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“Futures”
by Han Ong
from the March 30, 2020 issue of The New Yorker
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[fusion_dropcap boxed=”no” boxed_radius=”” class=”” id=”” color=”#003366″ text_color=””]L[/fusion_dropcap]ast year, Han Ong, a playwright and novelist, published his first piece of New Yorker fiction. “Javi” (see my post here, which includes a little rundown on his thirty year career). I’m glad to see his work here again.
I hope everyone is doing okay as we navigate this world-wide emergency. I hope you’re finding time to get away and see good and read. I admit that I’ve been unable to focus much on reading over the last couple of weeks, but I hope to change that and enjoy more reading this week.
Please let me know how you like Han Ong’s “Futures” below!
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Assignment was to write coming-of-age bad-family-dynamics story built around tennis plot. It was suggested that we read that essay by David Foster Wallace first.
I was basically enjoying this once I got past some rather clumsy expositional passages near the top. And then it ends. This seems clearly an excerpt from a novel and I didn’t feel too satisfied because of this. I did become somewhat immersed in the world of the character and his fascination with tennis and budding sexuality. The aesthetic/philososphy of the tennis player and their emotional stake in the game is interesting also. It could be writers or painters discussing the need they have to pursue their vocation. But…the abrupt stopping of this was unsatisfying.
I’m such a fan of the brief but spectacular sentence, so I’ll give you this for your delectation. When Pavel asks Toby, “Your Dad, he makes his money from gambling?” Toby’s response is “What?” And then
Han Ong writes, “Toby’s shoulders go up.” Try this at home.