Subject: Death of the Short Story

September 20, 2005

“If you think your work deserves to be in the top 5%, send it to us - if not, perhaps it needs another draft.”

The featured commentary in TDR regarding the state of Canadian writing and the publishing world caught my attention.

Whether fiction today falls within the parenthetical confines of realism, post-modernism, post-post-modernism, or any other pointless academic classification, it has no influence whatsoever on publishing odds or the marketplace. The reasons for its disappointing performance are so diverse it’s hard to know where to begin.

For the past week or so I have searched the web for examples of fresh Canadian short fiction. What an eye-opener! What a stunning exercise in mediocrity! Story after story left me with a feeling that harried editors must have slim pickings indeed if this is representative of their best submissions. It was like attending an elegant dinner party and, instead of an Escoffier feast, being treated to a dry skewer of micro-waved shish kebab, a teaspoon of canned peas , a clump of white rice, and tepid water. No wonder short stories haven’t much of a life in this country. Give us a feast!

About 99.9% of the published short fiction I read online had opening lines more worthy of the Bulwer-Lytton Contest than serious literature. Most were so pedestrian it wasn’t worth reading on, and reeked of a juvenile mind spurred by blind, ignorant gall of the kind only found in creative writing workshops and seminars.

The above admonition quoted on your submissions page made me wonder if a single writer submitting a piece to TDR has been stopped dead in his/her tracks after a moment of honest introspection to decide against sending the piece in, to work on it a little longer. Of course they think they’re in the top percentile of talent and genius. Of course the desperation and drive to be a publishing prodigy makes them the last person qualified to decide on the merit of their own work. Of course they’ll submit the creative spawn of their own overconfidence, then berate the editor for rejecting it.

Rather than crafting a rich and fully realised universe as past masters did, fiction too often comes off like a first or second draft, with little in the way of internal or editorial checks and balances to ensure that both writer and work are mature by the time of publication. Perhaps writers mistake minimal effort for minimalism, or are so bent on tickling the intellect they fail to stir us with stories and characters that truly change us. Think of Lawrence’s “The Rocking Horse Winner” or Andersen’s “The Little Match Girl”. Every stroke is brilliant, even if by modern standards evoking pathos.

The truth is, fiction and the short story form are not dead but talent definitely has a suspiciously bad cough. Writing is no longer a calling but a career option zealously supported by an education system that actually operates on the notion of a serious connection between education and talent. In addition, ours is a society that demands rewards disproportionate with effort or ability. Perhaps the drive for time and the bottom line are at play as well, creating an unhealthy compression in editorial input. Perhaps the decision process in publishing is indeed too culturally, politically, and creatively homogeneous, leaving little chance for anything but “the next Atwood, Ondaatje, Richler” , a stark contrast to Hemingway’s conviction that “what a writer in our time has to do is write what hasn’t been written before or beat dead men at what they have done.”

Though not a professional critic, I am an avid reader who has found less and less to be avid about. Great literature takes up too little of my shelf space and for that I am deeply frustrated, especially since the majority are not contemporary. Even good literature, by comparison, can be inadequate if one is starving for a modern Tolstoy or Hemingway or James. How do I know the difference between great literature and all the rest? I go back to it, to study, to reflect, reading it many times over, each time at each stage in my life finding new and surprising levels of mastery. All the rest ­ after once having read through there is little to entice me to ever crack its spine again. At $30 - $40 per copy, mediocrity is not worth the investment.

When writers and editors produce great stories the public gladly welcomes them in both short and long form. We are not an illiterate mass that cannot value an intensity of meaning and ideas, but for God’s sake ­ tell a story worth reading, and make it sing right from the first line. Touch our hearts, our minds, and our souls. Move us, and we will rampage for the last copy on the store shelf. Thank you for your time, and the best of luck with your editorial efforts with TDR.

Sandra Chmara