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4.08 AVERAGE
4.08 AVERAGE
I usually can't get into collections of short stories, but this one is awesome!
re-read this for class. flannery o'connor is still one of the all-time greats. yes i am logging short stories now to help me towards my goodreads goal. do not judge me.
O'Connor writes precisely rendered stories of working-class, culturally anxious people we might now describe as "Trump voters." She is, indisputably, a master of mood and form, and she can write a single killer sentence better than anyone. Still, I find the total package a little bloodless.
*2023 update* I'm starting to get her.
*2023 update* I'm starting to get her.
Flannery O'Connor has my number. These stories are a painful pinprick to any inflated sense of self righteousness or superiority. Here's the passage that indicts me, about a young man, disgusted with the bigotry of others, who lives so fully in his own head that his life is devoid of tolerance and inclusion, just as it is devoid of everything else:
"Behind the newspaper Julian was withdrawing into the inner compartment of his mind where he spent most of his time. This was a kind of mental bubble in which he established himself when he could not bear to be a part of what was going on around him. From it he could see out and judge but in it he was safe from any kind of penetration from without. It was the only place where he felt free of the general idiocy of his fellows."
Foreshadowing some of David Foster Wallace's most crucial themes, O'Connor captures the constant mental chatter that diverts well-meaning people from the world they live in toward the imaginary world they want. Reading this book encourages truly seeing the people around you and demonstrates the cost of not doing so. If taken, this encouragement is a beautiful gift, but it comes at the cost of truly seeing oneself on every page, with all excuses, defenses, and decorations stripped away. This book is a painful gift, delivered without consolation. It's worth it.
"Behind the newspaper Julian was withdrawing into the inner compartment of his mind where he spent most of his time. This was a kind of mental bubble in which he established himself when he could not bear to be a part of what was going on around him. From it he could see out and judge but in it he was safe from any kind of penetration from without. It was the only place where he felt free of the general idiocy of his fellows."
Foreshadowing some of David Foster Wallace's most crucial themes, O'Connor captures the constant mental chatter that diverts well-meaning people from the world they live in toward the imaginary world they want. Reading this book encourages truly seeing the people around you and demonstrates the cost of not doing so. If taken, this encouragement is a beautiful gift, but it comes at the cost of truly seeing oneself on every page, with all excuses, defenses, and decorations stripped away. This book is a painful gift, delivered without consolation. It's worth it.
I really enjoyed the story "The Revelation," but just wasn't in the mood for the others stories.
Oh fine. I'll buck the trend here. I have a memory of reading and liking the author's Wise Blood years ago. This mash-up of Catholicism, William Faulkner and Hieronymus Bosch was, however, a dreary slog indeed.
This is a posthumously published collection of nine short stories that serve as twisted morality plays that I confess I don't totally understand. The various protagonists aren't truly amoral but are unsatisfied with life and mostly lacking in empathy and/or self-awareness and frequently meet gruesome endings. O'Connor can write some beautiful sentences but that just wasn't enough to overcome the piety which is somehow both heavy-handed and abstruse.
I prayed while reading this book...for it to end.
This is a posthumously published collection of nine short stories that serve as twisted morality plays that I confess I don't totally understand. The various protagonists aren't truly amoral but are unsatisfied with life and mostly lacking in empathy and/or self-awareness and frequently meet gruesome endings. O'Connor can write some beautiful sentences but that just wasn't enough to overcome the piety which is somehow both heavy-handed and abstruse.
I prayed while reading this book...for it to end.
This collection of short stories is a hilarious but brutal dissection of self-righteous people meeting their just deserts. The main characters are holier than thou but they think their hearts are in the right place. This leads to situations that test their resolve and ultimately, to their downfall or deliverance, depending on how you look at it. O'Connor writes so well and I'm a fan of the way she builds up her stories to an explosive end.
Favorites: Greenleaf, A View of the Woods, The Enduring Chill
Favorites: Greenleaf, A View of the Woods, The Enduring Chill
I should be tired of O'Connor country by now. It is so full of God, the godless, and the grotesque. And yet I can't stop. O'Connor writes like no one else. She dips in and out of each character's brain, in and out of the human heart. She finds the freakishness in each one of us and puts it on display. A reader walks away with something like empathy. We are brought closer to the "other" and the mystery that connects us all.
Excellent characterization - Just horrible, fascinating people you can't turn away from. The revelations at the end of each story were a cherry on top after the masterly crafted beats amped up the suspense.
The short story could easily be my favorite form of literature - and I love seeing how O’Connor works so well within that structure to convey bigger works in her characters’ lives through transformative experiences of irony & grace. There’s nothing like a writer who can turn the mirror back on a reader.