Skip to main content

For Readers







 At the start of James Marshall's hippo career, Marshall wrote a story, "Split Pea Soup," with an indelible image.


The story has George awkwardly accepting Martha's pea soup, which he doesn't actually want. He can't find words to turn down the soup, so he takes it and he pours it--covertly--into his loafers. This setup is a knockout for a few reasons: the idea of George in squishy loafers, the picture of two hippos together at the table, the revelation that Martha herself hates the soup. (She just likes to *cook* it.)


But the resolution seems a bit false to me. After Martha discovers the truth, there is a heart-to-heart, and all is set to rest. It seems to me that actual life doesn't often work this way.


At the very end of Marshall's career, Marshall *revisited* the soup situation. In the story "The Clock," it's *Martha* who gets the unwanted gift. Martha gets an obnoxious cuckoo clock.


Like George in earlier years, Martha can't find words to "state her truth." So she just pretends to like the clock, then she hides it at the bottom of a hamper. (Soup poured into loafers.)


Here's where things shift. George never finds out the truth. George continues to believe that Martha loves the clock--and that Martha's act of *lending* the clock is really just a moment of selflessness, generosity. How kind! How *big* of Martha!


George sits in his drawing room and enjoys "Martha's" clock-on-loan. He is happy to have such a magnanimous friend. And the clock has the final word, and it's: "Cuckoo."


This act of revision seems brilliant to me. The resulting story seems to be real life on the page, lightning in a bottle.

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

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...
3 comments
Read more

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...
1 comment
Read more

My Favorite Pop Song

  One thing I admire about Prince is his weirdly pretentious verses: Dream, if you can, a courtyard-- An ocean of violets in bloom. Also: Touch, if you will, my stomach. Feel how it trembles inside. No one else writes like this. Did people try to shoot down these choices? Did a producer say, "We'd like to rethink this one... Touch, if you will, my stomach...."  I can't help but wonder. But it's the chorus that makes this a classic. It's direct and universal--and it ends with that bizarre flourish, the allusion to "the crying doves." (Prince's song was number one in America for quite a while; it defeated Bruce Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark.") How can you just leave me standing-- Alone in a world that's so cold? Maybe I'm just too demanding. Maybe I'm just like my father--too bold. Maybe you're just like my mother; She's never satisfied. Why do we scream at each other? This is what it sounds like when doves cr...
Post a Comment
Read more