Mary Robison's Tell Me: 30 Stories

He wanted to get drunk with his wife once more. He wanted to tell her, from the greater perspective he had, that to own only a little talent, like his, was an awful, plaguing thing; that being only a little special meant you expected too much, most of the time, and liked yourself too little. He wanted to assure her that she had missed nothing.

--Mary Robison, "Yours"

Something ridiculous: When I named this blog, I was not consciously thinking of the title of the collection of Mary Robison's thirty best (or most-frequently-published, or favorite, or whatever the deciding factor was) stories, despite the fact that it was the last book I'd read. Of course it permeated my subconscious and now I feel like a silly rip-off. That really, actually happened. But I'm going to keep the name for now, and if I think of a better one I may change it.

Here's what I did at the beginning of the summer: I found interviews with my favorite writer, Amy Hempel, on the Internet. I made a list of the writers she mentioned in the interviews, took it to the library, and took out a few books. I had also heard Mary Robison's name in my favorite class (Form & Theory). And then I heard Hempel was a fan. Look: I really like Amy Hempel. You should go and read her now. (My favorite collection of hers is the most recent, The Dog of the Marriage. See it over there on my favorite books list? At the top?)

Everything suggested that I would love Mary Robison. Here's a breakdown of my impression of the stories, to give you an idea of how I liked the collection overall and to give you some direction if you'd like to read her but aren't interested in all thirty stories.

Love/like a lot [10]: “The Help,” “I Get By,” “Daughters,”* “Father, Grandfather,” “I Am Twenty-One,” “For Real,” “Your Errant Mom,” “The Wellman Twins,” “Smart,” “Yours”

Like [7]: “Coach,” “An Amateur’s Guide to the Night,” “Kite and Paint,” “Happy Boy, Allen,” “Care,” “What I Hear,” “Likely Lake”

Indifferent to [9]: “In the Woods,” “Seizing Control,” “While Home,” “In Jewel,” “Independence Day,” “Apostasy,” “Mirror,” “Doctor’s Sons,” “Sisters”

Dislike [4]: “Smoke,” “Trying,” “Pretty Ice,” “May Queen”

Now, this only reflects my opinions. A big part of my reaction to each story has to do with how it moved me emotionally. Of COURSE technique and things figure into my evaluation, but I trust my literary eye enough now that if I'm moved by something, that generally means it's technically sound as well. Beyond that, its emotional punch is a large part of what makes a story good--after all, I'm not interested in wowing readers with my technical ability so much as I am reaching something inside of them--after I've mastered the technical side. I guess that's something to keep in mind. Most of these stories are excellent technically, and so I'm sure some of the stories I didn't like, you'd love. And the other way around.

I put an asterisk next to "Daughters" because it was more compelling to me than it was likable. There was a tension throughout the whole thing that was never addressed and never played itself out. There is one moment at which a character has an outburst, but although the character's partner replies, the situation is diffused more quickly than was satisfying:

Nicholas stayed behind the wheel. "First of all, Pierce, I'm in no mood for a drink," he said. "You shouldn't be either, at five o' clock. We were going to the racetrack tonight, remember? Plus I'd like to get the books finished, if nobody minds." He looked straight ahead as he spoke.

Pierce, Nicholas's partner, tells him to calm down, and that there's time for a drink, and Nicholas merely replies that he's going to take the boxes in the car home and leaves. It felt to me as though it should be a bigger moment, possibly because the anger comes out of nearly nowhere--and because there is no follow-up to this moment that seems so huge. When Pierce tells Dell that he and Nicholas are talking about getting a divorce, it is offhandedly. I was left wondering about the continuation of this tension between Pierce and Nicholas, but Robison never provides it.

And I had a similar feeling later in the story when three adult characters, Dell, Pierce, and Gene, are chastising Dell's child, Charlotte, for stealing Gene's watch. There are obvious issues--about differences in child-rearing, for instance--that one can see MIGHT be a problem, but these issues never come out. It isn't that I would expect Robison to bring them out overtly; they are subtle in a way that extends beyond normal contemporary-lit subtlety, somehow. This unwillingness (not Robison's, of course, but I guess the story's? The characters'?) to drag out issues even in an under-the-surface way creates a serious tension that I can't imagine replicating but that I think was a really interesting choice on Robison's part.

Although her style remains fairly consistent (in this sort of best-of collection), with the inexplicable exception of the maybe-postmodern "Apostasy," Robison plays with individual elements like the tension of "Daughters" in several stories. I felt rather indifferent about "Independence Day," a story about a woman living with her sister and father after separating from her husband. Looking back, it occurred to me that the central character, too, seems indifferent to her story--and maybe that wasn't a mistake. Another compelling story was "I Am Twenty-One," really more a character sketch that involves practically no characters outside the speaker. It couldn't be longer than it is and maintain that isolation. As it is, it packs a punch in the three pages it takes up; it's a great examination of an obsessive personality and self-inflicted isolation.

Robison's fiction carries a heavy undercurrent of quiet sadness, sometimes grief, that's present in most of my favorite contemporary fiction. Still, she gives readers a reprieve occasionally, as is the case with several of my favorite stories like "I Get By," "Father, Grandfather," and "Smart," which offer small bits of optimism that you can hold onto like hell if you want to.

I would sleep on my stomach now, without a pillow, and with no sustained thoughts. I wanted what I wanted. Before bed, I had read stories with I-narrators who could've been me.

--Mary Robison, "Your Errant Mom"