"The story feels a bit undeveloped, a slice of life perhaps more than a fully realized narrative with rising action and character transformation."
And yet this is far from the universal model for short fiction, so it's notable that this is a story in translation from a contemporary Italian writer.
But this, yes: "One wonders whether an unknown writer might find a home for a similar story in such a prestigious literary magazine." A similar question arises when we consider what might be made of work by some canonical poets and writers of fiction if, thanks to time travel, it could be shown in unpublished form to a contemporary MFA workshop.
I connected most with Emily Mitchell's story, "The Church of Divine Electricity." Thes story offered a compelling perspective on what happens when an unforeseen precipice is revealed, interrupting the "normalcy" of a family. I was surprised by our narrator's quick move to stand in for his daughter, but then, I realized, I'd do the same for my son. Snags are revealed (a rocky marriage), hems are stitched (the bargaining for a child's future), but we conclude knowing all could still unravel. Lovely.
"The story feels a bit undeveloped, a slice of life perhaps more than a fully realized narrative with rising action and character transformation."
And yet this is far from the universal model for short fiction, so it's notable that this is a story in translation from a contemporary Italian writer.
But this, yes: "One wonders whether an unknown writer might find a home for a similar story in such a prestigious literary magazine." A similar question arises when we consider what might be made of work by some canonical poets and writers of fiction if, thanks to time travel, it could be shown in unpublished form to a contemporary MFA workshop.
The image of the women waiting for the bus "since the Pellepensian (sp?) Wars" Made me want to kiss the poet.
I connected most with Emily Mitchell's story, "The Church of Divine Electricity." Thes story offered a compelling perspective on what happens when an unforeseen precipice is revealed, interrupting the "normalcy" of a family. I was surprised by our narrator's quick move to stand in for his daughter, but then, I realized, I'd do the same for my son. Snags are revealed (a rocky marriage), hems are stitched (the bargaining for a child's future), but we conclude knowing all could still unravel. Lovely.
Yes, I meant Abraham, not Andrew. Comment window hides the text and I have a poor memory it seems. Lit Mag News is a great resource. Many thanks!
Andrew Zapruder is the grandfather of poet Matthew Zapruder.