Andre Dubus III

 I admire the precision of Andre Dubus III. He uses words I know very little about. "Motor oil," "oarlock," "roadhouse," "chicken wire." He pays attention to sensory detail.

At the bar, a face appears just inches from the side of my own. Dark whiskers and crooked teeth. Narrow eyes and waxy skin, though in the dim neon of this roadhouse it's hard to see clearly. He's staring at what I'm wearing, which is a cheap Bermuda shirt, black with bright tiny oarlocks. I am sunburned and windblown. I am wearing eyeglasses.

Maybe I look to him like some lawyer on vacation, or some other man whose profession allows him to rent boats, then come to this bar in a clearing up the hill from town where the tourists are not supposed to go....

The man's face is in a sneer and I can smell him--cigarette smoke and motor oil. He's leaning so close that his shoulder is just beginning to touch mine. He says, "Nice fuckin' shirt."

He is calling me on, of course, and it is not the first time I have been tempted to forget my deep desire to live a peace-loving life.....

There are a few things to notice. The sense of smell--which many writers forget about. The effort to empathize with the antagonist; Dubus pays *more* attention to the antagonist's psyche than to his own (and this attention leads to insights about money and social status). Finally, I like that Dubus has chosen this topic--a moment of personal crisis--for reflection. Many other writers would just want to bury this memory.

Great storytelling.