September 1, 2014 | Rome, Italy | Partly Cloudy 16°C
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Fiction

War Music

Christopher Logue's personal "Iliad" recharges Homer and makes the ancient actual.

The Great Fire

For Shirley Hazzard, mid-20th century fires raged both in both world and heart.

Break it Down

Lydia Davis' early stories demonstrate an uncanny gift for "real-time" subversion.

Death Sentence (L'Arrêt de mort)

Blanchot's seminal "novel" is about the act of creation itself, and its costs.

Talking to Ourselves

Andrés Neuman's slender but astute novel examines death from three sides.

The Unknown Quantity

Hermann Broch's novel of the life and times of a 1920s mathematician is sadly overlooked.

Can't and Won't

Lydia Davis has a problem: she can't not display her ingenious bravura.

Open City

What's most impressive about Teju Cole's debut is its modulated darkness.

Never Love a Gambler

Irish writer Keith Ridgway is beautifully uncompromising in his pitch-perfect thug chronicles.

Scenes From Village Life

Amos Oz's interlocking stories are parables for a brilliant, haunted nation.




BOOK REVIEW
The Collected Stories of Leonard Michaels
By Leonard Michaels
Farrar, Strauss, and Giroux, 2007. 403 pages

Reading Leonard Michaels' first collection of stories "Going Places" (1969) is — to borrow an image from the poet Yehuda Amichai — like banging one's head against a door and screaming, "My head, my head!" With razor precision, Michaels scouts out the psychological underbelly of late '60s New York. These early stories have a tough sexual edge and a nervousness that is never resolved, but only adds a sense of desperate urgency. Every dialogue is fragmented into near incomprehensibility as the situation comedy spins out of control, despite the fact that not much actually happens. An aged Talmud scholar slips on the ice ("What's-a-matta, fuckhead, too much vino?" quips a police officer); a rabbi's daughter is raped by a Turkish student, then hangs herself; Phillip escapes his girlfriend's father's ire by fleeing naked into the subway; discovering he has gonorrhea, the narrator vomits in his own shoe ("I yelled; she ran in; I pointed. Why is it green?") then hops the downtown express at 3 a.m.

It's tempting to say that, after "Going Places," it's smooth sailing. But Michaels' second collection, "I Would Have Saved Them If I Could" (1975), is no less informed by a kind of gun-to-the-temple psychoanalysis. The stories get longer and less compressed; the narrative style smoother, less frantic. Sex is always in the foreground and explicit (and often hilarious), though never quite spirals into literary voyeurism. The sentences sometimes reach 20 words or more.

The only section of the book that seems onerous is "Journal," a 50-page performance that is, despite a few deft passages, what it advertises. Readers who make it to the final Nachman stories — left uncollected at the author's death in 2003 — will find a wise, mature storyteller telling the best tales of his career.

Reviewed by Marc Alan Di Martino
Everything you need to know about visiting or moving to Tuscany, Italy.