho.
El primer cuento (Un actor se prepara) me pareció nefasto. El tercero (Consuelo) y el quinto (Él lo sabía) me gustaron bastante. El resto no me van ni me vienen, realmente no me generaron mucho.
November 27, 2017
In questi racconti di Donald Antrim - scritti tra il 1999 e il 2014 - personaggi strani vivono strane situazioni, dentro atmosfere fosche. Ma poi, d'improvviso, una luce - strana pure lei, forse magica - rischiara la scena, e regala speranza.
February 19, 2015
The Emerald Light in the Air: Stories by Donald Antrim are a collection of hallucinagenic stories in which the male protagonists are haunted by depression and suicidal thoughts and actions. Reality is distorted by the depression as well as by drugs and alcohol.
But although the stories are frequently painful, the narrators are so numbed by their various drugs (including the mood disorders) that the effect of reading them is paradoxically that one feels more alive. At least that was their effect on me. There is a vividness in the writing, in the locations of the stories (frequently New York City) that offsets the numbing pain of the protagonists.
In the first story, "An Actor Prepares," the professor at a college both directs and stars in a nightmarish version of A Midsummer Night"s Dream. The director is breaking up with his girlfriend and his relationships with the students are inappropriate but then he seems emotionally to be a peer, rather than a guide. The story culminates in a deluge-severe rain is also present in the title story and seems to match the narrator's inundation with unmanageable feelings. The story, as in most of these stories is also marked by a strange humor-a violent duck menacing a blind boy starring in the production, the director's tete-a-tete with one of the play's emotionally scarred actors. Even in the midst of pain, the stories frequently made me laugh, both heightening and offsetting the pain contained within the fiction.
In "Pond, with Mud," the narrator's struggles with his "art" (his writing) are both hilarious and sad, as is his encounter with the father of his girlfriend's son, a very odd five year old who the narrator is taking to the zoo to see some mutant animals.
Every one of the stories shines with beautiful prose and characters who may sometimes be ridiculous (like all humans) but are also intensely alive. The writing in the title story, in which the narrator, a middle school art teacher, struggles to bring his car home in a rainstorm in the country. The story constantly shifts time frames as the narrator recalls his relationship with his ex-wife, his first love (at least, his first sex), a trip to Italy in which he and his wife both obsessed on details in the art of Tiepolo-but very different details for very different reasons-a detail which seems to illuminate their relationship as well as the other relationships in the collection, and a detour in which he is mistaken for a doctor and brought to treat a woman dying of cancer.
I could go on-every story is filled with powerful moments that remained with me after I finished the book. This is a collection I look forward to rereading as I run to read Antrim's other work.
But although the stories are frequently painful, the narrators are so numbed by their various drugs (including the mood disorders) that the effect of reading them is paradoxically that one feels more alive. At least that was their effect on me. There is a vividness in the writing, in the locations of the stories (frequently New York City) that offsets the numbing pain of the protagonists.
In the first story, "An Actor Prepares," the professor at a college both directs and stars in a nightmarish version of A Midsummer Night"s Dream. The director is breaking up with his girlfriend and his relationships with the students are inappropriate but then he seems emotionally to be a peer, rather than a guide. The story culminates in a deluge-severe rain is also present in the title story and seems to match the narrator's inundation with unmanageable feelings. The story, as in most of these stories is also marked by a strange humor-a violent duck menacing a blind boy starring in the production, the director's tete-a-tete with one of the play's emotionally scarred actors. Even in the midst of pain, the stories frequently made me laugh, both heightening and offsetting the pain contained within the fiction.
In "Pond, with Mud," the narrator's struggles with his "art" (his writing) are both hilarious and sad, as is his encounter with the father of his girlfriend's son, a very odd five year old who the narrator is taking to the zoo to see some mutant animals.
Every one of the stories shines with beautiful prose and characters who may sometimes be ridiculous (like all humans) but are also intensely alive. The writing in the title story, in which the narrator, a middle school art teacher, struggles to bring his car home in a rainstorm in the country. The story constantly shifts time frames as the narrator recalls his relationship with his ex-wife, his first love (at least, his first sex), a trip to Italy in which he and his wife both obsessed on details in the art of Tiepolo-but very different details for very different reasons-a detail which seems to illuminate their relationship as well as the other relationships in the collection, and a detour in which he is mistaken for a doctor and brought to treat a woman dying of cancer.
I could go on-every story is filled with powerful moments that remained with me after I finished the book. This is a collection I look forward to rereading as I run to read Antrim's other work.
September 3, 2014
Donald Antrim writes about people who hurt. They are grieving lost loves, ruined lives, and often their own dispossession in a world they have lost familiarity with. The characters seem to inhabit the spaces between words and they are often in pain but unable to identify its source. Many of the stories deal with people who have psychiatric illnesses and rely on medication or frequent hospitalizations in order to function.
There is a common theme to many of the stories. After loss, characters are trying to start anew, to rebuild their lives with someone else. This does not appear to work. In 'Another Manhattan', a man who is mentally unstable, tries to buy a bouquet for his wife. He has recently been hospitalized for psychiatric problems. No matter how hard he tries, nothing seems to go right for him. 'He Knew' is about a couple, both with psychiatric disorders. The man is much older than his wife. They are trying to make a go of it but they find themselves going in circles, repeating their life script over and over again. She has a history of being hospitalized for a suicide attempt and he suffers from depression. They rely on their medications and each other to function.
The author seems very familiar with the pain of psychiatric illness. It makes me wonder if he is intimately familiar with this. The stories are not often linear. They are bits and pieces of life, shown to the reader as a magnifying glass to enlarge the little things that lead to the larger aspects of life.
I was often struck at how the characters could no longer identify the source of their pain. One character finds that the air is suffocating him but doesn't understand why he hurts. Another can remember his electroconvulsive therapy but not how he felt while enduring it. Another remembers that his family laughed at him but is unsure of how he felt.
The stories are not exciting but they are journeys into the minds and hearts of the characters who Mr. Antrim fleshes out, with all their doubts, despair and hopelessness.
There is a common theme to many of the stories. After loss, characters are trying to start anew, to rebuild their lives with someone else. This does not appear to work. In 'Another Manhattan', a man who is mentally unstable, tries to buy a bouquet for his wife. He has recently been hospitalized for psychiatric problems. No matter how hard he tries, nothing seems to go right for him. 'He Knew' is about a couple, both with psychiatric disorders. The man is much older than his wife. They are trying to make a go of it but they find themselves going in circles, repeating their life script over and over again. She has a history of being hospitalized for a suicide attempt and he suffers from depression. They rely on their medications and each other to function.
The author seems very familiar with the pain of psychiatric illness. It makes me wonder if he is intimately familiar with this. The stories are not often linear. They are bits and pieces of life, shown to the reader as a magnifying glass to enlarge the little things that lead to the larger aspects of life.
I was often struck at how the characters could no longer identify the source of their pain. One character finds that the air is suffocating him but doesn't understand why he hurts. Another can remember his electroconvulsive therapy but not how he felt while enduring it. Another remembers that his family laughed at him but is unsure of how he felt.
The stories are not exciting but they are journeys into the minds and hearts of the characters who Mr. Antrim fleshes out, with all their doubts, despair and hopelessness.
January 13, 2018
Seducenti come la follia
Il racconto "La luce smeraldo nell'aria", letto per ultimo come è voluto dall'edizione, fa impennare il sommesso entusiamo del lettore, già conquistato da personaggi in bilico, folli e ragionevoli, che scivolano spesso nell'eccesso che forse noi non ci concediamo. Depressi che accarezzano il loro fucile, alcoolizzati consapevoli, coppie dove l'amore si confonde con la terapia, seducenti, come la follia, come la vertigine. Quando la disperazione è così elegante - direi come in Fitzgerald - controllata, pilotata verso qualche riscatto appena accennato (la bella luce smeraldo del titolo), si stempra nel sorriso: va bene, stanno male, ma è così bello lo stare male sotto la penna di Antrim.
E' così che il disegnatore della copertina (tal celebre Floc'h) illustra il racconto "Manhattan": l'impossibile camminare di Elliot per le vie della città con un mazzo di fiori eccessivo che gli pesa, gli ostruisce la vista, che costa troppo e si sta sfaldando, il frutto tangibile del suo senso di colpa nell'amare due o mille donne, della sua compulsività a spendere, delle costrizioni della sua vita; tutto questo, traslato in una divertente vignetta, coloratissima, beffarda, che rende leggera l'aria, la neve, i taxi che passano, l'ora che è sempre più tarda, ed il finale che soffia come un vento gelido e fa cadere tutti i petali colorati....(chiedo venia, il disegno mi ha traviata).
Di solito, sono gli incipit dei racconti che colpiscono e trafiggono la nostra distrazione ma qui sono i finali, tutti memorabili, sipari che si alzano su altre scene, con piccoli gesti - sigarette che si accendono, bicchieri che si offrono, un braccio che avvolge, macchine che fanno inversione - che leniscono un dolore o lo sciolgono, fino al prossimo racconto.
Il racconto "La luce smeraldo nell'aria", letto per ultimo come è voluto dall'edizione, fa impennare il sommesso entusiamo del lettore, già conquistato da personaggi in bilico, folli e ragionevoli, che scivolano spesso nell'eccesso che forse noi non ci concediamo. Depressi che accarezzano il loro fucile, alcoolizzati consapevoli, coppie dove l'amore si confonde con la terapia, seducenti, come la follia, come la vertigine. Quando la disperazione è così elegante - direi come in Fitzgerald - controllata, pilotata verso qualche riscatto appena accennato (la bella luce smeraldo del titolo), si stempra nel sorriso: va bene, stanno male, ma è così bello lo stare male sotto la penna di Antrim.
E' così che il disegnatore della copertina (tal celebre Floc'h) illustra il racconto "Manhattan": l'impossibile camminare di Elliot per le vie della città con un mazzo di fiori eccessivo che gli pesa, gli ostruisce la vista, che costa troppo e si sta sfaldando, il frutto tangibile del suo senso di colpa nell'amare due o mille donne, della sua compulsività a spendere, delle costrizioni della sua vita; tutto questo, traslato in una divertente vignetta, coloratissima, beffarda, che rende leggera l'aria, la neve, i taxi che passano, l'ora che è sempre più tarda, ed il finale che soffia come un vento gelido e fa cadere tutti i petali colorati....(chiedo venia, il disegno mi ha traviata).
Di solito, sono gli incipit dei racconti che colpiscono e trafiggono la nostra distrazione ma qui sono i finali, tutti memorabili, sipari che si alzano su altre scene, con piccoli gesti - sigarette che si accendono, bicchieri che si offrono, un braccio che avvolge, macchine che fanno inversione - che leniscono un dolore o lo sciolgono, fino al prossimo racconto.
December 15, 2014
Antrim is a master of psychoanalysis, observing the secrets that we bury and pretend we are free of. In his world, no-one can escape the gravitational field of their past. Characters struggle against inertia, and those around them may briefly hold out hope for them, but ultimately they slide back into their old sorrows.
These are Raymond Carver stories, but told with complex, hyperenergetic language, like Seinfeld on the therapist's couch. Unhappy people stay unhappy. Beyond a haze of antidepressant meds and cocktail-party ennui, nothing really happens.
These are Raymond Carver stories, but told with complex, hyperenergetic language, like Seinfeld on the therapist's couch. Unhappy people stay unhappy. Beyond a haze of antidepressant meds and cocktail-party ennui, nothing really happens.
December 8, 2020
Sicuramente il problema è mio e sicuramente dovrò ritentare con un romanzo, ma questa lettura mi ha portato per ogni racconto in un posto già noto, con protagonisti troppo simili e relazioni già rimestate.
October 7, 2014
Another one I just can't finish. I just don't like these stories.
March 12, 2021
No todos los cuentos que componen la compilación me resultaron buenos, a veces dan cierto sopor.
Al llegar a Otro Manhattan la cosa cambia y el padecimiento toma el timón de la serie, algunos de una manera de padecer casi inverosímil, otros mas terrenos. Nadie está a salvo de lo insoportable de existir.
Al llegar a Otro Manhattan la cosa cambia y el padecimiento toma el timón de la serie, algunos de una manera de padecer casi inverosímil, otros mas terrenos. Nadie está a salvo de lo insoportable de existir.
October 16, 2017
Sette racconti comparsi nel corso degli anni sul New Yorker e qui riuniti in un unico volume, con un bel titolo (che è lo stesso dell'ultimo racconto) e, nel caso dell'edizione italiana pubblicata da Einaudi, una ancora più bella copertina (che si rifà al racconto che ho preferito, Ancora Manhattan).
I protagonisti di Antrim sono praticamente sempre lo stesso personaggio, un uomo di mezza età fallito sul lavoro e/o nella vita privata, dipendente da alcool e psicofarmaci, talvolta con alle spalle dei ricoveri psichiatrici (qui non sfugge che ce ne sia uno anche nel recente passato dell'autore) e con un'incredibile tendenza a incasinarsi la vita anche e soprattutto a partire dalle piccole cose.
Le situazioni arrivano a essere paradossali e un po' grottesche, quel tanto che basta per non scadere nel comico e farci perdere la connessione emotiva e l'empatia verso questi personaggi così ben scritti.
I protagonisti di Antrim sono praticamente sempre lo stesso personaggio, un uomo di mezza età fallito sul lavoro e/o nella vita privata, dipendente da alcool e psicofarmaci, talvolta con alle spalle dei ricoveri psichiatrici (qui non sfugge che ce ne sia uno anche nel recente passato dell'autore) e con un'incredibile tendenza a incasinarsi la vita anche e soprattutto a partire dalle piccole cose.
Le situazioni arrivano a essere paradossali e un po' grottesche, quel tanto che basta per non scadere nel comico e farci perdere la connessione emotiva e l'empatia verso questi personaggi così ben scritti.
November 15, 2020
Las historias de este libro abordan el padecimiento psíquico con humor, profundidad y elegancia. Una escritura bella y precisa. Los protagonistas son personas complejas y frágiles que viven por fuera de la norma y lidian con su propia existencia. Historias sensibles y conmovedoras cuando la redención es mínima.
October 18, 2024
Short and sweet. One of the most enjoyable short story collections I’ve read recently. Donald Antrim is a masterful writer.
December 27, 2023
3.5 stars
I didn't love the first few stories in this collection - I found the tone to be too cheeky and sarcastic for writing domestic tragedies - but I really enjoyed the last few. In fact, I thought the titular story not only to be the best of the collection but one of the best short stories I've read in years. My professor recommended him for his ability to balance various timeframes and pack a lot of backstory into the central narrative, a life in miniature, as it's been said, illustrative of the best short stories. In short, while the onset contained too much of the cynicism that I find so repugnant in modern life, there was such heart and emotion in the latter half, so worth the read to me.
I didn't love the first few stories in this collection - I found the tone to be too cheeky and sarcastic for writing domestic tragedies - but I really enjoyed the last few. In fact, I thought the titular story not only to be the best of the collection but one of the best short stories I've read in years. My professor recommended him for his ability to balance various timeframes and pack a lot of backstory into the central narrative, a life in miniature, as it's been said, illustrative of the best short stories. In short, while the onset contained too much of the cynicism that I find so repugnant in modern life, there was such heart and emotion in the latter half, so worth the read to me.
February 17, 2021
Creo que esperaba mucho más de estos cuentos. No sin esfuerzo llegué hasta el último. Además de aburrido, me pareció que las tramas son un poco forzadas y algunos personajes están llenos clichés: neurosis varias, inestabilidad económica o soledad en compañía por nombrar solo algunos.
Me jugaría a decir que tal vez, por separado me hubiera resultado una lectura mas placentera.
Me jugaría a decir que tal vez, por separado me hubiera resultado una lectura mas placentera.
April 6, 2022
Me gustó que todos los personajes de los cuentos de Antrim estuvieran representados a través de sus secretos, fragilidades, de sus duelos. Una de mis mejores lecturas en lo va del año.
May 26, 2022
I was curious about this man's writing after reading One Friday in April, his memoir of survival/suicide attempt. The short stories in Emerald Light address loss (and alcoholism) often set in the city. One story features two people sleeping in various friends' apartments, wearing their clothes, or having sex while their giant cats ate their leftover meals, listening to the crunching noises while they cavorted. Another featured a seriously flawed campus production of Midsummer Night's Dream.
The title story had more depth than others concerning ECT and loss/drug usage/alcohol. These stories had appeared in the New Yorker.
3.5
WSU library
The title story had more depth than others concerning ECT and loss/drug usage/alcohol. These stories had appeared in the New Yorker.
3.5
WSU library
December 24, 2020
Lindos cuentos y bien escritos. Me gustó el tema que es transversal a todos: la fragilidad y el dolor
May 24, 2025
I really liked this collection. Well-written and engaging. Not life-changing.
January 10, 2021
Lievemente cupi e surreali, i racconti di questo libro sono un’esperienza di lettura insolita, cui lasciarsi andare abbandonando i remi. Si parla di relazioni e matrimonio ma anche alcolismo e malattie psichiche. Intorno il mondo del teatro e dell’arte. L’atmosfera che aleggia in queste pagine è frizzantina, come se si fosse sempre in prossimità di una crisi decisiva o di una svolta grandiosa.
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