Collected Short Stories of Aldous Huxley
There are over four hundred pages of them, and they vary widely in quality. Some are wonderful (“The Gioconda Smile,” “Nuns at Luncheon,” “Sir Hercules”), some are clunkers. Huxley generally does better in the longer pieces; the shorter ones tend to have a “tossed off” quality. He’s mostly in his acerbic, cruel mode (which can get repetitious in back-to-back stories), but at times he shows compassion; the results are usually successful, though, surprisingly (for such a cynic about human nature), he can get a bit mawkish. Even the prose is inconsistent; it’s mostly polished writing, but there’s some sloppy work. I wish this was a two hundred page The Best of Aldous Huxley.

The Ballad and the Source - Rosamond Lehmann
This novel is made up of three monologues. They’re framed as conversations, but Rebecca (who’s the listener) only serves to ask leading questions. This struck me as artificial (particularly since Rebecca is ten when the first exchange takes place; how could she ask the questions that lead the speaker on – and on and on?). Also, the plot and characters are exaggerated, even melodramatic. There are detailed descriptions of flowers, dresses, and a concentration on feelings. Seems like a woman’s novel, one I didn’t like, right? Wrong. This is a remarkable work. The three voices are those of very different people, but Lehmann captures each perfectly (the book is written in flawless prose). I became caught up in the dense, ambiguous, sinister, tragic story which takes shape. The middle speaker, Sibyl, is at the core of everything. Her version of events is not to be fully believed, though it’s unclear how much is falsified. She emerges as a driving force – but driven by a desire to make people and events conform to how she wants them to be. At times I thought she was evil, at other times I felt (as does Rebecca) wonder at the strength of her will. The ending is extraordinary: there’s a death (and I felt the loss); then, in the last paragraph, Rebecca has a dream. Nightmare is a more fitting word. Harry finally reveals the secret behind his silence and Sibyl emerges from where she’s been hiding in Rebecca’s heart. We suddenly understand how deeply this adult tale has affected the girl. *

The General in His Labyrinth - Gabriel Garcia Marquez (Spanish)
On the first page the General is dying. When I stopped reading, on page 170 (with a hundred pages left), he’s still dying. In other words, when dealing with the present the novel was stagnant. There was a lot of going back in time to include historical events, but this material meant little to me. What I read was good, and I was interested, but the “interested” gradually became “somewhat interested.” I think the foremost novelist of South America felt obligated to write a novel about South America’s greatest leader, Simon Bolivar. Being Garcia Marquez, he couldn’t write a simple tribute – his Bolivar has flaws, though what predominates is the man’s tremendous determination. Also, Garcia Marquez focuses on the shabby end to glory. The book was an easy read (no labyrinth in the prose), but the “somewhat” prevailed.

Time Must Have a Stop - Aldous Huxley

There are two Huxleys. One I love to read, the other I can’t tolerate. There came a turning point in his life. He had been writing acidic comedies in which people carry on absurdly; he scrutinized their self-delusion and hypocrisy. I think he reached a moral crisis. Is this all there is? He turned to spiritualism. He was going to lead people to what he discerned as an enlightened way of thinking. Unfortunately, when he goes into his spiritual mode, I decline to follow. Half of this book is brilliant early Huxley, and at its center is Eustace. He’s a sybarite and a non-believer; in fact, he despises Belief. Halfway through the book he dies. But he doesn’t die. Huxley has him exist between life and death. Eustace won’t give in to the bliss of Nothingness (which takes the form of “the Light”) because he’s too strongly attached to his individual identity; he cannot give up the gross world. Eventually he makes his appearance at a seance; although this could be high humor, Huxley treats it seriously. My problem with the enlightened Huxley is this: what are his credentials to instruct me on the Truth of existence? I respect the man, but I think I’ve read all the cynical Huxley (those early novels I love), so I’ll read no more.

Fancies and Goodnights - John Collier

Diversions. Well done and entertaining, but of little substance. And I don’t have a taste (as Collier most definitely does) for jinns, witches, spells, etc. I read about half the stories. The shame of it is that Collier – when he planted his feet firmly on the ground and dealt in deadly logic – could produce a wickedly wonderful little piece like “De Mortuis.”

Mon (The Gate) - Natsume Soseki (Japanese)

With patience and calm authority (I’m reminded of the meticulous care Japanese artists take in flower arrangement) Soseki makes the reader feel the love that a married couple have for one another. Sosuke and Oyone come alive, fully. But quietly! They’re so quiet a couple. Soseki accomplishes his purpose through simplicity, dwelling almost entirely on mundane events. There are no declarations of love, no lovemaking (not even a kiss), and the woman plays a subservient role – yet we know. The problem I have with the novel may stem from its belonging in a different culture and time (it was written in the early 1900s). The fact that Sosuke and Oyone had sexual relations before marriage has ostracized them forever from family and society. They’re guilt-ridden by their sin. This dark cloud makes the isolated world they live in a somber one. Even Sosuke’s chances of having a good job have been ruined. But Soseki does not tell us how others learned of their indiscretion (and why, if they knew the consequences of what they did, wouldn’t they keep it secret?). The ending is enigmatic and unsettling (for what I’ve described as a love story). Sosuke goes to a zen retreat to try to find peace. He’s asked to give an answer to a koan: “What was my face before my parents were born?” He comes up with an answer (one the zen master considers contemptible); he repeats the same answer when asked for it again, but we are never told what this answer is. That Sosuke fails at the retreat is believable, but when he returns home to Oyone he seems to have changed; it’s as if the fact that he has her does not matter so much. Is he fated to live in gloom? What’s to become of their love? These questions illustrate how deeply I was involved in the lives of these two characters. *

Like Life - Lorrie Moore

Lorrie Moore comes across as the best student in an MFA class. Her prose is inventive and fresh. She can grab and hold one’s interest. She has a life view (a distasteful one, but with the force of conviction behind it). At times her humor is so dark that it’s startling. All these talents (which she sometimes overuses, as if dazzled by her gifts) don’t consistently result in successful stories; characters and situations and resolutions often seem half-baked. The noteworthy exception is “You’re Ugly, Too,” in which a woman’s emotional dissolution is treated as if it were a terribly, terribly funny joke. Moore uses all her unique strengths to evoke both dread and pity.

Don Quixote - Miguel de Cervantes (Spanish)

Disappointing. Initially I found Don Quixote and Sancho Panza to be entertaining, and the premise – which involves the abandonment of reality – interested me. As for the humor, I was only mildly amused; it was often crude and silly, not to my taste. Cervantes set out to appeal to the common sensibility of the time. I had expected something more lofty, and I felt relieved that the going was so easy. After a number of variations on the same theme, Cervantes turned to the stories of people Quixote and Panza meet on their travels. These stories were very long and suffused with extreme romanticism. I saw no hint of parody – they were related in a forthright way. I can’t stomach ornate and extreme romanticism, with all the talk of womanly virtue, all the manly tears shed. I reached a point where I had enough. If Cervantes had continued with one adventure after another involving Quixote and Panza, I don’t think that could have sustained my interest either. The book may be a major step in the development of the novel, but too much has been made of it. For example, the famous battle with the windmills takes up about a third of a page, and it’s not even described; it happens off stage.

After the Fireworks - Aldous Huxley

Huxley is at his acerbic best in this novella. His main character is intelligent, cynical and acutely self-aware. But he makes the mistake of entering into an affair with a much younger woman, and age will lose out when desire and obsession rather than love are the motivating emotions. Huxley observes the man’s downfall with relish.

The Barracks Thief - Tobias Wolff
The excellent title story, almost a novella, is a study of three men. What makes it different from most such studies is that Wolff focuses on their humanity and does it with compassion; no male stereotypes, no cliches. The varying points of view are perplexing in that one wonders why they’re necessary; but only in passing, because ultimately they work. The other stories are all good, but only in “The Barracks Thief” does Wolff set the stakes high enough to evoke pity and dismay.

The Paper Door - Shiga Naoya (Japanese)
A story collection coming from a different sensibility. The mood is one of pristine stillness, but the raggedness and ugliness of life are also present. Shiga is an introspective writer – this is thinly veiled autobiography. Some stories are mere incidents, but they have an admirable “moment frozen in time” quality. The resonance and ambiguity of “The Shopboy’s God” make it stand out from the others – it’s a remarkable work.

After Many a Summer - Aldous Huxley
In the pages of this “novel” we find an author who had lost interest in writing novels. This is more of a philosophical discourse – for many pages it’s only that. Huxley had a theory about Life that he urgently wished to impart. I believe his ideas are worth thinking about. As for the novel part, it’s bizarre, wild, provocative, peopled by characters who are exaggerated representations of types. It’s also awkward, static, offhand and pedantic. The result is a stew thrown together by someone who’d reached the point where he didn’t give a damn about the conventionalities of novel writing.

CivilWarLand in Bad Decline - George Saunders
Odd – plot, setting, style of humor, perspective, characters, etc. Oddity is Saunders’ shtick. But the oddity is predictable; he uses the same basic formula in story after story. Even the underlying view of human nature and the moral point of the stories is the same: the world, on the brink of apocalypse, is mad, we need to show compassion (which most can’t). Everything is entertaining, but I suggest you read the best of the lot – “Bounty” – and skip the others. Of course, after you read one of these stories you won’t take my advice; you’ll read them all. And therein lies Saunders’ ticket to success.