This year, like many, many other viewers, I’ve been taken
with NBC’s new series, This is Us. I
binge-watched the first ten episodes, and now have to watch and wait, week by
week, for the rest. The show’s taken some ribbing for stringing along tragedy and its tendency to induce ugly crying, but fans can’t get enough. And
I’ve been thinking about the structure of the show and trying to decide what we
would call it, in book form.
For those who don’t pull up every week with a box of tissue
and glass of something white or red, This
is Us follows the story, past and present, of the Pearson family: mom and
dad, and a set of untraditional triplets. Untraditional because one is adopted,
while the other two are surviving twins, I guess, from a traditional set of
triplets. Anyway, a current-day,
linear narrative follows everyone’s lives when the triplets are 36 years old
and this narrative is interspersed with stories from the past. Most prominently
at first, events from the year 1980, when the parents were expecting, and immediately after the birth; but also, a smattering of
stories that can catch the siblings at any point of their childhood, from young
kids to adolescents and beyond. These anecdotes are woven through and follow no
particular linear path. We may have a story from the year the Pearson brood was
seven and the following week, a vignette about one of them as a teen. There
is, of course, the current-day narrative binding everything and chugging
forward, but some episodes include little or no sight of this train.
So what would we call this form, I wondered, if it were a book? Novel?
Short stories? Novel-in-stories? And I was thinking about how, if you ask even
avid readers about short stories, most will say they don’t read them. Either
because they don’t like them, or they just don’t think about it. This is a
generalization based on personal inquiry. Many, many readers appreciate stories of the more
brief variety. But I wouldn’t say it’s a popular practice, the regular reading
of short stories. Some readers will tell you it’s because they want the more
satisfying, deeper experience of reading a novel, the finality of a complete,
longer story and the answers they get at its conclusion. And yet, countless
television viewers are perfectly content to wait, week by week, for the same
answers from a drama like This is Us
or many others.
It would seem that short stories or novel-in-stories are forms that follow most closely the way humans interact. Imagine two women at a public park,
watching their kids and striking up a conversation. Oh, hello, one might say.
My name is ___, and how are you? Which child is yours? Where are you from? Oh,
I’ve been there many times. Once, I visited ___ and my plane was delayed and I
spent three hours at the very famous ___. Oh, you have? That’s amazing. Etc.
etc.
This conversation, mostly likely would not be: Oh, hello, my
name is ___ and I was born in ____. My family lived for many years in ____ and
as a young child, I was shy and pale, but I enjoyed reading and riding horses.
At the age of five, I ____. Etc. etc.
Think about people you’ve known for a long time and yet, are still learning new things about. You can know someone ten years before you
hear the story of how they spent their eighth summer in a body cast, or had an
affair with that exchange student at nineteen.
Of course, all novels aren’t start-to-finish narratives.
Most include things like backstory and foreshadowing, and all sorts of clues
hopefully meted out in a way that’s pleasing for the reader. But when you’re
dealing with short stories, or a novel-in-stories, you expect each memory, each
vignette or moment (each episode!), to have a shiny, finished quality. To be
satisfying in its own right, all by itself. So that you can finish a chapter
and feel—at least somewhat—full. So that you can turn off the television and
feel—at least somewhat—ready to wait a whole week for more.
And so, to those of you who think you don’t like short
stories, or maybe even have no patience for something called a
novel-in-stories, may I suggest the following, mind-opening reading experiences
that might blur your notions of genre (all taken from my own personal list because this
is, of course, my blog)? I’m including the genre label for each one, as
determined by publisher, for reference only and so later, you can realize how
hazy some of these distinctions are.
First, there are some flagships:
Winesburg, Ohio by Sherwood Anderson (novel, 1919)
Mrs. Bridge by Evan S. Connell (novel, 1959)
The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien (novel/stories/memoir??,
1990)
Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout (stories, 2008)
And some recent reads I’d recommend:
We the Animals by Justin Torres (novel, 2011)
The News from Spain by Joan Wickersham (stories, 2012)
See How Small by Scott Blackwood (novel, 2015)
Did You Ever Have a Family by Bill Clegg (novel, 2015)
Another Place You’ve Never Been by Rebecca Kauffman
(novel-in-stories, 2016)
I find myself reading in this genre-gray area quite a bit
these days, seeking out books that have something to say in a different sort of
way, in a way that seems most true-to-life, at least for me. There are many
ways to tell a story and to make sense of the stories that, in effect, comprise our
lives. I’d love to hear your suggestions for books that gray genre in a good
way, and stories that took hold of you and never let go.
