Pulp Fiction for serious readers
March 14, 2004 | 12:00am
Whatever happened to action tales? Thrilling escapades? Heartstopping adventures? Dances with the macabre and the mysterious?
And conversely, why are so many short stories you read these days plotless, eventless, or otherwise "sparkling with epiphanic dew"?
That question recently troubled novelist Michael Chabon (Wonderboys, Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay), who missed the days when great literary names – Faulkner, Fitzgerald, Edith Wharton, Dorothy Parker – populated the pages of magazines. So he and Dave Eggers, editor of geek chic McSweeney’s literary magazine, rounded up 20 original stories by heavyweight writers who are also quite popular – names like Harlan Ellison, Michael Crichton, Rick Moody, Elmore Leonard, Aimee Bender, Stephen King – and put them in one large collection, illustrated by Howard Chaykin in the manner of old adventure mags like Weird Tales and Boy’s Life.
Chabon’s idea was, what if "good" writers were allowed to let rip with thrillers, without fear of embarrassment or literary criticism? The only stipulation was that the authors had to write in a "genre" – be it crime thrillers, mysteries, science fiction or fairy tales. The results are hit or miss, but the attempt is noble, resurrecting modes of fiction which often get dismissed in the mad publishing scramble for the next "chick lit" or other hot trend. The advantage of such genre writing is that it taps into uncomfortable but no less real psychological states under the guise of ghost stories, thrillers, fantasies or westerns. All of the above are tackled by contributors to Thrilling Tales, to greater or lesser acclaim.
Oddly, though, some entries fail simply as thrillers, despite their good intentions. The opening story, Jim Shepard’s "Tedford and the Megalodon," is quite literary, but doesn’t exactly make you flip the pages at a feverish pace, despite its promising premise of an arctic hunt for a massive prehistoric shark. Some of the writers do more than dip their toes, though: they get into the genre, subvert it, use it to convey social messages, even transcend it.
Some of the collected authors are old hands at this kind of thing: Stephen King adds yet another chapter to his "Dark Tower" opus with "The Tale of Gray Dick," a pulpier strand of King’s writing that gains an almost John Ford-ian depth in this venue. But it’s still throwaway King.
Some of the tales are gimmicky, yet contain nifty ideas, such as Nick Hornby’s "Otherwise Pandemonium," which asks: what if your VCR could fast forward through real, live TV shows, giving you a glimpse of future events? All told through the eyes of an American teen who is about to have his first sexual experience.
Skilled crime novelist Elmore Leonard gives a cold-eyed view of an Oklahoma lawman’s rise to G-Man status in "How Carlos Webster Changed His Name to Carl." Clearly, Leonard can do this kind of thing in his sleep, but he’s still entertaining to read. Same with Crichton, whose "Blood Doesn’t Come Out" is a bit nastier and noir-ish than his usual science fiction output.
What’s ultimately fun about the collection is its diversity. Circus tales, like Glen David Gold’s "The Tears of Squonk, and What Happened Thereafter," about an elephant’s murderous rampage, sit side-by-side with deeper psychological studies such as Dan Chaon’s "The Bees." A serial detective yarn like Michael Moorcock’s "The Case of the Nazi Canary" is nestled against an oddball psychological mystery like Aimee Bender’s "The Case of the Salt and Pepper Shakers." It’s nice to see certain authors submerge themselves in the exercise, as Moorcock does, presenting his tale as "A Seaton Begg Mystery," and going on to list about 20 other imaginary titles in the series. Each writer adds a different spin to an age-old form, and the combined effect is like watching an old anthology TV show like Twilight Zone, Night Gallery or Tales of the Unexpected: cheap, yet powerful.
Other nice touches: Each story is announced with a breathless one-liner, just like the old adventure comics you read as a kid ("The mummy’s eyes gazed out of the ancient past… and into the depths of his soul!" or "Sometimes a man makes such a hash of his life that his only recourse is to bend the temporal fabric of reality itself!")
That last one is from "Chuck’s Bucket," a postmodern yarn which cleverly weaves not only the author (Chris Offutt) into the narrative, but editor Chabon and the very tale the author is trying to finish as well. It’s a daring, provocative sci-fi gambit, and a standout in this collection.
Then there’s Rick Moody’s "The Albertine Notes," an almost-novella length tale in the Philip K. Dick tradition. After a nuclear device wipes out most of Manhattan, the city’s survivors become hooked on a new drug which offers virtual reality playback of their own cherished memories.
Albertine. Bitch goddess of the overwhelming past. Rapids in the river of time. Skin pop a little, or take up the celebrated Albertine eyedropper, and any memory you’ve ever had is available to you all over again. That and more. Not a memory like you’ve experienced it before, not a little tremor in some presque vu register of your helter-skelter consciousness. No, the actual event itself, completely renewed, playing in front of you as though you were experiencing it for the first time.
It’s a familiar premise (remember Strange Days?) but Moody handles it with mind-bending finesse, gritty drug details and all, in one of the more accomplished entries in Thrilling Tales.
Strangely, the two tales which I found hardest to get through were those of the publisher and editor, Eggers and Chabon. I simply couldn’t finish Eggers’ "Up the Mountain Coming Down Slowly," and Chabon’s "The Martian Agent, a Planetary Romance" is a two-parter, the rest promised in a second edition of Thrilling Tales. Eggers and Chabon, by the way, share more than a love of superlatives. (Who else would have the nerve to insert the words "Amazing," "Heartbreaking" and "Staggering" into the titles of their own books?) Full of chutzpah, they’re alternative publishing’s whiz kids, and today’s answer to Barnum and Bailey, setting up higher and higher stakes, even if they mostly act as impresarios behind the scenes, stoking the geek interest and mystery like Wizards of Oz.
And conversely, why are so many short stories you read these days plotless, eventless, or otherwise "sparkling with epiphanic dew"?
That question recently troubled novelist Michael Chabon (Wonderboys, Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay), who missed the days when great literary names – Faulkner, Fitzgerald, Edith Wharton, Dorothy Parker – populated the pages of magazines. So he and Dave Eggers, editor of geek chic McSweeney’s literary magazine, rounded up 20 original stories by heavyweight writers who are also quite popular – names like Harlan Ellison, Michael Crichton, Rick Moody, Elmore Leonard, Aimee Bender, Stephen King – and put them in one large collection, illustrated by Howard Chaykin in the manner of old adventure mags like Weird Tales and Boy’s Life.
Chabon’s idea was, what if "good" writers were allowed to let rip with thrillers, without fear of embarrassment or literary criticism? The only stipulation was that the authors had to write in a "genre" – be it crime thrillers, mysteries, science fiction or fairy tales. The results are hit or miss, but the attempt is noble, resurrecting modes of fiction which often get dismissed in the mad publishing scramble for the next "chick lit" or other hot trend. The advantage of such genre writing is that it taps into uncomfortable but no less real psychological states under the guise of ghost stories, thrillers, fantasies or westerns. All of the above are tackled by contributors to Thrilling Tales, to greater or lesser acclaim.
Oddly, though, some entries fail simply as thrillers, despite their good intentions. The opening story, Jim Shepard’s "Tedford and the Megalodon," is quite literary, but doesn’t exactly make you flip the pages at a feverish pace, despite its promising premise of an arctic hunt for a massive prehistoric shark. Some of the writers do more than dip their toes, though: they get into the genre, subvert it, use it to convey social messages, even transcend it.
Some of the collected authors are old hands at this kind of thing: Stephen King adds yet another chapter to his "Dark Tower" opus with "The Tale of Gray Dick," a pulpier strand of King’s writing that gains an almost John Ford-ian depth in this venue. But it’s still throwaway King.
Some of the tales are gimmicky, yet contain nifty ideas, such as Nick Hornby’s "Otherwise Pandemonium," which asks: what if your VCR could fast forward through real, live TV shows, giving you a glimpse of future events? All told through the eyes of an American teen who is about to have his first sexual experience.
Skilled crime novelist Elmore Leonard gives a cold-eyed view of an Oklahoma lawman’s rise to G-Man status in "How Carlos Webster Changed His Name to Carl." Clearly, Leonard can do this kind of thing in his sleep, but he’s still entertaining to read. Same with Crichton, whose "Blood Doesn’t Come Out" is a bit nastier and noir-ish than his usual science fiction output.
What’s ultimately fun about the collection is its diversity. Circus tales, like Glen David Gold’s "The Tears of Squonk, and What Happened Thereafter," about an elephant’s murderous rampage, sit side-by-side with deeper psychological studies such as Dan Chaon’s "The Bees." A serial detective yarn like Michael Moorcock’s "The Case of the Nazi Canary" is nestled against an oddball psychological mystery like Aimee Bender’s "The Case of the Salt and Pepper Shakers." It’s nice to see certain authors submerge themselves in the exercise, as Moorcock does, presenting his tale as "A Seaton Begg Mystery," and going on to list about 20 other imaginary titles in the series. Each writer adds a different spin to an age-old form, and the combined effect is like watching an old anthology TV show like Twilight Zone, Night Gallery or Tales of the Unexpected: cheap, yet powerful.
Other nice touches: Each story is announced with a breathless one-liner, just like the old adventure comics you read as a kid ("The mummy’s eyes gazed out of the ancient past… and into the depths of his soul!" or "Sometimes a man makes such a hash of his life that his only recourse is to bend the temporal fabric of reality itself!")
That last one is from "Chuck’s Bucket," a postmodern yarn which cleverly weaves not only the author (Chris Offutt) into the narrative, but editor Chabon and the very tale the author is trying to finish as well. It’s a daring, provocative sci-fi gambit, and a standout in this collection.
Then there’s Rick Moody’s "The Albertine Notes," an almost-novella length tale in the Philip K. Dick tradition. After a nuclear device wipes out most of Manhattan, the city’s survivors become hooked on a new drug which offers virtual reality playback of their own cherished memories.
Albertine. Bitch goddess of the overwhelming past. Rapids in the river of time. Skin pop a little, or take up the celebrated Albertine eyedropper, and any memory you’ve ever had is available to you all over again. That and more. Not a memory like you’ve experienced it before, not a little tremor in some presque vu register of your helter-skelter consciousness. No, the actual event itself, completely renewed, playing in front of you as though you were experiencing it for the first time.
It’s a familiar premise (remember Strange Days?) but Moody handles it with mind-bending finesse, gritty drug details and all, in one of the more accomplished entries in Thrilling Tales.
Strangely, the two tales which I found hardest to get through were those of the publisher and editor, Eggers and Chabon. I simply couldn’t finish Eggers’ "Up the Mountain Coming Down Slowly," and Chabon’s "The Martian Agent, a Planetary Romance" is a two-parter, the rest promised in a second edition of Thrilling Tales. Eggers and Chabon, by the way, share more than a love of superlatives. (Who else would have the nerve to insert the words "Amazing," "Heartbreaking" and "Staggering" into the titles of their own books?) Full of chutzpah, they’re alternative publishing’s whiz kids, and today’s answer to Barnum and Bailey, setting up higher and higher stakes, even if they mostly act as impresarios behind the scenes, stoking the geek interest and mystery like Wizards of Oz.
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