The original Sudden Fiction anthology was something of a literary groundbreaker as well as the start of a franchise--Robert Shapard and James Thomas could be credited with giving sudden (aka flash, aka micro, aka short short) fiction a formal stage so that the genre could (and did) become acceptable in all kinds of venues where it had not been considered legitimate before. Obviously, Raymond Carver's seminal collection What We Talk About When We Talk About Love (the one edited by Gordon Lish, who of course wanted to take full credit for the form in the first Sudden Fiction anthology) may have been among the first collections to qualify the boundaries of short fiction into the realm of a page or two, but Shapard & Thomas' first Sudden Fiction anthology was possibly the first popular proof that this short form was just as competent as the longer short story form and could be tackled by writers just as competent as Carver.
From there, Shapard & Thomas sparked the Sudden Fiction anthology series and even did spots of the Flash Fiction anthology series, together or separately. This volume is the most recent installment, and it follows the method of the others--stories that tend to fall in the range of 2,000 words or lower, and familiar names (Tobias Wolff, Sam Shephard, Joyce Carol Oates, etc.) standing next to names that are not as familiar, due either to neglect in the whorls of the literary administration or to the general low quality of their work.
Of course, any anthology is going to have its hits and misses, and this one is no exception. Aimee Bender is a nice turn in the road, since all the stories before hers seem to have a definite realist tendency, and hers is the first to explore the realm of the surreal, and does so quite powerfully. Ha Jin's piece about humor and those political machines that have none is about as powerful as any Mo Yan novel, and Chuck Palahniuk is as verbose as ever, though the shorter form lets his piece resonate nicely without being swept away by its language. Sherrie Flick's "How I Left Ned" is wonderfully creepy and gothic, a story that could only be sustained in an abbreviated form, and Geoffrey Forsyth's "Mud" is an incredible musing on grief. Stacey Richter's "The Minimalist" is a spin through the world of an artistic and personal meltdown. These works show the power of the sudden fiction format--the emotions are intense, bombastic and ride prominently on the sleeve. They aren't poetic, and so don't seem appropriate to call prose poems, but instead have that kind of grounded punch that good fiction has, with events that might not be familiar but are certainly sympathetic.
Some of the misses, though, really dragged down this collection, as they showed the weaknesses this genre can exude. Toure's "I Shot the Sherriff" is a pretty redundant piece that takes a lot of obvious moves and shows a pretty weak writing hand (despite the author's arrogant bio at the back of the book). Robert Olen Butler's "Seven Pieces of Severance" is just a poor smattering of pieces from his collection Severance--cryptic monologues from decapitated heads. Elizabeth Berg's "The Party" is a rather typical musing on the differences between men and women--rather one-sided and cliché by the end. These are the pieces that serve as reminders that the term Sudden Fiction can sometimes be used to try to legitimize failed short stories--many of these pieces provide little of the kind of interest that sustains good short fiction, no matter how long: a vivid glimpse into genuine human character.
The failings of this collection are a little less forgivable than they would be in previous anthologies only because Shapard & Thomas have helped define and justify this genre, so it would seem that their positions would entail and effort to further define the genre's boundaries and possibilities. While there are quite a few pieces here that show a maturation of the sudden fiction genre, it is clear that the term is also being used to try to give credence to short-minded, poorly imaginative work. Perhaps that is just the nature of the literary game, but I would have rather finished this collection with a twitter of excitement and possibility rather than a pang of some missed opportunity.