\nby Joseph O’Neill<\/span>
\nfrom the July 2, 2018 issue of\u00a0The New Yorker<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n
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I haven’t particularly enjoyed much of O’Neill’s work since Netherland<\/em>, though. But I previewed “The First World” a bit just now, and it looks like he’s delving back into personal loss, the struggle for hope, and unlikely friendship, which were things I liked most about\u00a0Netherland<\/em>. Here is the first paragraph of “The First World”:<\/p>\n My marriage came to an end, with consequences that were almost all beyond my powers of anticipation. One such consequence was that a series of men confided in me about their marriages past or present. These weren\u2019t my old buddies\u2014my old buddies suddenly viewed me with a kind of fear. These were guys with whom I\u2019d had friendly but arm\u2019s-length dealings: a father at my kids\u2019 school; the contractor who was painting my new place; or, to take an astounding case, my dermatologist. Previously his opinions had been restricted to the perils of moles; now he opened up, unprompted, on the pros and cons of monogamy as he\u2019d experienced them. Either these men had heard about my new situation or something about me, some post-apocalyptic air, had led them to sniff it out.<\/span><\/p><\/blockquote>\n O’Neill recently published a short story collection called\u00a0Good Trouble<\/em>. “The First World” is not one of the eleven stories contained therein, which makes me wonder if it’s part of a forthcoming novel or if O’Neill is just starting a new cycle of stories.<\/p>\n At any rate, that’s all beside the point! How did you like the story? Please feel free to share your thoughts on it, O’Neill’s work, or anything else you feel will help foster a nice conversation.<\/p>\n [\/fusion_text][fusion_builder_row_inner][fusion_builder_column_inner type=”1_2″ layout=”1_2″ background_position=”left top” background_color=”” border_size=”0″ border_color=”” border_style=”solid” spacing=”” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” padding_top=”” padding_right=”” padding_bottom=”” padding_left=”” margin_top=”” margin_bottom=”” class=”” id=”” animation_type=”” animation_speed=”0.3″ animation_direction=”left” hide_on_mobile=”small-visibility,medium-visibility,large-visibility” center_content=”no” last=”no” min_height=”” hover_type=”none” link=”” border_position=”all”][fusion_text columns=”” column_min_width=”” column_spacing=”” rule_style=”default” rule_size=”” rule_color=”” class=”” id=””]<\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/mookseandgripes.com\/reviews\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/06\/July-2-2018.jpg?resize=380%2C519\")
[fusion_dropcap boxed=”no” boxed_radius=”” class=”” id=”” color=”#003366″]I[\/fusion_dropcap]t’s fitting that as I start to look at the ten-year anniversary of The Mookse and the Gripes that we get a story by Joseph O’Neill. His Netherland<\/em> was among the books I first reviewed back in July 2008, and I have fond memories. Indeed, I was reading Netherland<\/em>\u00a0in the hospital when my second son, fittingly named Holland, was born that year on July 19, my own birthday! It was a wonderful time, and very memorable.<\/p>\n