Readers familiar with David Means ' electrifying work in the Los Angeles Times Book Prize -- winning Assorted Fire Eventswill recognize his extraordinary vision in The Secret Goldfish . A trio of erotically charged kids goes on a crime spree in Michigan; a goldfish bears witness to the demise of a Connecticut marriage; and an extremely unlucky man is stalked by lightning. This dazzling new collection reveals Means' rare talent for the short story and establishes his place among the American masters.
David Means is an American short story writer and novelist based in Nyack, New York. His stories have appeared in many publications, including Esquire, The New Yorker, and Harper's. They are frequently set in the Midwest or the Rust Belt, or along the Hudson River in New York.
“Sta solo sondando le acque della clemenza, mentre quello che vuoi tu, amico, è imbrattarti di morte e spalmartela addosso come marmellata d'uva”.
La migrazione, l'attraversamento, il passaggio: sembrano occuparsi di una materia indefinita, oscura e feconda, questi racconti liminari e irriducibili, collocandosi sulla soglia di un dove, in un luogo transitorio, al confine di un territorio. Cheever scrisse un tempo che la letteratura è il rifugio dei dannati e David Means sembra percorrere questi sentieri dell'anima, il cammino di condannati a destini disperati e tragici: irrilevanza, invisibilità, marginalità, disorientamento, esilio. Siamo polvere, siamo sabbia, siamo neve che cade, siamo solitudine di tempo, siamo attesa innocente e unicità; tutto ciò non può che farci paura, in determinati momenti. Prima che giunga a farci compagnia nelle tenebre un coro di demoni (uomini lampo o uomini polvere) che porta la parola come farmaco; nell'insistente indecisione del pensiero su ciò che siamo e ciò che eravamo, una dolorosa, incontenibile e sciocca certezza ci assedia: abbiamo abbandonato e siamo stati abbandonati.
This book of short stories was a real delight, and continuing proof that there are totally amazing writers out there who I've never discovered, even when it seems like they'd fall into my small and specific sweet spot-- in this case, formally experimental upper midwestern stories about crime.
It's not that every story in this collection is an absolute winner-- the first couple, for example, didn't do much for me, and the dustman story, as much as it tickled me, seemed to lack some of the richness of the similarly constructed bog man story. There are moments when I think the characters are a little underdeveloped, a little too dumb when the story calls for them to be dumb to be really afforded full sympathy. I'm not saying that all stories require that, but some here do and don't quite get it-- I'm thinking, for example, of the two characters in Sault Ste Marie, for example. In other stories, though, like "The Nest," Means' embrace of the irrational is pitch perfect, maybe because he doesn't feel he's writing a character that requires him to put a limit on his obvious faculties. And the final story, which is a long dance with the objective correlative, is just knowing enough to not commit when what we really want is to be flirted with, even teased a little, and then allowed to go home to sleep in our own beds.
Maybe I've changed as a reader, but I didn't find this nearly as enthralling as "Assorted Fire Events." Everyone, of course, is either (a) a drifter robbing/killing suburban upper middle class people, in order to get money for smack or (b) a suburban upper middle class person, getting robbed or killed for smack money, or having a chaotically furtive affair, either of which disrupts and cracks the otherwise presumed perception of their lives as fulfilling and successful. I think the main issue I have is that he doesn't seem to really attribute souls to his drifter characters - even from their interior perspectives, they all exist simply to steal from, rape or kill the richer people. The titular short story, the last in the collection, I think transcends these characteristics, though.
I had really high hopes for this book, being a huge fan of short stories. Unfortunately I found it difficult to get into the stories, and even more difficult to care about the characters, (identifying with them was impossible). There was literally only two times in the whole book where I thought I might get more interested in the story, only to be disappointed again. All the stories seemed to center around a moment in the life of these characters, often alluding to the action without the reader ever being present for it. As a result I often felt I was coming into the story in the middle, without being properly introduced to the plot or characters, and thus removing any opportunity to become invested in the story.
I read this book after Jonathan Franzen recommended it at a speaking event. Means is an extremely talented writer, but the stories were a little hit and miss for me. 'Sault Ste. Marie', 'Blown from the Bridge' and 'The Secret Goldfish' were highlights.
Now this is how to put together some short stories.
“It’s those eyes-- your father’s on the dock in Canada-- that you see in hers, when you meet on the pine swamp trail. The brown of a polished hickory gun butt, rubbed shiny with warm beeswax.” (Counterparts)
“If you have to be named for a geographic region, this one is as fine as any, boring and nondescript in what most agree is the most mundane and utilitarian of states, a state that openheartedly loves blandness. (On hearing this, Ohioans gather themselves into a defensive hunch.) Thompson embraced Ohio. He embraced John Glenn as the state hero. What more starkly boring symbol than a man circling the earth in a capsule equipped with outmoded gear, leather strapping, already ancient at launch time, spinning in the silence of space only to plunge back and sponge upon that act for the rest of his life? Thompson and I both agree that it would be better to remain up there, to be slung by gravity’s twirl out into the void until radio contact faded out. Or better to return to earth, heat shield failing, in a blooming orchid of raw flame and burning metal, striking the Atlantic landing zone in a geyser of steam.” (Elyria Man)
2007 notebook: electrifying. Teenagers robbing an old man with a voice box. End up in a hatchery, fish the big image in this book. The lakes Michigan, Huron and their hinterland. A wide flat landscape, one horse towns, teenagers in cars on drugs holding up shops and killing each other in violence and car accidents. 'Always a couple named Judy and Jack, stoned in the backseat, unaware, embracing softly until the moment the car violates the meridian line and confronts a tractor trailer, hauling crated cherries out of Traverse City. Then there's an abundance of fruit and blood and sparks spread out across the dark road.' Great but sometimes a bit tricksy, po-mo. He can't resist knowing touches and direction, but he's good at it. Has strength, power, urgency.
From the wastiods-in-the-post-industrial-midwest genre that's grown up in the last 20 years. Even so, Means manages for the most part to save his characters from easy overdoses or 2D characterizations. He can often choose a detail to present in a moment of crisis that heightens the tension by humor or by incongruity. More broadly, he has good judgment of what to say and when. The themes are at times clever, but only once too clever by half (so he avoids the problem with Jesus' Son, which got a little hipster at moments).
Good, but not as good as The Spot. Several of the stories failed to really resonate, and those that played with form, like those in The Spot, were less powerful to me for that formal exploration. Unfortunately there are more formal "experiments" here than in Means' following collection, not to say this book is in any way "postmodern" or "poststructural" or whatever, except that it necessarily is, historically speaking. A good collection for sure, but I prefer the more powerful, more Hannah-esque stories in The Spot, which to me seemed more determined, more intentional, and overall stronger.
racconti minimi di grande impatto, con una vena di cattiveria e/o cinismo che li impreziosisce appena finita la lettura, il ritorno dell'emozione che sottende al racconto è sempre successivo e immediatamente fulminante...Means è un grande osservatore e un ancor più grande cesellatore delle umane miserie...e quel che racconta gela il sangue come il telegiornale della sera se non fosse censurato e annacquato da qualunque sia il governo al momento in carica...
ps. Viaggio di morte in Michigan è di una crudezza abbagliante
Masterful writing that exudes a rhythmic quality that I rarely see in other short story writers. The style is elusive and intriguing, effectively making simplistic actions or ideas really strange and otherworldly. Stories with loads of meat on them, multidimensional and full of surprise, angst, love and everything that makes life worth living.
An intriguing and at times disturbing collection of stories. Some excellent writing scattered throughout, such as the following: “He had reached that point we all reach when the desire to speak the truth meets up with the pain it produces.”
Means has an excellent vocabulary. I was hoping for more narrative-drive stories, but not having those in the collection so much is OK. What I didn’t love about this was that it felt humorless (yes, the subject matter is often grim and bleak - but gallows humor, anyone?) and not much about who these characters were was revealed. Their motivations and histories were sometimes stated, but even in languid prose I wanted more show less tell. Does Means love these characters? Maybe for that reason I ended up enjoying the stories that were not so narrative driven but which were simply fun conceits enjoyably read in Means’s masterful language. And as I think Jonathan Franzen has said, Means writes beautifully about the water (rivers, lakes, oceans, bridges, boats). My favorite stories were:
Sault Ste. Marie It Counts as Seeing Petrouchka The Project Dustman Appearances to Date
Every short story will stay will you for days, months, maybe years. Some are funny haha, others are gallows humor, and some are simply gallows. To me this collection is everything a book of short stories should be. Each one packs such a punch. There is a clear through line but plenty of diversity. A great book to keep on you; to pick up and put down freely and often. Loved it.
A book with the sort of reviews and dazzling acclaim that makes you feel you're an idiot if you don't love it. But for me, brains and imagination, even mastery of language, alone can't make for enjoyable reading. Of the 15 stories, roughly three held my interest.
David Means is a truly excellent writer, almost a magician. I could listen to Thomas McGuane read “The Tree Line, Kansas, 1934,” from The New Yorker Fiction Podcast once a week for the rest of my life, and not be bored. So it was that, when the same podcast offered "The Spot", as read by Jonathan Franzen, I knew in my heart I had found (and must explore) an absolute New Favorite Author. "Secret Goldfish: Stories", however, left me feeling like I'd seen the magician on an off night, perhaps, and with that secret personal conceit that I was witnessing the true voice, perhaps tired, unguarded, not a best face. Means deftly shows the empty hat here, holds up the bunny -- but then things come out, magically and with not a little awe, but not the things one is expecting; not the bunny. Often something darker, something less entertaining. Folks will cheer, and they may very well get something I do not; George Saunders 'Tenth of November' took me more than one reading to grok, so I am not swift. Still, there isn't that pull of Saunders that would compel me to sit in for Means next show, at least not playing this material.
This is a book of short stories that are quite intense and, at times, quite lurid. Subjects ranging from failed marriages to wayward youth wrecking havoc and senselessly murdering others are what we are dealing with here. At first I was a bit taken aback by the subject matter (the first story is about a man being struck by lightning several times throughout his life), but the author is such a good writer that I found myself being sucked in and really enjoying the book. There are some real oddities here--one of the stories is simply short snippets describing people dying at different times in the state of Michigan, but the writing is quite exceptional and the book was well worth the journey for me. It surprised me how moved I was at times.
Another good selection of short stories. David Means is an excellent writer capturing the circumstances of the desparate. Many of these stories are set in Michigan small towns and Means is more than capable of conveying the mood and feel of the locations portrayed here. Paricular favorites are "Blown from the Bridge" which explores the before and after of a young women blown off the Mackinaw Bridge, the startling violence of "A Visit from Jesus," and missed connections in the ABCs of "Counterparts." Also enjoyed: Lightening Man and the title story The Secret Goldfish.
"The isolation of this part of Michigan took hold of her."--A Visit From Jesus.
That line, from one of the stories in the collection pretty much encapsulates the whole collection: loneliness, the Midwest, hit-or-miss gallows humor. The only thing I'm missing is snow. Well written, but kind of dreary. These stories seem inevitable, in the way that death is inevitable, and sometimes surprising, in the way that sometimes you have cancer but die choking on a piece of toast while your partner is in the next room, shaving. If you think that line was funny, you'll like this book.
me: im reading a good book of stories most of them are in michigan Alex: i love michigan me: David Means The Secret Goldfish i am only partway through but so far so good "The air of Northern Michigan never quite matches the freshness of Canada. There's usually a dull iron ore residue in it, or the smell of dead flies accumulating between the stones on shore." See. Michigan. Alex: mmm michigan
The story about Charlene reminded me of The Hold Steady.
I wanted to love David Means stories, wanted to learn from them, but, perhaps as a Californian, I had trouble fitting my mind into the confines of upper Mid-West angst. I liked the stories about the man repeatedly struck by lightening and sort of cared when the woman leaves her tepid love affair and drives off in a snow storm to her death, the tale about the boating adventures of drug addicts. The stories were quiet and good, but for me not highly resonant.