New York Son – Stories by Mike Feder – 1992 [Victor Weaver]

New York Son’s title blurb – “This book will make you laugh with all your heart!” is only partially true.  Though at times ( – well okay, yes – ) humorous, Mike Feder’s collection of eleven stories reveals genuine, deeply felt and penetrating insight into the fundamental “stuff” of life – family relationships and human nature, in a way that makes the reader step back, pause, and contemplate his own life. 

While my own favorites are “Sanford Brodsky”, “Marilyn”, and “Hollywood and Bust”, passages from two other stories – “The Fishing Trip” and “Paralegal” – are given below.

You can read and listen to more of Mr. Feder’s work at Mike Feder and the Feder Files.

Contents

Here’s Herbie (Esquire, March, 1988)
Mother

__________

The Fishing Trip

“Whenever I visited him [my father] in the locations of his grandeur,
I was never disappointed. 
If you’ve lived any,
you know that such a continuing idealization of somebody can be extremely dangerous. 
But here I was twenty-three years old and not once did he ever appear to have any faults.”

__________

Sanford Brodsky
The Hospital
The Psychic
Antigua

__________

Paralegal

You see, all these men, even the young ones, are my father to me.  
Most of them are big guys, ex-athletes, ex-military guys –
John Ramrod III, attorney at law.  
Sometimes, passing me in the hall, they say, “I hear you’re an artist.”

“Yeah.”

“What do you do?”

“I tell stories.”

“Oh.”

They don’t burst out laughing, or stare, or scowl with contempt or anything.  
A lawyer is trained to look you in the face and seem confident and happy to see you –
thinking the whole time of course that you’re a hopeless asshole.

“Hmm, that’s interesting.”  
He’s thinking to himself, what kind of job is that for a thirty-eight-year-old man?”
“What do you tell stories about?”

“Autobiographical stories.

In fact I’m probably gonna tell a story about all of you on the radio next week.”

“Oh.”

__________

The Affair
Marilyn
Hollywood and Bust

______________________________

Mike Feder (photo by Dena Schutzer)

Against Joie De Vivre – Personal Essays, by Phillip Lopate – 1989 [Peter Sis]

My parents had a bookcase which held a few hardcovers
and a library of Pocket Books,
whose flimsy, browning pages would crack if you bent down the corners. 
I can still picture those cellophane-peeling covers with their kangaroo logo,
their illustrations of busty, available-looking women
or hard-bodied men
or solemn, sensitive-looking Negroes with titles like

Intruder in the Dust,
Appointment in Samara,
Tobacco Road,
Studs Lonigan,
Strange Fruit,
Good Night, Sweet Prince,
The Great Gatsby,
The Sound and the Fury
.

Father brought home all the books, it was his responsibility;
though Mother chafed at everything else in the marriage,
she still permitted him at the same time to be her intellectual mentor.
I have often wondered on what basis he made his selections:
he’d had only one term of night college
(dropping out because he fell asleep in class after a day in the factory),
and I never saw him read book reviews.
He seemed all the same, to have a nose for decent literature.
He was one of those autodidacts of the Depression generation,
for whose guidance the inexpensive editions
of Everyman, Modern Library, and Pocket Books seemed intentionally designed,
out of some bygone assumption that the workingman should
 – must
 – be educated to the best in human knowledge.

(by Phillip Lopate, from “Samson and Delilah and the Kids”)

______________________________

Cover illustration by Peter Sis.  The nine (or is it eleven?) vignettes symbolize the central themes of book’s nineteen essays, the titles of which are listed below…

I

Samson and Delilah and the Kids
Against Joie de Vivre
Art of the Creep
A Nonsmoker with a Smoker
What Happened to the Personal Essay?

II

Never Live Above Your Landlord
Revisionist Nuptials
Anticipation of La Notte: The “Heroic” Age of Moviegoing
Modern Friendships
A Passion for Waiting

III

Chekhov for Children
On Shaving a Beard
Only Make Believe: Some Observations on Architectural Language
Houston Hide-and-Seek
Carlos: Evening in the City of Friends

IV

Upstairs Neighbors
Waiting for the Book to Come Out
Reflections on Subletting
Suicide of a Schoolteacher

______________________________

Phillip Lopate (photo by Sally Gall)

Franz Kafka – Letters to Milena (Translated and with an Introduction by Philip Boehm) – 1990 [Anthony Russo]

(Friday, June 11, 1920)

It’s only in my dreams that I am so sinister.

Recently I had another dream about you,
it was a big dream, but I hardly remember a thing.
I was in Vienna, I don’t recall anything about that,
next I went to Prague and had forgotten your address,
not only the street but also the city, everything,
one the name Schreiber kept somehow appearing,
but I didn’t know what to make of that.
So I had lost you completely.
In my despair I made various very clever attempts,
which were nevertheless not carried out –
I don’t know why –
I just remember one of them.
I wrote on an envelope: M. Jesenski and underneath
“Request delivery of this letter,
because otherwise the Ministry of Finance will suffer terrible loss.”
With this threat I hoped to engage the entire government in my search for you.
Clever?
Don’t let this way you against me.
It’s only in my dreams that I am so sinister.

(September, 1920)

But here the transmutability came into play…

Yesterday I dreamt about you.
I hardly remember the details,
just that we kept on merging into one another,
I was you,
you were me.
Finally you somehow caught fire;
I remembered that fire can be smothered with cloth,
took an old coat and beat you with it.
But then the metamorphoses resumed and went so far
that you were no longer even there;
instead I was the one on fire and I was also the one who was beating the fire with the coat.
The beating didn’t help, however,
and only confirmed my old fear that things like that can’t hurt a fire.
Meanwhile the firemen had arrived and you were somehow saved after all.
But you were different than before,
ghostlike,
drawn against the dark with chalk,
and you fell lifeless into my arms,
or perhaps you merely fainted with joy at being saved.
But here the transmutability came into play:
maybe I was the one falling into someone’s arms.

Startling Stories – August, 1952 (Featuring “The Lovers”, by Philip José Farmer) [Earle K. Bergey]

______________________________

All illustrations by Virgil Finlay…

pages 12 – 13

______________________________

page 19

______________________________

page 25

The Lovers, by Philip José Farmer – 1952 (1982) [Jim Burns]

Hal Yarrow stared through steamshapes into big brown eyes. 
He shook his head. 
Eyes? 
And arms like branches? 
Or branches like arms? 
He thought he was in the grip of a brown-eyed nymph. 
Or were they called dryads? 
He couldn’t ask anybody. 
They weren’t supposed to know about such creatures. 
Nymph and dryad had been delated from all books
including Hack’s edition of the Revised and Real Milton
Only because Hal was a linguist
had he had the chance to read an unexpurgated Paradise Lost
and thus learn of classical Greek mythology.

Thoughts flashed on and off like lights on a spaceship’s control board. 
Nymphs sometimes turned into trees to escape their pursuers. 
Was this one of the fabled forest women staring at him
with large and beautiful eyes through the longest lashes he’d ever seen?

He shut his eyes
and wondered if a head injury was responsible for the vision and, if so,
it if would be permanent. 
Hallucinations like that were worth keeping. 
He didn’t care if they conformed to reality or not.

He opened his eyes. 
The hallucination was gone.

– Philip José Farmer –

Cooper, by Hilary Masters – 1987 [Kingsley Parker]

Only much later would he understand that she lived in constant fear of her own imagination,
that her mind was sectioned into areas of frightening possibilities
through which she moved like a comic-strip heroine
sending up balloons of alarm and self-doubt. 

Am I pretty? 
Is he looking at me? 
What does he want from me? 
Are my poems dull? 
Commonplace? 
Anything? 

– Hilary Masters

Appointment in Samarra, by John O’Hara – 1934 (1945) [Unknown artist]

appointment-in-samara-john-ohara-1945_edited-4

When Caroline Walker fell in love with Julian English she was a little tired of him. 
That was in the summer of 1926,
one of the most unimportant years in the history of the united States,
and the year in which Caroline Walker was sure
her life had reached a pinnacle of uselessness.

 

She was four years out of college then,
and she was twenty-seven years old,
which is as old as anyone ever gets,
or at least she thought so at the time.

 

She found herself thinking more and more and less and less of men. 
That is the way she put it, and she knew it to be sure and right,
but she did not bother to expand the -ism.

 

“I think of them oftener, and I think of them less often.”
She had attained varying degrees of love, requited and unrequited –
but seldom the latter.