Well now, nothing can get you more into the mirthfully joyous Christmas spirit than reading Russell Banks' sorta-short story collection/sorta-novella, "Success Stories". After all, what could make you feel cheerier than reading about how inevitably dreary and disappointing life is?
I've read Banks before, so I wasn't exactly surprised at how glum his little world was, but it definitly stands out as a defining quality of this collection. I call it a sorta-collection because many of the stories are actually related, following the life of an optimistic, yet constantly down-on-his-luck working class boy named Earl Painter. The stories (most of them) chart his early boyhood, when his father leaves his mother and his siblings high-and dry, into young-adulthood, when he flees the stark cold landscape of New Hampshire for the sunny, yet equally destitute landscape of Florida. His story is seen through to show off his clumsy courting of a workplace sweetheart, to his later adulthood when the relationship with his estranged father is touched on. This was possibly the most depressing story, seen through his father's eyes, as the relationship isn't cold or mean or uncivil, as much as it is pointless and dripping with apathy on the son's part. You get the sense that pointed animosity from Earl would have been more fulfilling to his old man than the casual manner in which the son brushes off his father when the son is offered the mundane, yet desperately important gift of a cord of firewood. All rather sad and gloomy. Not to say unenjoyable, as long as you read to appreciate a well-told story and not for some kind of vicarious happiness.
Interspersed among stories about the Painter family, are a few actual short stories, all of which are equally cynical and depressing. The doomed fate of a magic fish; the good, though corrupt, intentions of the citizens of a Latin American slum; the sad almost-love story between a beautiful person and his physically ugly counterpart.
"Success Stories" is definitly a quality read if you're into Banks' brand of cold and empty gloom.