Review | One More Thing, B.J. Novak

18007533B.J. Novak’s short story collection One More Thing is uneven in quality. The stories are comedic, not necessarily all laugh out loud funny, but more the kind of comedy where you end up with a knowing, somewhat bemused, smile at the end. The punchlines in these stories are shared knowledge, insight from an experience that seems fantastical at first, yet  is revealed to be familiar by the punchline. I like B.J. Novak in The Office, and from his bio, I know that he is a writer as well as an actor, so this isn’t just one of those ghost-written Hollywood celebrity titles. I love the cover of the book, the casual, confidential tone of the title echoed in the scribbled intimacy on the jacket. I also like the conceit of the first story — a rematch between the tortoise and the hare, this time with the hare determined to win. Despite the adage at the end, it is the hollowness of victory that resonates long after reading the tale. So when I began this book, I was very much predisposed to loving it.

At his best, Novak is very, very good. Particularly in some of his longer stories, he turns a lens towards an aspect of life that is right on point, though his approach is so sly that it takes a while to get the point, if indeed we ever do. In one of my favourite stories, a man seeks out his grandmother in heaven because of a childhood promise to meet up after death, except the grandmother keeps putting him off, and it turns out, she’s too busy partying with Frank Sinatra, Elvis Presley and the like to hang out with him. The punchline is in the big reveal, and there’s the comedic moment of surprise and reversal. But like any good comedy, the power is in the emotion beneath the surprise. There’s something bittersweet about the ending — when the grandmother explains to the man that they’ve both changed since that childhood promise was made, it reminds us of how much we do change and lose our childhood selves. But there’s also something satisfying about it — both grandmother and grandson end up happy, living separate lives in heaven. I’m not quite sure what the story means, but there’s that sense at the end of it, as in all good stories, that there is something indefinable beyond the page.

In yet another favourite, a man purchases a made-to-order girlfriend, who is perfect in every way, until she starts becoming emotionally needy and he is ill-equipped to cope. A somewhat less restrained version of the movie Herexcept unlike Scarlett Johansson’s character, the one in this story is stuck in a particular body and unable to explore the world beyond being the protagonist’s girlfriend. The story is thoughtful and smart, and while I wish Novak had added more complexity to his characterizations, the story still packed a punch.

Despite some strong works, many of the stories are simply okay. There’s the slightest touch of insight at the end, yet the impact fails to linger barely a page after. It’s possible to make a really short story (less than a page long) powerful, yet many of Novak’s shorter works are more likely to elicit a shrug and turn of the page than anything else. You’d think, “Uh huh, so what?” then realize Novak’s left you nothing to work with and you just need to move on to the next story. Worse are some stories that seem too self-consciously funny or clever. You can just hear the suspense building up and the comic letting loose with a punchline and waiting for the audience to laugh. It doesn’t work on the page — the buildup is too brief and the punchline not enough of a surprise to elicit the desired response. And the obviousness of what that desired response should be just makes it annoying.

One More Thing is worth checking out at a library for a few gems. It’s best read by dipping into a story at a time, in between other tasks in the day, rather than read cover to cover, particularly in one sitting. I’ve heard good things about the audio book, which was narrated by Novak himself and some other well known actors, and perhaps that’s a much better medium for this.

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Thank you to Random House Canada for a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Review | My Life Among the Apes, Cary Fagan

My-Life-Among-the-Apes_largeCary Fagan’s My Life Among the Apes was longlisted for the 2012 Scotiabank Giller Prize and it’s easy to see why. Fagan’s stories are striking, the subtlety of his language enhancing the emotion within the human relationships he explores. Two of my favourite stories in the collection feature the public space of a diner, and the connection between people who interact seemingly on the most casual of levels. In “I Find I Am Not Alone on The Island,” a waitress forms a lifelong bond with a favourite customer whose name she doesn’t even discover until he dies. In “The Little Underworld of Edison Wiese,” a waiter who takes pride in his job despite the crappy working conditions spends an unusual New Year’s Eve at work. The unexpectedness of lasting connection is what makes these stories so lovely. The moment when the waitress, years after having left the diner, feels the need to share a literary allusion the customer had mentioned to her in passing, hints at a far deeper significance. And the scene where the waiter realizes the importance of his job is heartwarming.

My favourite story, “Wolf,” is about a Jewish man who returns to Germany to visit his granddaughter. Seeing a Holocaust memorial, all he can think of to say to his granddaughter is that he doesn’t feel qualified to judge it. How can he, how can anyone really, express such an experience? The tension between history and the present simmers throughout the story, inflecting his visit with much that is left unsaid. It’s a powerful story, and the ending makes you wish to read more, even as you feel the story had ended on a perfect note.

Oddly, it was the title story I found least affecting, about a bank manager who finds comfort in his obsession with Jane Goodall when he has to do a difficult task. The writing was good, but the story felt disjointed, and at the end I was, like one of the characters, utterly unmoved.

Overall however, the collection is a strong one. The simplest of details — a violin in “Wolf,” a lost magic trick in “The Floating Wife” — take on much significance, and Fagan’s writing teases your mind with so much that is deeply felt, but left unsaid.

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Thank you to Thomas Allen for a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Review | The Maladjusted, Derek Hayes

I12859621n the title story, a man is so terrified of leaving his apartment that he lowers a basket with cash from his fourth floor fire escape landing to pay the pizza delivery guy. “I have a mental illness,” he explains whenever people give him strange looks.

Such characters form the stories in Derek Hayes’ compelling collection The Maladjusted. These individuals go beyond awkwardness — some are painfully shy, others deeply insecure — and many seem acutely aware of the confidence with which others approach the world.

In the book blurb, Martin Amis calls Hayes “a talented new writer from Canada worth keeping an eye on,” and it’s easy to see why. Hayes’ stories are snappy and engaging, yet full of compassion. One of the first rules taught in writing classes is to show, not tell, and Hayes’ stories prove why this rule works. His prose is straightforward, yet restrained. His stories give the impression of presenting everything the narrator sees and thinks, while still holding back on so much more going on.

In “That’s Very Observant of You,” probably my favourite story, a woman regularly orders takeout Chinese from a restaurant with an attractive waiter.

“No, I’m not eating here. I always get takeout.” She smiled nervously and said, “My friend is waiting for me outside.” [p. 39]

Except she goes straight home, and when invited by a neighbour to a party, pretends she has evening plans with her sister. Truth is, she eats the meal while watching a video, the volume turned down low so her neighbours don’t realize the truth. “Her fingers rubbed grease into the folds of her flabby belly and legs” and she wishes her sister, the “only person in the world who loved her” was with her [p. 41].

In the hands of a lesser writer, this woman could have been a pathetic, maudlin mess. In the hands of a different type of writer, the story could have been a caustic take on the social pressure to conform, or perhaps on this odd woman who refuses to admit she’s alone. Instead, with Hayes, we get a figure so real, we can almost picture her in front of her TV. We get a character depicted with such vivid detail that she inspires compassion while having too much dignity to deserve pity.

The smallest detail means a lot, and the smallest shift in character behaviour implies so much more. The characters are on the fringes of society, or otherwise so screwed up that they’re unlikable, and yet Hayes manages to make them all feel real, and in making us feel something for them. I absolutely loved this short story collection, quick reads suited for the subway, with characters that will resonate long after you’ve arrived home.

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Thank you to the author for a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.