What Is All This? - Uncollected Stories - A Stephen Dixon short story feast. Dozens of the author's previously unpublished stories now made available thanks to Fantagraphics Books.
As a way of providing a direct hit of what a reader can expect in this comprehensive collection, I offer my compressed retelling of Can't Win, a short-short story included that's crisp, clipped, tight, tough, edgy, so very classic Stephen Dixon. Here goes:
CAN'T WIN
Opening lines of this three page Dixon popper: "My agent calls and says "Meet me at the Triad Perry Publishing Company right away." I say "What's up?" and she says "It's very important. Just be there as soon as you can. I'm already on my way" and then she hangs up."
Oh God, the unnamed narrator/writer thinks, it has to be good news about his short story winning the annual Triad Perry cash prize. The writer, a mate I'll call Vic, races across town to the publishing house. In the reception area, people are sitting on couches and chairs and there's a secretary at her desk and a dog sleeping at her feet.
Vic's agent appears and introduce Vic to the managing editor of the publishing house, a Mr. Whithead. She turns to Whithead and says, "You tell him, not me." Vic says "It's bad news, isn't it? to which his agent replies, "Depends how you look at it or take it, but I'm afraid it is."
"Once more you've been chosen as one of the runners-up in our annual short fiction contest," Whithead says and hands Vic his manuscript. The managing editor continues, "If this will be any consolation to you, there were again more than four hundred applicants for the award. So take pride in knowing that for the fourth year in a row you were considered good enough to be one of the five finalists, a remarkable achievement, or at least record, I think."
"Goddamit!" Vic shouts and slams his manuscript on the receptionist's desk, slams it again and again and again, shouting Goddamit each time the stack of papers hits the desk. Vic points his finger at the managing editor's nose and demands to know what the hell stopped him from giving him the prize this year. Or last year. Or the year before that. Or the year before that. And why oh why did he have to come down to this damn office just to be told he lost? As a grand finale, Vic flings his manuscript across the room, pages floating down to the people on the couches and chairs. They start reading snippets of his story and begin a lively conversation about the quality of Vic's writing.
"Listen," Whithead tells Vic, "don't get all excited. I have other news: you've won this year's scarf design contest which entitles you to a thirty dollar check and mention in Scarf Designer News. Whithead hand Vic the check and holds up the six-foot scarf for all to see, a brightly colored six-color scarf with different colored fringes on the end.
Vic takes the scarf, sticks the check between his teeth, rips the damn thing in two and spits out the other pieces before grabbing a vase off the desk, shouting out, "Idiots. This scarf and check aren't what I came here for," and proceeds to throw the vase to the floor, smash, shards of glass going everywhere, one into the dog's rear leg. The dog yelps, jumps up and limps around the room, whimpering.
The infuriated receptionist stands up, shoves Vic hard enough he trips over a chair and falls to the floor. After a heated exchange, Vic agrees to take the dog to a vet.
We follow Vic to the vet, his return visit to the publishers' office (with bandaged dog that he paid for) and back to his apartment where he recounts the day's series of mishaps to his mother and sister. Then the unexpected. Here's Stephen Dixon's twist ending:
"That's my scarf," my sister says. "The one I designed and knitted myself. I've been looking all over for it. How come you took credit for it when I should have been the one who entered that contest and won?"
"What're you talking about?" I say. "I never entered this scarf in any contest," but she grabs it from me and calls the publishing house and says "Whithead; give me that chief man Whithead." When he gets on the phone, she says "Look, my brother before is a cheat, an out-and-out lying fraud. He didn't design that first-prize scarf or even knit it. I did, and I'm coming right down there now to get all the publicity I can out of winning that contest and also the thirty-dollar check. Some people might think they can't use the money, but, baby, I sure can."
Stephen Dixon reads Can't Win at a New York City bookstore. Link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ee89x...
American novelist and short story writer Stephen Dixon, 1936-2019
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