One of the most enlightening discussions I’ve ever had on
the writing process was with a teacher
of mine, the amazing Nance Van Winckel. Nance was talking about why short
fiction came so much more easily to her than long. She said she found the quickly
rising and falling arc and compact plot of the short story natural, while the long,
loose weave of the novel just didn’t work very well for her. “I need to see the
whole,” she said. “I have to be able to envision the entire work as a single thing.” With short fiction, you can do
that. With novels, not so much.
What was remarkable to me about Nance’s talk, was that it
made me realize that the exact opposite was true for me. I’ve written a few short
pieces in my day, but mainly, I write novels, and I do so precisely because I can’t see the whole work at one time.
What I see are threads—dozens and dozens of threads, all laced together. And I
want to follow those threads, to see where they lead me. Also, every story I come
up with takes 450 manuscript pages to tell.
Perhaps it is my own awkwardness with the form that leads me
to admire well crafted short fiction so much. I love the tension of a good
short story—the way a skilled author can make it just taut enough. I like the
solidity and denseness of the form. But mainly what I admire is the short-story
writer’s ability to create a world in a few hundred words—as opposed to a few hundred
pages.
That is also the reason I love David Ebenbach’s short story
collection, Between Camelots. Each of
these fifteen compact tales is built on crisp language, precise dialogue, and perfectly
chosen details. But underneath their apparent simplicity lie fully realized characters
living richly imagined lives of need, longing, desire, sorrow, loss, and love. These
stories manage to be both delicately wrought and emotionally powerful. They are
the kind of stories that read quick-and-easy, but pack a powerful punch.
One of the things Ebenbach does best is draw scenes full of small
actions that seem insignificant, but that make the emotional struggles of his
characters vivid and real. Loneliness is a man listening to the sounds of
barbecues in backyards as he walks. Being out of place is a gay Black man
ordering steak in a restaurant in rural Wisconsin. Grief is a new widower
waiting outside the bathroom for a woman he picked up at a bar.
Loneliness and alienation are themes that reverberate through
virtually all of the stories in this collection. Ebenbach’s characters yearn
for connection but just miss the mark. They fumble their way through
relationships and stumble just when they are on the verge of finding something
to hold onto. This repeated theme has led at least one reviewer to complain
that too many of the stories are similar. But Ebenbach approaches the themes of
isolation and need from so many different perspectives and with such various
insights that each story feels fresh and distinct. In many ways, this
collection is like a symphony in which the same motifs keep emerging, but each
time with different instrumentation.
David Ebenbach’s latest collection of short stories, Into the Wilderness—which focuses on the
experience of being a parent—came out this week and immediately soared to a
lofty position in Amazon’s sales ranking. My own attempts to order it were
thwarted by the notification “out of stock.” No doubt, it will be available
again soon. In the meantime, I recommend his earlier collection for any writer
who wants to see how a fine short story is put together and any reader who simply
wants to sit back and relish good fiction.









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