The Megahearted George Saunders...

On endings, beginnings, megaphones, essays, compassion, disgruntled dogs, immigration, and lonely bookmarks:

Last week's Booking Through Thursday question was:

You’ve just reached the end of a book . . . what do you do now? Savor and muse over the book? Dive right into the next one? Go take the dog for a walk, the kids to the park, before even thinking about the next book you’re going to read? What?

(Obviously, there can be more than one answer, here–a book with a cliff-hanger is going to engender different reactions than a serene, stand-alone, but you get the idea!)

I thought this question would be especially pertinent today since I finished a book last evening: THE BRAINDEAD MEGAPHONE by George Saunders. What did I do after I finished it? Well, a number of things, actually. The first of which was to restrain myself from going back to page 1 and beginning all over again, which usually means I enjoyed myself a great deal. I did. On a very random whim - and I do mean random - I pulled this book from my shelf on Monday. It wasn't as if I didn't have other things to read, nor was it as if I wasn't already in the middle of reading five other books. But as it happens from time to time, this book started calling to me from the shelf and my lack of resistance when it comes to beckoning books is well-documented by now.

For four nights and three days I engrossed myself in Saunders compassion, his empathy, his humorous prose, and his transparent love for and undying faith in humanity. Before I began this book, I already had a full-fledged literary crush on Saunders - now it's unabashed love. Any writer who can go from embodying the voice of a disgruntled dog contemplating biting off the "various hangie-down things" of his master because --

There are times, deep in the night, when you have been "tippling" and/or "imbibing" and/or "getting pershnockered," when, perchance overwhelmed by joy (I hope it is joy, and not something darker), you shed your puzzling overskin and stand in the kitchen, moving hips and all, to that melange of painful-high-pitch and human squawling you call "Purple Rain." ("Woof: A Plea of Sorts")

-- to putting human faces and human hearts on the "illegal alien crisis" --

Tonight, America seems like the for-centuries-dreamed-of rescuer of the Little Guy, the place that takes a guy like Hector and puts some pounds on him, sets him on his feet, puts a spring in his step, and ends, forever, his flinching hustle for two-dollar hot dogs. But first he has to get here. ("The Great Divider")

-- this guy is a guy I can love. Saunders doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve, he wears it in his writing, and it's our luck as readers that his writing is a great as his heart is big.

Which is why as soon as I finished THE BRAINDEAD MEGAPHONE I wanted to read it all over again. But we all know I don't have time for that. Besides, getting back to my original discussion, the second thing I feel after I finish a book is that unquenchable curiosity - the driving force behind my passion for literature. After I've finished one book, I begin to wonder about all those other closed books sitting on my shelves that have yet to reveal their secrets - secrets that have the potential to be as awesome, or if I'm lucky even more awesome, than the one I've just finished.

So I did what I usually do when I suddenly have a bookmark without a home: I went scouting around for another. I didn't go very far at all. It went from Saunder's collection of essays to his collection of short stories: IN PERSUASION NATION. To be fair, I started the stories long before I started the essays which was some time early last year. But I got bogged down, and the book got replaced with something else. But inspired, and on a Saunders high, I decided to give it a go again, and it's going much smoother now. The clear-sighted empathy I saw in his essays is not hard to find in his stories. I anticipate that in another week, I'll have added this to my "retired bookmarks" list as well.

And that's where we are now. To sum: what do I do when I've just finished a book? I turn right around a read another. Or, if I'm really in a good mood, I'll start five.

THE BRAINDEAD MEGAPHONE
by George Saunders
Riverhead Trade / Sept. 2007
272 pgs.; $14.00

Some Furry Confusion...

On George Saunders' "The Perfect Gerbil" in THE BRAINDEAD MEGAPHONE, weird adult-sounding children, death, life and affirmations thereof:

In the blank space which follows the end of "The School" in my much-loved SCRIBNER ANTHOLOGY OF CONTEMPORARY SHORT FICTION (oh yea, marketing editors at Scriber, I am forever in your debt) I penciled in, "Uh...what?" An articulate expression of my confusion if ever there was one.

After reading George Saunders' lovely and convincing argument for Donald Barthelme's "The School" I decided to revisit "The School" hoping that Saunder's essay would elucidate some of those items which I found particularly problematic.

No such luck. While I do appreciate Barthelme's expert use of the "death" pattern in a way I hadn't before ("Mr. Lesser Writer...realizing with joy that he has a pattern to work with, sits down to do some Thinking. Barthelme proceeds in a more spontaneous, vaudevillian manner. He knows that the pattern is just an excuse for the real work of the story, which is to give the reader a series of pleasure-bursts."), the ending - oh the ending - still left me feeling as confused as ever.

I mean really, what is up with those suddenly intelligent adult-talking children? What's up with the students asking the narrator to have sex with Helen, a heretofore unmentioned character, so they can watch? Okay, I probably get this one - sex is an affirmation of life in the face of death, but really, two paragraphs ago I was under the impression that this was a class of five year olds who used words like "mamas and papas" and now they're asking the narrator for a sophisticated affirmation of life? What's happening here? And finally, what's up with the walking and knocking gerbil - the development which really left me scratching my head?

Saunders writes, the ending is "ambiguous, and it is funny, and somehow perfect: this little expectant rodent, politely waiting for its knock to be answered, all set to die, or to live. We, like the children, 'cheer wildly.'"

Hold up there, Saunders. I'm probably just being slow here, but while you're cheering I'm still trying to wrap my mind around that last furry paragraph. What purpose does the gerbil serve other than simply being the unexpected? Why does it exhibit anthropomorphic qualities that the other dead animals hadn't? For the life of me, I can't figure it out. Beyond thinking it exciting, Saunders doesn't seem to have much to say on the matter either.

Having said all that, I do agree that "The School" is good at doing what it does - giving us those little "pleasure-bursts" of excitement and unpredictability. I only wish a bit more had been given over to explication.