\nby T. Coraghessan Boyle<\/span>
\nfrom the July 30, 2018 issue of\u00a0The New Yorker<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n
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Nevertheless, I was excited to see his name pop up when I looked at what the magazine was offering this week. I still find his work, at the very least, interesting and usually fun, even if it doesn’t hit me in any deeper way. And that’s okay! And . . . perhaps it will be different this time!<\/p>\n “I Walk Between the Raindrops” certainly starts with Boyle’s strengths: sentences that roll forward, pulling you with them; a narrative voice you could listen to for hours, in part because he’s a bit off; an interesting setting that is\u00a0not<\/em>\u00a0somewhere in New York City. Here are the first two paragraphs:<\/p>\n VALENTINE’S DAY<\/span><\/p>\n This past Valentine\u2019s Day, I was in Kingman, Arizona, with my wife, Nola, staying in the Motel 6 there, just off the I-40. You might not think of Kingman as a prime location for a romantic getaway (who would?), but Nola and I have been married for fifteen years now, and romance is just part of the continuum — sometimes it blows hot, sometimes cold, and we certainly don\u2019t need a special day or place for it. We\u2019re not sentimentalists. We don\u2019t exchange heart-shaped boxes of chocolates or glossy cards with manufactured endearments inside, and we don\u2019t go around kissing in public or saying \u201cI love you\u201d twenty times a day. (To my mind, couples like that are always suspect — really, who are they trying to fool?) Besides which, we were there to pay a visit to Nola\u2019s father, who\u2019s in his eighties and living in a trailer park a mile down the road from the motel, which made it convenient not only for seeing him but for strolling into Old Town, where there are a handful of bars and restaurants and the junk shops my wife loves to frequent, looking for bargains.<\/span><\/p>\n Were we slumming? Yes, sure. We could have stayed anywhere we liked, but this — at least when we\u2019re in Kingman — is what we like, and if it\u2019s not ideal, at least it\u2019s different. The local police creep through the parking lot in the small hours, running license plates, and once in a while you\u2019ll wake to them handcuffing somebody outside one of the rooms, which is not a sight we see every day back in California. Plus, there are a couple of lean white bums living in the wash just behind the place, and they sometimes give me a start, looming up out of the darkness when I step outside at night for a breath of air, but nothing\u2019s ever happened, not even a request for spare change or a cigarette.<\/span><\/p><\/blockquote>\n From Boyle’s interview with Deborah Treisman (here), it appears this story will have four subplots, and they do make me wonder if I’ll also see some of the things I don’t care for in Boyle’s fiction, things that can make the stories feel a bit half-baked in terms of theme.<\/p>\n I’m anxious to see how the story plays out, though, and anxious to read your thoughts! Feel free to share them below!<\/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\/07\/July-30-2018.jpg?resize=390%2C530\")
[fusion_dropcap boxed=”no” boxed_radius=”” class=”” id=”” color=”#003366″]T[\/fusion_dropcap]his week The New Yorker brings us another story from one of the preeminent short story writers of the last — gulp! — forty years (that’s right, Boyle’s first collection,\u00a0Descent of Man<\/em> was published in 1979). I think Boyle is a great writer, and I usually am pulled deeply into his work, yet I don’t think I’ve ever quite<\/em> connected with it. I don’t think I’m alone based on the discussions Boyle’s work has inspired here at The Mookse and the Gripes.<\/p>\n