This anthology of never-before-published short stories is comprised of stories by, as the name suggests, various authors. The Fiction Desk published in April this volume of twelve stories from authors new and established (though mostly new). On September 30, 2011, The Fiction Desk will be releasing the second anthology in what is planned to be a continuing series. “The main thrust of the anthology series is to showcase a variety of writers and writing.” (From The Fiction Desk Newsletter, September 2011.)
You should know, though I have never met him, I consider Rob a friend. We have exchanged e-mail, he’s on my blogroll, he has always been gracious and generous with respect to my blog. In other words, I do not want to mislead you that I am completely disinterested in whether Rob’s publishing venture is a success. I am rooting for him. Still, given this first volume, I am sure he will do fine no matter what I say below.
After three stories, you know that this is going to be an eclectic collection. “How to Fall in Love with an Air Hostess” is a guide on how to fall in love with an air hostess. The second story, “Crannock House”, is set in a private boarding school in the mid-1980s. In the third, a husband finds his wife frolicking with a man in a dog costume…and she seems to believe the man is an actual dog…and her husband keeps paying the guy to come back. The Fiction Desk has definitely managed variety of subject matter and genre.
I will not discuss all twelve of the stories, though there is something in each to appreciate. In “Celia and Harold”, a man stops in a small, strange town, Midwick, to switch trains. In the pub, he is accosted by a barfly who warns him to leave Midwick as soon as he can:
”You’ve not seen her,” he said. “Pray you never do.”
“You’ll have to excuse me,” I said, patting my laptop and nodding in the direction of the window. “I have to get this work done before the train to Dymthrop arrives.”
The barfly snorted. “Forget Dymthrop. All that matters is that you get out of Midwick – and fast. Or you’ll be as doomed as the rest of us.”
The barfly is Harold and the woman he warns about is Celia. I won’t ruin the story, but it feels like something Stephen King might write. The idea is a good one and the execution is splendid. The reader, like the narrator, only gradually grasps the situation. To say too much more might give away the game, so I will just say that Patrick Whittaker’s story is one of the nicer gems.
Another I really liked was Ben Lyle’s “Crannock House”, a deeply affecting story about a prep school boy’s relationship with his math teacher. It has something of Steinbeck’s The Winter of Our Discontent in it, and maybe a dash of Edith Wharton. I was just now, after writing the above, looking up some biographical information on Mr. Lyle at The Fiction Desk to see if there was anything I should include. It turns out that my favorite story from the anthology was also the winner of the “Various Authors Prize”, that is, a cash award to the story judged best by the contributors to the volume. Three stories tied among the contributors, so John Self of The Asylum stepped in and chose “Crannock House.” He had this to say:
I liked it because it surprises the reader’s expectations and doesn’t explain everything, and despite its short length, it manages to be a complex and affecting portrayal of two characters covering a long period of time without seeming rushed.
We learn early in the story that Crannock House School is a “progressive” school.
There were no compulsory lessons: learning was considered a contract between teachers and pupils. The idea was that children knew what was best for them. My parents thought I’d do well in an environment of joy and discovery, rather than set texts, exams and school uniforms. That’s what my dad wrote in his articles for The Guardian anyway.
The story is narrated by James, a student at Crannock House School. He is thirteen when a new math teacher, Mervyn, arrives with wildly unkempt hair and a suit and tie. His attire is what most immediately marks him for an odd ball. The students soon realize that, consistent with his teacher-like neckwear, he actually intends to teach them math. James is an excellent student and he quickly wins the stern affections of Mervyn.
While James and Mervyn are both misfits in the wider world, they are misfits within the school of misfits too. Unlike most of the students, James, as the quote above hints, is from a reasonably wealthy and connected family. They could afford to send him to a better school but do not. The fact that James received an explanation for his being at this particular school from his dad’s Guardian articles suggests a parental distance later borne out in the text. Mervyn, meanwhile, believes in conventional learning. At least, he does not subscribe to the soft-headedness of Crannock House’s progressive approach to collaborative learning. Yet, as his wild hair and presence at Crannock House suggest, he also has failed to find his place on the outside.
What is most affecting about the book is the “complex and affecting portrayal” of the relationship between James and Mervyn. James needs a father figure and a friend, Mervyn needs a friend. The ending is emotionally wrenching without giving itself over to melodrama or cliché. Ben Lyle writes with economy, but sneaks in the occasional flourish of imagery:
He wiped his snub nose, adding to the silver spindles on his sweat-shirted forearm.
This is a fine effort by a fine writer. I understand that Ben Lyle is coming out with a first novel soon. I will be watching out for it.
As for Various Authors, the eclecticism and the quality continue. Charles Lambert’s “All I Want”, with its exploration of hopeless longing, was another highlight for me. By the close, each of the stories sticks in the mind for one reason or another. The Fiction Desk is off to a good start and I look forward to the next in the series.