How does one connect these twelve stories? Perhaps the answer is that you don’t. This collection seems to be pulled out of the author’s contributions to the New Yorker (7 stories) and other notable literary magazines over a long career and assembled as “the best of the best” of his short stories. And the pieces are intriguing, almost all of them.
The stories are written in a variety of styles, and in prose that dispenses with quote marks but which easily identify dialogue from narration in the way it is presented. Some stories show their age when a paragraph runs for three pages – something our attention-deprived 21st-century readers will not have the tolerance for.
The first and last stories “Wakefield” and “All the Time in the World” are surreal. In the first story, how could a man hide in his attic for a whole summer, befriending mentally challenged neighbours, scrounging food from garbage cans, and bathing in the nearby forest, go undiscovered? Is it the primeval jealousy of being usurped by another male for the attention of his abandoned wife that will bring him out of hiding? In the second story, is our runner seeing reality or an imagined one while he peregrinates in New York seeking specificity?
In “Walter John Harmon,” the cult leader by the same name is enjoying a debased life by having sex with the women in his flock, collecting his followers’ money, and drinking copiously, while his followers live a chaste and pioneer life of denial, believing that WJH is absorbing all their sins through his debauchery. In the “House on the Plains,” a similar charlatan, a widow of several husbands, is fleecing investors in the farm she has bought with her dead husbands’ insurance money; when discovery is imminent, she plans the perfect escape with the help of her accomplice son.
“Heist” is a sad tale of a priest and his infatuation with the Jewish Rabbi’s wife, a reminder of his own failed marriage, his inconsequential mission, and his failure as a detective in tracking down the stolen cross of his church, found on the roof of the Rabbi’s synagogue. Another failed marriage is revealed in a dialogue-only story, “Edgemont Drive,” in which a drifter inveigles himself into the lives of the couple in front of whose house he parks his beat-up car daily.
“Liner Notes” is the most confusing: a stream-of-consciousness ramble by a musician about life and love. I thought it was an extract from Doctorow’s novel Billy Bathgate. Another confusing story is “The Hunter,” about a lonely teacher of a one-room school in a small town who seems to be suffering from boredom and anxiety in her job; the hunter who comes out of the woods and takes a potshot at her is an image that does not make sense to me, although I understood her desperation to “trade down” for the attentions of the roughneck school bus driver.
“Jolene” is a tale of a young orphan who escapes her foster home at the age of 15 to marry. But that one, and all her subsequent marriages, end catastrophically, each time vaulting Jolene up the social ladder but leaving her broke and losing everything she acquires. “Willie” is a frightening tale of a son betraying his cheating mother with tragic consequences. And for a twist on a modern-day Romeo & Juliet story, “Assimilation” takes the spot: a marriage of convenience to obtain an American Green Card backfires when the couple falls in love.
Doctorow is a master storyteller, that much is clear when you look at the variety of subject matter in this collection, the variety of styles, and his ability to withhold information, letting the reader supply the rest – something novice writers have a hard time with, and which is an absence that frustrates readers. If there is one common thread in the stories, it is because the protagonists seem to be going for the ride with their individual circumstances and are not rebelling or in conflict with the world, as is the normal rule of fiction.