Tenth of December

This is the second book of Saunders's that I've read now, or more accurately, listened to. And I have similar feelings to it as I did the other (Lincoln In The Bardo), I think Saunders is a really interesting writer... I just can't quite get into his work for some reason.

This short story collection has a couple tales that I liked, in particular one about a prisoner in an experimental facility forced into radical behavior testing. A lot of them kind of just washed over me though, or were a bit aimless and never really hit me in the right way.

Maybe if I read Saunders again I'll try to skip the audiobook and just read him. I'm not sure if it's just an attention thing.

Also, I really want to read a good short story collection this year, so if you read this and have a suggestion, please let me know!

It's a little bit of a roller coaster ride tonally and stylistically, but this is part of Saunder's charm. Though I'm sure he's a careful and intentional writer, these pieces have the feel of someone who wrote each one in single sessions, never to look at again. They are darkly hilarious. He's never “cute” funny, but existentially so. Most of these stories occupy various dystopian versions of Earth and our otherwise normal society, which lend the collection an unsettling feel: this is all completely familiar and “normal”, and yet it is astonishing how easily this normalcy can coexist with such deeply dark twists on reality. It makes us see how human nature and our own “civilization” are so close to such a world we would currently find unacceptable and wicked.

These parallel-universe worlds are not concerned with much mythology or world-building. You are dropped into the life and story of someone trying to live in these circumstances which they feel are entirely normal. Some of the stories seem to exist in the same sci-fi world, while others exist in their own dystopias. But not all the stories fit this genre, which makes these other, seemingly non-dystopian stories carry a sense of dread the entire time. You never know if the next paragraph will reveal that this new favorite character of yours actually exists in a terrible version of reality as either victim or perpetrator. It keeps you uneasy, and it is thrilling.

Perhaps one of Saunder's greatest gifts is also a drawback of this collection. Every single character, no matter how minor, is a CHARACTER. They are memorable and have such interesting ticks and particularities. He seems to have so much fund with them. However, this can de-humanize some of them sometimes. We never encounter someone who is an entirely relatable human. They all seem to exist in se, disconnected from a broader philosophy of humanity.

But still, this collection is so much fun, and it's scatter-brained, mad genius, pace and diversity–while at times can throw you off and take you some time to re-calibrate your bearings moving into the next story–is brilliant and astonishing and beautiful and, at times, truly profound.

This is 4 stars for me instead of 5 is more related to personal idiosyncracy than anything else. I feel baffled reading the blurbs on the back cover: famous people are saying, “This is great comedy, threaded with tragedy!” and I'm all like, “This is great tragedy, threaded with comedy.” The just-slightly-futuristic and definitely dystopian tilt of many of these stories made them hard for me to stand because of how painfully accurate they seemed about certain aspects of our current world, even when I also really loved them. My tolerance for dark fiction is generally inversely proportional to how clinically raw my therapy caseload seems to me at the given moment, so that's that (I couldn't finishing watching “Chappie,” last night, for Pete's sake, because it was like watching child abuse, except with a robot).

What Sanders himself has to say about his darkness, though, is why I am glad to have read this collection (the following excepted from a conversation with David Sedaris at the back of the book):

“To some readers, this makes the stories seem a bit cruel. Of course, there is cruelty in the real world. And I'd argue that my stories are a good deal less cruel than the real world at its cruelest. We only need look at the newspaper or the history books to see that, over and over, things far too cruel to write have happened and are still happening. But I think what these readers may be feeling is that my stories are crueler than many other stories. And I think that's true...mine tend toward the cruel. And this may be - I mean, I think it is - a bit of a technical flaw, a sign of limitation on the part of the writer, a failure of subtlety....I'm trying to grow as a writer in such a way that I can produce more nuanced versions of the world. But I hope that in these new visions I retain some memory of the fact that cruelty is real - and it does its victims (and we are all its victims, to varying degree) no good to pretend that all thoughts of cruelty are extraneous, or gratuitous.”

7 out of 10 of these stories were first published in The New Yorker, which means I had read them already. And now, after reading this book, my conclusion is that Saunders shouldn't publish collections of stories. Each of the New Yorker stories was fine in the magazine, great even, but reading them one after another is kind of annoying. For me, there's a certain sameness–not in the subject matter necessarily, but in the voice and the manic electricity of the prose.

It took me too long to decide whether Tenth of December is pathos or bathos, compassion or cruelty. I'm going with kindness, because Saunders seems too aware and insightful to be nasty. Compassion takes many forms and I think this is one that I hadn't seen before.

They're trying their best; they just don't know any better. Most of Saunders's protagonists are slow-motion train wrecks: no prefrontal cortex, no impulse control or foresight. Barely human and yet oh so human. Saunders shows us their inner voices, and they sure are ridiculous—but aren't we all? Who of us isn't a train wreck? Each story is excruciating to read. We all know what's coming, and we all know people like those, and we wish there was something we could do to help... but just like in real life, there isn't.

I wonder if Saunders is pulling a fast one. Aiming for different audiences with different purposes: trying to get each of us to recognize something in ourselves and grow. Some readers may think twice about the importance of keeping up with the Joneses; some may learn to pause before judging our fellow. I'm not smart enough to figure it out.

The bottom line, though, is that I really didn't enjoy the book. I'm glad I read it, glad for the opportunity to think, but most of all I'm just glad it's over with.

I wanted to like this one more than I did. I had never heard of the author until a friend recommended him; I then found his name popping up a lot as I read this collection. Saunders is a current literary darling, specializing in short stories, and has been generally very well-received.

Tenth of December is a collection of ten short stories. Length varies dramatically, from a couple of pages to much longer. Saunders has been praised for his style; initially I took it to be a conceit of one of his characters, but it's pretty consistent across the board. I liked it more when I thought it was character specific. As the pages went on it began to grow stale.

Saunders' wit is supposedly his trademark. The three people who eventually recommended him to me all found him funny; I rarely did. I compare him to David Sedaris. Many people think David Sedaris is hilarious; I have a hard time getting past the dysfunction, so instead of making me laugh, Sedaris bums me out. I think something similar might be at work here. I frequently found Saunders depressing, and there wasn't an adequate payoff to make the experience feel worth it. Not that I didn't like any of them; a few were very good. By and large, though, I didn't enjoy most of my time with Saunders.

Favorite stories from this collection: Escape From Spiderhead, Tenth of December

Least favorites: Puppy, The Semplica Girl Diaries

I liked it. Turns out I just hate everyone else's opinion on it. George Saunders seems to invite an abundance of critical lit dick-swinging. He's the Bon Iver of the written word. Have you read some of these reviews? Sorry, I can be just as guilty of the same overwrought analysis but this is just too much. You've all forced my hand and now I'm reading non-fiction and self-help.

I read this slooooowly over two weeks, dishing it out like a small dessert I didn't have to share and wanted to enjoy over an extended period of time. I am in love with this man's work and have yet to read a story I didn't like yet. I hate to pick a favorite, but The Semplica Girl Diaries- good God, that story is amazing. Victory Lap is also wonderful and Escape from Spiderhead- wow.

A very wide range of themes are played out throughout the stories. Without giving anything away, one story reminded me of a combination of 2 books: [b:Flowers for Algernon 18373 Flowers for Algernon Daniel Keyes https://d202m5krfqbpi5.cloudfront.net/books/1367141311s/18373.jpg 3337594] and [b:Harrison Bergeron 10176119 Harrison Bergeron Kurt Vonnegut https://d202m5krfqbpi5.cloudfront.net/books/1323130675s/10176119.jpg 15074968], and another was reminiscent of Sedaris's fable-esque stories from [b:Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk: A Modest Bestiary 7857195 Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk  A Modest Bestiary David Sedaris https://d202m5krfqbpi5.cloudfront.net/books/1279831428s/7857195.jpg 10995406]. I love writers that are able to infuse humor and wit into their gut-wrenching tales, and this writer does so without skipping a beat. The stories all conveyed strong, emotional qualities and made me question several times over “What if that were me? What if I were put in that position, what would I do?” I am certain that some of the stories will stay with me for quite some time.