Between Here and Here

My favorite short story is "Between Here and Here," by Amy Bloom.

Bloom borrows a fair amount from Jane Austen, who was interested in the struggles of a sensible person in the company of a lunatic. (See Elizabeth in "Pride and Prejudice," or Elinor in "Sense and Sensibility.")

"Between Here and Here" has Alison, a tough, reasonable human being, who struggles in the presence of her boorish father, Alvin. It's not that Alvin ever physically attacks anyone. But he is unhappy and unpleasant; he makes mess after mess after mess.

Moments I love: Alvin's son tentatively comes out of the closet. Alvin's wife cries and says something appropriate. Alvin, by contrast, pokes his son's large stomach and says, "Fat fag....No fun in that." (And so Alvin has insulted both his son's sexual orientation and his son's girth, in one breath. Makes my jaw drop!)

Alvin gets irritated at the dinner table, and throws the creamed onions all over the floor. Later, as his wife cleans the mess, Alvin mutters, "I could fucking break my neck on that," as if it's somehow the wife's fault that creamed onions are rolling all over the floor.

When his wife dies, Alvin raids her jewelry and sells all the nicest pieces, before offering the dregs to the kids. Months later, having forgotten this meanness, Alvin expresses wonder when his daughter says she doesn't have access to a certain prized necklace. He shakes his head and says, "You really ought to have been careful about holding onto that."

Alison's life is a struggle: When should she hold her tongue? When should she bite back? (One time, she tries to plan the week ahead, and she acknowledges that she may spend at least half the week in jail, if she snaps and murders Alvin.)

There's a twist toward the end of the story, and it's this: Alvin seems to soften. It may be the result of dementia. It may be the result of a skilled new nurse, a person Alvin actually likes. The air clears. It's possible to sit in a room with Alvin and have a reasonably pleasant time. ("You're no Julia Child," he says to his daughter, not unkindly. She has just toasted a grilled-cheese sandwich.)

Alison has to pull herself together in the presence of her father's bizarre new civility: Should all be forgiven? Should Alison try to feel compassion, when she hasn't felt compassion in this particular setting, in years? What do you do with your anger, which might be bottomless....anger that actually takes your breath away?

Amy Bloom has said that other people are a mystery--it's a lesson she learned from the "George and Martha" picture books--and you see this at the end of "Between Here and Here." Alison is floored by her father's vulnerability. She seems to be questioning everything, all at once. And there isn't any more resolution. We leave her here.

I'm really moved by that. I think life can seem monotonous and predictable, and things don't have to be that way. Painful surprises are still surprises. There is some kind of value in the pain.

All of this is discussed--artfully, and even with a sense of humor--in Bloom's great story.

https://www.narrativemagazine.com/issues/winter-2010/fiction/between-here-and-here-amy-bloom

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

The Death of Bergoglio

It's frustrating for me to hear Bergoglio described as "the less awful pope"--because awful is still awful. I think I get fixated on ideas of purity, which can be juvenile, but putting that aside, here are some things that Bergoglio could have done and did not. (I'm quoting from a survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of the Church.) He could levy the harshest penalty, excommunication, against a dozen or more of the most egregious abuse enabling church officials. (He's done this to no enablers, or predators for that matter.) He could insist that every diocese and religious order turn over every record they have about suspected and known abusers to law enforcement. Francis could order every prelate on the planet to post on his diocesan website the names of every proven, admitted and credibly accused child molesting cleric. (Imagine how much safer children would be if police, prosecutors, parents and the public knew the identities of these potentially dangerous me...

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic. She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...

Liars and Saints

Search This Blog