A Swim in a Pond in the Rain

As I read A Swim in a Pond in the Rain, I found I am taking a class on the Russian short story, a class on how to write, a class on close reading; a class on the meaning of life. I am in the hands of a master.

George Saunders has been teaching a class at Syracuse University about the Russian short story, and this book, this very unique book, is his class. He shares seven classic Russian short stories by four different Russian authors: In the Cart by Anton Chekhov; The Singers by Ivan Turgenev; The Darling by Anton Chekhov; Master and Man by Leo Tolstoy; The Nose by Nikolai Gogol; Gooseberries by Anton Chekhov; and Alyosha the Pot by Leo Tolstoy. Saunders begins by sharing a page of the first story, In the Cart, and then commenting upon it, sharing a page, commenting, and so on. Does that sound tedious? Yes, it sounds like it would be tedious, banal, tiresome, irksome, but, no, it's the complete opposite of that. Instead, you cannot wait to read on and see what else Saunders has to say. I come away from this book delighted with having had this time spent with close reading of this brilliant text, shared with a magnificent mind that is Saunders. I wish Saunders would move in next door and join our local book club and teach seniors at our local junior college. Would you do that, Mr. Saunders? Please?

I marked lots of passages of text that I want to save and reflect upon. Here a few of these:

“The basic drill I'm proposing here is: read the story, then turn your mind to the experience you've just had. Was there a place you found particularly moving? Something you resisted or that confused you? A moment when you found yourself tearing up, getting annoyed, thinking anew? Any lingering questions about the story? Any answer is acceptable. If you (my good-hearted trooper of a reader) felt it, it's valid.”

Wow. Imagine that. What confidence he has in us as readers. How delightfully refreshing.

“Over the last ten years I've had a chance to give readings and talks all over the world and meet thousands of dedicated readers. Their passion for literature (evident in their questions from the floor, our talks at the signing table, the conversations I've had with book clubs) has convinced me that there's a vast underground network for goodness at work in the world—a web of people who've put reading at the center of their lives because they know from experience that reading makes them more expansive, generous people and makes their lives more interesting.”

I had to include that quote. A lovely little pat on all of our reader backs. Thank you, George Saunders.

‘Years ago, on the phone with Bill Buford, then fiction editor of The New Yorker, enduring a series of painful edits, feeling a little insecure, I went fishing for a compliment: “But what do you like about the story?” I whined. There was a long pause at the other end. And Bill said this: “Well, I read a line. And I like it...enough to read the next.”‘

Brilliant, isn't it? A wonderful way to evaluate a text.

And how about this, for writers:

‘We're always asking, of a work we're reading (even if it's one of our own): “Is it a story yet?” That's the moment we're seeking as we write. We're revising and revising until we write the text up, so to speak, and it produces that “now it's a story” feeling.'

Another for writers:
‘If you gather ten writers in a room, ranging from the great to the bad, and ask them to put together a list of the prime virtues of fiction, you won't get much disagreement. It turns out, there is such a list of prime virtues, one we've been casually compiling as we've worked our way through these Russian stories: Be specific and efficient. Use a lot of details. Always be escalating. Show, don't tell. And so on....But anyone can google “how to hit a curveball” and be informed that a hitter must “identify the spin” and “hit the bad ones but let the good ones go by” and so on, and we can all be happing about that on our way to the batting cage, but once we get there, we'll find that, nevertheless, some of us can hit a curveball and some of us can't.'

A little more, for writers:
“The difference between a great writer and a good one (or a good one and a bad one) is in the quality of the instantaneous decisions she makes as she works. A line pops into her head. She deletes a phrase. She cuts this section....We can reduce all of writing to this: we read a line, have a reaction to it, trust (accept) that reaction, and do something in response, instantaneously, by intuition. That's it. Over and over.”

And for those of us who do little more than share our thoughts about the writing of others:
‘“There is something essential ridiculous about critics, anyway,” said Randal Jarrell, a pretty good critic himself. “What is good is good without our saying so, and beneath all our majesty we know this.”‘

(And the next is a few parts that I took away that completely meshes with my views of the meaning of life. You can skip these if you wish. Saunders isn't sharing these for any didactic reasons. I am, however.)
‘“I have decided to stick with love,” Martin Luther King, Jr. said. “Hate is too great a burden to bear.”‘

‘...Tolstoy wrote, “If once we admit—be it only for an hour or in some exceptional case—that anything can be more important than a feeling of love for our fellows, then there is no crime which we may not commit with easy minds...Men think there are circumstances when one may deal with human beings without love. But there are no such circumstances...If you feel no love, sit still. Occupy yourself with things, with yourself, with anything you like, only not with men...Only let yourself deal with a man without love...and there are no limits to the suffering you will bring on yourself.”‘
(End of lecture)

Writing advice:
‘“The secret of boring people,” Chekhov said, “lies in telling them everything.”‘

Caution in attributing too much credit to literature:
“These stories we've just read were written during an incredible seventy-year artistic renaissance in Russia...that was followed by one of the bloodiest, most irrational periods in human history....So, the artistic bounty of this period wasn't enough to avert that disaster....whatever fiction does to or for us, it's not simple.”

“And let's be even more honest: those of us who read and write do it because we love it and because doing it makes us feel more alive and we would likely keep doing it even if it could be demonstrated that its overall net effect was zero, and I, for one, have a feeling that I would keep doing it even if it could be demonstrated that its overall net effect was negative.”

Well. There's that. Takes me aback. But true, nevertheless.

George Saunders offers a list of all the ways we are, as we acknowledge, changed at least in the short run: “I am reminded that my mind is not the only mind...I find myself liking the world more....I feel luckier to be here and more aware that someday I won't be....” He has many more ways listed, and they are all lovely, what he calls ‘an enviable state to be in, if only for a few minutes.”