The Best American Short Stories 2013
Read The Best American Short Stories 2013 Online
Authors: Elizabeth Strout
Encounters with Unexpected Animals
The Tunnel, or The News from Spain
Other Distinguished Stories of 2012
Editorial Addresses of American and Canadian Magazines Publishing Short Stories
Copyright © 2013 by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company
Introduction copyright © 2013 by Elizabeth Strout
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
The Best American Series
®
and
The Best American Short Stories
®
are registered trademarks of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.
No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system without the proper written permission of the copyright owner unless such copying is expressly permitted by federal copyright law. With the exception of nonprofit transcription in Braille, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt is not authorized to grant permission for further uses of copyrighted selections reprinted in this book without the permission of their owners. Permission must be obtained from the individual copyright owners as identified herein. Address requests for permission to make copies of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt material to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data is available.
ISSN
0067-6233
ISBN
978-0-547-55482-2
ISBN
978-0-547-55483-9 (pbk.)
e
ISBN
978-0-547-89836-0
v1.1013
“The Provincials” by Daniel Alarcón. First published in
Granta
, Winter 2012 (No. 118). Copyright © 2012 by Daniel Alarcón. From the forthcoming
The King Is Always Above the People: Stories
by Daniel Alarcón. Used by permission of Riverhead Books, an imprint of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.
“Bravery” by Charles Baxter. First published in
Tin House
, Spring 2012 (Vol. 14, No. 1). Copyright © 2012 by Charles Baxter. Reprinted by permission of Darhansoff & Verrill literary agents.
“Malaria” by Michael Byers. First published in
Bellevue Literary Review
, Fall 2012 (Vol. 12, No. 2). Copyright © 2012 by Michael Byers. Reprinted by permission of the author.
“Miss Lora” from
This Is How You Lose Her
by Junot Díaz, copyright © 2012 by Junot Díaz. Used by permission of Riverhead Books, an imprint of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. First published in
The New Yorker
, April 23, 2012.
“Horned Men” by Karl Taro Greenfeld. First published in
ZYZZYVA
, Fall 2012 (No. 95). Copyright © 2012 by Karl Taro Greenfeld. Reprinted by permission of
ZYZZYVA
.
“The Third Dumpster” by Gish Jen. First published in
Granta
, Summer 2012 (No. 120). Copyright © 2012 by Gish Jen. Reprinted by permission of Melanie Jackson Agency, LLC.
“Encounters with Unexpected Animals” by Bret Anthony Johnston. First published in
Esquire
, March 2012. Copyright © 2012 by Bret Anthony Johnston. Reprinted by permission of Bret Anthony Johnston.
“Magic Man” by Sheila Kohler. First published in the
Yale Review
, Spring 2012 (Vol. 100, No. 2). Copyright © 2012 by Sheila Kohler. Reprinted by permission of the author and her literary agent, Robin Straus Agency, Inc.
“The Chair” by David Means. First published in the
Paris Review
, Spring 2012 (No. 200). Copyright © 2012 by David Means. Reprinted by permission of the Wylie Agency, LLC.
“A Voice in the Night” by Steven Millhauser. First published in
The New Yorker
, December 10, 2012. Copyright © 2012 by Steven Millhauser. Reprinted by permission of the author.
“Referential” by Lorrie Moore. First published in
The New Yorker
, May 28, 2012. Copyright © 2012 by Lorrie Moore. Reprinted by permission of Melanie Jackson Agency, LLC.
“Train” from
Dear Life
by Alice Munro, copyright © 2013 by Alice Munro. Used by permission of Random House, Inc. Any third party use of this material, outside of this publication, is prohibited. Interested parties must apply directly to Random House, Inc., for permission. First published in
Harper’s Magazine
, April 2012.
“Chapter Two” by Antonya Nelson. First published in
The New Yorker
, March 26, 2012. Copyright © 2012 by Antonya Nelson. Reprinted by permission of the author.
“Nemecia” by Kirstin Valdez Quade. First published in
Narrative Magazine
, Fall 2012. Copyright © 2012 by Kirstin Valdez Quade. Reprinted by permission of Denise Shannon Literary Agency, Inc.
“Philanthropy” by Suzanne Rivecca. First published in
Granta
, Summer 2012 (No. 120). Copyright © 2012 by Suzanne Rivecca. Reprinted by permission of Suzanne Rivecca.
“The Semplica-Girl Diaries” from
Tenth of December: Stories
by George Saunders, copyright © 2013 by George Saunders. Used by permission of Random House, Inc. Any third party use of this material, outside of this publication, is prohibited. Interested parties must apply directly to Random House, Inc., for permission. First published in
The New Yorker
, October 15, 2012.
“The World to Come” by Jim Shepard. First published in
One Story
, March 2012. Copyright © 2012 by Jim Shepard. Reprinted by permission of Jim Shepard.
“The Wilderness” by Elizabeth Tallent. First published in
Threepenny Review
, Spring 2012. Copyright © 2012 by Elizabeth Tallent. Reprinted by permission of the Joy Harris Literary Agency, Inc.
“The Tunnel, or The News from Spain” from
The News from Spain
by Joan Wickersham, copyright © 2012 by Joan Wickersham. Used by permission of Random House, Inc. Any third party use of this material, outside of this publication, is prohibited. Interested parties must apply directly to Random House, Inc., for permission. First published in
Glimmer Train
, Issue 82, Spring 2012.
“Breatharians” by Callan Wink. First published in
The New Yorker
, October 22, 2012. Copyright © 2012 by Callan Wink. Reprinted by permission of
The New Yorker
.
O
CCASIONALLY SOMETHING HORRIFIC
transpires—and in what seems like a minute, this something changes us. It changes us as sentient beings with souls and minds. It changes us as parents and siblings and children, as travelers and citizens and individuals. Certainly as artists and readers, certainly as writers.
After 9/11, writers wondered how or even if it was possible to understand the events that occurred. How and what and why to write now? What to read? Little seemed relevant or urgent enough. Were we as Americans anywhere near as savvy or admired as we had thought? One of our toughest, bravest, proudest cities was revealed to be susceptible. Even baldly vulnerable.
To me, the mass shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School on December 14, 2012, in Newtown, Connecticut, was similar to 9/11 in its ability to demolish a country’s posture, not to mention its values and even aesthetics. As the news broke that day, disbelief rippled throughout the country and the world. No, we thought. Many of us glanced at each other, wondering whether this or that person was thinking the same thing: This cannot be right. THIS cannot have happened. This, here. And then, as confirmations came of all that had occurred in that school, a collective shudder and the impulse to turn away, perhaps inward, to regain our breath. To hold our children and our parents for dear life. And later, the impulse to assign blame (to graft meaning onto the meaningless)—to blame gun makers, the country’s health-care system for abandoning its mentally ill, politicians, a culture that glamorizes violence, video games that do the same, and the media for shining its spotlight on mass killers.
Again, the human capacity for violence has proven to be greater than we previously thought. Again, a dark cloud has settled over our country.
This unthinkable event, the sixteenth mass shooting of 2012, occurred toward the end of my reading cycle, just in time for me to freeze up each time I read a story featuring groups of children in harm’s way or gun violence or, heaven forbid, a school shooting. Pity the writers who may have still been trying to comprehend the shooting at Columbine High School. This was not the time to publish a short story about such matters.
A few months later, I write this with a still-jumpy heart. The reality and possibility of mass shootings have come to occupy my thoughts many times daily. When I walk my twin children into their kindergarten classrooms in their small elementary school. When I return to their school in order to drop off forgotten sneakers, when I stand beneath the camera that is now mounted beside the school entry in order to identify myself. When I go to any large, enclosed, crowded space. Malls, movie theaters—or not even large spaces. The subway, the train, any place where strangers find themselves in close proximity. There is a heavy stone in my chest during these moments that was not there before the shooting at Newtown.
I am enormously lucky—I have never witnessed or known anyone who was killed in a mass shooting. I do not and have never lived anywhere near where such a thing took place. I can only imagine how different every inch of the world looks to those who did lose a loved one.
In 1946, my predecessor, Martha Foley, wrote, “It is a literary truism that there must be a period of distillation before the real impact of some tremendous event, either historical or personal, can emerge in writing.” Now, due to the speed with which we receive our news and the graphic nature of its delivery, I think that the actual distillation time has shrunk, although I’m not certain that this yields writing as rich in perspective or depth of emotion. Before now, the strongest and most timeless stories about a transformative event had been written after a good amount of time elapsed. Now, writers’ frequent use of the present tense combined with our widespread exposure to up-to-the-minute news has led to a rise in stories and novels that trace the microscopic jigs and jags of grief itself. In other words, while we are grieving, we are now writing.
We may be sacrificing perspective or depth, but this does not necessarily amount to lesser writing. If anything, there is a new sort of immediacy, a newfound intimacy and urgency in our fiction these days. Witness, in the following pages, Karl Taro Greenfeld’s story of one man’s clumsy grappling with being let go from his job. Or David Means or Steven Millhauser as they tunnel so deep inside their characters’ fears and hopes that at least this reader was rendered nearly breathless. For evidence of technology’s increasing impact, see Elizabeth Tallent’s magnificent “The Wilderness,” which scrolls before us as if on a computer screen.
As I read in 2013, I will listen for a slightly faster heartbeat, one closer to our schools and children, one differently attuned to crowds and violence. And in years beyond, I hope to find a glimmer of meaning and the salve of perspective in some wise story about one of our saddest days.
Elizabeth Strout was a wonderful reader, an author who knows well that the sound of one’s writing is just as important as and indivisible from the content. Some years I work closely with guest editors as they read and hone their list. Other years, they prefer to read and select privately. Elizabeth was the latter sort, and delivered to me a terrifically diverse, interesting, and impressive table of contents. There was a bit of back-and-forth, but very little was needed in the end. Here are twenty compellingly told, powerfully felt stories about urgent matters with profound consequences.
The stories chosen for this anthology were originally published between January 2012 and January 2013. The qualifications for selection are (1) original publication in nationally distributed American or Canadian periodicals; (2) publication in English by writers who are American or Canadian, or who have made the United States their home; and (3) original publication as short stories (excerpts of novels are not knowingly considered). A list of magazines consulted for this volume appears at the back of the book. Editors who wish for their short fiction to be considered for next year’s edition should send their publication or hard copies of online publications to Heidi Pitlor, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 222 Berkeley Street, Boston, Massachusetts 02116.
