By Christian Viveros-Fauné
By Miriam Felton-Dansky
By Tom Sellar
By Tom Sellar
By Jessica Dawson
By Tom Sellar
By R. C. Baker
By Tom Sellar
Boyle's 12th book, T. C. Boyle Stories: The Collected Stories of T. Coraghessan Boyle, is clearly meant to address these issues, while staking his claim to the contemporary pantheon. At nearly 700 pages, it's as big as the author's ego itself, gathering all but two of his previously collected stories, as well as seven pieces never before published in book form. To be honest, there's something a little disconcerting about a volume like this coming from an author in midcareer, since such "collected works" almost always seem like museum exhibits, in which the individual stories become secondary to a retrospective overview. By aspiring to the definitive, though, T. C. Boyle Stories reveals a lot about Boyle's intentions as a social satirist; for him literature is a way of getting down and dirty with the absurdities and petty hypocrisies that motivate so much of modern daily life.
What's most compelling about T. C. Boyle Stories is its level of continuity, the way its 68 stories fit together like the components of a larger whole. From the first selection, "Modern Love" a painfully funny take on the culture of safe sex to the final piece, "Filthy With Things," and its barren universe in which "There's nothing there, nothing contained in nothing. Nothing at all," the collection has a vivid shape, a movement, as certain ideas emerge again and again. Partly, this has to do with its comprehensiveness, but equally important is how Boyle has arranged it, discarding the structures of his four original collections in favor of three extended sections: "Love," "Death," and "And Everything in Between." Because of this, the stories here tend to echo those around them, like "The Ape Lady in Retirement," with its whispers of the earlier "Descent of Man." Such resonances enhance our sense of Boyle's vision, which at its deepest level embodies a strangely modern alienation. In "Peace of Mind," one family's dream of home security unravels with tragic consequences, while "The New Moon Party" portrays a disheartened America brought together by the decision to launch an artificial moon into the heavens, only to see its hope dissolve when the satellite causes an unexpected rash of "madness, lunacy, mass hypnosis, call it what you will: it was a mess." These are stories where the consequences are bleak, often bitter, and the world will always let us down.
For all that, however, Boyle has never been a writer to let a capricious universe get in the way of a good time. He writes like a kid at a carnival, tossing off firecrackers of language that explode like Roman candles in our minds. In "Greasy Lake," his brief description of two girls "Tight jeans, stiletto heels, hair like frozen fur" indelibly burns their image onto the page; "Top of the Food Chain," meanwhile, begins with an insect problem so extreme "your tamer stuff, your Malathion and pyrethrum and the rest of the so-called environmentally safe products didn't begin to make a dent in it . . . we might as well have been spraying with Chanel No. 5."
Throughout these stories, Boyle relies on humor even when dealing with the most dire developments, and much of this material is funny for its own sake, like "Heart of a Champion," in which Lassie gets the hots for a coyote and abandons Timmy at the very moment he needs her most. This is especially true of the half dozen or so literary knockoffs, where Boyle honors his influences while having a little fun at their expense. In "The Overcoat II," he tips his hat to Gogol, while "Me Cago en la Leche (Robert Jordan in Nicaragua)" updates Hemingway's For Whom the Bell Tolls. Best of the bunch is "The Big Garage," a (literally) Kafkaesque nightmare, where a man identified as B. gets lost in the bureaucracy of an auto mechanic's shop, as he waits endlessly, hopelessly for his car to be repaired.