“Superstition”
by Sarah Braunstein
from the August 9, 2021 issue of The New Yorker
Sarah Braunstein has published two other stories in The New Yorker — “Marjorie Lemke” in 2013 and “All You Have to Do” in 2015 — and I’m afraid I didn’t really care for either of them. That doesn’t dissuade me from digging into “Superstition,” though, when I get a chance later on this week. I quite like the opening paragraph, which I think captures a certain kind of late-1990s / early-2000s upbringing succinctly:
They were born to the cul-de-sacs of the Arizona desert, hose-drinking boys, allowed to run loose provided they came when called, and they did, these two. James and Lenny. Obedient and clever. Garages packed with scooters, go-carts, arsenals of water guns, each machine-gun soaker more elaborate than the last. They’d outgrown the toys only yesterday, but the rift was total. Now they were sixteen and spent afternoons in the food court dreaming up pranks, or sprawled on the carpet watching sitcoms. Their aimlessness was permitted—not a mark against their future. They had been in Gifted and Talented. Lenny was funny and good at math; James was an ace mimic. Sometimes he was in the school plays. James wanted to become an actor, a theatre rat in Manhattan; Lenny wanted to write for “The Simpsons.”
And I kept reading, enjoying myself as Lenny sells a “lucky” mounted fish on eBay, inventing stories to induce the gullible.
After three months, he had a dream. In the dream, the fish spoke to him. It said, Share the wealth. At this point his luck started wearing off. He got a parking ticket, and other annoying things happened, until he gave the fish to his sister, at which point she got a spot on the gymnastics team, etc., and then after three months she had a dream, the fish gave her the same message, and now they are selling it and hope the lucky winner respects its commands.
I’m curious to see where this story goes! Please feel welcome to share your thoughts in the comments section below!
Engrossing details at the inception. Definitely draws the reader right in from jump. Suburban desert Spielbergish young males and all.
The lamentations for consumerism as James looks at his junky old toys is also a strong early moment. (The whole story has a whiff of Kafka, actually. James’s eventual move toward monkhood, for instance, the story’s general religiosity and the protagonist’s desire for stillness, this person who sees himself as exceptional, a non-participant in the world, which also conjures Melville’s Bartleby)
Stories like these are often praised for capturing adolescence or somesuch, and this one mostly succeeds at that. The period is so well-observed: Conan, The Simpsons, Super Soaker water gun, Limewire; well selected and not overdoing it.
James’s backstory explaining his minimalism is a little pat with the hoarder grandparents thing. The cutthroat teenage logic of “suckers deserve what they get” is better rendered, as is James’s resultant young atheist’s guilt. Lenny’s riff on plausible deniability and it not being illegal to sell bullshit in America – also convincing. Braunstein keeps upping the ante too. Ie: The gullible sucker who buys the fraud-ish item is actually a nice guy, open-minded and curious and un-dupe-like. This prompts a change of heart in James. Then the guy (Steven) grows increasingly cloying and more dupe-like, causing James to basically be embarrassed for the guy and ashamed of himself at the same time.
The first introduction of Sheila the dad’s girlfriend and James’s desire for his own apt./space even as a very young child is where I most felt that the story lagged. Those elements don’t pay off as well as others. The nice guy laissez-faire parenting style widower dad borders on cliche at times too.
The bugs James imagines underneath the desert link nicely to the early Eraserhead reference (the bugs are Lynchian too, not Eraserhead but Blue Velvet).
Claudine is a beautifully timed addition, and the nascent sexuality of the early bloomer Lenny is well contrasted with late bloomer James. These kids remind me of the characters in Bob’s Burgers, I thought at one point. These dudes have a Jimmy Jr and Zeke quality.
Excellent prose by Braunstein in the description of James’s performative gifts: “He really was an excellent actor, had a kind of vacancy in his face that could be filled by anything. His movements were small, and he didn’t try to do too much, didn’t push. He was knobby, androgynous. He had the elegant slouch of a Frenchman. Unless he played a soldier, or a dignified prisoner, and then his spine was steel.”
The return of the grandfather (as a reference) after they go back to church is fumbled a bit, needed to be smoother and more resonant. And the back end of the story tries to hinge on a revelation (James is going to inherit a stepmother) and a reintroduction of the luck/titular theme that doesn’t fully connect or feel perfectly organic either.
The Gen X nostalgia is earned and un-cheap, though. Greg Gerke’s essay collection See What I See (recently rereleased in a new edition) hovers around this reflective territory too. And I believe they’re of similar age as writers. Braunstein’s outsider perspective on the desert and on boyhood give it a little more distance and gravitas as subject matter that, under other circumstances, could seem a little “light.” So it’s not an unmitigated knockout success, overall, but it is a compelling read and a thought-inspiring story.
Braunstein’s previous piece in The New Yorker back in 2015 is a near-masterpiece and her ability to write about men is truly superb. I haven’t read her earliest NY’er piece or her novel but plan to do so when I can find the time.
I enjoyed the detailed description of the milieu as well and found this quite engaging, but the religious/spiritual dimension seemed awkwardly grafted onto the deliberately quotidian setting. That said, it was only in the final paragraph that I thought this part of it went too far. Clearly, his fall is probably an accident but it’s just too pat to also look at it as some sort of divine retribution.
And…does he survive or not? He’s being held by his dad and dad’s girlfriend it seems but we’re not sure if he’ll survive. This isn’t a problem in itself–open endings are fine, but it didn’t quite work for me. I’d be curious to hear other readers’ thoughts.
And….the last line “He makes a face for the back of the house”–is interesting. The last thing we’re left with is his sense of performing and being observed–by forces greater than himself???
I wasn’t happy with this story but couldn’t say exactly why. Thanks to Sean H and Ken for providing nuclei for my comments.
Sean H:
“The cutthroat teenage logic of “suckers deserve what they get” is better rendered, as is James’s resultant young atheist’s guilt. Lenny’s riff on plausible deniability and it not being illegal to sell bullshit in America – also convincing. Braunstein keeps upping the ante too. Ie: The gullible sucker who buys the fraud-ish item is actually a nice guy, open-minded and curious and un-dupe-like. This prompts a change of heart in James. Then the guy (Steven) grows increasingly cloying and more dupe-like, causing James to basically be embarrassed for the guy and ashamed of himself at the same time.”
James keeps having reactions and counter-reactions. (Like 15th and 16th c. Christianity.) To me all these emotions seem unjustified by the events in the story. James is oversensitive — or, as we say say in religious terms, hyper-scrupulous. So that the theme of the story doesn’t come across with impact. More of an idea than an experience.
All this monkhood, solitude, longing for a solitary room — that’s forced on the story by the author. Her goal is to show major theological/spiritual changes occasioned by small life events. Doesn’t happen. Small life events, yes. But James’ psychological transitions aren’t convincing.
“And the back end of the story tries to hinge on a revelation (James is going to inherit a stepmother) and a reintroduction of the luck/titular theme that doesn’t fully connect or feel perfectly organic either.”
Agree.
Ken:
“The religious/spiritual dimension seemed awkwardly grafted onto the deliberately quotidian setting. That said, it was only in the final paragraph that I thought this part of it went too far. Clearly, his fall is probably an accident but it’s just too pat to also look at it as some sort of divine retribution.”
Good observation. The fall is a manipulative mechanical device.
“And…does he survive or not? He’s being held by his dad and dad’s girlfriend it seems but we’re not sure if he’ll survive. This isn’t a problem in itself–open endings are fine, but it didn’t quite work for me. I’d be curious to hear other readers’ thoughts.”
Didn’t work for me either. When it’s left open whether he’s alive or dead, that’s too open for me. She wants to write a profound story. She should go back and read a couple of Graham Green novels to see how that’s done.
“Superstition” is a superb story.
I have been reading the “New Yorker” for 50 years.
Over that span, the magazine has had some remarkable
editors and writers.
I have to say this is one of the finest stories I have encountered.
I am saving the issue and will re-read it .
.
That said, I am stunned by the comments above.
These readers critique the story in such confident detail that I have to wonder:
–Are they fiction editors with 30 years experience who have helped writers
produce brilliant novels?
–Or maybe they are novelists who have written exceptional novels themselves?
Or perhaps they are simply young men with an exaggerated sense of their own literary
acumen?
(I say “young” though of course I have no idea how old they are. Still, in my
lived experience only men in their late 20′ or 30’s possess such confidence.
For myself, I am simply a 71-year-old writer who began her career as an English proessor
at Yale, teaching some of the finest novelists & poets of the 19th and 20th centuries, from
George Eliot to Wallace Stevens
Then I went on to become a writer myself, writing a great many short pieces as well as two very long books. They were well-reviewed; one was turned into a film, and they are
still read today.
I certainly would not compare myself to Eliot or Stevens, but I do know fine writing when I
read it. ”
I wouldn’t presume to nit-pick Sarah Braustein’s
“Superstition.”
If I were still a literary critic, I might write about it. But the comments above do
not constitute literary criticism.
Going back to her story, I do have one question for other readers:
What does the final sentence mean?
It is a powerful ending, but I am tantalized by that last line.
Can anyone offer their interpretation?
I am a bit tortured by the ending. If he hears a woman scream, that seems to mean that he has fallen? But then the last sentence. It’s off-putting. Whatever is happening, he wouldn’t be acting in this moment. Can someone explain?
This one seemed to unravel like The Goldfinch, but mirrored and reversed. Lower stakes, no action, agoraphobia and nihilism replacing wild indulgence and blind flight. Ultra-privileged middle class kid with too many things and too much time installs himself as the anti-hero of a lame, dragging story written to himself by himself about himself. Crappy best friend. Antique fraud. Narcissistic aw-shucks deadbeat father who simply, absolutely, positively does. Not. Give. A damn. An exurban scarecrow.
The story itself is decent. I was waiting for the kid to start cutting himself. I felt the world’s hatred for him when he almost fell off the cliff. I believe a part of him wanted to jump because the ultimate realization of what he is and forever will be became too much to bear.
If I hadn’t retired from teaching last May, I’d put my syllabus on hold and teach this fine story on the first day of class. It is stunning from its opening to its final sentence, which so perfectly captures James’s self containment and separateness.
I really loved the first half. The snappy style. The humour and edginess. The setting and details. When it transitions to become about James’s relationship with his dad and his girlfriend I think it saps that energy and focus, and I started to lose interest. It became a typical innocence to experience type of story. And the ambiguous ending grinds it all to halt. Flattens any potential impact. Was he held back by his father or did he fall? Was he saved (a transparent Christ reference)? And will he be reborn in a new family configuration? Or will he continue to suffer the grief of his mother’s loss (as if you can ever get over losing your mother)? Did he mean to throw himself or was it an accident? All these questions serve to mute the stories impact instead heighten it. The self-consciously ‘literary’ ending is unfortunate to my mind in an otherwise affecting story.