|
An Original Talent Displays Her Unique Blend Of The Studied And Spontaneous.
By Stacey Richter
Almost No Memory, by Lydia Davis (Farrar, Straus
and Giroux). Cloth, $21.
IN 1906, WHEN Willa Cather wrote: "There are only
two or three human stories, and they go on repeating themselves
as fiercely as if they had never happened before," she had
obviously not been subjected to the redundant crop of fiction
about failed farms, trailer life and bad childhoods the 1980s
and '90s have brought us. It takes a unique and talented writer
to tell our human stories so that they seem fresh; Lydia Davis,
the author of the short-story collection Almost No Memory,
goes so far as to make them astonishing. Her careful, dream-like
prose touches on themes of self-knowledge, domesticity and romance:
Imagine Kafka reborn as a 20th-century housewife typing at the
kitchen table while a baby crawls up her legs, and you begin to
approach the mood of a story by Davis.
She creates odd but compelling vignettes that mix the haziness
of obsession with a sharp, self-critical intellect. It's impossible
to read her stories without being reminded of women's magazines
like Cosmopolitan. She writes about the confusion of romantic
longing, the boredom of raising children, the difficulty of getting
along with one's husband; she exhaustively dissects the structure
of arguments between loved ones--and yet, she couches these typically
feminine concerns in the dry, brittle language of academe. Stylistically,
Davis' work seems to have more in common with the dryness of a
textbook than a novel.
As unlikely as it sounds, this combination of the spontaneous
and the studied blends beautifully into an agile, exotic hybrid.
Davis is a well-known translator of French literature and her
work bears the influence of French Nouveau Roman writers
like Alain Robbe-Grillet and their apologist Roland Barthes--writers
who believed in challenging traditional literary conventions through
self-reflexivity. Though Davis' style owes something to this movement,
her work has a sense of longing and emotion at its core, something
the French writers often lacked. The story "The Professor,"
for example, is a dissection of a professor's fantasy that she
could shed the more annoying aspects of her intellect by marrying
a cowboy. The story combines persistent descriptions of the professor's
state of mind with a rosy vision of how cowboy love would improve
her. The story is remarkably haunting--perhaps because the absurdity
of analyzing the simple life on the range simultaneously raises
the veil book-learning can place between the heart and the world
while attempting to rip it down:
More important than the clothes a cowboy wore, and the way
he wore them, was the fact that a cowboy probably wouldn't know
much more than he had to. He would think about his work, and about
his family, if he had one, and about having a good time, and not
much else. I was tired of so much thinking, which was what I did
most in those days. I did other things, but I went on thinking
while I did them. I might feel something, but I would think about
what I was feeling at the same time...When I had the idea of marrying
a cowboy I imagined that maybe a cowboy would help me stop thinking
so much.
This story, like many of the best in this collection--"Our
Kindness," "Glenn Gould" and "Pastor Elaine's
Newsletter"--expresses a craving for a kind of emotional
wholeness and capacity for generosity while quietly protesting
the inadequacy of the intellect to point the way there.
Davis is by no means an easy writer. Her work is stubbornly intellectual,
and many of the stories in this collection avoid the hallmarks
of conventional fiction: There are often no characters, no setting,
and no events. All this has been pared away in favor of ideas
and a spare, urgent prose style. A few of the more than 50 stories
in Almost No Memory are only a paragraph long; at least
one is a single sentence. They deal less with the orthodox territory
of fiction--conflict between characters, the progression of events--and
are instead intent on describing (and often, containing) the tensions
between loving and thinking, the gulf between knowing oneself
and knowing others.
It's been almost 10 years since the publication of Break It
Down, Davis' last collection of short stories (though her
wonderful novel The End of the Story came out last year).
Dedicated Davis fans may be disappointed to find that several
stories in this collection have been previously published in earlier,
small press editions; though sadly, there don't seem to be all
that many dedicated Davis fans yet. Like Cormac McCarthy before
he became well known, Davis is the kind of writer other writers
love, but who remains relatively obscure. This is too bad; the
more than 50 stories in Almost No Memory do vary somewhat
in quality, but when Davis is in stride, she's one of the most
original, talented writers working in English today.
|
|