jackiedoherty.org

I am more of a novel reader.  Short stories are so, well, short.  And it seems that a vague, stream-of-consciousness, self-regarding, navel-gazing type of writing dominates the genre these days – a story begins and ends, at random, more like a fragment or a poem.   Sometimes the writing is great. Sometimes a phrase, character or situation will resonate and linger in your mind; however, the whole is usually less than the sum of its parts.  The story itself makes no lasting impression.  Still, as a regular, not to say religious, reader of The New Yorker magazine, once renowned for its short fiction, I do read every story that they publish, and I’ve been rewarded by becoming familiar with three authors whose efforts far exceed the average. These are the great William Trevor from Ireland, the bizarre, yet profound American George Saunders and  Canadian author Alice Munro.  These three achieve all the mood, emotion and character development that one might wish, but add dramatic intensity and actual plotting — their writing consistently reaches a level that can be called art.  For more on Alice Munro’s recent story in the February 11/18 issue of the New Yorker, ”Free Radicals,” look under book reviews.