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The Business of Naming Things
“Riveting . . . vibrant and unsparing.” — Publishers Weekly (starred and boxed review)
“Superb. . . . Startlingly original.” — Library Journal (starred review)
“Once I started reading these stories, I couldn’t stop. They absorbed me thoroughly, with their taut narratives and evocative language—the language of a poet.” — JAY PARINI , author of The Human Face of God and The Last Station
“Sherwood Anderson would recognize this world of lonely, longing characters, whose surface lives Coffey tenderly plumbs. These beautiful stories—spare, rich, wise and compelling—go to the heart.” — FREDERIC TUTEN , author of Self Fictions and Tintin in the New World
“Whether [Coffey is] writing about a sinning priest or a man who’s made a career out of branding or about himself, we can smell Coffey’s protagonists and feel their breath on our cheek. Like Chekhov, he must be a notebook writer; how else to explain the strange quirks and the perfect but unaccountable details that animate these intimate portraits?” — EDMUND WHITE , author of Inside a Pearl and A Boy’s Own Story
Among these eight stories, a fan of writer (and fellow adoptee) Harold Brodkey gains an audience with him at his life’s end, two pals take a Joycean sojourn, a man whose business is naming things meets a woman who may not be what she seems, and a father discovers his son is a suspect in an assassination attempt on the president. In each tale, Michael Coffey’s exquisite attention to character underlies the brutally honest perspectives of his disenchanted fathers, damaged sons, and orphans left feeling perpetually disconnected.
Michael Coffey is the author of three books of poems and 27 Men Out , a book about baseball’s perfect games. He also co-edited The Irish in America , a book about Irish immigration to America, which was a companion volume to a PBS documentary series. He divides his time between Manhattan and Bolton Landing, New York. The Business of Naming Things is his first work of fiction.
“Superb. . . . Startlingly original.” — Library Journal (starred review)
“Once I started reading these stories, I couldn’t stop. They absorbed me thoroughly, with their taut narratives and evocative language—the language of a poet.” — JAY PARINI , author of The Human Face of God and The Last Station
“Sherwood Anderson would recognize this world of lonely, longing characters, whose surface lives Coffey tenderly plumbs. These beautiful stories—spare, rich, wise and compelling—go to the heart.” — FREDERIC TUTEN , author of Self Fictions and Tintin in the New World
“Whether [Coffey is] writing about a sinning priest or a man who’s made a career out of branding or about himself, we can smell Coffey’s protagonists and feel their breath on our cheek. Like Chekhov, he must be a notebook writer; how else to explain the strange quirks and the perfect but unaccountable details that animate these intimate portraits?” — EDMUND WHITE , author of Inside a Pearl and A Boy’s Own Story
Among these eight stories, a fan of writer (and fellow adoptee) Harold Brodkey gains an audience with him at his life’s end, two pals take a Joycean sojourn, a man whose business is naming things meets a woman who may not be what she seems, and a father discovers his son is a suspect in an assassination attempt on the president. In each tale, Michael Coffey’s exquisite attention to character underlies the brutally honest perspectives of his disenchanted fathers, damaged sons, and orphans left feeling perpetually disconnected.
Michael Coffey is the author of three books of poems and 27 Men Out , a book about baseball’s perfect games. He also co-edited The Irish in America , a book about Irish immigration to America, which was a companion volume to a PBS documentary series. He divides his time between Manhattan and Bolton Landing, New York. The Business of Naming Things is his first work of fiction.
- GenresShort Stories
224 pages, Paperback
First published December 22, 2014
4 people are currently reading
57 people want to read
About the author
Michael Coffey
51 books6 followersMichael Coffey received his B.A. in English at the University of Notre Dame and an M.A. from Leeds University in Anglo-Irish Literature. Former co-editorial director at Publishers Weekly, he has published three books of poems, a collection of short stories, a book about baseball’s perfect games, and co-edited a book about Irish immigration to America.
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Displaying 1 - 11 of 11 reviews
January 28, 2015
I'd rate this 2.5 stars.
The title of Michael Coffey's new story collection refers to the main character in the title story, who has made a living naming products, housing developments, and other things. But it's also appropriate for the entire collection, which focuses on people trying to get a sense of their own identities—as parent, friend, lover, child, priest—and figure out their place in the world.
Of Coffey's eight stories, the ones I enjoyed the most were: "The Newman Boys," which followed a teenage boy's friendship with a physically disabled neighbor, and how that relationship ripples through the rest of his life; "Moon Over Quabbin," in which a mother pictures her former town, which was submerged under water when a river was dammed, and envisions her son alive through those to whom his organs were donated; and "Inn of the Nations," which follows a priest in the 1960s, trying to get control of his life, which seems no easy task.
While Coffey is a very talented writer, and I enjoyed his use of imagery, many of these stories eluded my grasp. They started out strong, and I understood what Coffey was trying to say, but then the stories veered off course. In some cases, it seemed as if he just threw so much stuff into the stories they were going in many directions at once. This was particularly the case with the final story, "Finding Ulysses," which borrowed heavily from James Joyce.
These stories are intriguing and unique, and Coffey has a strong voice. I look forward to seeing what he comes up with next.
See all of my reviews (and other stuff) at http://itseithersadnessoreuphoria.blo....
The title of Michael Coffey's new story collection refers to the main character in the title story, who has made a living naming products, housing developments, and other things. But it's also appropriate for the entire collection, which focuses on people trying to get a sense of their own identities—as parent, friend, lover, child, priest—and figure out their place in the world.
Of Coffey's eight stories, the ones I enjoyed the most were: "The Newman Boys," which followed a teenage boy's friendship with a physically disabled neighbor, and how that relationship ripples through the rest of his life; "Moon Over Quabbin," in which a mother pictures her former town, which was submerged under water when a river was dammed, and envisions her son alive through those to whom his organs were donated; and "Inn of the Nations," which follows a priest in the 1960s, trying to get control of his life, which seems no easy task.
While Coffey is a very talented writer, and I enjoyed his use of imagery, many of these stories eluded my grasp. They started out strong, and I understood what Coffey was trying to say, but then the stories veered off course. In some cases, it seemed as if he just threw so much stuff into the stories they were going in many directions at once. This was particularly the case with the final story, "Finding Ulysses," which borrowed heavily from James Joyce.
These stories are intriguing and unique, and Coffey has a strong voice. I look forward to seeing what he comes up with next.
See all of my reviews (and other stuff) at http://itseithersadnessoreuphoria.blo....
January 19, 2015
Uncorrected proof from Bellevue Literary Press through LibraryThing Early Reviewers program.
This story collection was a great followup read after I read Richard Ford's Let Me Be Frank With You. The stories are set in northeastern United States and most deal with middle class men looking back on their lives and their relationships.
The opening story "Moon over Quabbin" and "I Thought You Were Dale" (the fourth story in the collection) have female protagonists. I found them good stories but a little less satisfactory than most of the other stories.
"The Newman Boys" about a teenager who makes friends with a handicapped neighbor boy is my favorite in this collection. The relationships and the contrasts between the two families are central in this coming of age story. This story had a somewhat disconcerting shift from the third person narrator to the first person, then back to the third person. It was odd; it worked for me but I wasn't sure why.
The answer came in the next story "Sons" about a sometime author. There is an authorial musing about whether to use first, second, or third person in writing a story. A bit of a digression from the story, but it was helpful to me as a reader in understanding how and why shifts of voice work.
"Sunlight," which concerns an interview with Harold Brodkey, worked for me even though I'm not a fan of Brodkey's work.
The final story "Finishing Ulysses" will probably come across as a nice literary pastiche for those who are readers of Joyce. Unfortunately, I got little out of it which isn't surprising since I never even started Ulysses. I'll have to leave to someone else to evaluate this story. I does make me want to pick up Ulysses and perhaps read a little just to see what Michael Coffey is doing here.
Overall, this is a fine collection with interesting characters, realistic relationships, and quality writing.
(note: Bellevue included a book from their back list, Tinkers [2009] by Paul Harding, as an extra.)
This story collection was a great followup read after I read Richard Ford's Let Me Be Frank With You. The stories are set in northeastern United States and most deal with middle class men looking back on their lives and their relationships.
The opening story "Moon over Quabbin" and "I Thought You Were Dale" (the fourth story in the collection) have female protagonists. I found them good stories but a little less satisfactory than most of the other stories.
"The Newman Boys" about a teenager who makes friends with a handicapped neighbor boy is my favorite in this collection. The relationships and the contrasts between the two families are central in this coming of age story. This story had a somewhat disconcerting shift from the third person narrator to the first person, then back to the third person. It was odd; it worked for me but I wasn't sure why.
The answer came in the next story "Sons" about a sometime author. There is an authorial musing about whether to use first, second, or third person in writing a story. A bit of a digression from the story, but it was helpful to me as a reader in understanding how and why shifts of voice work.
"Sunlight," which concerns an interview with Harold Brodkey, worked for me even though I'm not a fan of Brodkey's work.
The final story "Finishing Ulysses" will probably come across as a nice literary pastiche for those who are readers of Joyce. Unfortunately, I got little out of it which isn't surprising since I never even started Ulysses. I'll have to leave to someone else to evaluate this story. I does make me want to pick up Ulysses and perhaps read a little just to see what Michael Coffey is doing here.
Overall, this is a fine collection with interesting characters, realistic relationships, and quality writing.
(note: Bellevue included a book from their back list, Tinkers [2009] by Paul Harding, as an extra.)
January 7, 2015
I received this ARC from the publisher and I very much enjoyed these short stories. Coffey's writing is strong and has a unique style. Each of the stories is well written, but I particularly enjoyed The Newman Boys, which is a coming of age tale that involves friendship, compassion, and the development of understanding on multiple levels. The author's writing style is literary and poetic with a peppering of Joyce as well as an avant garde element that helps it to breathe. Looking forward to reading more of this author's work in the future.
March 1, 2015
I must begin this review with an apology to Mr. Coffey. I received The Business of Naming things through Librarything's early reader program. I try to get these books read and quickly reviewed. I immediately read the first two stories. "Moon Over Quabbin" broke my heart. "The Business of Naming Things" confused me.
I knew I would have to give it a re-read. In the span of time it took to read those stories a migraine began to chisel at my brain. I put the book aside. As I lay in my darkened room a perfume seemed to come from somewhere. I don't know about you, but when I have a migraine, scents become overpowering. I could not conjure of its source. My poor brain turned to thoughts of glass coffined saints who were said to exude a sweet smelling oil. What I was smelling was exactly like that. Not that I have ever smelt a sweet smelling, oily saint. I just knew one would smell like that. Finally I realized the scent was coming from Mr. Coffey's book. It was overpowering. I could not sleep. I finally placed the book in a cut glass bowl in the hall, took some Tylenol and fell into a tortured sleep. This is why I didn't get right on with reading Coffey's stunning short story collection. The following night, I asked my husband to go to our library and bring me the first book he touched. I was going for serendipity here. It so rarely works. He brought me Barth's Sabbatical. I was horrified. In high school I was infatuated with Barth. By my mid-twenties, I had sent him and his metafiction pranks packing. He had to be, preciously spouted, the most onanistic writer alive. Mr. Coffey, my husband's bring Barth to me waylaid my reading of "The Business" further. I fell in love with Barth again. From time to time I did pick up "The Business" and give it a whiff to see if it was readable yet. As I was thinking of Barth and his literary jerking off I realized that he was an amateur compared to writers I had read since I had thrown Jack over. Of course the king of the literary jerk off was Brodkey. And here is were the review begins in earnest.
As I had so recently been thinking of Brodkey's royal status, I was shocked to find that the first story I read in Mr. Coffey's collection was about a writer (a seemingly veiled self-portrait of the story's author - Barthian!)
interviewing Brodkey. You will forgive me if I say I felt as if I had slipped into a Paul Auster novel. And, imagine that chill I had when a character in a later story uses just that line. Then later Mr. Coffey pulls in Ibsen's twins in love with the same man. Back to Sabbatical again. There are times when it seems everything is blithely running parallel while intersecting with great rattling thuds at the same time.
None of this says what I felt about the stories herein. Perhaps this prattle is just to defer doing so. I found each of these stories devastating. I read an article about J. F. Powers where Powers is likened to marriage of Chekov and Kellior. I think the same could be said of Coffey, though I would be more inclined to substitute Cheever for Kellior. Coffey has the pure American sensibilities of Cheever blended with Chekov's perfect evocation of the small tragedies The tragic denouement of "The Inn of Nations" comes as silently as the heartbreaking end of Chekov's "Sleepy." It freezes in the air, then melts to nothing. It's over. It's all over.
One can spend a lifetime reading and met only a few of those crystalline moments.
It is difficult for me to review a collection. I can treat the commonalities of each - fathers and sons, disenchantment, identify. These themes run through each. Yet doing so reduces each story to a formula. It does not serve the individual stories well any more than it serves people well to find familial links. They all have Grandma's eyes and Uncle El's nose, but only Clarence has Hector's thin lips. You see what I mean.
The stories are told with sad lyricism familiar to readers of Walker Percy or Peter Taylor. None of them are plot driven, and why should they be. It isn't as though life has a plot. Story is about identity At least the best stories are. Like Hawthorne, Eça and Chekhov, Coffey's stories are given over to the pulling back the skin layer by skin layer to get the the heart of the characters. In some cases, the stories do not end. I have no idea where "I Thought You Were Dale" was going to go when it trickled to its end. But, that was never the point. Hell, I don't know where my own story is going tomorrow. Neither do you. It is this that gives Coffey's stories their beauty and makes them utterly devastating. I will be back.
Odd side note, Bellevue Press often send an additional book along with their ARCs. Despite being traveling companions, the book that came along with "The Business of Naming Things" smelt only of paper and ink.
I knew I would have to give it a re-read. In the span of time it took to read those stories a migraine began to chisel at my brain. I put the book aside. As I lay in my darkened room a perfume seemed to come from somewhere. I don't know about you, but when I have a migraine, scents become overpowering. I could not conjure of its source. My poor brain turned to thoughts of glass coffined saints who were said to exude a sweet smelling oil. What I was smelling was exactly like that. Not that I have ever smelt a sweet smelling, oily saint. I just knew one would smell like that. Finally I realized the scent was coming from Mr. Coffey's book. It was overpowering. I could not sleep. I finally placed the book in a cut glass bowl in the hall, took some Tylenol and fell into a tortured sleep. This is why I didn't get right on with reading Coffey's stunning short story collection. The following night, I asked my husband to go to our library and bring me the first book he touched. I was going for serendipity here. It so rarely works. He brought me Barth's Sabbatical. I was horrified. In high school I was infatuated with Barth. By my mid-twenties, I had sent him and his metafiction pranks packing. He had to be, preciously spouted, the most onanistic writer alive. Mr. Coffey, my husband's bring Barth to me waylaid my reading of "The Business" further. I fell in love with Barth again. From time to time I did pick up "The Business" and give it a whiff to see if it was readable yet. As I was thinking of Barth and his literary jerking off I realized that he was an amateur compared to writers I had read since I had thrown Jack over. Of course the king of the literary jerk off was Brodkey. And here is were the review begins in earnest.
As I had so recently been thinking of Brodkey's royal status, I was shocked to find that the first story I read in Mr. Coffey's collection was about a writer (a seemingly veiled self-portrait of the story's author - Barthian!)
interviewing Brodkey. You will forgive me if I say I felt as if I had slipped into a Paul Auster novel. And, imagine that chill I had when a character in a later story uses just that line. Then later Mr. Coffey pulls in Ibsen's twins in love with the same man. Back to Sabbatical again. There are times when it seems everything is blithely running parallel while intersecting with great rattling thuds at the same time.
None of this says what I felt about the stories herein. Perhaps this prattle is just to defer doing so. I found each of these stories devastating. I read an article about J. F. Powers where Powers is likened to marriage of Chekov and Kellior. I think the same could be said of Coffey, though I would be more inclined to substitute Cheever for Kellior. Coffey has the pure American sensibilities of Cheever blended with Chekov's perfect evocation of the small tragedies The tragic denouement of "The Inn of Nations" comes as silently as the heartbreaking end of Chekov's "Sleepy." It freezes in the air, then melts to nothing. It's over. It's all over.
One can spend a lifetime reading and met only a few of those crystalline moments.
It is difficult for me to review a collection. I can treat the commonalities of each - fathers and sons, disenchantment, identify. These themes run through each. Yet doing so reduces each story to a formula. It does not serve the individual stories well any more than it serves people well to find familial links. They all have Grandma's eyes and Uncle El's nose, but only Clarence has Hector's thin lips. You see what I mean.
The stories are told with sad lyricism familiar to readers of Walker Percy or Peter Taylor. None of them are plot driven, and why should they be. It isn't as though life has a plot. Story is about identity At least the best stories are. Like Hawthorne, Eça and Chekhov, Coffey's stories are given over to the pulling back the skin layer by skin layer to get the the heart of the characters. In some cases, the stories do not end. I have no idea where "I Thought You Were Dale" was going to go when it trickled to its end. But, that was never the point. Hell, I don't know where my own story is going tomorrow. Neither do you. It is this that gives Coffey's stories their beauty and makes them utterly devastating. I will be back.
Odd side note, Bellevue Press often send an additional book along with their ARCs. Despite being traveling companions, the book that came along with "The Business of Naming Things" smelt only of paper and ink.
December 27, 2016
Life is some of this and some of that, and Michael Coffey, a skilled story-teller, lets us into his theatre-on-the-page where we are close by as his characters live moments of their version of this and that.
Don't expect stories that foreshadow events and meanings and thereby draw us on. We'll need, at first, or own curiosity, and faith, to move into the page. That, by the way, is an observation about genre, rather than a critique of Coffey's method. These are literary stories and they unfold in a manner different than the stories that seek to catapult us into an experience. I read and enjoy both kinds of stories, for their different pleasures: one offers a world that pops-up as though ready made and I know I am being transported into it from the first words, the other offers a path to follow and it is only when I have been on that path a few minutes that I think to look up and I see then that I have entered the world the writer has created. I appreciate both sensations, but perhaps value the second more, as I encounter it at a high level of craft, as I do here, less often.
Characters (and character) are essential in these stories, and I find them absolutely believable. Another reviewer poo-poohed Coffey's characterization of women, but I've been a woman a long time and I've known many, many women, and I found the female characters to be spot on. One of my favorite scenes is the one that ends the story, "I Thought You Were Dale" - Carla is completely human in her decision making - and unmaking - and completely authentic.
I confess I haven't finished the stories yet - I'm rating the book anyway. I'm that sure of what will follow. But I'm going to wait a bit to get to it: I read 6 of the 8 and I want to savor that sixth story, "The Newman Boys." I love the feeling of setting down a book with a sense that something in it that speaks to what it is be human is going to stay with me a long, long time. I'll get back to it soon, though, because I know that when I return to it I'll have the reward, once again from this book, of a truly good read.
Don't expect stories that foreshadow events and meanings and thereby draw us on. We'll need, at first, or own curiosity, and faith, to move into the page. That, by the way, is an observation about genre, rather than a critique of Coffey's method. These are literary stories and they unfold in a manner different than the stories that seek to catapult us into an experience. I read and enjoy both kinds of stories, for their different pleasures: one offers a world that pops-up as though ready made and I know I am being transported into it from the first words, the other offers a path to follow and it is only when I have been on that path a few minutes that I think to look up and I see then that I have entered the world the writer has created. I appreciate both sensations, but perhaps value the second more, as I encounter it at a high level of craft, as I do here, less often.
Characters (and character) are essential in these stories, and I find them absolutely believable. Another reviewer poo-poohed Coffey's characterization of women, but I've been a woman a long time and I've known many, many women, and I found the female characters to be spot on. One of my favorite scenes is the one that ends the story, "I Thought You Were Dale" - Carla is completely human in her decision making - and unmaking - and completely authentic.
I confess I haven't finished the stories yet - I'm rating the book anyway. I'm that sure of what will follow. But I'm going to wait a bit to get to it: I read 6 of the 8 and I want to savor that sixth story, "The Newman Boys." I love the feeling of setting down a book with a sense that something in it that speaks to what it is be human is going to stay with me a long, long time. I'll get back to it soon, though, because I know that when I return to it I'll have the reward, once again from this book, of a truly good read.
March 1, 2016
these stories have their moments, but they're ruined by the fact that michael coffey is incredibly (like, hysterically) bad at writing women. the female characters in these stories are described solely in terms of their attractiveness/sexuality, often hilariously: from the title story "Her loose peasant blouse hid the secrets of her breast." and then there's the fact that all they talk or think about is the men they're interested in (usually the protagonist). yawn. i mean, come on.
March 7, 2015
I didn't think that I liked this collection much until I finished it. The first two stories were okay and reminded me a bit of Updike. The middle of the book lagged. The penultimate story was pretty good, and the last story, Finishing Ulysses, was fantastic. I thought that story saved the book, and it made me want to go reread Ulyssses, which is one of my favorites.
March 23, 2015
the great thing about bellevue literary press is their attempt to publish at the intersection of arts and sciences. this collection is a good example of that philosophy, coffey incorporates psychology and philosophies into his stories of regular joes n janes trying to make it through tangles of modern usa life.
April 5, 2015
Like others who have read this collection of 8 short stories, I found it hard to make sense of any of them. While the writing was good, the stories were not.
July 16, 2015
Collection of short stories...... unique and fairly interesting but none that really captivated me.
January 6, 2016
Some of the stories were quite good, in particular "The Newman Boys." Others felt loose and unconnected.
Displaying 1 - 11 of 11 reviews