This is my first time finishing an O. Henry collection, and I noticed some significant differences between the stories in here and those regularly published in another prize anthology, The Best American Fiction. The biggest difference is length. The first four stories in this collection total 105 pages. Add the length of the final story and you have 152 pages. (By contrast, the five stories in the same positions in the 2013 Best American collection total 88 pages.) So O. Henry’s Laura Furman has built a much bigger house here. What has been done with all that extra room?
The pacing in general is much slower. An O. Henry prize story tends to begin a little earlier than a Best American story, and it indulges a few more digressions. These additions might service the setting, allowing some stories to build truly fascinating worlds with lush details. Kelly Link’s “The Summer People” stands out in this regard, bringing to a New England country town the mysticism of faeries. Deborah Eisenberg’s “Your Duck is My Duck” travels from lower class New York City to a playground for the wealthy on a third world island, presenting a simmering native uprising that somehow seems less threatening than the emotional dysfunction of the moneyed husband and wife at the center of the story. Derek Palacio’s “Sugarcane” dramatizes third world corruption in starkly human terms, playing out a conflict between desire, status, and comfort. Alice Munro, on the other hand, continues her project of writing short stories with the scope of novels, somehow covering characters’ entire lives with depth and pathos in a condensed space. But I found one of the collection’s longest pieces, Andrea Barrett’s “The Particles,” to be a page-turning read with a surprisingly quick pace, perhaps because of its parallel narrative covering two different times in its characters’ lives.
Other stories feel very close to the fast-paced, compact style of the Best American Fiction. Jamie Quatro’s “Sinkhole” in particular spares nothing while building a coming-of-age narrative around young love, god, and death. Ann Beattie’s “Anecdotes” is another example of the contemporary trend toward efficiency, evincing her customary minimalist restraint, packing three lives and a host of subtle conflicts within mother/daughter relationships into a few pages. Polly Rosenwaike's "White Carnations" covers similar ground, this time examining the maternal bonds between unrelated women. Another good mother/daughter story, which reverses the usual roles due to a grave illness, was L. Annette Binder's sorrowful "Lay My Head."
But the longer stories that don't devote themselves to setting tend to spend their leisure time on character, focusing particularly upon our struggle to love each other despite the jagged pieces of our brokenness that keep getting in the way. Donald Antrim’s “He Knew” shows two flawed, beautiful people making a marriage out of their anxieties, paranoia, and mounting despair. Another tale of love's hazards is Samar Farah Fitzgerald's "Where Do You Go?", in which the challenges come from an apparent mismatch of personalities in the husband and wife, along with a conspicuous absence of good roll models. Asako Serizawa’s “The Visitor” blends love, lust, and grief in a visit between two strangers connected by shared loss and humiliation. Joan Silber's "Two Opinions" delivers a liberated woman's tale of marriage and love, and the love to be found beyond the boundaries of marriage. Another story, Ruth Prawer Jhabvala'a "Aphrodisiac," also examines infidelity in a morally strict country, while incorporating hints of alchemy at work in illicit seduction. Less emotionally charged is George McCormick's "The Mexican," a modernist story devoted to psychological realism and spare prose, whose feelings lurk in the background, behind the eerie imagery. Tash Aw's "Sail" practices a similar emotional restraint to achieve a much more chilling insight into the psyche of its apparently sympathetic narrator.
A few stories depart from convention, folding magical elements into the mix or experimenting with form. The collection's most experimental venture is Melinda Moustakis' "They Find the Drowned," a catalogue of life in Alaska covering the range of personalities attracted to it and a full account of the hazards that typically greet them. I enjoyed that story and was charmed by how well its vignettes came together into a coherent narrative. On the other hand, Ayse Papatya Bucak’s “The History of Girls” examines the aftermath of a fatal gas explosion in a girls’ boarding school, letting the narrator speak with the ghosts of her classmates as she lies buried in rubble, waiting for rescue.
Ultimately, I'm satisfied with this collection and have already purchased the 2012 edition. But I have also learned a lesson: the O. Henry prize doesn't strictly keep to Poe's dictum that a short story be readable in a single sitting--frequently, a sitting-and-a-half is required. To the credit of the editor and the prize jury, the extra investment of time is almost always handsomely rewarded.