by Sa\u00efd Sayrafiezadeh<\/span>
from the September 10, 2018 issue of\u00a0The New Yorker<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n
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In “Audition” our narrator is a nineteen-year-old man named Duncan. He had dreams of becoming a serious stage actor, but, well, that isn’t happening yet:<\/p>\n The first time I smoked crack cocaine was the spring I worked construction for my father on his new subdivision in Moonlight Heights. My original plan had been to go to college, specifically for the arts, specifically for acting, where I\u2019d envisioned strolling shoeless around campus with a notepad, jotting down details about the people I observed so that I would later be able to replicate the human condition onscreen with nuance and veracity. Instead, I was unmatriculated and nineteen, working six days a week, making eight dollars an hour, no more or less than what the other general laborers were being paid, and which is what passed, at least for my self-made father, as fairness. Occasionally, I would be cast in a community-theatre production of Neil Simon or \u201cThe Mystery of Edwin Drood,\u201d popular but uncomplicated fare, which we would rehearse for a month before performing in front of an audience of fifteen. \u201cYou have to pay your dues,\u201d the older actors would tell me, sensing, I suppose, my disappointment and impatience. \u201cHow long is that going to take?\u201d I\u2019d ask them, as if they spoke from high atop the pinnacle of show business. In lieu of an answer, they offered a tautology. \u201cIt takes as long as it takes,\u201d they\u2019d say.<\/span><\/p><\/blockquote>\n I hope “Audition” is a good one and look forward to your thoughts. I hope it inspires some of you to go check out more of his work.<\/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\/09\/September-10-2018.jpg?resize=388%2C530\")
[fusion_dropcap boxed=”no” boxed_radius=”” class=”” id=”” color=”#003366″]I[\/fusion_dropcap]n the years leading up to his debut story collection,\u00a0Brief Encounters with the Enemy<\/em>,\u00a0The New Yorker<\/em> doled out four of\u00a0Sa\u00efd Sayrafiezadeh’s stories, but the last appeared in 2014. I don’t remember the details of those four stories, but I feel a positive vibe toward Sayrafiezadah, so I’m looking forward to “Audition.” I looked to see if he’d been working on a novel, and if “Audition” was an excerpt, but that doesn’t appear to be the case.<\/p>\n