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خواستهها
“Wants”
by
Grace Paley
I saw my ex-husband in the street. I was sitting on the steps of the new library.
Hello, my life, I said. We had once been married for twenty-seven years, so I felt justified.
He said, What? What life? No life of mine.
I said, O.K. I don’t argue when there’s real disagreement. I got up and went into the library to see how much I owed them.
The librarian said $32 even and you’ve owed it for eighteen years. I didn’t deny anything. Because I don’t understand how time passes. I have had those books. I have often thought of them. The library is only two blocks away.
My ex-husband followed me to the Books Returned desk. He interrupted the librarian, who had more to tell. In many ways, he said, as I look back, I attribute the dissolution of our marriage to the fact that you never invited the Bertrams to dinner.
That’s possible, I said. But really, if you remember: first, my father was sick that Friday, then the children were born, then I had those Tuesday-night meetings, then the war began.Then we didn’t seem to know them any more. But you’re right. I should have had them to dinner.
I gave the librarian a check for $32. Immediately she trusted me, put my past behind her, wiped the record clean, which is just what most other municipal and/or state bureaucracies will not do.
I checked out the two Edith Wharton books I had just returned because I’d read them so long ago and they are more apropos now than ever. They were The House of Mirth and The Children, which is about how life in the United States in New York changed in twenty-seven years fifty years ago.
A nice thing I do remember is breakfast, my ex-husband said. I was surprised. All we ever had was coffee. Then I remembered there was a hole in the back of the kitchen closet which opened into the apartment next door. There, they always ate sugar-cured smoked bacon. It gave us a very grand feeling about breakfast, but we never got stuffed and sluggish.
That was when we were poor, I said.
When were we ever rich? he asked.
Oh, as time went on, as our responsibilities increased, we didn’t go in need. You took adequate financial care, I reminded him. The children went to camp four weeks a year and in decent ponchos with sleeping bags and boots, just like everyone else. They looked very nice. Our place was warm in winter, and we had nice red pillows and things.
I wanted a sailboat, he said. But you didn’t want anything.
Don’t be bitter, I said. It’s never too late.
No, he said with a great deal of bitterness. I may get a sailboat. As a matter of fact I have money down on an eighteen-foot two-rigger. I’m doing well this year and can look forward to better. But as for you, it’s too late. You’ll always want nothing.
He had had a habit throughout the twenty-seven years of making a narrow remark which, like a plumber’s snake, could work its way through the ear down the throat, half-way to my heart. He would then disappear, leaving me choking with equipment. What I mean is, I sat down on the library steps and he went away.
I looked through The House of Mirth, but lost interest. I felt extremely accused. Now, it’s true, I’m short of requests and absolute requirements. But I do want something.
I want, for instance, to be a different person. I want to be the woman who brings these two books back in two weeks. I want to be the effective citizen who changes the school system and addresses the Board of Estimate on the troubles of this dear urban center.
I had promised my children to end the war before they grew up.
I wanted to have been married forever to one person, my ex-husband or my present one. Either has enough character for a whole life, which as it turns out is really not such a long time. You couldn’t exhaust either man’s qualities or get under the rock of his reasons in one short life.
Just this morning I looked out the window to watch the street for a while and saw that the little sycamores the city had dreamily planted a couple of years before the kids were born had come that day to the prime of their lives.
Well! I decided to bring those two books back to the library. Which proves that when a person or an event comes along to jolt or appraise me I can take some appropriate action, although I am better known for my hospitable remarks.
by
Grace Paley
I saw my ex-husband in the street. I was sitting on the steps of the new library.
Hello, my life, I said. We had once been married for twenty-seven years, so I felt justified.
He said, What? What life? No life of mine.
I said, O.K. I don’t argue when there’s real disagreement. I got up and went into the library to see how much I owed them.
The librarian said $32 even and you’ve owed it for eighteen years. I didn’t deny anything. Because I don’t understand how time passes. I have had those books. I have often thought of them. The library is only two blocks away.
My ex-husband followed me to the Books Returned desk. He interrupted the librarian, who had more to tell. In many ways, he said, as I look back, I attribute the dissolution of our marriage to the fact that you never invited the Bertrams to dinner.
That’s possible, I said. But really, if you remember: first, my father was sick that Friday, then the children were born, then I had those Tuesday-night meetings, then the war began.Then we didn’t seem to know them any more. But you’re right. I should have had them to dinner.
I gave the librarian a check for $32. Immediately she trusted me, put my past behind her, wiped the record clean, which is just what most other municipal and/or state bureaucracies will not do.
I checked out the two Edith Wharton books I had just returned because I’d read them so long ago and they are more apropos now than ever. They were The House of Mirth and The Children, which is about how life in the United States in New York changed in twenty-seven years fifty years ago.
A nice thing I do remember is breakfast, my ex-husband said. I was surprised. All we ever had was coffee. Then I remembered there was a hole in the back of the kitchen closet which opened into the apartment next door. There, they always ate sugar-cured smoked bacon. It gave us a very grand feeling about breakfast, but we never got stuffed and sluggish.
That was when we were poor, I said.
When were we ever rich? he asked.
Oh, as time went on, as our responsibilities increased, we didn’t go in need. You took adequate financial care, I reminded him. The children went to camp four weeks a year and in decent ponchos with sleeping bags and boots, just like everyone else. They looked very nice. Our place was warm in winter, and we had nice red pillows and things.
I wanted a sailboat, he said. But you didn’t want anything.
Don’t be bitter, I said. It’s never too late.
No, he said with a great deal of bitterness. I may get a sailboat. As a matter of fact I have money down on an eighteen-foot two-rigger. I’m doing well this year and can look forward to better. But as for you, it’s too late. You’ll always want nothing.
He had had a habit throughout the twenty-seven years of making a narrow remark which, like a plumber’s snake, could work its way through the ear down the throat, half-way to my heart. He would then disappear, leaving me choking with equipment. What I mean is, I sat down on the library steps and he went away.
I looked through The House of Mirth, but lost interest. I felt extremely accused. Now, it’s true, I’m short of requests and absolute requirements. But I do want something.
I want, for instance, to be a different person. I want to be the woman who brings these two books back in two weeks. I want to be the effective citizen who changes the school system and addresses the Board of Estimate on the troubles of this dear urban center.
I had promised my children to end the war before they grew up.
I wanted to have been married forever to one person, my ex-husband or my present one. Either has enough character for a whole life, which as it turns out is really not such a long time. You couldn’t exhaust either man’s qualities or get under the rock of his reasons in one short life.
Just this morning I looked out the window to watch the street for a while and saw that the little sycamores the city had dreamily planted a couple of years before the kids were born had come that day to the prime of their lives.
Well! I decided to bring those two books back to the library. Which proves that when a person or an event comes along to jolt or appraise me I can take some appropriate action, although I am better known for my hospitable remarks.
4 pages, Paperback
First published October 14, 2014
2 people are currently reading
164 people want to read
About the author
Grace Paley
131 books409 followersGrace Paley was an American short story writer, poet, and political activist whose work won a number of awards.
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Displaying 1 - 20 of 20 reviews
January 15, 2015
This is the first Paley work I've read, and I admit to initial confusion. She does not favour commas or quotation marks. However, her sentences are structured to avoid seeming wholly like stream of consciousness. I have never been exposed to this type of sentence before, and I'm quite intrigued by them.
As for the plot, well, it's very nice. It's believable and I felt the main character's concern over her unremarkability. Finally, her acceptance of it. So much of her personality and her husband's is on display in a mere three pages. It's quite the feat, and I recommend to all aspiring writers because this style is unique but effective.
As for the plot, well, it's very nice. It's believable and I felt the main character's concern over her unremarkability. Finally, her acceptance of it. So much of her personality and her husband's is on display in a mere three pages. It's quite the feat, and I recommend to all aspiring writers because this style is unique but effective.
March 11, 2016
I disliked how emotionally detached the main character was from her own life. She meets her ex-husband in a library (where she returns books she's had for 18 years - who does that?!), and they have a short conversation about the failings of their marriage. Their tones are accusatory, yet resigned. He accuses her of having no wants or aspirations in life, which is presumably where the title of the piece comes from. There is no build-up, no climax, and little resolution. The main character's final sentiment is that she needs to be jolted into doing even the most insignificant of productive tasks in her life. I was also quite bothered by the lack of quotation marks in this story.
March 11, 2016
I thought that this story was very odd. I personally didn't like that there was no action or any conflict in it. I believe that there could be a lot more conversation between ex-husband and the wife because it would bring some excitement to the book. It also would add some background information on their life together so readers know what is happening and possibly the time period so readers know what war they are in. I also had a question to why the story ended the way it did. Did she change or does she need another "jolt" to make her change again? I think it could be taken either way.
March 11, 2016
I did not appreciate how this story had a very bland story line. There was no climax, no resolution, nothing that made this seem like a classic short story. I see that the author was trying to show the growing process of her main character and how she has matured and become stronger since the divorce. I applaud the writer for creating a strong woman character however, I didn't really like the writing style and how the story had no build to it.
February 12, 2015
I listened to this as read by Walter Mosley and it was pretty darn funny.
I like how Paley dances poetically around an everyday life.
I like how Paley dances poetically around an everyday life.
October 7, 2015
Good short story about life. It was super interesting.
December 29, 2024
I read this in September for my first-semester 12th grade English class.
I didn't remember the story very well, so I just skimmed through it, and the original emotions this story evoked for me resurfaced.
To me, this story was saddening in a way that no other story I've read since has been. The idea of people from your life, who used to be your entire life, becoming but a memory, is one that makes me want to cry - for some reason that I can't put my finger on. I guess maybecit speaks to the temporary nature of relationships, and even more broadly, the temporary nature of life, which I consider a very somber concept.
This story is concise, emotional, and simple. I've seen people in other reviews call it "bland" or "boring," which I firmly disagree with. I don't think a story needs action or multiple dense layers of meaning to be interesting. This story says what it is intended to say, and nothing more. It is not bland; it just isn't complex or layered.
I didn't remember the story very well, so I just skimmed through it, and the original emotions this story evoked for me resurfaced.
To me, this story was saddening in a way that no other story I've read since has been. The idea of people from your life, who used to be your entire life, becoming but a memory, is one that makes me want to cry - for some reason that I can't put my finger on. I guess maybecit speaks to the temporary nature of relationships, and even more broadly, the temporary nature of life, which I consider a very somber concept.
This story is concise, emotional, and simple. I've seen people in other reviews call it "bland" or "boring," which I firmly disagree with. I don't think a story needs action or multiple dense layers of meaning to be interesting. This story says what it is intended to say, and nothing more. It is not bland; it just isn't complex or layered.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
November 15, 2017
It's not like i hated this one, but can't say i liked it enough to give it more than two stars. It's not because of how short it is, but seeing a main character so devoid of emotions felt incredibly awkward. It felt to me like this woman, whoever she is, seems to not give a single care about herself, her life, she just seems to go with the flow - and delivering books 18 years late,gahh - and to me that makes me terribly anxious.
December 30, 2019
Fairly interesting. Dialogue was particularly good.
December 4, 2020
The main story was dialogue, however, there was so no quotation marks which caused chaos.
May 31, 2022
i think i quite like paley
February 19, 2024
Loved it!
February 25, 2024
Ms. Paley achieves a lot with very few words. Thank you to Terris for sharing this one.
November 23, 2024
- bland and boring
-/+ maybe I didn't get it but it gave me nothing
-/+ maybe I didn't get it but it gave me nothing
June 21, 2025
Ugh. In 3 pages, Paley fits in more humanity than some do in 300.
zhelf
September 16, 2022Reason, not review: Because UKLg liked her; then this story thru unrelated search.
December 5, 2016
This short-short-short story is about exactly what the title suggests it’s about; “wants. It’s about what the narrator’s ex husband wants. It’s about what the narrator wants. What Paley thinks about the competing approaches to life, wants, seems clear, maybe too clear (dare I say sophomorically clear?). Great fodder for discussion groups and since I read it for an upcoming book club, that’s fine by me.
March 26, 2017
"But I do want something"
When you become a wife then a mother, no one ever asks you and no one really cares what you want.
When you become a wife then a mother, no one ever asks you and no one really cares what you want.
April 12, 2017
A story gives the readers a feeling of loneliness. A narrator, a woman who had been married for twenty-seven years and got divorced, met her ex-husband. They had a short conversation without any emotions. He accused her of not paying much attention to his wishes like buying the boat or meeting with their acquaintances.
She has a completely different attitude to her life, her wishes are to be a better person and to live in imaginable perfect society. It is very different what she wants.
The story goes on the background of returning the books which she took in the library eighteen years ago. She was fined by the librarian and consequently, the clerk accepted her apologies.
I think that the main idea of this short story is to show how the time passes. She said that she had not thought about his wishes because "my father was sick that Friday, then the children were born, then I had those Tuesday-night meetings, then the war began ..."
This feeling when the time has gone and there is no chance to change the passing life is known for people in the old age (in fact it is known to everyone) ... Grace Paley described it very well.
There is uncertainty in the plot of this story, but it is a part of life. People are strangers on the way between the past and the future, during the short pause they could think about what did not happen with regret.
The narrator described in very bright expressions the way, how people can harm others giving just remarks about features of others characters. What she thought:
"He had had a habit throughout the twenty-seven years of making a narrow remark which, like a plumber's snake, could work its way through the ear down the throat, half-way to my heart. He would then disappear, leaving me choking with equipment."
People are very vulnerable in terms of what other people say about them. The narrator had her personal point of view for life which is a very different from what her ex-husband had, but after she stayed alone, she didn't feel sure about her rightness.
"I felt extremely accused. Now, it's true, I'm short of requests and absolute requirements. But I do want something"
She isn't a strong person, she doesn't mind being jolting by somebody, in the last line of the story she said: "when a person or an event comes along to jolt or appraise me I can take some appropriate action". I suppose that the moral of this story is the person is only a part of society and she is acting according to the circumstances like a lonely boat in an endless ocean.
She has a completely different attitude to her life, her wishes are to be a better person and to live in imaginable perfect society. It is very different what she wants.
The story goes on the background of returning the books which she took in the library eighteen years ago. She was fined by the librarian and consequently, the clerk accepted her apologies.
I think that the main idea of this short story is to show how the time passes. She said that she had not thought about his wishes because "my father was sick that Friday, then the children were born, then I had those Tuesday-night meetings, then the war began ..."
This feeling when the time has gone and there is no chance to change the passing life is known for people in the old age (in fact it is known to everyone) ... Grace Paley described it very well.
There is uncertainty in the plot of this story, but it is a part of life. People are strangers on the way between the past and the future, during the short pause they could think about what did not happen with regret.
The narrator described in very bright expressions the way, how people can harm others giving just remarks about features of others characters. What she thought:
"He had had a habit throughout the twenty-seven years of making a narrow remark which, like a plumber's snake, could work its way through the ear down the throat, half-way to my heart. He would then disappear, leaving me choking with equipment."
People are very vulnerable in terms of what other people say about them. The narrator had her personal point of view for life which is a very different from what her ex-husband had, but after she stayed alone, she didn't feel sure about her rightness.
"I felt extremely accused. Now, it's true, I'm short of requests and absolute requirements. But I do want something"
She isn't a strong person, she doesn't mind being jolting by somebody, in the last line of the story she said: "when a person or an event comes along to jolt or appraise me I can take some appropriate action". I suppose that the moral of this story is the person is only a part of society and she is acting according to the circumstances like a lonely boat in an endless ocean.
Displaying 1 - 20 of 20 reviews