A collection that affirms the basic decency of humankind
When I read Carlson's novel Five Skies, I was enchanted by the portrait of men working to bring each other through and along, the exploration of basic human decency. I found the same in At the Jim Bridger. There are mistakes, blunders, flaws, infidelities and tragedies, but the essential view of humanity is that it's good at heart. I can't express how welcome this is.
There are many high school stories in this collection, but each is distinct enough to keep the collection from feeling repetitive in theme. "Evil Eye Allen" interested me because it reminded me of a Steven Millhauser short story called "Dangerous Laughter." Both were about teens and parlor games and the sixties, but this one was beautiful and the Millhauser was awful. "The Potato Gun," a portrait of a first date and a family death, could have veered into sappy if not for Carlson's ability to ratchet down the prose to a fine, tight point that will not allow pathos or bathos to leak in.
I enjoyed every story in this collection. I'd read "The Towel Season" in Esquire, and loved it more upon rereading. In fact, this and "The Ordinary Son" are my favorites, dealing as they do with the problem of genius in the real world. But "At the Jim Bridger" is the best in the book. A man disappoints himself by using an edited version of the most honest, elemental experience of his life as a tool of seduction and fears that he's ruined everything; his life, his marriage, and above all, the truth of the experience.
Very highly recommended.
Disclaimer...
Ron Carlson is a masterful writer of short stories, that being said, I feel like this book does not stand up to his other collections - The Hotel Eden, Plan B For Middle Class & The News of the World.
I first found Ron Carlson after reading a magazine review of his latest novel, The Signal: A Novel. Instead of taking on that novel, I started with his short stories and fell in love with them.
"At the Jim Bridger" is Carlson's newest book of stories and I had extremely high hopes for it. However the up and down quality of the stories didn't grab me like the other books have.
One of the greatest reviews I've ever read regarding Ron Carlson's short stories is as follows "Trying to sum up a Ron Carlson story is like trying to hold sparkling spring water in your bare hands - no matter how you cup your fingers, some of the magical stuff leaks out." - The Seattle Times.
This collection has 9 stories and 2 very short interludes, some of my favorites were -
At the Jim Bridger
The Potato Gun
The Ordinary Son
At the El Sol
At Copper View
If you've never read Ron Carlson and you want to check out his short stories, please do yourself a favor and start with any of his other books. Of his four novels, I've read "The Signal" and enjoyed it immensely and I hope to read his award winning Five Skies soon.
Enjoy~
family, love, stories, pain, joy
I loved this collection. The title story is a sad Hemingway fishing story, with cheating and fish and two naked men in a sleeping bag. Carlson weaves stories of tenderness, love.
Easy Reading on Your AM Dial
I fully anticipate that you, the average book buyer, will not find this review "helpful." I will be critical of Mr. Carlson, and if you're considering buying his book you probably can't stand for that or anything else that disturbs your middle class cocoon. If you are not familiar with his work, I will offer some balance to the preceding landslide lovefest crowning Carlson as the master of feel-good lit that isn't "sappy," a word that came up more than once.
In any event, I'd like to preface my comments by offering the bigger picture, the significance of Ron Carlson's "success." Reading Amazon reviews has been enlightening--it has revealed the other side of our failed literary world. Why tons of crap gets published. Why MFA's train to write crap, and why they have to further dilute their crap to suit the tastes of people who like reading books that are the equivalent of Hallmark Hall of Fame TV movies. Old people who want ephemeral, comforting soma before they die. Middle aged men who can't make it to the lake as often as they'd like. Housewives who want something they can understand as they digest their hasty meatloaf-something in a hardcover form-a trophy, a testament to their intellect and attention span-something they can put on a bookshelf and talk to their friends about. Something they can claim to love as to have a favorite author without the mental strain of having to read anything more substantial than the soft-lit McNuggets that old Ron churns out so astutely and dependably. With the exception of the obese and obtuse genre folk who read paper television on the beach (or in their parents basement), these are the people that buy books (that is the housefrau with the B-average B.S. and the old people and the thinking, would-be lumberjack). And Ron Carlson has their product. It would seem he can shift some units, and this gives him the literary standing necessary to teach others over at UC-Irvine, an MFA assembly line par excellence. And this frightens me though you'd think Ron was more apt to inspire yawns.
Ron Carlson writes what we might call Plaid Shirt Realism-which is to say it isn't realism at all-which is to say it's the type of work that very sheltered people wish were realism. It's not hard to imagine Ron bedecked in plaid (the color of his tender soul) with one leg on a rock. He's overlooking some canyon in the Southwest; faintly, there is the Diamondbacks' game on his trusty old AM. He's speaking into a Dictaphone and placing his very white, bourgeois characters into low-stakes situations that will result in vaguely happy outcomes. Or he does it all at his desk as he fantasizes about standing next to the canyon with hush puppy on rock. Ron Carlson: a real. Sensitive. Man.
There is about as much edge to Mr. Carlson's work as the fat posteriors of the housewives who read him. That is not to say that "At The Jim Bridger" is bad. He splits up the collection into a triptych, if you will. The first triad features midlife men facing the existential crises they might in relatively safe circumstances, but for rare self-inflicted treks in the wilderness. Carlson then gives us younger versions of the first three characters for the next go round before tossing in three sampler pieces at the end. Most of the stories end in vague, lukewarm fashion and almost all of them have some veiled comment on academia and how it isolates people (at least one story ham-fistedly offers that working at a hotel is a better life choice than leading the life of the mind). The stories are separated by nifty little prose-poem type things. In general we have very thoughtful, sensitive protagonists who are appreciative of what their everyday lives offer while trying to make sense of said existence-and somehow hotels and the Southwest and youth seem to spin around and around-there is a sickening nostalgia haunting the whole escapade. Carlson wins points when he throws a few curveballs with plot or situation or characterization; even the few novel pieces seem to revert to Snoresville safety though.
To be sure, Carlson is a pro; clearly, as a teacher, he really has something to offer half-wit undergrads (he teaches grads at Irvine). His work is competent, clean, crisp, and not without chunks of humanity, but it is, at the end of the day, very paint-by-numbers and low risk. And therein lies the damning paradox of Ron's work. Every character is obviously his surrogate; many are coming from an academic background and at odds with said background to some degree. Even his lone female protagonist (a college dropout) is clearly the woman he wishes he could be-indeed, the woman already inside him, his yin or yang (I'm not sure which). So the work, as all work might, becomes confessional. But confessing what? Humdrum white privileged ennui? He is a butch John Cheever meets a poor man's Updike with a pinch of Stephen King aspiring to do something John Krakuar. The mixture might sound as palatable or monstrous as it is but it may not fully speak for the hackyness I wish to convey-it hides the truth just as Carlson sophistically offers the illusion of verisimilitude; like any good salesmen he tells his readers what they want to hear of "real life." He must be a nice guy to write such things-a good, rather well-adjusted soul. Damaged people write things that change the world-that make us laugh till we hurt, cry till we're empty, and think till we evolve. Ron Carlson rarely sniffs any such achievement, and he trains the next generation of bookstore shelf fillers. By the looks of things, Amazon customers, the future authors and audience will well deserve each other.
A great reading experience
The title story alone is worth the price of this book. The eleven pieces differ in original ways and are a joy to read. The author is considered by many to be an acknowledged master of the short story. For just enjoying writing, students who are learning how to write in this genre, and the general reader, this volume is recommended.
(12 reviews)
