Three stories in and I think I can tell you that Infinite Riches: Classic Stories by Twentieth-Century Women Writers is no cushy, breezy read. There is always more going on beneath the surface than first meets the eye here. The stories are definitely like chocolate truffles in a box--you want more than one, but know better than to take a handful. They're too rich to gorge on, and better appreciated by taking a mere one to savor. These are stories to mull over and roll around in your mind. I think I can already tell you that this is a collection worth having on your bookshelves.
This weekend's story is "Plain Pleasures" by Jane Bowles. Her reputation precedes her. I know a little of her biography--or her myth. She seems like she is a woman who has had a mythical sort of reputation built up around her, or that's how I imagine her anyway. I read Paul Bowles's The Sheltering Sky years ago and always assumed inspiration for it must have been based on his experiences living in Morocco with Jane. "Plain Pleasures" is my first taste of Jane Bowles's writing, and it is as intriguing and sophisticated as I expected it to be. And a little perplexing, too.
"Do you like plain ordinary pleasures?"
Alva Perry asks this of her neighbor Mr. Drake as they share a meal of baked potatoes in the tenement's back yard. Alva is a dignified reserved widow who remains "as industrious in her solitude as a woman who lives in the service of her family." Mr. Drake is equally as serious and mild mannered. They've lived in the same building for years with little interaction. When he tells her he does believe in ordinary pleasures, it's unclear whether he really thinks so or just wants to keep the conversation going.
"'Don't you think that plain pleasures are closer to the heart of God?' she asks him."
"He was a little embarrassed at her mentioning anything as solemn and intimate on such short acquaintance, and he could not bring himself to answer her. Mrs. Perry, who was ordinarily shut-mouthed , felt a stream of words swelling in her throat."
She's critical of the life of (what she sees as) dissipation that her sister leads, and when Mr. Drake invites her to go share a meal in a hotel restaurant she's not sure how to respond. But she does agree to go. At dinner, which he arrives late for, the two seem to be talking at cross purposes, and it doesn't help that she's drinking more than she can handle and becoming more and more resentful with each glassful. He almost seems to be ready to make a proposal of marriage, or she thinks he will, but then she lapses into a tirade about how he probably just wants her to prepare his meals for him every day and things spiral down from there on out.
The drinks have made her tipsy and so she leaves the table. Mr. Drake assumes she is off in search of the Ladies', but instead . . . (maybe this should be a spoiler alert for the rest of the paragraph?) she goes up to one of the bedrooms and passes out. It's somewhat subtly stated but the hotel proprietor follows her and assaults her. This is what is both curious and perplexing--she wakens, not feeling the ill effects of her previous night's drink, she rests, clothes herself and returns to the restaurant thinking of her "sweet John Drake".
The editor has not thrown much illumination on the story saying only:
"food--and alcohol--albeit -plainer fare, is equally significant to Jane Bowles's story, and served with offbeat wit."
Strangely, I like the story though I can't tell you what any of it means. Is this some kind of sexual awakening? Does she think her John Drake, her potential suitor, is the man who took advantage of her? I have to think about this one. Maybe look for a little help in explaining what just happened and why! I'll let you know if I find out.
Okay, I pulled out my copy of My Sister's Hand in Mine: The Collected Works of Jane Bowles and here are a few things the editors have to say:
"Jane Bowles has long been regarded by critics as one of the premier stylists of her generation. Enlivened at unexpected moments by sexual exploration, mysticism, and flashes of wit alternately dry and hilarious, her prose is spare and honed, her stories filled with subtly sly characterizations of men and, mostly, women, dissatisfied not so much with the downward spiral of their fortunes as with the hollowness of their neat little lives."
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And about the story I read:
" She focuses her eagle eye on . . . the doomed efforts of the neighbors Mr. Drake and Mrs. Perry to form a connection out of their very different loneliness . . . "
* * * * *
J. Robert Lennon's Breadman, this week's New Yorker offering (January 19 issue), is a pitch perfect story. I tend to approach these NY stories with equal parts happy anticipation and apprehension. Reading outside your comfort zone is almost always a good thing, and with a short story not too much of a hardship since the stories are, well . . . short. Good stories are always a thrill to read and the ones that I am not as excited about can turn into a slog.
But "Breadman" is just the sort of story I wish I could read every week. It is ironic and funny and so true to life, as a matter of fact Lennon based it on one of his own experiences. Not much happens in the story--a man goes out to buy bread for his wife who's sick at home. The bread isn't just your average everyday bread, but the kind that is almost art--you know, that artisanal style bread, so beautiful and delicious that people queue for it and there is a long and complicated process to even get in line for it.
Really--not much happens--a man stands in line for bread, but lots happens. It's literally a life altering undertaking. The husband, who tells the story, tells it with a keen eye for observation and a dry wit and maybe a short temper. And the last few lines are perfection. Maybe because I would feel the same way and could relate. I always appreciate an author who can elicit a guffaw or two from me!
Nudge, nudge. Go on, read it for yourself. Then you can read the Q&A here. I hope I cross paths with Lennon again sometime soon.