Il museo dei pesci morti

by Charles D'Ambrosio, Martina Testa (Translator)

Che siano falegnami sul set di un film porno, puntigliosi riparatori di macchine da scrivere o sceneggiatori di successo finiti in un ospedale psichiatrico, i personaggi di questi otto racconti lottano per superare il trauma di un abbandono o di una violenza, per comprendere la deriva delle persone amate, per mantenere la propria umanità in un’America marginale e dolente, provinciale e uggiosa. La scrittura precisa e potente di D’Ambrosio (autore schivo e poco prolifico, ma acclamato dalla critica americana come una delle rivelazioni degli ultimi anni) li riscatta, regalandoci un capolavoro dal fascino oscuro da cui, come ha scritto il Seattle Times, «è quasi impossibile staccare gli occhi». «D’Ambrosio scava in una vena ricca, profonda e pericolosa del cuore di roccia spezzato della narrativa americana. I suoi personaggi vivono vite che ardono di una luce cupa e intensa come la prosa che li crea. Nessuno, oggi, scrive racconti migliori di questi» (Michael Chabon). «Con Il museo dei pesci morti, D’Ambrosio si è conquistato un posto al fianco di Carver, Denis Johnson e Richard Yates» (Bookforum).

Genres: Short Stories, Fiction, Literary Fiction, Contemporary, Short Story Collection, Literature, Americana

287 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 2006

About the author

Charles D'Ambrosio attended the Iowa Writers Workshop after getting his BA in English at Oberlin College in Ohio. He is the author of two collections of short stories, The Point and The Dead Fish Museum, and one collection of essays, Orphans. He has taught at several universities and workshops, including Reed College and The Tin House Summer Workshop, both in Portland, Oregon where he lives with his wife, Heather Larimer.

Reviews

[Orsodimondo · Rating 5 out of 5]

IL CONTRARIO DELL’AMORE NON È L’ODIO MA LA DISPERAZIONE



Ogni volta che si parla di racconti, si tira in ballo Carver.
Un po’ come ogni volta che si parla di adolescenza, subito spunta Holden, e ogni volta che l’argomento è la memoria ecco apparire Proust.

I personaggi di questi racconti sono stati abbandonati, sono vittime, sono uniti dalla malattia, sono alla deriva, senza riscatto, senza rivincita, inseguono qualcosa che non hanno mai posseduto – si muovono in un’America provinciale degradata dolente e dura che ha perso fiducia.
D’Ambrosio la così descrive:
È un paesaggio bellissimo pieno di angoli marci, treni arrugginiti, case diroccate. È una terra di ottimismo e false promesse, di speranza e disperazione.



Sono pagine dove, anche senza violenza, armi, o sangue, si costruisce un senso di attesa e una tensione che sembra potrebbe esplodere da un momento all’altro. Una sensazione magnifica per il lettore.

Mi piace molto la definizione che ho letto, D’Ambrosio è un Cechov muscolare.

D’Ambrosio scrive quel genere di racconti che ti fanno pensare che un romanzo è solo una storia sfilacciata e tirata per le lunghe – come una serie tv, ti spegne un po’ il cervello, non te lo tiene sveglio attivo e allenato come un bel film.
A dire il vero, più che di brevità parlerei di densità.



Questi racconti sono molto belli, e per quello che ne capisco, ha ragione chi lo sostiene, tra queste pagine, Carver si sente.

Mi piace leggere…e ogni tanto, se sono fortunato, incontro una bella frase o un pensiero ben espresso, alzo gli occhi dal libro, percepisco l’armonia di una certa idea, la sua giustizia, e capisco che il punto è tutto lì. Per me la vita sta in questo, in questi momenti di scoperta privata. Non mi accontenterei di qualcosa di meno, ma non mi aspetto neanche tanto di più.


Mia moglie non dice la parola frigorifero tanto bene. Deve imparare ancora. Lo dice: 'il museo dei pesci morti'.

[Melki · Rating 3 out of 5]

I don't know why I didn't like these stories more. Technically, they are perfect little masterpieces.
And yet...

The stories seem to be missing a certain spark, for lack of a better word, that lifts them into the category of amazing, or at least, memorable. It took me six days to read this book and when I was finished, I flipped back to the first story. I could not remember a thing about it.

Most of the stories drop off into nothingness: no real endings, no resolutions, no lessons learned by the characters.

Maybe it's just that this book pales in comparison to the last short story collection I read - North American Lake Monsters: Stories. Those stories were not as well written, but they were imaginative, entrancing, and most importantly, full of life.

This one?

Not so much.

[Kim Fabbri · Rating 4 out of 5]

"La mia vita ideale è una vita tranquilla. Mi piace leggere, stare seduto fermo sulla stessa sedia, con il paralume a un certo angolo, da solo, o con Meagan a fianco, e ogni tanto, se sono fortunato, incontro una bella frase o un pensiero ben espresso, alzo gli occhi dal libro, percepisco l'armonia di una certa idea, la sua giustizia, e capisco che il punto è tutto lì. Per me la vita sta in questo, in questi momenti di scoperta privata. Non mi accontenterei di qualcosa di meno, ma non mi aspetto neanche tanto di più."

Quando un libro di racconti è così ben costruito me lo godo alla pari di un ottimo romanzo. E D'Ambrosio è uno forte, mi è piaciuto conoscerlo. Ogni racconto è davvero diverso e i contesti descritti sono inusuali: falegnami sul set di un film porno, uno sceneggiatore di successo finito in un ospedale psichiatrico, un venditore di macchine da scrivere alle prese con il figlio malato ma anche le care e vecchie famiglie disfunzionali. Sono contesti che profumano di Carver o di Yates ma D'Ambrosio è più forte. La sua scrittura è affascinante, semplice e diretta ma anche piena di poesia quando approfondisce aspetti del quotidiano che generalmente dai per scontati. Lascia i finali in sospeso, come fanno anche i suoi colleghi, ma quando arrivi all'ultima parola percepisci solo un senso di conclusione, senti che non potrà esserci altro, che l'umanità è perduta e che non c'è proprio un cazzo da fare. A quel punto ritrovi la tua pace e la tua ansia quotidiane e sei pronto per una nuova orrenda giornata sapendo che anche per tutti gli altri sarà così, sicuramente anche per il buon D'Ambrosio.

[Alessia Scurati · Rating 3 out of 5]

Ho ufficialmente un problema con un tipo di storie che raccontano l’America profonda.
Ho anche un problema con D’Ambrosio, ma non è colpa sua. Quando si parla della sua scrittura, immancabilmente vengono citati echi di Moody, Carver o Chechov. Non sono una fan di Moody, a Carver ho sempre preferito Cheever e Chechov non l’ho mai sopportato se non come drammaturgo. Non mi piace proprio.
Penso, in fin della fiera, che il mio problema davanti a D’Ambrosio riguardi la gestione della rabbia. Ogni racconto, ogni storia è pervasa da situazioni potenzialmente esplosive, che non esplodono mai. Tutta quella rabbia repressa e quella violenza repressa, quella disperazione repressa. Fanno venire i nervi a me.
Elaborazioni personali a parte, sono dei gran racconti, fatti di una scrittura densa e spietata.
Però, mi sembra sempre che alla fine mi manchi qualcosa.
Il contrario dell’amore non è l’odio, è la disperazione.
A me avrebbe fatto piacere un po’ di odio in più, forse.

Lo spartiacque alto ***
Drummond e figlio **
Sceneggiatore ****
Su al Nord *****
Lo schema generale delle cose ***
Il museo dei pesci morti *****
Preghiera *****
Il gioco delle ossa ****

[Christine · Rating 4 out of 5]

A friend of mine raved about this collection. She absolutely RAVED about it–to the point where I became rather suspicious. Could it be THAT good? She kept telling me to read it.

So of course, in my stubborn way, I decided to NOT read it right away. I mean, no one tells me what to do and what to like!

But I finally did pick up the book, a year later. And fell in love with the stories and D’Ambrosio’s writing. These are complex, complete stories–the characters so intricate, the writing both ruthless and compassionate. The level of detail he provides (and the eye for the right details) is amazing–I’ll have to pick apart each of the stories later, see where he goes deep and where he hangs back, and try to learn that perfect balance between the near and far. In terms of themes and such–they somehow remind me of Mary Gaitskill’s stories in the way they show the dark side of humanity.

Awesome collection.

[Mark Hartzer · Rating 4 out of 5]

Although some might call these 8 short stories by Charles d’Ambrosio, I like to think of them as brief vignettes of ordinary, if damaged, people. 3.5 stars overall because the bad stories are 1 star stories rounded up by good writing.

“The High Divide” A young boy (Ignatius) stuck in a Catholic orphanage discovers a friend (Donny) at the nearby public school. I won’t spoil the story, but Ignatius' father is also close by. Donny and his dad take our young protagonist for an overnight hike in the Cascade Mountains. Good writing; interesting characters; quite a bit of Catholic undertones, but not weird or offensive. 4 stars

‘Drummond & Son” Drummond owns a typewriter repair shop and the son in question is his mentally disabled son, Pete. The story is set in rainy Seattle and d’Ambrosio demonstrates some excellent writing in this tale. Here is an example: “The boy couldn’t carry his end of the conversation, not even with nods of feigned interest. His moods were a kind of unsettled weather, either wind-whipped or becalmed by an overcasting silence. His face, blunt and drawn inward, was now and then seized by spasms, and his body, boggy and soft, was racked by jerky, purposeless movements.” We know that Pete is 25, lives with Drummond and suffers from mental illness. Drummond’s wife has left the family after having to have cared for Pete all these years. This story reminded me of some of Hemingway’s better short stories. 5 stars

“Screenwriter” A former screenwriter has checked himself into a mental hospital. He befriends a young woman who also has mental illness. Here is the protagonist speaking with the woman: “I shrugged. ‘What’s up with the Manerix?’ ‘That new antidepressant that’s supposed to depress my depression better than the old antidepressants did?’ ‘Yeah, that one.’ ‘I ditched it.’ ‘Is that a good idea? How’s it going, without meds?’ ‘I feel like burning myself, if that’s what you mean.’” Hmmm. I’m starting to see a pattern here. 4 stars

“Up North” An early winter hunting trip set in Michigan north of Saginaw. “‘Up a ways there’s a fork,’ she said. ‘You want to stay right.’ Before I could start the car again, two men in orange caps crossed in front of us, rifles slung over their shoulders. They stopped in the road and waved, the ears beneath their caps like pink blossoms in the raw cold, and then they bumbled into the woods. I stared at their fresh footprints in the snow. ‘You know them?’ I asked. ‘No,’ she said.”
This could have been written by Hemingway and the rest of the story is equally good. 5 stars

“The Scheme of Things” Two grifting, (former?) drug abusers trying to beg, borrow or steal stuff while in rural Iowa. Thoroughly unenjoyable. 2 stars

“The Dead Fish Museum” They’re making a porn movie in a run down hotel. The characters are uniformly unlikeable. Racism; mental illness; shoplifting; child neglect; shitty porn (duh). Also thoroughly unenjoyable. 2 stars

“Blessing” A young couple moves from New York across the country to rural western Washington to rehab an old house. The wife’s younger brother is having a birthday. The brother, ‘Jimmy’, and their father come for the housewarming/birthday party and deal with a torrential rainstorm. Undercurrents of dissatisfaction and sadness permeate the story. But again, the writing is top notch even if you can sense the damaged lives. You can glimpse the momentary happiness of the birthday while still dreading the almost certain deterioration of the character’s lives. Very good. 4 stars

“The Bone Game” Ugh. Why did the final story have to be so dissatisfying? Again, we have a series of people we really can’t like. My problem with stories like these is that I’ll never get back the time I spent reading this. The premise is excellent... a grandson wanting to spread the ashes of his dead grandfather in a place befitting his life. A noble thought. Unfortunately, the story deteriorates into weird backseat sexytime; chartering a fishing boat; random gunfire and half assed gambling. Interesting, but flawed. 3 stars

[Micol Benimeo · Rating 5 out of 5]

Difficilmente sentirete citare Charles D’Ambrosio quando si parla dei grandi americani del racconto ed è un vero peccato perché è lì che questa raccolta lo colloca di diritto. Come in Carver veniamo calati nel mezzo del racconto, è quel momento, quella situazione che crea la narrazione, quello che succede prima o quello che accadrà dopo viene lasciato al lettore da decifrare. Sono le parole e i gesti dei personaggi a creare la narrazione. Quello che dicono e quello che non dicono. Quello che mostrano e quello che nascondono, anche a loro stessi. L’America che incontriamo qui è provinciale, marginale, sempre sull’orlo del baratro. ‘Sempre un po’ fuori luogo, sempre un po’ cancellati’ come scrive D’Ambrosio nel racconto Preghiera. In questo senso il racconto esemplare è ‘Lo schema generale delle cose’, una sorta di Robin Hood alla rovescia in cui i poveracci cercano di truffare i poveracci. Se i Cohen volessero farci un film dovrebbero lavorare pochissimo, ogni immagine di D’Ambrosio sembra uscita dalla loro macchina da presa.

‘Una famiglia di zucche intagliate era appoggiata sul davanzale della veranda, con i sorrisi tutti dentoni rischiarati dalla luce di candela che si annerivano a intermittenza, sventrandosi in una risata a ogni raffica di vento. Sulla veranda c’era un mucchietto di giornali lasciati ad accartocciarsi accanto a una cassetta del latte. Al piano terra si vedeva un chiarore giallo e caldo, e ogni tanto l’ombra di una donna passava rapidamente davanti a una finestra della cucina appannata dal vapore.’

C’è una violenza sottaciuta o evidente che pervade l’atmosfera dei racconti di D’Ambrosio, familiare e insormontabile come nella coppia di ‘Giu al Nord’ o plateale e gratuita come quando i ragazzi sparano ai salmoni (Il gioco delle ossa). La sua scrittura avvolge come una nebbia densa, è precisa e evocativa allo stesso tempo, nessun dettaglio narrato è casuale ma nessuno è ridondante, otto racconti da manuale.

[Carl R. · Rating 5 out of 5]

The title story of this volume is, obviously, “The Dead Fish Museum,” but the D’Ambrosio story that resonated most with me was “Drummond & Son because of a conversation that took place at the Tin House conference last July. During a panel discussion, D’Ambrosio and Joy Willliams got into a rather extended exchange about where you could find the best typewriter repair shop--in the country. Both of them still use these antediluvian devices, and things being what they are, need to get them serviced, and the opportunities for such are, of course, limited. Though there are many more than I’d imagined. The discussion brought to mind Annie Proulx’s remark that she writes in longhand and writers who don’t are lazy. Which harks back to Eugene O’Neil’s dilemma when a nerve disease robbed him of the ability to write in longhand simply couldn’t create any more. Some kind of kinesthetic synapse had been destroyed and he couldn’t tap into his author-brain.

I enjoyed the days of the manual typewriter myself. Lots of aggression got funneled into that old red Royal, which stood up to many years of abuse without flinching. However, I willingly gave it up for this electronic gadget that doesn’t require me to insert fresh paper and start a page over or twist open the Wite-Out every time I make a mistake. Maybe if I’d stuck with the Royal, I’d have written and published something notable by now.

At any rate, D’Ambrosio makes admirable use of his Olivetti. The aforementioned “Drummond & Son” does refer to the name of a typewriter repair shop. Drummond is the proprietor, having learned the business from his father, and he does have a son. But the son is mentally ill, a twenty-five-year-old who suffers various delusions--some dangerous to himself, some merely inconvenient to others--and cannot live on his own. The mother has left, unable to carry the burden any longer. As in many of his stories, D’Ambrosio scatters humor in the midst of painful situations, even one as hurtful as this, and you don’t feel the characters are trapped, hopeless, despairing even while they struggle.

Take another example, “Screenwriter,” about a man who has checked himself into a mental institution (He’s got plenty of money from all the blockbusters he’s penned), and obviously belongs there. He maneuvers a pass and visits a woman who has just been released (God knows why), one who burns and cuts herself. He’s horny, but things don’t work out in that department, and he stays to console and be consoled. Strange, but believably comforting in the end.

You might think from these two examples that mental illness is one of

D’Ambrosio’s things, and you’d be right. Even in situations where characters aren’t certifiable, as in the above, they often skirt the borderline. And he puts them in a wide range of geography (NYC, North Woods, West Coast) and situations. Take the title story, about a guy who’s about to commit suicide, but takes on a job to help build a porn movie studio while he’s trying to work up the courage. Or the couple, just out of rehab and obviously brain-damaged from drugs (at least she is), who travel the country taking contributions for an organization that purports to help drug-addicted babies. That one’s about charity and near-death/afterlife experiences. There are a couple of sterling family dramas also--”Up North” and “Blessing” in particular.

This is first-rate, inspiring writing by an established author of unsurpassed ability and accomplishments. Keep pounding on that thing, Charley. It works for your writing and for my reading.

[Ligeia · Rating 4 out of 5]

il museo minimalista della sfiga e dei sopravvissuti a essa

antologia minimalista di marcata impronta americana, i protagonisti sono persone che hanno avuto problemi e sono sopravvissuti, ma non sono più tornati a essere come prima, la malattia mentale, l'abbandono, la prigione, la droga, sono tutte cose da cui non si torna indietro o almeno chi torna non è lo stesso che è partito

racconti densi, ma non cattivi, lievi nel sottintendere e un po' grevi nel suggerire un'evoluzione più triste che avverrà fuori scena, dopo che il sipario è calato e il libro è stato riposto sullo scaffale...i tormentati scivolano via, ma le loro derive restano annidate in un angolo, come grani di sabbia dura attaccata alle ciabatte dopo una passeggiata sulla spiaggia...

[Chris · Rating 3 out of 5]

Two pages into the title story I was awed and ready to fall in love with this whole collection, and then...it didn't quite happen.

Dark, distantly mystical stories about porn carpenters and floods on the Skagit river that are cryptic as hell and set in places I've lived...what's not to like? But I guess for all their promise these stories were more admirable than affecting -- they gave the feeling of "damn, wouldn't THAT be fun to puzzle over in a sterile academic environment" rather than the feeling of "I have just been hit in the heart with a horsewhip." Cause, y'know, it's that horsewhipped feeling we all hunger for.

[Kennedy Elise Edwards · Rating 4 out of 5]

D'Ambrosio draws out the profundities hiding in the corners of everyday life through poetic descriptions of settings, events, and the inner-thoughts and conversations between his characters.

I learned a lot of new words and felt a range of emotions while reading this collection of short stories. It is dense and took me about an hour per story, roughly 30 pages each. There are repeated themes and imagery related to spirituality, Catholicism, water, mental illness, grief, feeling out of place, father-son relationships, love, and sex.

I especially enjoy the way he describes the appearances of people with similes like "with thick glasses and blue eyes that drifted behind them like tropical fish," and "her feet dragged across the floor like the last two dodoes." It is near impossible to pick out a favorite quote as I might end up transcribing the entire book. My top favorite stories are "Drummond & Son" and "Screenwriter" and my close seconds are "The High Divide" and "The Scheme of Things." As I mentioned, spirituality is one of the more prominent themes within the collection, but "The Scheme of Things" is the only story with an acknowledged supernatural element. It also stands out to me because it is the only story told from a female character's perspective.

I will definitely re-read this at a later date and would be interested in reading other work by the author.

POTENTIAL DISCOMFORT DISCLAIMER:
"Up North" Story: discusses a rape in a icky and unresolved way.
"The Dead Fish Museum" Story: is porn.

[Guido · Rating 3 out of 5]

Charles D’Ambrosio wordt beschouwd als een van de belangrijkste hedendaagse Amerikaanse verhalenschrijvers. De Los Angeles Times plaats hem zelfs naast de grootmeester van het genre, Raymond Carver.
Met ‘Het dodevissenmuseum’ brengt hij in elk geval een boeiende verzameling verhalen aan waarin het leven in de onderbuik van de Amerikaanse samenleving wordt geschetst. In de verhalen duiken geregeld mensen met psychische problemen op: een man met waanvoorstellingen, een jongen met tardieve dyskinesie die krankzinnige boodschappen uitstuurt, een man met suïcidale neigingen en een vrouw die de neiging heeft om zichzelf in brand te steken, een drugsverslaafd koppel.

In tegenstelling tot menige verhalenschrijver werkt D’Ambrosio niet naar een clou toe. Hij schetst een situatie, laat de personages hun rol spelen en de verhaallijn zich ontwikkelen en stopt ‘in the middle of nowhere’ om zo te zeggen. Gewoon een sfeer oproepen, een greep uit het dagelijkse leven van de ongewone Amerikaan weergeven.
Zo krijg je het verhaal van een vader die zijn zoon en diens vriend op een klauterpartij trakteert in bergachtig gebied om zijn zoon uiteindelijk zijn nakende scheiding aan te kondigen. Je krijgt een inkijk in een winkel van schrijfmachines (het amfitheater van de liggende hamers) die gerund wordt door een vader en zijn mentaal gehandicapte zoon. Verder wordt er een heel aparte relatie tussen twee psychiatrische patiënten geschetst en op de après-chasse van kalkoenen vindt een botsing tussen een man en zijn promiscue vrouw plaats. Ook van de cynische oplichterij van een aan drugs verslaafd koppel die donaties ronselt voor baby’s die aan drugs verslaafd geboren wordt, maak je deel uit.
De personages worden vaak verrassend beschreven. Zo blijft me de takachtige vrouw die haar kleine bruine worteltjes ineenvouwt en de man met ogen die lijken op doorgebrande zekeringen bij.
Sommige verhalen zijn toegankelijker dan andere, maar alle getuigen ze van vakmanschap en een scherp observatievermogen.

Voer voor de literair geschoolde lezer.

[Larry Bassett · Rating 4 out of 5]

It is always chancy to pick out a book that has a title that you do not understand. If it is a book of short stories, it can be especially dangerous since the title is probably only connected with one story.

The Dead Fish Museum was published in 2006 so my aged brain classifies that as “recent.” Then I think, “Is eight years ago recent?” and I think, “Maybe not recent.”

The dust jacket of this book is a black and white photograph of old fashion typewriter keys but instead of letters, the keys contain the title of the book. Strange to have the image of an old fashion typewriter on a “recent” book.

He rolled two sheets of paper into the novelist’s Olivetti, typing the date and a salutation to his wife, then sat with his elbows on the workbench, staring. He wondered if he should drop “Dear” and go simply with “Theresa,” keeping things businesslike, a touch cold. Whenever Drummond opened a machine, he saw a life in the amphitheater of seated type bars, just as a dentist, peering into a mouth for the first time, probably understood something about the person, his age and habits and vices. Letters were gnawed and ground down like teeth, gunked up with the ink and the plaque of gum erasers, stained with everything from coffee to nicotine and lipstick, but none of his knowledge helped him now. Drummond wanted to type a letter and update his wife, but the mechanic in him felt as though the soul of what he had to say just wasn’t in the machine. He looked at the greeting again and noticed that the capital “T” in his wife’s name was faintly blurred. That sometimes happened when the type bar struck the guide and slipped sideways on impact, indicating a slight misalignment.

These snippets are from Drummond & Son, not even the title story. About a man who owns a typewriter store and works with his twenty-five year old mentally disabled son. In this one, a young man comes to pick up his renovated, ancient typewriter.

When the kid came over, he could hardly believe it was the same machine. He typed the words everyone typed: “now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their – “
“Is it ‘country’ or ‘party’?” he asked.
“I see it both ways,” Drummond said.
He wrote up a sales slip while the kid tapped the keys a couple of times more and looked down doubtfully at the machine. There was something off in its rightness and precision, an old and familiar antagonism gone, a testiness his fingers wanted to feel. He missed the adversity of typing across a platen pitted like a minefield, the resistance of the querulous keys that would bunch and clog. Drummond had seen this before. The kid wasn’t ready to say it yet, but half of him wanted the jalopy touch of his broken Olivetti back.
“It’s different,” he said.

I can tell that this is a marvelous book. Can’t wait for the title story! Here is your spoiler for this review: It turns out that “dead fish museum” is what the wife of a refugee from Central America calls a refrigerator because she does not know the English word. Not much of a spoiler, right? But it gives you a sense of the tenor of the book: a little wacky.

Here are some internet diversions:
Excerpt from the book: http://www.nytimes.com/2006/05/21/boo...
NY Times review: http://www.nytimes.com/2006/05/21/boo...
Author interview: http://quarterlyconversation.com/the-...

Fine if you skipped those for the time being, but you will want to come back to them eventually if you really want to think about this high class book. As it says on the bookflap: ��A must read for everyone who cares about literary writing.” Believe it! It says so right on the inside back flap of the book! Alfred A. Knopf would not shit you!

When you read a used book, you find out how many people turn over the corner of the page to mark a spot. It’s a lot!

I was afraid that this book was going to be a downer. It was not although it delved into some down situations. In this case, I think the book jacket got it right:

Many writers speak of the abyss. Charles D’Ambrosio writes as if he is inside of it, gazing upward, and the gaze itself is redemptive, a great yearning ache, poignant and wondrous, equal parts grit and grace.

I spent the book looking up with a bit of awe and glad for the perspective. Four stars easily.

P.S. The final story is titled The Bone Game. Someday someone will have to explain that story to me. I think it was quite surreal and fun but I am not sure what it all meant. Or how the ashes of a 99 year old grandfather get mixed with spawning salmon in the Pacific northwest.

[Stephanie B]

If you are into beautiful writing about gloomy worlds, and the quietly desperate people who live in them, with some very intriguing looks at mental illness - this is likely for you. I liked some stories more than others, but he’s a mighty fine writer - no doubt. I keep thinking about Drummond & Son in particular, but several of the stories are still sitting in my head.

I read this while awaiting “The Point” which I have heard is just the best.

[Aaron · Rating 3 out of 5]

I picked this up from the library due to the long litany of writers whose works I admire (Michael Chabon among them) making very vocal recommendations for this young man being the best new writer to emerge in quite some time. For that reason, I am a bit surprised at how underwhelmed I was by this collection of short stories. The stories all struck me as being wonderful middles to stories that had beginnings and ends that we, as readers, were not made privy to. They're thought-provoking slices of life that don't really go anywhere. Intriguing seeds for what could be damn fine novels.

In the entire collection, only one story wowed me. "Drummond and Son" concerns a lonely typewriter repairman, whose wife recently left him, saddling him with a twenty-five-year-old son who has severe mental issues that are ambiguous. A major part of the story revolves a typewriter whose owner preferred said typewriter before Drummond fixed it and is willing to pay him to break it again, reverting it back to the state it was in. Lots of symbolism to be drawn between the writer who wants what he had and the typewriter mechanic who cannot fix what he has.

D'Ambrosio is a mighty fine writer. He has quite a vocabulary and there isn't a word in this entire collection that seems misused or out of place. But I want to be transported somewhere when I read and these stories just didn't do it.

[Paola · Rating 5 out of 5]

Protagoniste dei racconti di D'Ambrosio sono le vite dolenti, incompiute, fallite, mancanti di una più parti vitali dei protagonisti (un bambino, una coppia che ha appena comprato una casa, una coppia di tossici che vivono d'espedienti, un giovane ereditiero alla morte del nonno, il marito di una donna stuprata da giovane e che da allora non ha mai avuto un orgasmo, lo sceneggiatore con disturbi mentali...)
I personaggi sono fissati in un presente fatto di piccoli o grandi avvenimenti (la visita di parenti, un ricovero in ospedale psichiatrico, in viaggio...) che rimandano alle sofferenze destate dai vuoti delle loro vite. C'é una ricerca di senso ma più che altro ci viene raccontata una rassegnata accettazione dell'impossibilità di un cambiamento.
La prosa di D'Ambrosio é semplice e limpida, quieta vien da definirla, ma come dei ciottoli gettati nella tranquilla superficie di un lago, i racconti fanno nascere dentro di noi increspature di senso che si allargano sempre di più.
Ho chiuso la lettura provando quel senso di perdita e di vaga nostalgia che si vive quando un libro ha la capacità di produrre echi e risonanze dentro di noi che ci portano lontano e in profondità. Cosa rara, purtroppo.
Ah il titolo. Il museo dei pesci morti. Che strano titolo mi son detta.
A pag. 184 si scopre l'arcano.

[Michael Kocinski · Rating 2 out of 5]

As a general rule I like movies and books that end but aren't 'over'; you know the story continues without your participation but you've seen or read all you're going to get. All of the stories in Dead Fish Museum end without being over, which I'd ordinarily like, but they are so anticlimactic and buttoned-up as if to imply closure, but there is none. The stories are literary and dense, and there are many beautiful sentences and details. Still, the stories are not generous to the reader. I wondered many times what stories were about, or why they were written, or even why I finished reading them. The emotional build up I experienced through out the stories, and the anticipation that elicited, never fully delivered for me. The writing in the stories is lovely. But overall the collection left me feeling unsatisfied.

[Francesca Maccani · Rating 4 out of 5]

Questa di D'Ambrosio è una raccolta di racconti potentissimi. I protagonisti sono persone che hanno avuto problemi e sono sopravvissuti, ma non sono più tornati a essere come prima, la malattia mentale, l'abbandono, la prigione, la droga, sono tutte cose da cui non si torna indietro e, chi torna, non è lo stesso che è partito

Racconti densi che suggeriscono un'evoluzione più triste che avverrà fuori scena, dopo che il sipario è calato e il libro è stato riposto sullo scaffale...i tormentati scivolano via, ma le loro derive restano annidate in un angolo, come grani di sabbia dura attaccata alle ciabatte dopo una passeggiata sulla spiaggia...

In questa raccolta, D'Ambrosio ci conduce per mano attraverso un'umanità dolente, in cammino verso una destinazione che per molti rappresenta un'incognita. Un'umanità che, come dice il personaggio di uno dei racconti, "non poteva fare altro che vivere la sua vita, proprio come me e come lei".
Sono uomini soli quelli che abitano questi racconti, uomini che sotto le vesti di un'apparenza come tante nascondono ferite mai rimarginate, uomini che si portano dietro un dolore difficile da dire e (forse per questo) impossibile da condividere.
D'Ambrosio racconta queste storie irrisolte in maniera onesta, senza ricorrere a trovate e colpi di scena, affidandosi unicamente alla forza della trama e ad una scrittura lineare, precisa, raffinata e ricca di immagini e suoni.
Il secondo racconto dal titolo Drummond e figlio è una delle cose più belle che io abbia mai letto. Qui l'autore tocca picchi di bellezza stilistica che è raro incontrare.
E poi lui, è un grande, anzi un grandissimo. Una persona eccezionale che sintetizza talento e umiltà.

[Romany Arrowsmith · Rating 5 out of 5]

At a loss for words to describe these stories. If you have had relatives who are deeply mentally ill, you will relate to this book, but maybe not like it. If you like the poem Life Story by Tennessee Williams, you will like the book. Here is the poem.

After you've been to bed together for the first time,
without the advantage or disadvantage of any prior acquaintance,
the other party very often says to you,
Tell me about yourself, I want to know all about you,
what's your story? And you think maybe they really and truly do

sincerely want to know your life story, and so you light up
a cigarette and begin to tell it to them, the two of you
lying together in completely relaxed positions
like a pair of rag dolls a bored child dropped on a bed.

You tell them your story, or as much of your story
as time or a fair degree of prudence allows, and they say,
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,
each time a little more faintly, until the oh
is just an audible breath, and then of course

there's some interruption. Slow room service comes up
with a bowl of melting ice cubes, or one of you rises to pee
and gaze at himself with the mild astonishment in the bathroom mirror.
And then, the first thing you know, before you've had time
to pick up where you left off with your enthralling life story,
they're telling you their life story, exactly as they'd intended to all along,

and you're saying, Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,
each time a little more faintly, the vowel at last becoming
no more than an audible sigh,
as the elevator, halfway down the corridor and a turn to the left,
draws one last, long, deep breath of exhaustion
and stops breathing forever. Then?

Well, one of you falls asleep
and the other one does likewise with a lighted cigarette in his mouth,
and that's how people burn to death in hotel rooms.

[Andrew]

I rather loved D'Ambrosio's essay collection, Loitering, but somehow the brilliance with which he approached everyday life there doesn't translate into these stories. They're well-crafted, sure... and that wounds up counting for nothing. I was hoping he wouldn't write bland New Yorker fiction about things going juuuuuust a bit quirky in everyday situations, all of which eventually turn into the same damn thing. He did.

[Jeff Friederichsen · Rating 5 out of 5]

D'Ambrosio is a short story master. Characters and relationships are revealed gradually in their complexity, and served with a degree of tension and unpredictability that never goes over the top. Excellent collection, without exception!

[Leo · Rating 5 out of 5]

4.5

[Laysee · Rating 4 out of 5]

The Dead Fish Museum is a collection of eight stories by Charles D’Ambrosio. It won the 2007 Washington State Book Award for Fiction and was a finalist for the PEN/Faulkner Award. I have never heard of D’Ambrosio nor read any of his writing. However, the title beckons like a haunting call and I was only too delighted to read it when a friend loaned me his copy.

I read the first few pages of the first story, The High Divide, and was charmed by the visual quality of the prose. I appreciated the freshness in the turns of expression (e.g., a shriveled old man depicted as “a chunk of gingerroot”, the bite of an apple “turned brown like an old laugh” or a cathedral sanctuary likened to “a foreign country one can access if one knew the language”). The story featured two boys each with his own heartache: Ignatius lived with the nuns because his father had lost his mind and mother had died; Donny had to be separated from his mother as his parents were going to be divorced. The sadness descended as a matter of fact and as easy as breathing.

I read slowly and quickly realized that one story was all I could manage at a time. These were difficult stories to read. They told of wounded souls – psych ward inmates who self-immolate, probates newly released from prison, failed writers or actors, sick individuals with homicidal ideations (e.g. poke a crying baby in the eye), and normal people swept along by the stresses of life. D’Ambrosio had a steely, keen observation of visceral pain that cut to the quick. His prose was incisive without losing its lyrical quality. It carried also an uncanny ability to artlessly slide into labyrinths of intense darkness and pain. It must be an awfully tough job scripting huge raw feelings into the confined space of the short story, and D’Ambrosio does it well.

I winced when the anorexic ballerina burnt herself with cigarette butts and candle wax (The Screenwriter). I was touched by the father’s love for his adult schizophrenic son (Drummond & Son). I learned that even with members of one’s family, the blessing of kin is not unalloyed (Blessing). Interestingly enough, the story I least enjoyed was the titular tale about a crazed foreman and his carpentry crew thrown together at a porn movie set, perhaps on account of all the macho talk, gun play, and teasing threats of violence.

I discovered I can dislike a story and it will still linger in my mind. The last story, The Bone Game, was one of these. A male probate was driving into a reservation in search of a spot to scatter his grandfather’s ashes. These last rites were unceremoniously disrupted by two crazy hitchhikers he picked up along the way. The episode of the men mindlessly shooting milk cartons and salmon seemed to embody all the destructive energy that was hitherto trapped viscerally. What held my attention was the sense of sameness and futility that I felt at the end: “The stream was full, the dying still dying, the living continuing their run, while yesterday's dead had been washed out to sea, making room for today's."

Most of the stories ended on a note of uncertainty or resignation. In The Bone Game, the last words seemed to sum it all up, "Salmon season was over, but otherwise nothing had changed." There is nothing new under the sun. There is also no solace. The stories in The Dead Fish Museum are not for everyone but the prose is beautiful. For that alone, I’m glad I read this work.

[Josh Ang · Rating 4 out of 5]

Hailed as a latter-day Raymond Carver, the master of the American short form himself, I picked up Charles D'Ambrosio's collection up with much anticipation. The first story, "The High Divide", however, didn't quite engage me, perhaps because I was a little thrown off by (what I interpreted as) the deliberateness of 'exoticising' the setting and the main character's circumstances with these opening lines: "At the Home I'd get up early, the Sisters were still asleep, and head to the ancient Chinese man's store." How the boy came to be a resident of the Home also seemed an attempt to shock with the quietly disconsolate way it is revealed to the reader. However, these cynical musings soon gave way to real awe and wonder as I got swept away by the brevity and precision of the prose and 'slice-of-life' vignettes D-Ambrosio so expertly crafted.

In the stories that follow, we are introduced to characters who struggle to live, or are sometimes so detached from the business of living they wither away at the edges of society. The middle-aged owner of a typewriter (repair) shop fights to keep his business relevant while providing care to his mentally-disturbed/deficient adult son, a suicidal screenwriter committed to a psychiatric hospital becomes embroiled with a ballerina who is addicted to burning parts of herself, and arguably makes an uneasy truce with himself by focusing on someone more damaged than himself. A man married to a fledgling actress spends time "Up North" with her family and friends while dealing with feelings of betrayal, and awkward machismo. Littered among the other stories are similarly unhappy individuals. In "Blessing", a couple from New York, Tony and Megan, to escape the harsh city for some solace in the outskirts of Mount Vernon, Washington, but finds another kind of disturbance when her family visits.

Perhaps Tony's reflection on his disconnection from his absent father while looking at a picture of his parents sums up the condition of D'Ambrosio's characters best: "The photo yields nothing in the way of memories, nothing I might attach myself to, and my perspective on the scene.. is that of the anonymous man who, strolling down a sidewalk sometime in AUG 1961, was stopped by a young couple, handed a camera, and asked to press the button - a stranger on his way elsewhere."

With nary a touch of romance or window-dressing, the author manages to cast his characters in a sympathetic light, and the afterglow of sadness that lingers long after the last sentence of each story. Definitely worth a read.

[Jessie · Rating 5 out of 5]

Eight stories that feel inevitable, subtle, and cold--cold in the clammy Northwest literal sense; they leave a weird pocket of something inside you with their endings (they expand in your head the way Flannery O'Connor describes); D'Ambrosio is both gritty and artful with the paranormal, a surprising combo -- here are a couple of stunning stretches of prose:

“Everywhere I went, he went, creeping along a few sedate paces back in soft-soled shoes, a shadow that gave off a disturbing susurrus like the maddening sibilance settling dust must make to the ears of ants.”
(47-8 “Screenwriter,” D’Ambrosio)

description of character’s physical person:
“Her nose was fat and fruitlike, a nose for pratfalls and slapstick, not jetés and pirouettes and pliés and whatnot. But her lips were lovely, the color of cold meat, and her eyes, sunk deep in their sockets, were clear blue. When you looked into them, you half-expected to see fish swimming around at the back of her head, shy ones.”
(53 “Screenwriter,” D’Ambrosio)

[Luca Speciotti · Rating 5 out of 5]

Che dire?... Ci siamo! Charles D’Ambrosio per me è un grande autore. Parte da Carver, ha lo stesso stile, ma va oltre e aggiunge significati, fantasia, poesia e un vago gusto per l’esoterico. E’ inutile adesso stare a dire quale sia il racconto più bello, hanno tutti qualcosa in comune: la famiglia, la pesca, la follia, ma sono sostanzialmente diversi. L’autore sa essere schietto e orgoglioso nel mostrasi e, uno così, o lo ami o lo odi. Io lo amo. Non dico altro o forse non ne sono capace, ma è un libro che va letto, punto e basta. Vorrei aggiungere che la sua essenzialità è tipicamente americana e sa esprimersi con un linguaggio semplice e senza fronzoli, puntando al nocciolo delle questioni. Senza perdere al tempo stesso quella profondità che hanno certi scrittori europei stilisticamente più complessi. Dipenderà dalla lingua, che è più diretta e più grezza. L’italiano è elegante e gli autori presi dal tentativo di domare le parole e dal gioco dei loro incastri, paradossalmente finiscono per indebolirle.

[Il Pech · Rating 4 out of 5]

Mi sono facilmente immerso nella tristezza, l'incompiutezza e quel senso d'impotenza che pervadono questi racconti. Sarà che sono un malinconico misantropo alcolista ma mi ci sono davvero sentito dentro.
Bravo D'ambrosio, la cui scrittura, fluida e senza fronzoli, gli permette di trattare argomenti forti rendendoli accessibili a chiunque. Atmosfere desolanti, personaggi problematici e vite difficili caratterizzano tutte queste storie.
Rispetto ad altri libri con trame studiate nel dettaglio e colpi di scena messi a posta per colpire il lettore, i racconti di questa raccolta sono degli spaccati di vita, senza finali definiti e conclusivi, e questo, a mio parere, li rende realistici e godibili. Io li ho trovate 100 volte meglio di tanti romanzi che devono necessariamente andare a parare da qualche parte.

Non descrivere, lasciami intuire, non spiegare e non raccontarmi il finale, cazzo, vaffanculo, che tanto come finirà non possiamo né vogliamo saperlo.

[Jan · Rating 4 out of 5]

god, he's good. i loved his essays in "orphans" and here, without the journalistic, semi-autobiographical element, the stories come somehow even more alive. it's as though these characters are being written by their own subconsciouses (if that's the plural); it's like getting to know them from the inside. of course everyone is incredibly damaged, has come back from death, watching their loved one suffer, self-inflicted burns, sitting in dirty bathtub water...it's an intense, at times bleak, literary world here. and yet somehow kinda sexy. i love it. reminds me a little of early denis johnson (jesus' son). he writes complicated women well, too, which is hard to do (esp. for a man?). i've always heard that d'ambrosio is a "writer's writer" -- never quite knew what that meant, but now it makes sense. he makes it look easy.

[Kristin · Rating 4 out of 5]

I think I picked this book up after reading an old review of it in the New York Times. As I read, I kept thinking, "This isn't the kind of book I normally read...." As if I wasn't the intended audience because the stories felt so masculine and often dark. And yet I loved it. The characters are intensely drawn, doing their best often in crummy circustances, and still searching for and finding beauty. The prose is beautiful; not a word wasted.