“The Resident Poet”
by Katherine Dunn
from the May 11, 2020 issue of The New Yorker
Katherine Dunn, best known around these parts as the author of Geek Love, died in 2016. Sadly, this was before she finished her long anticipated novel The Cut Man, which she first said she was working on back in 1989 when Geek Love was published. I remember in 2009 hearing that The Cut Man was going to be released that September, but that didn’t happen. Then in 2010 it seemed like the release was imminent when I enjoyed the excerpt that appeared in The Paris Review. I’m not sure we will ever see that book in any form.
However, it does look like we will get more from Dunn. A novel, Toad, is coming from MCD/FSG in 2021. From its description it doesn’t seem to be related at all to The Cut Man. MCG/FSG is also publishing a collection of her short stories in 2022. “The Resident Poet” is part of that collection. You can read some of the details in Deborah Treisman’s interview with Naomi Huffman here.
So here we have something we’ve never read from Katherine Dunn! I am very excited. It’s also relatively long (nearly double the length of story we’ve been getting). I still need to catch up on the last couple of stories, and I will do that, but I’m also going to start this one as soon as I am able after work today.
I hope you’re all well as time continues to move us through these stressful times. I look forward to your thoughts below!
I like a good short story, and I’m trying to learn how they’re done; that’s why I’m glad I stumbled on this blog. However, if I ever write something this depressing, please just kill me.
Did anyone like it?
I liked it. But I don’t understand the main characters motivations. Why was she interested in such a terrible person as her professor? Was it self loathing? Boredom? Or was there something else she was getting out of the “relationship”?
I just got through Allan Gurganus’s story, so this one is next! Read’s comment makes me think this story is going to be very familiar in the context of 1970s fiction and academia . . .
I loved this! As a 26 year old woman I connected with this story to my core. I can remember a time when the mystery of an older, off limits man was exciting. Texting, flirting and developing a fantasy narrative was all part of the fun..then reality sets in. His once inciteful lessons now sound patronizing, his dad bod revolting. A terrifying realization comes that you are trapped, you must fulfill this fantasy as you are the one who created it.This is especially true when the sexy persona you created is expected to perform.The longing for your bed, a safe place, to curl into a ball overtake every thought you have.
Oh yes, all of this touched my soul!
The prose is mellifluous and reads easy. Loved the thing about the human thigh as pudding with a spoonbone, that drew me in.
This is another tight section: “My face is puffy, pale, with freckles standing out like the heads of pins. An actual flutter now in my belly. How do you go about this? What do you do when there’s no impulse to guide you? I’ve let this get too cold and distant, but I must strut out to meet it.”
Insecurity as a major theme is tough to pull off without being too Freudian or too biased (usually a writer of one gender namecalling the other gender “insecure”). Here, Dunn balances two insecure characters well, fleshing them each out equally while staying securely in the first-person.
The dialogue is well-observed and rings true. The narrator’s self-deprecation makes her seem reliable (Like all narrators, she’s not, but it takes a while before she really lets something slip; ie: the “I don’t care much what he thinks of me” line). The straightforward tone eschews confessional, saccharine, self-seriousness, and that’s a plus. Lines like “His complacence is more nauseating than his weakness. I may begin to dislike him.” go a long way in assuring the reader that they’re in good hands. Two sentences, direct, in between dialogue, followed by a minor reveal and admission (“I hadn’t noticed that” in regards to the prof picking up on the blonde classmate girl’s lust for the narrator).
There need to be more women named Fern in both stories and in the world.
It’s kind of a story about two really competitive, smart, ugly losers, yes?
Some of its feminist tropes may read as a little tired or dated, but seeing as it was recovered from the author’s archive of unpublished work, this makes sense. More importantly, it’s thankfully not a shrill harangue.
The prof’s hubris, big-girl fetish, and the line “I’ve never screwed a woman in curlers before” are all kind of great and hilarious, and his whole character actually is like something out of an episode of “Archer.”
The subject matter is potentially yawn-inducing these days, and the prof is right that, yes, America is awfully uptight about sex, just as the narrator is right that men wield this fact to try to get in women’s pants/get them to be more open to sex acts the guy wants.
The story is a bit slight and I’m not sure it really achieves anything all that substantial, but the last paragraph is quite redeeming. The tone and balance shown in those three sentences; so well put together. I’m not saying this is going to displace Anton or Flannery from any anthologies, but I’ve gotta give Dunn credit for sticking the landing.
Read, I don’t think the character knows why she’s in the relationship, and I think that her not-knowing is a key part of the story. The author doesn’t need to make the relationship make sense, but the story works because she makes the relationship totally believable from the point of view of the student, even if (or especially if) that point-of-view is somewhat confused.
Like Callie West, I really didn’t like this story at all. I found the narrator to be singularly unpleasant, and I felt diminished by the act of reading it. I had the impression (perhaps unfounded and incorrect) that the narrator was just a thinly fictionalized stand-in for the late author. Writing this short story seemed to be her way of working through a grudge against the loathsome resident poet of the title.
I liked this story a lot even though it is pretty depressing. It reminds me of one of Joni Mitchell’s songs from her Court & Spark album, particularly the tone of being self assured but still questioning why she had to experience a bad fling.
I agree with Callie that this story is very sad but even then it seems to unlock the perspective of a writer who is extremely aware and very precisely observant. It would be totally okay with a reader if Callie wrote something very sad but the key thing would be to write something that fully reflects the protagonist’s state of mind, something created that emerges as the authentic individual voice of the writer.
Dee’s comment confirms the accuracy of this particular female perspective on men, women and the games they play. I agree with Sean’s balanced assessment and he notes Dunn’s strengths as well as some weakness. But overall she seems to have developed a well-crafted distinctive voice that is piercingly accurate like Joan Didion.
I agree with Paul’s observations and with Read’s point that the motivations of the main characters aren’t very clear. But I think Dunn is leaving that to the reader. This story is like a police report on an incident. We are the detectives and the detectives don’t always always agree on whether there was any kind of crime and what the motivations are as far as why the main characters allowed themselves to do or not do what they did.
I really liked the ending. Also the use of nature to reflect the situation; stuck in the marshes and not sailing smoothly out on the open water. I am going to read Geek Love and look forward to reading the short story collection this story will be part of.
This story also presents a particular take on the Me Too movement showing how women who want to be perceived as important and valuable somehow might need the approval of a man, who likewise wants to be perceived as important and valuable to women. The confusion is in what either should do or not do. And a person’s value and importance should always be most evident to themselves. But that seems difficult when everyone seems to question their value and their worth no matter how successful or not they are.
I wonder why this short story wasn’t published and am grateful that Naomi Huffman found quite a bit of Katherine Dunn’s unpublished work that she is shepherding into publication. I think the male perspective on life and men and women is more prized by traditional publishers as exhibited by writers like Frederick Exley in his “A Fan’s Notes.”
I think Katherine Dunn’s excellence was first recognized by the late Sonny Mehta when he arranged for the publication of “Geek Love.” The Mookse once again has helped focus attention on a writer some of whose best work may have been overlooked until now.
Having read the many insightful comments about the story, I decided to wade back into it to see how she makes it work. I do appreciate the narrator’s self-awareness, the vivid descriptions of the resident poet’s repulsiveness, as well as both their vulnerabilities. I like the lack of sentimentality. What really stood out to me, though, was the sense of claustrophobia, from Sally standing under a tree in the dark to avoid both the rain and detection, to her staring at her reflection so despairingly when she finally returns to her dorm room. The smell of cigar smoke and junk food in the small car, scum on the water in the bathtub, the woman in curlers enclosed in the brightly lit laundromat, the poet’s terror of being seen, all added up to an unpleasant closed-in feeling. Almost every scene is either in a rather dispiriting indoor setting or in darkness. The one pleasant place, the historical house, is ruined by the poet urinating in the sink.
Now I like a flawed protagonist as much as the next person, maybe more, but the mysteriousness of Sally’s motivation (to me) and the lack of any hint of hope or redemption, made the story not just sad, but…well, my offer still stands. Kill me, please, if I ever write anything this depressing.
Callie,
I really hadn’t noticed that closed in feeling in the writing which is a great observation. As far as seeing a believable motivation or any hint of hope or redemption, there are some writers where anything like that is just not part of their universe, not even a tiny bit. And it’s a bit off-putting and negative and distances you from the writing of that particular author. But thankfully not all short stories published in the New Yorker are this sad or written in such an irredeemable sounding voice. So maybe in the next 5 or 6 New Yorker short stories you will find one that resonates more than alienates. Different readers have different comfort levels or discomfort levels with particular writers. So readers and other writers then spend the most time with the author that more likely resonates with their possible viewpoints on the world. Reading is supposed to be more enjoyable than upsetting though some people just aren’t very upset by anything these days since so much unbearably sad stuff happens now more than ever before.
Larry B.
This story felt in line with Dunn’s penchant for the loner or oddball in society. Sally’s motivation seems to be an enjoyment of power. She’s continually walking a tightrope on their outing trying to find the right balance between appealing to Mr. Lucas, keeping him on edge, almost humiliating him. It’s a game in which danger plays a certain role–she’s aware she’s putting herself in a precarious position but can still direct a lot of what happens. Instead of being a victim, she’s a kind of co-equal. Almost like a keenly observant character study in which she undermines any sympathetic response in the reader. Not so sure it has much of a narrative arc but it does steadily subvert expectations.
It should be quite interesting to read more of her unreleased work. Having been a big fan of GEEK LOVE, when Dunn died, I dove into her other available works (two novels: ATTIC and TRUCK; and a nonfiction collection of her articles and essays on boxing, ONE RING CIRCUS). The novels were experimental and felt only partially realized, but the boxing essays were fabulous—full of rich detail and the ability to explore social insights through the prism of pugilism.
Larry, I happened on this blog after reading Camille Bordas’ story “Only Orange,” which I liked so much I googled it. Other commenters found the protagonist unlikable and her motives inscrutable, so I wonder if it just depends on the person and how much they can identify with some aspect of the protagonist’s personality. I continue to think about what put me off so much about the story. I came up with an oxymoron: voluntary rape. It really was repellent to me, and I had to force myself to finish it, hoping for an ending that would make it worth my time. No such luck. Looking forward to finally receiving my New Yorker and reading Jonathan Lethen’s story. I loved “Motherless Brooklyn,” so I’m really looking forward to it.
Callie,
I agree that it depends on the person or reader and the reaction they may experience to a particular protagonist’s actions or mindset. Sally is difficult because she seems to lack self-respect and will do almost anything not to be bored. Her viewpoint is usually seen more in men than women. It may be a way to level or equalize the playing field but seems to result in self abasement on both sides. But there is always another short story or a reader can spend more time with another writer’s story.
Larry B.
Callie —
Kudos to you for knowing your own mind and sticking with your evaluation of this story. I agree with you. To me this story is not only depressing, it portrays a dismal atmosphere in which neither character shows a spark of spirit. As Larry wrote, there is “self-abasement on both sides.”
The female character mocks the old poet, with his “pudding” hidden in wool and his flabby breasts. However, she also mocks herself – the other students moo at her (she’s a cow?) and the poet is surprised that she has a waist. We get the idea that she is fat. Everything in the story is demeaning to both of them.
Neither one of them wants to be doing this: “He’d rather be home in bed with his soft wife and a bottle of beer.” The woman feels the same – she’d rather be in her room with a book and cigarettes. She keeps “wishing myself back in my sober bed.” Perhaps we can then call it a happy ending when she cuts the weekend short and goes to her room.
Neither one enjoys the assignation. “We hump around on the bed, working.” “What dull stuff I get into for the sake of excitement.” “It’s been strictly verbal flirtation, since neither of us finds the other attractive.” She’s laughing at herself, but there is also a strong sense of humiliation: “I could never be a professional whore. It would be such hard work.” Her self-deprecating humor doesn’t cover her pain. To hurt him for the hurt he (and she) have inflicted on her, she says, “I have been prepared to be vicious for two days.”
So why is she doing this? As Read asks, “Why was she interested in such a terrible person?” To me, it’s a matter of self-esteem: “I could have picked a less paranoid professor. But would that professor have picked me?” They are acting out social roles that they feel are imposed on them by society: He feels “duty bound to fondle the freshmen” “and I’m the only dope so far” to be susceptible
Like Teromajusa, I had the sense that the author had an experience like this: “Writing this short story seemed to be her way of working through a grudge against the loathsome resident poet of the title.” And perhaps also to purge her sense of shame at her self-abasement. If that’s the case, we can imagine why she didn’t publish it. She achieved her cathartic purpose by writing it and didn’t want it to see the light of publication. However, when she died her trustees said, “Can we make some money out of her now that she’s gone?” So they submitted it.
One last observation. Dee H wrote, “I loved this! As a 26 year old woman I connected with this story to my core. I can remember a time when the mystery of an older, off limits man was exciting.” Here is Francine Prose, in “Reading Like A Writer”, talking about readers identifying with a character:
“It’s one of the things that writers are most commonly being told these days: Their characters should be likable and sympathetic so the reader can care about them. And what does care mean, exactly? Too often, I’m afraid, it’s being used as a synonym for identify. But what’s even more unsettling is the possibility that, in order for us to identify with them, characters are supposed to be nice people like us having the same experiences that we have had.”
William,
I agree with much of what you wrote and the other comments especially concerning why the protagonist acts the way she does and how she views herself. But some writers are celebrated more than others for writing out of their personal experience or for celebrating something illicit and tawdry if they can about write it beautifully if not compellingly. And some writers are heavily criticized for all their novels or stories being about some central life experience. Philip Roth is vilified for almost everything he writes concerning his numerous failures in his relationships with women. Goodbye Columbus chronicles a relationship where a man and a woman act very badly towards one another. This almost makes you start thinking that it is more socially acceptable for a man rather than a woman to write about kiss and tell or more, if they don’t distance a reader enough from it. Nora Ephron was celebrated for writing “Heartburn” yet I think it is unrivaled in its comparisons of how differently highly successful people act in Washington versus New York. Charles Dickens is faulted for rewriting his childhood experience of being poor and exploited in a debtors prison both in Great Expectations and Little Dorritt (although he switched genders for that). In Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov wrote about a college professor’s affair with a 13 year old girl purportedly from a newspaper story about a man who kidnapped a young girl and made her his lover for over a year. Lolita avoided some condemnation by the relationship being written about in mostly high end almost aesthetic prose. Maybe The Resident Poet wasn’t as artfully put together as might have allowed it to be more acceptable. There is liking something because you can identify with it or liking something not because you can identify with it but because the realism or what you see under the literary microscope is compelling enough to be useful in how you live your life or even in spotting kinds of people you might not want to have close dealings with or kinds of situations you might want to avoid. Short stories and some novels you choose like how you choose who you marry or who you spend time with. If it’s too depressing find another one. There are many fishes in the sea and many short stories on land physically and more recently electronically to spend your time with.
Larry —
Good advice. I’ve taken out my story fishing rod and am dropping it into the ebook pool.
I liked the story not because I identified with the narrator, or because It suits some me-too-ish posture, but because I think it is well-crafted. Besides its consistent background of hopeless desire for adventure when both participants know the impossibility, still the peat smolders. Although lately we’ve had stories about vulgar sex and violent sex, I’ve never seen better writing about the less dramatic but much more common unpleasing sex, or about the desire for romance trumping the acknowledgement of reality. I don’t mind that the story has a gloomy affect. It’s the whole point.
I started reading w detail then ended up skimming since there was no surprises or drama despite the squishy descriptions of sad sex and the narrator’s self-demeaning actions. I feel like the New Yorker, in publishing this piece, is trying to recapture the buzz from the story Cat Person which was better written, since the author simply told the story in honest, lurid detail. The unvarnished truth of it was its beauty. In this somewhat tired tale of the groping professor and the preyed upon student, the author is trying so hard to show her writer’s prowess, each paragraph is crammed with too many “interesting” descriptors and verbs which overwhelms the narrative; what they call being “writerly”. I could almost see the author pouring over her synonym finder. I found that, more than the subject, to be the real discomfort.