CLOSE RANGE, by Annie Proulx

Well, that's it. CLOSE RANGE firmly establishes Annie Proulx as one of my favorite authors. Why did this take three books to confirm? Because I mostly liked The Shipping News and I really liked Accordian Crimes, and I wasn't sure how all that averaged out, even when one figured in how much I liked "Brokeback Mountain" (a lot--"Brokeback Mountain" is one of the short stories included in CLOSE RANGE. I read "Brokeback" last summer, and only just now sat down to the rest of the stories). CLOSE RANGE brings it all together, and yes, ranks Proulx high on my scale of favorites.

The short stories in CLOSE RANGE all focus on the state of Wyoming, and are told with a sense of eerie, dark humor that is fascinating--without being perverse or excessive. Her writing is beautiful, seemingly effortless, and some of her simplest sentences stunned me into reading them aloud, including this one, from "The Bunchgrass Edge of the World":

Old Red in his pantry wished for deafness when the bedsprings sang above.

It's a beautiful sentence, even out of context. Some of my favorite stories include both "Brokeback" and "Bunchgrass," but also "The Blood Bay" (which made me laugh, and read the whole thing aloud to Mitch) and "Pair a Spurs."

There's something of Flannery O'Connor in the way Proulx tells a story--though the West is to Proulx what the South is to O'Connor--as well as something fluid and seemless in the way she writes. Proulx is brilliant, quite brilliant, and I can't wait to read another of her novels.

RATING: 5

Book Review: THE COMPLETE STORIES, by Flannery O'Connor

Alright, it took me several months, but I finally finished THE COMPLETE STORIES of Flannery O'Connor. That's every published (and some unpublished) story that O'Connor wrote in her regrettably short life, all in chronological order, in a whopping 550-page trade-paperback-sized book (with a gorgeous cover, I must say).

Whew.

I feel a glorious sense of accomplishment.

But if I feel great for finishing, I also feel quite challenged, because O'Connor's stories are not light stuff, by any estimation. Several stories end in gruesome, easily avoided but somehow fitting deaths, and most of the characters, while imagining themselves quite righteous and above the judgement of others, are royally selfish and irritating. Somehow, though, O'Connor draws out a bit of sympathy for these characters, all of whom are thoroughly developed and therefore very real and full of moments of weakness.

The best part of the entire book, though, is the fact that the stories get better and better--you can almost see her develop as a writer. While I loved the early stories (the first, "The Geranium," remains one of my favorites), I found myself drawn further and further into the stories as I went on, and the last ten (for the most part) were astonishing: particularly "Parker's Back" and "Everything That Rises Must Converge."

Set primarily in the South during the Civil Rights Movement, the stories touch on racism in a merciless sort of way--the tension between characters throughout the whole book is continual, erupting occasionally into stunning climaxes, and it creates an uneasy sense of foreboding in the reader that endures to the very finish of the book.

If you're less compulsive about finishing a book once started and reading everything in order than I am, this is still a wonderful book for flipping through and reading a story here and there. Each one is complete and troubling, while also ringing beautiful and true. You must, simply must, read at least one.

RATING: 4

I'm not boring, really. Just quiet.

Well, it's almost that time of year. You know, the time where all the kids from all the state colleges pack up coolers of Corona and squeeze one-too-many into their parents' cars; the time of year where the coeds gets their toenails done and pack up a towel, a top, a bottom, a brand new string bikini, a forty-pound make-up bag, three sizes of curling irons, tanning oil, and nothing else, and all head over to a lakeside resort to drink themselves into a festive oblivion.

Am I stereotyping? Possibly. Because on Memorial Day weekend, they will all head over to Chelan, which is where I will be with Mitch's family, dodging beer cans in the swimming pool and thinking bad thoughts at 3 a.m. about the students chanting intelligent, thought-provoking, wholly higher-education phrases like "Chug! Chug! Chug!" in the room above me.

But no. I must back up. Because last year wasn't quite that bad. The year before, however, was. That was the year of the students packed ten to a hotel room; the year that hotel security received more complaints in three nights than in the entire rest of the year. The year that a kid in a trucker hat offered my father-in-law a Jell-O shot in exchange for a bit of grilled salmon; the year that sitting by the pool involved nestling uncomfortably between rows of well-oiled, freakishly tanned girls--all with their tops untied and their beer within easy reach--and that swimming in the pool involved a lot of dodging, as guys tried to both flirt with any girls brave enough to get in the pool at all (I didn't) and hold their beer aloft and more or less level.

The next year was much better. The hotel instituted a green plastic bracelet policy, which meant that all paying guests must wear a green plastic bracelet at all times--and if a guest were ever seen without the almighty bracelet...well. Out they go. I felt a bit branded, but I'd say the opportunity to actually go swimming, or to actually get some sleep, made it worth it.

And this year, I'm guessing, will be even better. There are several members of the Rosenburg clan that I'm looking forward to spending time with, and several books I'm looking forward to cramming into such a short time (Collected Stories of Flannery O'Connor, here I come!), and lots of thoughtful dabbling of my toes in the water to be done. Without the constant hazard of beer cans falling from forth story balconies, I think I'll do a whole lot of mellowing out--though probably I'll end up playing "cars" and catch with my 5-year-old nephew. But that sounds pretty wonderful, too.