On story collections
Critic Matthew Cheney reviews Gregory Frost’s collection, Attack of the Jazz Giants and Other Stories, for SF Site this week. The review, of which Cheney says “I am curmudgeonly about short story collections in general and this one in particular’, was of interest to me not for what it said about Frost’s book, but for what it said about short story collections as a form.
In the review, Cheney says:
Short story collections suffer when they are padded with ancillary materials (forewords, afterwords, story notes) and not-entirely-effective tales, because the energy of the better material gets sapped away and the reader’s attention lags. What matters is the fiction, and a collection should be an opportunity for a writer to present, in more permanent form than a magazine offers, his or her best work, not just everything they happen to have gotten published, plus some cheerful hyperbole from pals.
I certainly agree that a short story collection is weakened by the inclusion of ‘not-entirely-effective tales’. This is something that I feel has become more common over the past five years or so, especially in the small press. It could be argued whether this is the case or not, and what the cause might be, but my own feeling is that it’s a byproduct of both competitiveness amongst small presses and lower production costs making it cheaper to publish books. Lower cost makes publishers less wary of risk, and increased competitiveness drives them to produce books that simply aren’t ready.
I also agree with Cheney that ‘What matters is the fiction, and a collection should be an opportunity for a writer to present … his or her best work, not just everything they happen to have gotten published’. A collection, especially a debut short story collection, should be something of an event. It should contain the very best work the author has available, deliberately omitting less-accomplished work. You need only look back to debut collections like Bradbury’s Dark Carnival, Leiber’s Night’s Black Agents, Waldrop’s Howard Who?, or Shepard’s The Jaguar Hunter, to see what a short story collection can be.
The point where I diverge from Cheney, though is his statement that ‘Short story collections suffer when they are padded with ancillary materials (forewords, afterwords, story notes)’. While I have little time for guest introductions by big name writers (which, however well-intentioned, seldom add much to a book), I think that ancillary or interstitial materials are far more than padding and can be a vital part of a story collection, deepening the experience of reading the fiction, and adding context and meaning to the stories gathered in the book. They become a kind of frame for the stories. In fact, some collections I’ve encountered seem very incomplete without them.
This certainly isn’t true for every book, but it is definitely true for some. Ray Bradbury, one of the finest practitioners of the short story collection as a form in its own right, seldom added story notes and such to his collections. Rather he created what Ursula Le Guin dubbed story suites, cycles of stories that mesh neatly together, creating resonances from story to story. Arguably, though, in a collection from a writer like Howard Waldrop the interstitial material is almost as important as the fiction. In his collection Going Home Again Waldrop adds lengthy story afterwords, some as long as 3,000 words, to each story which are a critical part of the book as a whole, adding layers of meaning and experience for most stories. Harlan Ellison is also a master of the form, as can be seen in collections like Deathbird Stories, Shatterday, and Love Ain’t Nothin But Sex Mispelled.
I think Cheney is correct to be critical of lazy or poorly executed materials in short story collections. It’s much easier to detract from the reading experience than to enhance it, but I think it’s a mistake to suggest that they should be avoided. There are different types of short story collection which have slightly different conventions and on occasion require different elements to be successful. I’d put it that the test for a collection shouldn’t be whether it contains a particular element or not, but rather how well those elements are executed. You can have introductions, story notes, afterwords etc, as long as they’re done well, and as long as you never compromise on the quality of the fiction
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I totally agree. I’ve recently come across some short story collections without any ancillary material from the author (or editor, if the author’s no longer with us), and found myself very much missing that aspect.
Matt’s opinion seems perhaps to stem from the postmodern concept of the death of the author (well, I might be talking out of my ass here, I admit). The suggestion that the fiction must stand on its own is just wrong, IMHO. Certainly story notes/afterwords can be useless, but often what they add is context, and often that’s much needed. It can be useful to know when a story was written, where it was first published, and so on; and often it’s very interesting to know a bit about the process of writing it or the authorial context while writing it.
I agree also – notes about the story can add a lot to the collection as a whole – and in the case of older stories, the lack of some context can detract from the collection.
I’m running a risk of getting laughed at here, but I’m currently reading the Stephen Jones’ collection of Robert E. Howard ‘Conan’ stories.
I read Jones’ aferword first, before starting the collection. Without the historical and chronological context he provides, I doubt the collection as a whole would be nearly as interesting and readable, now I’m an adult.
Or, something defensive to that effect.
I think historical notes are very valuable indeed. I have the Howard volume you’re referring to, and Jones notes are a really valuable part of the book. I actually think the same thing applies to a first collection by a new author, as well. Giving the reader some context, some background for a new writer is a worthwhile thing. And, if a reader doesn’t like them, they can always skip the notes. You can’t skip something that isn’t there.
It also depends why the reader is reading the stories. The Early Asimov seems to have been compiled to show would-be writers how Asimov’s writing evolved over eleven years, and the interstitial material is an important part of that. The interstitial material in his Nightfall collection, however, is really of interest only to Ph.D. students looking for useful quotes for their dissertations. And the decline in Orson Scott Card’s popularity after ‘The Abyss’ and ‘Lost Boys’ arguably had as much to do with his unfiltered ranting in his forewords and afterwords than to the quality of his stories.
The Jones’ notes are nothing special – and nothing I hadn’t read before, but they provided a useful context before I sat down to read about His Mighty Thews.
And, thinking about it, I suspect I first read that historical and chronological info in the GURP’s Conan supplement, which is really sad.
And what are Thews, anyway? Is there any critical or medical concensus? I always thought they were thighs, but, on mature reflection, I suspect I may be wrong.
Thews are just an arcane way of saying muscles. It is, of course, a contractual requirement of Conanesque adventures that every occurence of the word “thews” is preceded by the adjective “mighty.”
I agree completely, Jonathan. The problem isn’t ancillary material per se, it’s the quality of that material and what it adds for the reader. You’re absolutely right to single out Howard Waldrop, whose interstitial notes are as good as the stories themselves and add a great deal to the experience of reading. If a collection is padded out, it doesn’t much matter if the padding is in the form of uninformative story notes or mediocre stories. The problem is in the padding.
I love ancillary material and always find cheated if there isn’t any.
It’s fun for me to discover context. If someone doesn’t like ancillary material they can just skip it–why begrudge those of us who enjoy it our little kick? :-)
I agree completely Ellen. I received copies of several collections over the past two weeks or so, and there are no intros, no notes, nothing. The books feel very … naked, unfinished even.
PS: There’s more discussion on this here (http://mumpsimus.blogspot.com/2006/04/on-short-story-collections.html)
Jonathan,
I got to this discussion from there :-)
How much of that, though, Ellen and Jonathon, comes from the fact that you are both professional editors and generally know the material (and authors) that you’re reading?
While I like the ancilliary material in books when the collection is of an author that I already know and like, and whose work I’m familiar with, I don’t know that I’d want the same information in a collection from authors I wasn’t as familiar with.
So the Robert E. Howard stuff is great – but is ancilliary material as valuable in a collection such as, say, one of the Best Ofs?
Or is there a difference between ancilliary material in a single author collection and multiple author collections?
I don’t think my view on ancillary materials is affected by being an editor, or knowing the writer and/or their work. In fact, I’m usually most interested in seeing notes etc when the book is either a definitive retrospective kind of thing, or a book by a brand new writer.
For example, I have a best of James Tiptree which comes with a great biographical essay by John Clute. It really helped to put Tiptree in perspective when reading her work. I also just got a first collection from Elizabeth Bear in the mail. I reallyu want something in the book to put her and her work – which I don’t know well – in context, but it has nothing. Just the stories.
I agree with Jonathan. I didn’t know the writers when I first read Harlan Ellison’s story notes to his own fiction.
I admit I get a kick out of reading story notes for stories I’ve published but I usually enjoy story notes–unless they’re just silly, with no information.
Nick, is that you from oz ? Are you coming to Canberra? Am I ever going to see you again?–and with hair (there’s a rumor that you have some now :-) )
It is – I’m not coming to Canberra, and you’ll see me next time you’re in Perth (hint, hint).
I thought you and Pat were going to come and see us all when you were at Clarion last(?) year.
No, not much more hair than I had when you guys were last here – but yes, I’m still alive, and this horrible mob haven’t managed to get rid of me yet.
Drop me an email if you wat to catch up properly – crankynick (at) gmail. That would be good, actually, ‘cos I’ve lost track of Pat’s email address.
But you are both only talking about single author collections, though. You don’t see them as being as valuable in multiple author collections?
Why not?
Nick
Hi Nick,
I’ll definitely email you tomorrow. Pat didn’t do Clarion south last year-only I did. And Perth is soooo far away from everything.
When I met you your head was shaved, so anything will be more hair than then…
Nick,
I’ve included afterwords for original themed anthologies–usually about the inspiration for the stories published. For The Dark, my ghost story antho, I asked for favorite ghost stories that turned out to be a nice touch.
For a general non-theme original anthology I’m not sure how useful story notes by the author would be. I adapt the bios that authors give me to go with their stories but don’t usually add anything else. I simply don’t have the time.
How about as a reader?
When you pick up a muliple author collection is it something you look for, or gets in the way?
It doesn’t matter as I can read an anthology any way I prefer. I can skip an overall introduction, read the stories in what ever order I like, read the afterwords first…
Also, I guess I try to edit anthologies in a way that appeal to me as a reader…which is why I buy the stories I do. If I don’t enjoy them, then how could expect someone else to.
Hope that’s not too facile.
I do like story notes but I wonder about the way they alter the reading experience, either before the story is started, telling us what to expect, or post facto, giving us the “correct” way to interpret what we just read. Finding our own unique relationship with a story or an author is one of the joys of reading; anything working against is assisting the commodification of fiction…or perhaps I’m just being contrary. :-)
Just recently, thanks to a judging marathon in which I had to read (or at least glance at) over 100 published Australian novels in two months, I started reading books without even glancing at the blurbs. I found it a dangerous and exciting way to approach a book or collection of stories, with no expectations or guidance whatsoever from the author or editor. Part of me likes it that way, now. I’d be tempted to skip the notes in the next collection I read, and I would definitely give a nod to an editor who chose not to include such notes for philosophical reasons, as opposed to laziness.
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