Dear reader!
No one is dearer to me at this moment than those of you who have agreed, by subscribing to Story Course, to give me some of your valuable time and attention. I intend to repay your trust by fostering a lively and interesting conversation about fiction.
I mentioned in the announcement post of Story Course that stories have fascinated me since before I could read. That fascination grew as I learned to read, as I began to choose for myself what I would read, as I studied unforgettable stories and novels in high school and college, and as I began to write stories of my own and to study the craft of fiction.
Along the way, I found many others who shared my fascination with fiction, and they are some of my favorite people. (I even married one of them — Cathrine — and we’ve had his-and-hers bookmarks in many books for close to 30 years now.) I’ve given favorite books to friends and received treasured gift books in return. I’ve joined multiple book discussion groups, some of which have endured for years, and I’ve read and had lively discussions about more than 100 novels in those years. I’ve struck up conversations with strangers in coffee shops and on airplanes by inquiring about the books they’re reading (yeah, I’m that guy). Some of those strangers with books have become friends.
What is it about a shared passion for fiction that generates such powerful social engagement? Stories nurture us. Stories elevate us. Stories enrich us. Stories make us kinder, more empathetic people. And kind, empathetic people are wonderful people to keep close.
In the announcement post, I suggested that Story Course might help us to read like writers. Upon reflection, that’s not what I intend. A better goal, one with broader applicability, is for us to become better readers. By that, I mean that I believe we can become more finely attuned to the way a story works its magic upon us:
How we respond — emotionally, intellectually, even physically — to what we read
How we interpret what we read through the lens of our experiences, values, beliefs, and understanding of the world
How our responses and interpretations evolve and become more nuanced through the course of our reading a story
How writers use the elements of fiction to make all of these things happen within us
Studying, investigating, and discussing those “hows”, with abundant input from all of you, is what I hope to have happen here in Story Course.
A brief reminder of how Story Course will work
This will be a guided discussion of a short story, one bit at a time. These bits will be roughly one page of the story, so it will take us a few weeks of posts to get all the way through the story. I plan to post a new bit every Saturday morning. We’ll read each bit together and discuss it in the comments, then I’ll share my thoughts on the bit in the following post.
By the way, I know this bit-at-a-time approach is an incredibly unnatural way to read a story. But it’s an incredibly powerful way to study a story, and that’s what we’re up to here. George Saunders, one of my literary idols — he’s such a humble guy, I think he’d be embarrassed that I use the word idol, but it’s accurate — uses this page-by-page, guided close reading approach to masterful effect in his 2021 book A Swim in a Pond in the Rain. If you haven’t read it, I urge you to pick one up at your local bookstore (use Indiebound.org to find a local shop, or order online from Bookshop.org while supporting a local shop).
Ready to get started?
I know I am, first-day-of-class anxiety and all. So let’s dive in. Here are the first four paragraphs of my short story, Until This Is Over.
He came down the road in no apparent hurry, slowing now and again to gaze into a window of a house as he passed. It was a Monday and the new year’s holiday and things were quiet on the street, kids and adults alike sleeping late, stores closed, no place anybody needed to be. No cars. A jet high overhead, silent, trailing a white plume that broadened as it tailed away, a slash across the pale blue sky. To the east, clouds billowed above the horizon, oozing reds and purples like an open wound.
Down the block across the street a U-Haul truck sat in a driveway, doors open, nobody around. As he drew nearer he could see that the garage door was open, and inside, at the back of the garage, the door that led into the house was also open. Same with the front door. No sign of any person outside or in.
He looked over his shoulder at the house behind him, the curtains drawn closed in the picture window. Then he turned back and stepped off the curb, crossed the street, and moved up the driveway alongside the moving truck and up the steps onto the porch.
“Hello?” he called into the nearly empty front room, loudly enough for his voice to carry deeper into the house. He waited, looked to his left at the truck, back into the room, then at the quiet street behind him.
Okay, that’s the first bit. Sit with it for a moment, pay attention to whatever it is you’re thinking, or feeling, or reacting to. Again, I acknowledge that this is not a normal way to read, and if you haven’t done close reading before, it can be frustrating. I hope you’ll stick with it, as the rewards should (eventually) outweigh the frustration.
Now read that bit of the story again, paying attention to what’s going on inside you as you read:
What do you feel?
What do you notice?
What are you wondering about?
What do you think will happen next?
A useful exercise, if you’re inclined toward exercise,1 is to jot a few notes before you dip into the comments. (In fact, dedicating a small notepad to Story Course would be a good practice to adopt.) Try to capture where you are right now, with respect to the story, before you start reading others’ comments.
When you’re ready, scroll down and share your notes in the comments.
Also, a sincere plea from one fiction lover to another: Be the best version of you in the comments. Dissenting opinions are welcome, but respect is essential. Be kind.
One more thing: If you’ve read this story before, please keep what you know to yourself — no spoilers. Try to read with fresh eyes and participate in the comments as though you’re seeing the story for the first time along with everyone else.
After you’ve shared your observations and curiosities in the comments, go on to the next lesson.
“Whenever I feel the urge to exercise, I lie down until the feeling passes.”
-some literary wit
These are some of the things I am thinking about after reading the first part of the story.
I feel curious about the house and the man out walking seems to also be curious. I wonder if there are people moving in or out of the house and why there appears to be no activity.
I wonder if this is a house in a suburb or maybe in a remote area. I kind of picture maybe a new neighborhood.
I wonder why the man feels like he needs to approach the house.
Maybe he will find someone dead inside the house.
The first bit: An air of quiet expectation in the first paragraph--a new year, everything quiet, a guy out walking. Wondering why he's looking "into windows."
The airplane plume is okay with this theme but the sunrise description as "like an oozing wound" is jarring. Something bad going to happen? Negative view of the world?
Then there's signs of activity--U-haul with the doors open, house doors open--but no people. And the guy out walking "looks at the house behind him"--which befuddled me for a moment--had to reread to see that the house with the truck is across the street, so presumably the "house behind him" is on his side of the street"--then he goes over to the scene.
So, keeping in mind that jarring note of the oozing sunrise, I'm wondering: Is he a nosey or curious guy who wants to find out if someone needs help? Or has he been planning some kind of crime? I ended this reading—suspicious!