For years I've carried around the memory of reading a story, which I was pretty sure was by Jeffrey Eugenides, in which artichokes were cooked. I couldn't remember anything else about it, and googling "jeffrey eugenides artichoke" didn't help,[*] so that was that, just one of many lacunae.
Then, the other day in Embiggen, I saw a familiar-looking book called Cowboys, Indians and Commuters: The Penguin Book of New American Voices, edited by Jay McInerney. I vaguely recalled having read it before and, looking at its contents page - it was published in 1994, when Sherman Alexie, Donna Tartt, Jennifer Egan, David Foster Wallace and Eugenides himself actually were indeed 'new' - I realised it was here that I'd read that story: "Capricious Gardens".
Tastes change over time. I've just checked extemporanea, just in case, and it turns out that previous time was in 2005,[**] and while the story struck me enough to comment on, I didn't particularly like it then - and likewise, to a lesser degree, for DFW's "Forever Overhead". Since then, both have grown in my mind without my actually re-reading them until now; that single blurry recollection of the artichokes, the vividly image of the teenage boy atop the diving board and the way he indeed embodies and faces towards all that is 'forever overhead'. Though it's funny - I did like "Capricious Gardens" this time round, but admiration rather than flat-out enjoyment was still my dominant response, especially at the way desire weaves its way through all four of the characters' plots. Go figure.
I also re-read the Donna Tartt story, "Sleepytown". It's odder than I realised at the time, told in a kind of floating past tense, and recounting a childhood lived through a codeine haze. It's too filled with a sense of compressed energy to feel like an outtake from a longer piece like a novel, while more expansive and looser-feeling than a typical short story in this kind of more or less realistic - if Gothic-tinged - vein. Reading it, I felt like something a bit wild and untethered was flickering below the surface. So, it's extremely good.
***
[*] This was before his short story collection came out last year, articles about which now point the way.
[**] And if I'd thought to check before, I could've found the story much sooner.
Then, the other day in Embiggen, I saw a familiar-looking book called Cowboys, Indians and Commuters: The Penguin Book of New American Voices, edited by Jay McInerney. I vaguely recalled having read it before and, looking at its contents page - it was published in 1994, when Sherman Alexie, Donna Tartt, Jennifer Egan, David Foster Wallace and Eugenides himself actually were indeed 'new' - I realised it was here that I'd read that story: "Capricious Gardens".
Tastes change over time. I've just checked extemporanea, just in case, and it turns out that previous time was in 2005,[**] and while the story struck me enough to comment on, I didn't particularly like it then - and likewise, to a lesser degree, for DFW's "Forever Overhead". Since then, both have grown in my mind without my actually re-reading them until now; that single blurry recollection of the artichokes, the vividly image of the teenage boy atop the diving board and the way he indeed embodies and faces towards all that is 'forever overhead'. Though it's funny - I did like "Capricious Gardens" this time round, but admiration rather than flat-out enjoyment was still my dominant response, especially at the way desire weaves its way through all four of the characters' plots. Go figure.
I also re-read the Donna Tartt story, "Sleepytown". It's odder than I realised at the time, told in a kind of floating past tense, and recounting a childhood lived through a codeine haze. It's too filled with a sense of compressed energy to feel like an outtake from a longer piece like a novel, while more expansive and looser-feeling than a typical short story in this kind of more or less realistic - if Gothic-tinged - vein. Reading it, I felt like something a bit wild and untethered was flickering below the surface. So, it's extremely good.
***
[*] This was before his short story collection came out last year, articles about which now point the way.
[**] And if I'd thought to check before, I could've found the story much sooner.
