Mr. Nobody at All

Well, I finally finished The Best American Short Stories. The stories after Aleksandar Hemon's all sort of seemed to blur together for me (although I do admit that I liked Mary Gaitskill's story, "Today I'm Yours," more than I thought I was going to) until I reached Ann Beattie's hefty 46-page story, "Mr. Nobody at All." Utterly fascinating. The whole thing felt a bit "Six Feet Under" to me - which is a good thing - in its exploration of how people react when a loved one dies. The multiple narrators (memorial service attendees jostling each other for a chance to say something about the dead Geoffrey Chestnut, and in turn to reveal more than they probably intend to about themselves) made up for the length of the story by creating a constantly shifting perspective and tone. (Actually, I think that's the same reason that "24" always seems shorter to me than an hour-long show ... the more viewpoints you're trying to harness, the faster time will seem to pass.)

After reading a bit more about Ann Beattie, I must admit I'm intrigued. Anyone who can write an entire short story in a matter of hours definitely has my respect. Also, I wonder how much of Ann Beattie there is in the enigmatic Geoffrey Chestnut - one of the things many of his "mourners" comment on is his penchant for practical jokes, and several profiles of Beattie reference her status as a practical joker. The fact that she, like Geoffrey, has become more distanced from the public in recent years (at least, according to Ploughshares) adds another layer of intrigue. I think the story has a lot to say about the meaning of art and the plight of the artist, and I'd like to read through it again and think about what Beattie might be saying there, especially if she is sort of positioning herself as the dead artist about whom everyone believes they know the truth.

Next on my list is White Noise. Perhaps I'll get started on that later today. Or maybe I'll actually try to do some writing, myself ...