Object Lessons: The Paris Review Presents the Art of the Short Story

by Lorin Stein (Editor), Sadie Stein (Editor)

Twenty contemporary authors introduce twenty sterling examples of the short story from the pages of The Paris Review. What does it take to write a great short story? In Object Lessons, twenty contemporary masters of the genre answer that question, sharing favorite stories from the pages of The Paris Review. Over the course of the last half century, the Review has launched hundreds of careers while publishing some of the most inventive and best-loved stories of our time. This anthology---the first of its kind---is more than a treasury: it is an indispensable resource for writers, students, and anyone else who wants to understand fiction from a writer’s point of view. "Some chose classics. Some chose stories that were new even to us. Our hope is that this collection will be useful to young writers, and to others interested in literary technique. Most of all, it is intended for readers who are not (or are no longer) in the habit of reading short stories. We hope these object lessons will remind them how varied the form can be, how vital it remains, and how much pleasure it can give."---from the Editors’ Note WITH SELECTIONS BYDaniel Alarcón · Donald Barthelme · Ann Beattie · David Bezmozgis · Jorge Luis Borges · Jane Bowles · Ethan Canin · Raymond Carver · Evan S. Connell · Bernard Cooper · Guy Davenport · Lydia Davis · Dave Eggers · Jeffrey Eugenides · Mary Gaitskill · Thomas Glynn · Aleksandar Hemon · Amy Hempel · Mary-Beth Hughes · Denis Johnson · Jonathan Lethem · Sam Lipsyte · Ben Marcus · David Means · Leonard Michaels · Steven Millhauser · Lorrie Moore · Craig Nova · Daniel Orozco · Mary Robison · Norman Rush · James Salter · Mona Simpson · Ali Smith · Wells Tower · Dallas Wiebe · Joy Williams

Genres: Short Stories, Fiction, Writing, Anthologies, Short Story Collection, Essays, Unfinished

368 pages, Paperback

First published August 7, 2012

About the author

Lorin Stein is an American critic, editor, and translator. He was an editor of The Paris Review.

Reviews

[Greg · Rating 4 out of 5]

Why do I even bother pretending to try to read short story anthologies?

Almost four months after starting the first story I have conquered this three hundred and fifty page book!

Look at me go!

And now do I write a review for it?

The premise of this book is that one accomplished writer introduces a story that appeared in the pages of The Paris Review from another accomplished writer. Some of the introductions are interesting. Some of them are unremarkable. A couple of them add to the reading experience and a couple sound like the blah blah blah you can imagine a teacher blah blah blahing to an uninterested class. I enjoyed a couple of the writerly pieces of advice a couple of the introductions had. I also enjoyed the Ali Smith introduction to the Lydia Davis story, I wonder how much more I would enjoy other Davis stories if I knew what she was riffing off of, or maybe even when she was and when she was just playing literary games (is there a difference?)

A handful of the stories I had already read before.

One of the surprising things about the collection was that the Borges story was on the weaker end of the spectrum.

To get the negative out of the way, I also didn't love, or sometimes even like very much the stories by Joy Williams, Denis Johnson and Thomas Glynn. I was fairly ambivalent about the Donald Barthelme, Borges, and Steven Millhauser stories. They all have stories I love. Maybe none of the stories I loved appeared in the pages of The Paris Review though.

My second favorite Raymond Carver story is in the collection, so that was like a gimmie on the plus side for the book. The Craig Nova and Leonard Michaels stories were good, but they didn't knock my socks off. I'm only mentioning them because along with the Joy Williams story, which I just couldn't get into, they led off the batting order of this collection. And like a good baseball lineup, two of the three got some base hits (the lead-off batter maybe uncharacteristically struck-out, some people I respect on goodreads love Joy Williams), so the runners were on the corners when Jane Bowles stepped up to bat in the clean up spot. Emmy Moore's Journal was amazing! To keep pushing the baseball metaphor that probably shouldn't have been started, a home run. This was so unexpected. I'd never paid any attention to Jane Bowles before, I never even thought to read her. For some reason when I think of her husband I think boredom, even though I've never read him, and I have no reason to think his books would be boring. But forget about him. Jane Bowles's story is amazing, and if her collection of stories wasn't a slightly over-priced print-on-demand edition I would have picked it up the day I read this story.

So good. Made me so happy to have noticed this little collection for free at BEA, and for going against my good sense at starting the collection, knowing that my attention span would forget about it after only a couple of stories.

And after the enthusiasm of that story I was inspired to read the James Salter story, which was good, quality-wise what I would expect from one of those author's-writers that I've never read, but thematically a little different than what I imagined.

And then my enthusiasm dwindled, and I gave the book a rest for a month or so.

My second foray into the collection didn't go so well.

The Denis Johnson story would have left me completely cold if it weren't for a couple of interesting points Jeffery Eugenides made about the story in the introduction.

The Mary-Beth Hughes story I can barely remember. I think it was probably just fine, but apparently not very memorable.

Then came the Borges story. I got bored with the story, which is impressive since it's typically short. I was reading it on the subway, the subway ride came to an end and I closed the book and put it away again for a couple of weeks.

A couple of weeks pass.

I read the Borges story. I hate myself for not liking the story. I contemplate donating all my books to the salvation army and only watching the Jersey Shore. I'm not worthy of reading any longer. Then I realize it's ok to not like a Borges story. So I read on.

I read a story by Bernard Cooper on the subway going to work. I like it, not love. But it was good. I've never read him before. I'm happy with it.

The subway stalls. There is track-work. It's a Saturday afternoon between 49th Street and Times Square on the N line. Do I need to point out how many tourists are on the train. An English bloke demands answers of people, like everyone but him was told why the subway is just sitting here. A band of women, probably from a state where people like me only know when we fly over them, keep getting up to look at the subway map next to me. I want to tell them nothing has changed since the last time. Thankfully there is no mariachi band in the car. I read the Thomas Glynn story, and realize that two great things I hate about New York just came together, like an annoyance Reese's Peanut Butter Cup. A quirky 50's/60's New York Story in the book, and an stalled train packed with all sorts of people who give me the ol'howling fantods. In the best of situations I don't think I would have liked this story, but reading the first half of the story on a stalled and crowded train didn't help at all.

On break that day I read the Mary Robison story. A great story. Sam Lipsyte's introduction helped me enjoy it even more by pointing out a couple of things that she does with language that was quite interesting but which I would have been too stupid to catch on my own.

I don't remember when I read the Donald Barthelme story. I do remember feeling like I do after reading a lot of things by writers of his generation and inclinations. If I don't love it I usually can't shake the feeling of being lost or thinking what was the point of that?

Then there was the Raymond Carver story. I've read this story probably like twenty times. I've read it more than the story I like better than this one, because I don't want that one to lose any potency. I still enjoyed this story greatly.

Guess what happens next?

Yep, I put down the book for a month or so. Maybe more.

The next story was a long one. Ethan Canin's The Palace Thief. It's fifty pages. And I've never read Ethan Canin, but he's another of those writers whose books I see at work all the time, but they have never done anything to interest me. I was sort of dreading reading it.

But I was wrong. I didn't love the story. It's not my all time favorite story, but it was a clean and crisp narrative and an enjoyable delight. It was one of the high points of yesterday's stomach virus.

With high hopes I went into Steven Millhauser story that followed, but as I said above, I didn't love it. It had typical Millhauser themes but with none of the magic that his stories normally have (the magic was present in the narrative, but normally he conveys that sense of childish wonder mixed with nostalgic melancholy better).

Guy Davenport's story was another pleasant surprise. I've never really heard of him at all. I'm sure there is a book of his at work and I will go, oh right him, when I see it, but I went into this story with no preconceived notions. While not written in the same style as Borges necessarily, this is what the Borges story should have been. A good mixture of philosophy and character. Good stuff.

Norman Rush turned out to be another enjoyable find in this collection. I never paid his books any attention. In my head him and that Guterson guy who wrote Cedars falling on something or other are the same person, maybe because they were each sort of over-ordered constantly when I first started at B&N, and they both seemed like writers that middle aged men who have run out of Civil War history books to read might pick up for a plane ride to see the kids. This is another writers I might have to read more of after seeing them here.

The Lydia Davis story I had enjoyed, but didn't get the first time I read it. This time I saw what she was going, and seeing the strings pulled behind the curtain added to my enjoyment.

The Evan S. Connell, story about his eponymous Mrs. Bridges, made me think about digging out my copy of that novel and finally trying to read it. There was a subversive normalcy to the 1950's Cheever-esque world in this short vignettes. Mrs. Bridges also reminded me quite a bit of one of my grandmothers, which kind of made me think of some of her 'ticks' in a different way than I ever did before.

The collection then came to and end with a Dallas Wiebe (yeah, I never heard of him either) story. This story was quite fun. Not a great story, but fun. Something that is forgotten to be had in literary fiction sometimes. A story of a writer who literally gives body parts in order to get published and win prestigious awards.

Look at that, I reviewed in some way just about every story here!*

*Ok, I didn't really say anything about the first three stories. The Joy Williams story made my eyes glaze over, the same way that sometimes stories that take place on boats do. I don't know why this happened. I just couldn't get into the story, I felt bored, I was distracted. Even though I was on the subway (a comfortably populated one) I kept stop reading to look around, something I don't normally do. Maybe I'll give it another try sometime.

The Craig Nova and Leonard Michaels stories were both good, and what I would have expected from them. The Leonard Michaels story wasn't as good as some other stories of his I've read, but it was decent. The Craig Nova I remember liking, but I don't remember much about it, so it probably wasn't that remarkable.

[Stuart · Rating 4 out of 5]

I've had a subscription to The Paris Review for longer than I've been married. Back when I got my first few issues, my beard was barely there and sometimes I'd let the fuzz grow out for a few weeks. Now I shave every day because two thirds of my beard is white. Why have I subscribed to this magazine for close to 40 years? There's one reason: its former and original editor, George Plimpton. He had unique taste for an editor of a literary magazine. He tended to stay away from the pretentious and precious and he wasn't afraid to include a story or poem that would make you laugh out loud. As a writer and reader, I'm of the "please don't tell me your tsuris because I have enough of my own" school. There certainly were stories and poems in George Plimpton's Paris Review that were full of self pity. But I could easily avoid them. Almost every issue had something memorable. For over 40 years, Plimpton ruled over The Paris Review with a deft touch. This volume is essentially an homage to what undoubtedly is George Plimpton's most significant and enduring creation.

In Object Lessons, some well known writers are each invited to pick one story from The Paris Review's past. I've read almost all the stories contained here before. It was fun to read quite a few of them again. My one quibble is that the writers have tended to dwell on the more depressing stories The Paris Review has published. With one exception, they've forgotten the humor. I don't get that bias. For many years, there was actually an annual humor prize associated with the magazine that came with a significant chunk of cash. Early and wonderful stories of TC Boyle, David Foster Wallace, and Rick Moody published in The Paris Review aren't found in this volume. These are omissions that aren't fatal, certainly, and there's much to admire in the stories chosen.

Mr. Plimpton has been gone for almost a decade, and predictably The Paris Review floundered more than a bit for several years after he died. But it has gotten back most of its mojo as of late. It's trying to be a little hipper and edgier and unfortunately, its content is also a tad more depressing on average. But every once in a while, a story with verve, humor and intelligence will appear. When I read those stories, I know The Paris Review still serves a unique and valuable purpose.

If you're a fan of the contemporary short story, this volume will likely please you with the caveat that most of the voices are strongly male. Also, if you're the type of reader who sticks to bestsellers, I'd stay away; these stories almost all avoid the tropes that mainstream readers find necessary and comforting. The short introductions to the stories are hit and miss things. For my money, I'd just skip them and stick to the stories themselves.

[Sunil · Rating 2 out of 5]

The idea sounds appealing. The Paris Review corrals a few contemporary giants of literary fiction into a single collection to talk about "the art of the short story" a la the collection's tagline. Only two authors both comment on and appear within the collection; otherwise, it's a fairly heterogeneous mix of the fairly canonical (Borges, Carver, Barthelme) to the comparatively obscure (Salter, Hughes, etc.). Each story is preceded by a short introduction penned by one of these "masters of the genre" -a title granted in the Editor's Note- wherein each briefly discusses the inner workings of the story concerned and explains why the story works, whether on a merely personal or more universal level.

This never happens. Instead, we get some glowing reviews of the authors at large, and some mutual back-patting, but rarely do these introductions ever deign to comment with any specificity on the story at hand. The only real exception is Dave Eggers's introduction to "Bangkok" by James Salter. Eggers appropriately exacts the little details which, combined, serve to propel this vaguely sinister story. But this is the only time any level-headed critical analysis happens; lofty praise abounds.

[Ruth · Rating 1 out of 5]

I was a Lit major, so my tastes are not everyone's. I like a lot of fairly unknown dead authors (not that these authors are all dead!). It seems to me that there was a certain kind of writing popular in the 50's and 60's which people fancied as having a psychological bent. 50 some years later, these "woo-woo" subtexts, despite their attempts at subtlety just seem very outdated, as does the practice of inserting lots of dialogue to sustain some flow of tension and to make you wonder what the heck is going on. But when you find out, you find out....not a darn thing is going on. Maybe someone died, maybe they are on drugs all the time. Haha on you, the reader. Very clever. My favorite authors of the moment are Hilary Mantel and Alice Munro. I know that not everyone is going to measure up to that standard, but these stories are just..boring, poorly told, and with characters that maybe existed in someones mind in a cultural milieu long past,whose passing I do not regret.

[Jeanette (Ms. Feisty) · Rating 3 out of 5]

There are twenty stories in this collection. I rated each story individually, added up the ratings for all the stories, divided by twenty, and got 2.92. So three stars it is for the lot.

"The Palace Thief" by Ethan Canin is the only five-star story in the collection. There is more depth and gravitas and food for discussion in its 50 pages than there is in most full-length novels. This piece was made into a film called The Emperor's Club, which is superb and stays surprisingly true to the original story. Kevin Kline is a god among actors.

The introductions to the stories have spoilers, or at least things I didn't want to be told until after I'd read the stories. After half a dozen stories, I took to reading the story first, then reading the intro.

[Owain Lewis · Rating 3 out of 5]

As you'd expect from an anthology, it's a mixed bag. It's quite a doomy collection, with little in the way of the humorous or farcical. It's in the nature of anthologies that they are always going to feel uneven to everyone but the compiler. When you put a load of different styles together, no matter how thematically linked they are, you're alway going to have ones that shine and others you flick through after the first page. I liked the stories by the people I already liked - Denis Johnson, Craig Nova, Lydia Davis, Borges. When you read an anthology you always have the hope of new discoveries, which were thin on the ground for me. The new name I took away from this, and what made it worth it, was James Salter. I'll definitely be checking the library shelves for his work and probs buying the collected stories.

[Jess Shulman · Rating 3 out of 5]

This book advertises itself as a must-read for the student of the short story form. The concept is that each story was selected by a modern writer, and each writer also provides an introduction about that story. All the stories were previously published in the Paris Review.

I love this concept (like the New Yorker Fiction Podcast); the idea of hearing what other writers think is good about a story is very appealing, and while I mostly picked up the book for the stories themselves, I was really interested in hearing the intros. Unfortunately, they are all over the map. There is absolutely no consistency in focus, style, format...or anything at all. It feels as though the editors gave the writers absolutely no guidance beyond "write an intro." My favourite of the intros is by Dave Eggers, introducing "Bangkok" by James Salter. Eggers actually examines the story and lays out a list of reasons why it exemplifies great writing. I felt prepared to read the story and enjoyed reading it with his guidance in my head, watching for the things he pointed out.

But many of the intros are ridiculously overwritten, show-offy bits of prose, praise for the author in general instead of the story, or vague "I love this story" proclamations without reasons or discussion. The intro to the last story (Joy Williams introducing Night Flight to Stockholm by Dallas Wiebe) should start with "spoiler alert" - it practically recaps the entire story! So, the writers-introducing-other-writers'-stories part of this anthology is a miss, for me.

The stories don't fit together as an anthology either, but I was okay with that. I think, in fact, that this collection actually is a great read for somebody studying the short story, because it illustrates the vast diversity of the form. I can't say I like all of these stories (this is my second attempt to read Jorge Luis Borges [the first time as prep for a trip to Buenos Aires] and I just don't enjoy him; I couldn't even get through Guy Davenport's Dinner at the Bank of England). But there are some that I like quite a lot:

The Palace Thief, by Ethan Canin
The Beau Monde of Mrs. Bridge, by Evan S. Connell
Flying Carpets, by Steven Millhauser
Why don't you dance, by Raymond Carver
Bangkok, by James Salter
Another Drunk Gambler, by Craig Nova

I'll stop there - now that I've started making this list, I realize there are more stories here that I like than ones I don't. All in all, a good reading experience and definitely a good study of the short story in all its forms.

[Eric]

Found its way on my radar when I searched the catalog at the library in the city I just moved to--that is searched it for Guy Davenport. Pleasantly, the only other of his they have is Charles Burchfield's Seasons.

The story included is "Dinner at the Bank of England"--a playful, sometimes prodding, other times deeply searching, but never plodding, imagined retelling ("conjectural restoration") of a meeting between George Santayana, the gay Harvard professor of philosophy--then an old man--and a young English soldier, a young ruddy and beautiful boy of a soldier who's been tasked with watching after the bank and inspecting some segment of it come, anon, the stroke of eleven--but until then sitting with Santayana. Well, Davenport, bisexual as he was--he had a male as well as a female lover--we can perhaps find to some degree in the aging Santayana--Davenport himself nearing his final decade at the time the story was originally published, and given that the old philosopher comes away from the interview a bit let down, having gone no farther than talk--a definition of "materialism" for the youngster, and allusions to Plato and Berkeley, principally writers of dialogues....I say "perhaps" because I hate placing the writer in his or her work--I would have enjoyed this story without knowing anything about Davenport--and even had I known nothing of Santayana--foremost, that he was gay--yes, I would have enjoyed it, it's a fine story--a Dickensian sketch, remembering and rhyming with the Portraits (those painterly names) of Pater and James--as well as the colloquies of Landor--which, of course, we all came to through Davenport.

[Matt · Rating 3 out of 5]

The Editor's Note at the beginning of Object Lessons (and the short description on the back cover) claims that the collection, made up of well known writers choosing stories they admire for technical skill, is meant to be read by young writers and people who don't regularly read short stories, in order to "remind them how varied the form can be, how vital it remains, and how much pleasure it can give." While some of the stories here are among my favorites of all time - particularly, David Means' selection of Carver's "Why Don't You Dance" - I would definitely not burden a young writer or a novice short-story reader with this collection.

A better description for this collection would have been "writers you admire choosing stories they admire." Each story is preceded by a short explanation from the writer who selected it for the collection, meant to explain why the story specifically was chosen. Most of these explanations, however, only serve to point out some prevalent themes and issues at work in the story, without informing the "young writers" the collection is aimed at what use each of these stories has for him or her. Some of the explanations are so short, you wonder if the writer wanted to say anything at all. Object Lessons does do a better job at showing how varied the short story form can be, but it leans so hard on variation that there are almost no stories illustrating how effective a basic structure can be.

All of these criticisms shouldn't imply that the collection is bad - there are some excellent finds here, both highly well known and not quite, and I can't deny that each story is expertly crafted. My issue isn't with the stories really, but with the collection as a whole. It is not instructive or particularly enlightening. Any young writer looking for a collection with variation should head to the nearest library and seek out as any different editions of the annual collection, Best American Short Stories. If the Paris Review wants to take another stab at Object Lessons, maybe they should make the lessons clearer.

[Allie · Rating 2 out of 5]

I got about a third of the way through this collection before quitting. This isn't a terrible collection by any means. There's a nice variety of stories, but the choices are mostly obvious ones. If you're familiar with contemporary fiction at all, you'll recognize a lot of these. There are some great standouts, like "Bangkok" and "Pelican Song", but most of the selections are dutifully canonical. After all, what undergraduate writing workshop is complete without a Denis Johnson story? Denis Johnson is fantastic, of course, which is why he's so often anthologized, but it'd be nice to see something new. Letting different authors choose and introduce the stories is a neat idea (see: The New Yorker Fiction Podcast), but most of the introductions don't really add much to the collection, because they consist of one-dimensional praise rather than actual critical analysis. If you're looking for an introduction to the contemporary short story, I'd recommend The Vintage Book of Contemporary American Short Stories or The Anchor Book of New American Short Stories instead.

[elif sinem · Rating 3 out of 5]

The reputation of this magazine surely comes from its consistently god tier interviews. The stories here varied wildly in quality: at its best it showed a very keen understanding of language and voice and infused a brilliant sense of humor. At its worst, it felt like nothing. Most of the introductions were just hypemen, which was kinda meh.

[Eric Hollen · Rating 4 out of 5]

An eclectic collection, some of which struck me more than others.

Favorites were: Denis Johnson, Raymond Carver, Ethan Canin, and James Salter.

Couldn’t really get into Borges and Barthalme.

Skipped Glynn and Davenport because I just couldn’t summon any interest in them.

[May · Rating 5 out of 5]

So I've been reading Object Lessons: the Paris Review for nearly the entire day - it's a collection of short stories and as you know, the rule of short stories is that you can never read one only once. I'm halfway through the 14th one and suffering because (as with most short stories) it makes no sense (The Palace Thief by Ethan Canin); nonetheless, this book is definitely living up to the editor's claim that it is "useful to young writers, and to others interested in literary technique." All 13.5 of the stories I've been reading so far prove their educational worth in some form.

One can read through these stories and learn much about "the art of the short story" the same way one could observe a class of students, identify the athlete, artist and writer, and learn much about people.



Joy Williams' Dimmer, the incipient story in this collection, exemplifies the wonderful way an amalgamation of poetry and prose can pan out. James Salter's Bangkok, which abandons the use of quotation marks (I love this) and instead allows the characters' conversation to melt into the pulse of the story, is dialogue-dedicated and henceforth instructive. Mary-Beth Hughes' Pelican Song and Bernard Cooper's Old Birds (the latter is the long lost cousin of Adam Haslett's Notes to my Biographer) exemplify how to seamlessly craft in prose a loving and often heartbreaking parent-child relationship. Let's not forget the killer 'gambling' metaphor in Craig Nova's Another Drunk Gambler.

We've all heard the saying, "Watch and Learn."
Object Lessons shows that it is important, too, to "Read and Learn."

[Peter · Rating 3 out of 5]

I am no great fan of anthologies...but for 50p in a charity bookshop, how could I leave this handsomely bound volume on the shelf? Flipping through, it looked like it might be a good introduction to some writers I’d thought of reading and to some writers of whom I’d never even heard.

The anthology’s conceit is to have guest authors write an introduction to each story. This is less interesting than it might seem. For the most part, an editor could have done the job equally well, though it does provide a minor insight into what author A admires about a story by Author B. It’s all a bit bland, however. No one seems to have introduced a story they detested...

As for the short stories themselves, none has lodged in my memory (though that’s an increasingly difficult task). I recall Borges, Barthelme, and Carver being predictably good, along with Joy Williams, Lydia Davis, and Mary Robison. Having read one of his novels, the Denis Johnson story was a lot better than I had expected – which is great – and the Thomas Glynn story less so – which isn’t so great. I was able to cross Leonard Michaels off my “looks interesting” list, which is useful, and I decided that the little-known Dallas Wiebe could remain that way. James Salter and Ethan Canin too. I daresay they won’t be upset. The late James Salter certainly not.

There were others, probably of a middling kind. Overall, Object Lessons turned out to be 50p well-spent...though I’m not sure I would have wished to pay much more.

[Erica · Rating 4 out of 5]

The stories themselves were marvelously written -- definitely masters of the genre. The introductory remarks by the contemporary writers ranged from genuine and insightful to pompous and showy. 500 words of introduction ought not be a chance to show off your own supposed mastery of fiction.

As with many, if not most, compilations of this nature, queer authors and authors of color were underrepresented. This doesn't diminish the stories that were included, which I enjoyed very, very much. But of course, there are many talented POC, queer, and QPOC authors out there. Chances are some of them have been favored enough to grace the pages of the Paris Review.

[Margaret Carmel · Rating 3 out of 5]

While I enjoyed a few of these stories immensely and some moderately so, there were several "misses" that were very hard to follow and I didn't enjoy reading very much. The introductions were also hit or miss. Some directly stated "This is what makes this story awesome", while others just rambled about the author. I often found that I would read the introduction, read the story, and then go back to the introduction to attempt to make sense of what it was meaning to say about the story. I liked the concept, I just felt like the introductions needed more editing and guidance. Worth the read though for the variance of the stories.

[Jonathan Crowl · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book is outstanding. The introductions for each story are invaluable. I didn't love every story but it was a great learning experience -- one of the best I've enjoyed from a single book. "Dimmer" by Joy Williams is easily one of the most incredible short stories I've ever read, and I discovered the hilarity of Norman Rush. Worthwhile for any writer or reader.

[Arkadia · Rating 5 out of 5]

All in all, a powerful collection of stories from some of our most glimmering contemporary minds. I should be clear that this is not a "how to" crash course on short stories, as the title may vaguely suggest. I read it hoping it would be such. I was wrong - but I was not disappointed. For the eager writer, there is a lot to be studied here in the mastery of prose and tale displayed - but it'll take some autodidacticism, there's no hand-holding in this respect.

Regardless, a gorgeous collection of stories by an astonishing collection of writers. There were, inevitably, a few stories that were "duds" for my personal taste, but the breadth of style and atmosphere in this collection are part of its inherent strength. The vast majority were wonderful trips to vividly-imagined lives, told from fresh perspectives or with scalpel-like prose. The book walks a tightrope between traditional narratives and surrealistic approaches, so that every new story is like a palate cleanser - it at no point allows itself to get stale, which seems to be an unfortunately regular habit of literary collections.

The interviews with other acclaimed writers at the beginning of each story were largely a let-down - they rarely added anything to deepen our understanding or appreciation of the story. They often read like perfunctory introductions and praises of the author in question, rather than giving unique insights. There were a couple whose interviews interested me and added something to my experience, but for the most part the book would not have been any different had they been left off entirely. It was also confusing and counter-intuitive to be presented the interviews to read before the stories. I ended up skipping the interviews until I'd finished the story it referred to and then flipping pages back to read the interview, as not to spoil the coming story and to appreciate their words in context. An odd decision by the publishers.

Favourites include City Boy by Leonard Michaels, Car Crash While Hitchhiking by Denis Johnson, Except for the Sickness I'm Quite Healthy Now. You Can Believe That by Thomas Glynn, and Pelican Song by Mary-Beth Hughes. I'm the kind of reader who loves an unexpected segue into the untraditional, the macabre, the fantastic, the odd, and this little list of mine reflects that. If you too lean a little 'strange' in your reading, know that this book has you covered. There is plenty to be enjoyed by those who prefer more traditionalist narratives too.

For those who appreciate a pen used as a well-honed sword and an inked tongue sharp as a feather - there's a lot to be enjoyed here, and a lot to be absorbed too, if you're so-inclined.

[Chase Varga · Rating 3 out of 5]

The joy of short story anthologies is the variance between the stories. Optimally a sample of works from authors diverse in location, time, and background. And, by trying to show to full range of short stories it has many themes and varying levels of experimentation.

These stories lack variance. This isn't to say they are bad: each story was very very well written. But the requirement they are from the Paris Review limits them by time and location. And the emphasis of "the art of the short story" makes each story too well rounded at the cost of more experimental stories. I ultimately enjoyed the stories and the concept. This collection is easy and entertaining to read (though I skipped the Borges and Barthelme stories to achieve this.) Additionally, the authors commentary is the perfect length and helpful.

(Mean rating of short stories: 6.79/10 -> 3.39/5 stars)
---------------------------------------------
Joy Williams, Dimmer (8.5/10. Well written with Interesting main character)
Craig Nova, Another Drunk Gambler (6/10. Good twist)
Leonard Michaels, City Boy (7/10 Funny. Reminded me of Saul Bellow's "Something to Remember Me by" but lacking same depth)
Jane Bowles, Emmy Moore’s Journal (5/10 Funny and Experimental)
James Salter, Bangkok (6/10)
Denis Johnson, Car Crash While Hitchhiking (9/10. Love Denis Johnson. Think his story "Emergency" is a better story overall)
Mary-Beth Hughes, Pelican Song (7/10 Sad but well written)
Jorge Luis Borges, Funes, the Memorious (x/10)
Bernard Cooper, Old Birds (8/10 loved the ending)
Thomas Glynn, Except for the Sickness I’m Quite Healthy Now. You Can Believe That. (4/10)
Mary Robison, Likely Lake (5/10)
Donald Barthelme, Several Garlic Tales (x/10)
Raymond Carver, Why Don’t You Dance (9.5/10 simple and profound)
Ethan Canin, The Palace Thief (7/10)
Steven Millhauser, Flying Carpets (4/10)
Guy Davenport, Dinner at the Bank of England (x/10)
Norman Rush, Lying Presences (8/10)
Lydia Davis, Ten Stories from Flaubert (5/10)
Evan S. Connell, The Beau Monde of Mrs. Bridge (8.5/10)
Dallas Wiebe, Night Flight to Stockholm (8/10 reminded me of Robert Coover's 'The Magician' but better)

These were my favorite stories in the collection: Joy William's Dimmer; Denis Johnson's Car Crash While Hitchhiking; Raymond Carver's Why Don’t You Dance; and Evan S. Connell's The Beau Monde of Mrs. Bridge.

[Carol · Rating 5 out of 5]

I loved this collection not because the stories were unflawed or pinnacles of the short story genre. I loved it for the variety and the way so many stories left me rewarded with an expanded perspective on what it means to be human.

I was an English major and not a very good one based on the well formed opinions shared by more learned readers. My grades were for the most part excellent. I’d like to attribute that to the sheer delight I took in the artful manipulation of language and the respect I had for writers who had the courage or audacity to write.

Someone somewhere thought these stories good enough. They were good enough for me even the ones that I didn’t really enjoy. I found value there. The stories bypassed literary analysis and drove straight into the enjoyment I derive from the act of reading.

As the end of life rushes to meet me and I have forgotten the language of a critic. The simple ability to enjoy a story remains. Given the present alternatives for entertainment on the vast majority of media whose primary purpose is to manipulate and play to the most primitive aspects of human instincts these stories soar above all that. They call for the negative criticism because of their depth, their complexity and their ability to provide lessons on what it means to be human. They can provoke. They can tap into an emotional center. They can inspire and they can entertain in the midst of disappointing others.

All this verbiage packed with grammatical errors and wording that tears at finer sensibilities is a limited attempt to say that someone in the world of eager and potentially ignorant readers found this collection a joy to read. Many of the stories lingered in my consciousness long after I finished reading. In the end my ability to criticize doesn’t matter. My ability to enjoy a good read does. This simple-minded reader loved these stories in all their flawed glory or shame. They were a delight to read even the less than pleasant ones. The authors risked scrutiny and harsh critiques because they each had a story to tell. For me each story left something wonderful behind. I’m grateful for that gift.

[SundayAtDusk · Rating 3 out of 5]

I like short stories. Just not most of the ones in this book. After reading Ben Ryder Howe's account of working with George Plimpton in My Korean Deli: Risking It All for a Convenience Store , I should have guessed I probably was not going to like them. (And unworldly types please take note: George Plimpton did not work in a Korean deli; he worked at The Paris Review.) All of the 20 stories in this book were first published in The Paris Review, where Mr. Plimpton was the editor, and where quirkiness was obviously seen as a virtue.

The first story in this book was so quirky, I could not go on reading after four pages. Not a good start. Things got no better until thirteen stories later--Ethan Canin's The Palace Thief. That was an interesting, normal type story of a teacher at a boy's private school. Evan S. Connell's The Beau Monde of Mrs. Bridge, story number nineteen, also was quite readable, as was Norman Rush's Lying Presences, story number seventeen. (However, I did not like the ending of story number seventeen.) The story I liked the best was Steven Millhauser's Flying Carpets, a glorious combination of fantasy and childhood nostalgia. Rod Serling would have loved it.

So, who should buy this book and who should check it out of the library? Well, if you're a sophisticated New Yorker or Parisian, you might consider buying it. On the other hand, if you're someone who mostly reads the winning short stories in the writing contests in women's magazines, and you think they are excellent short stories, you probably should just check this book out of the library . . . and use the money you save to buy some women's magazines, that still publish short stories.

(Note: I received a free ARC of this book from Amazon Vine.)

[Manuel Calvillo · Rating 4 out of 5]

I love the concept of this book. Great contemporary authors choose their favorite Paris Review fiction pieces by other amazing authors and write an intro to the stories, an explanation of the story's key elements, a discussion of what makes the story successful.

In many occasions, this book offers insightful advice. It is an incredible thrill to read some of the "masters of story" write about their selected piece in such excited and passionate ways. As I read, I could feel how the contributors were having fun with their assignment, enjoyed talking about these things they love, these stories that moved them. A great example would be Dave Eggers talking about James Salter's "Bangkok" (the thought of that even sounds dreamy). Eggers is not broad or vague when he shares his learnings. He talks in detail about Salter's genius use of dialogue, explaining carefully how each element in the story is meaningful, how Salter is able to create such a powerful scene with only two characters and their words.

The idea of this collection is so intriguing and some the introductions of the guest authors so engaging that I really wished, many times, they were longer. Sometimes the "lessons" were contained in one or two pages, which felt kind of lacking and too general. Instead of maintaining focus on the analysis of the story chosen, the attention often turned to generalities about the writers' works. As much as I appreciate learning more about the general style of my favorite writers or of new writers, I wanted to read more about the "lessons" that the selected stories could teach us (especially since these intros are often short).

It has been six years since the first edition of this book came out and it would be interesting to read a new selection of 20 stories with longer introductions. This concept has enormous potential as a tool for aspiring writers, since the stories included have been important/relevant at least at some point in time.

[Karen Kao · Rating 4 out of 5]

An antiquarian is a fancy word for a second-hand bookstore. There are many antiquarians in the Old World capitals of Paris, London, and Amsterdam. Sometimes they’re little more than places for backpackers to offload their battered copy of Dan Brown’s latest. The better antiquarians offer first editions, leather bound collectibles, and hand-inked maps of empire.

My antiquarian sits on the edge of Amsterdam’s red light district. It has an English language section that is surprisingly literary. There, I find an anthology entitled Object Lessons: the Paris Review presents The Art of the Short Story.

How fortunate for me! I am working on a DIY study of the short story. Object Lessons consists of twenty stories originally published in The Paris Review, as selected by twenty “masters of the genre,” each of whom has added a note to explain their selection. According to the editors of Object Lessons, its purpose is not to serve as a greatest hits anthology.

Our hope is that this collection will be useful to young writers, and to others interested in literary technique. Most of all, it is intended for readers who are not (or are no longer) in the habit of reading short stories. We hope these object lessons will remind them how varied the form can be, how vital it remains, and how much pleasure it can give.

To read the full review, please visit my website for At the Antiquarian.

[A. Collins · Rating 4 out of 5]

I've been wondering if I should subscribe to The Paris Review and now I feel confident I will.

Some quotes:
"It was dusk and there were hundreds on the beach . . . cooking their meat, the children eating ice cream pies, the old ones staring into the sun."
"...what they believed to be his baby chortlings were only the mice clicking and ticking in the stove."
"And he was going to America where mice were found in bottled Coca-Cola straight from the machine."
◾️"The more I looked at his forehead the more it reminded me of a beach, so I painted it as a beach."
◾️" "I hope you don't mind I left my shirt in that damned Otis elevator."
"No. I don't mind. I like chests. Especially with strong American brains behind them."
◾️"I wonder if thoughts are fluid, and flow downward, from one one person to another, within the same house."
◾️"As I float over the shadowed northern world, I think now that we all go off into darkness, bit by bit, piece by piece, part by part. We all disintegrate into our worlds, our sentences, our paragraphs, our narratives. We scatter our lives into photographs, letters, certificates, books, prizes, lies. We ride out the light until the records break one by one. We sit out the days until the sun gets dimmer and dimmer."
"It is crack time in the world of flesh. It is shatter time in the world of limbs. It is splatter time in the world of bones."

[Andrew · Rating 4 out of 5]

Unevenness is an inevitable characteristic of short story anthologies, not necessarily because the quality of story varies across the collection, but rather because among such variety there's bound to be certain styles that please one's individual taste more or less than others. It's not something you can really hold against the anthology, however, because it's simply part of its nature. If you don't like the variety, you should read something different.

You can blame this particular anthology, however, for not fulfilling its mission of being "useful to young writers, and to others interested in literary technique," which happens here occasionally with the introductions that are included ostensibly to help you. Some of them achieve the goal of clarity, with Alarcon on Joy Williams, Beattie on Craig Nova, Davis on Jane Bowles, and Williams on Dallas Wiebe being some specific examples of illumination. Others are maddeningly vague and amorphous; even after reading them I felt unclear of the story's point. As the probable nadir of these introductions, Wells Towers's intro to "The Beau Monde of Mrs. Bridge" is not only useless but outrageously pretentious, as if he were trying to show up every other presenter (and failing miserably).

Largely though, the intros are helpful in pointing out what to look for in appreciating each short story, something I was greatly looking forward to in starting this collection because the short story form, like poetry, is something I've never really felt I "got." It's most likely related to my love of the novel, and the fact that short stories are exponentially compacted and therefore require a corresponding augmentation in one's attention to detail. My habit of zipping through a page-turning novel doesn't transfer well here, where instead focus and contemplation are more rewarding. I appreciated that most of these intros provided certain tips on how best I could channel my attention.

Strangely, I may have appreciated even more the intros to the stories I didn't like. Whereas before I would have felt defective for not understanding an acclaimed story, the intros helped me see that I merely do not value the goals of those particular stories, particularly those that are almost wholly experiments in form. As a novel-lover, I value story above all else, followed by character. As a rule, form and style are interesting to me only insofar as they complement one of the former aspects. In certain books and stories, however, the author is concerned primarily with investigating the boundaries and possibilities of form, a focus which bores me in very short order.

Here, stories like Leonard Michaels's "City Boy," Glynn's "Except for the Sickness," Barthelme's "Several Garlic Tales," and Davenport's "Dinner at the Bank of England" fell into this category. Borges often devolves into this exercise as well, though he does it better than almost anyone else. But now, thanks to this book, I'm okay with not liking them. I don't feel like a failure. I can simply recognize that they're not my bag.

Most of the other stories were in my "Pretty Great" category of stuff I enjoyed but that didn't blow me away: Millhauser's "Flying Carpets" was a satisfying depiction of childhood nostalgia; Carver's "Why Don't We Dance?", like most Carver, is a hauntingly sad look at the opacity of human interaction; Wiebe's "Night Flight to Stockholm" is a multi-layered absurdist romp and the similarly distinct structures of both Davis's "Ten Stories from Flaubert" and Connell's "The Beau Monde of Mrs. Bridge" enhance the effects of their poignant observations. Nova's "Another Drunk Gambler" scratched my recent Graham Greene itch with its vivid depiction of a seedy foreign land. Jane Bowles provides a good mix of her husband and J.D. Salinger with her gripping diary of a deteriorating psyche. Rush's "Lying Presences" is one of my favorites, a fascinating character study of two estranged (er. . . alienated?) brothers.

The next notable group are those select authors whose works I will actively seek out after this sampling. I'm sheepish to reveal that they're all men, but I don't know how much I can consciously alter which works impact me most. The first is James Salter, whose "Bangkok" is, as Dave Eggers notes in his excellent introduction, "a nine-page master class in dialogue." Rarely have I become so well acquainted with two characters over such a short space and with only their spoken words to know them by. It's downright voyeuristic. The next is Denis Johnson, who a friend highly recommended to me. His "Car Crash While Hitchhiking" reads like a bad mushroom trip, one with delusions of grandeur and a crushing, heartbreaking sense of nihilism. In painting form it would be Munch's "The Scream."

But my favorite of the whole collection was Ethan Canin's "The Palace Thief." I can't even really explain why. Maybe it's the classic, unadorned narration or the fascinating sociopathy of the main subject. A lot of it has to do with the heartbreaking and all-too-familiar cowardice of the narrator himself. Maybe it's just the length, which makes it more a novella and consequently more in my wheelhouse. Canin presents the whole thing as almost a mystery while everything told seems absolutely inevitable. It's a terrific mix and the most satisfying of the bunch for me.

All in all it's a good collection, perhaps not as helpful as I had hoped in terms of understanding the art form, but enjoyable and rarely boring. The strangest part is that while I consider myself very well-read, I only recognized four of the authors' names (six including the presenters). I think it's mostly because I'm largely out of touch with contemporary literature, and even moreso with contemporary short stories. In that sense the collection is disheartening, as it reveals a whole world of fantastic authors of which I've hitherto been unaware. It's one of those (sigh) humbling moments when I realize I haven't traversed nearly as much terrain as I had thought.

Not Bad Reviews

@pointblaek

[Jean Carlton · Rating 2 out of 5]

2+
I struggled with this collection. I feel inadequate when I don't like or 'get' stories by authors highly praised by 'everyone'. Twenty masters of the short story genre were asked to choose a story from the PR archives and write an intro to the story which describes the key to that story's success as a work of fiction. This would be of particular help to writers and students who want to understand fiction from a writer's point of view and is the reason I picked up the book. Unfortunately, only a couple of intros were helpful to that end.
There were a handful of stories I liked and will remember. I quickly switched to reading the story first and then looking at the intro. I am glad I persisted in spite of my general disappointment because the last story saved it all. Night Flight to Stockholm, a hilarious yet grotesque satire about the desire to be published. It had me laughing out-loud.

[Rue Baldry · Rating 2 out of 5]

A mixed bag of late 20th and very early 21st century stories, mostly not great, some dreadful and a few gems.

I think it was a mistake to put the introduction (written by the literary guest star who had chosen it) before each story. After the first couple had been ‘spoiled’ for me (though I wasn’t going to enjoy those stories anyway) I ended up reading story first, intro after.

The collection starts particularly poorly. It was a bit of a slog for me until Bangkok, though City Boy was ok. My read actually stalled in Emmy Moore’s Journal for months until I decided to skip the rest of it.

My highlights in order from best: Old Birds by Bernard Cooper
Why Don’t You Dance by Raymond Carver (& I’m usually lukewarm about Carver, this is one of his best imo)
Flying Carpets by Steven Millhauser
Pelican Song by Mary-Beth Hughes
Bangkok by James Salter
If Ethan Canin’s The Palace Thief had been shorter it would have made the list, too.

[Adperfectamconsilium - Gavin · Rating 4 out of 5]

The Paris Review is a literary magazine that started in 1953 and over the years has published a lot of fiction. This book is an anthology where twenty contemporary writers select a personal favourite from the archives.

What we get are twenty stories in a wide range of styles. Some are excellent and some left me bewildered but short stories are a very personal taste and this is certainly an interesting selection with a wide range of authors I'd not read before. It's a reminder of what can be achieved in the short form and will be a pleasurable experience for both readers and writers

Each story has a short introduction from the writer that selected the story.
These 'intros' really should come after each story and not before as too many of the authors tell us most of the plot instead of any real insight into why they chose it. So skip over the intros and read them after each story and then you'll be able to enjoy the fiction on offer in the way it was originally intended.

[Jonny Warschauer · Rating 5 out of 5]

Diverse selection of sumptuous stories by 20th century masters of the form, introduced, contextualized, and venerated by other masters (although, due to scattered spoilers in the intros, I chose to go back and read these after I had read the story itself). An especially terrific read for anyone interested in the craft of short fiction, but also great for anyone who just likes a good story. The book itself also has a premium feel indicative of a reverence for books on the part of the people at the Paris Review.

Oh, and Denis Johnson is on some serious god level shit, but then again, so is everyone included here to some extent.

[Andrea Schemehorn · Rating 2 out of 5]

As you might expect from an anthology, there a couple of great stories, some not so great. Too many of them, however, were at LEAST 40 years old. A story written in the 60s is not automatically bad, but it seemed as if the model of short story that the editors selected were supposed to be timeless, but were really unremarkable. I could maybe recall one complete story after having read the collection, and I literally just put it down. Not a bad one, just really, really not to my taste.