Every author in some way portrays himself in his works, even if it be against his will.
~Goethe
It is an interesting thing to read fiction and try to cull bits of the author he or she has written into their characters. In his anthology Stories From A Lifetime, Hugh Aaron distills the essence of eight decades into 36 short stories—a deft challenge for the author, an esoteric romp for the reader.
The stories hew (no pun intended) strongly toward the personal aspects of business, both indirectly and as experienced from the day-to-day perspective from within. The first story, An Unusual Day In the Life Of George Amen, is a perfect example of this theme. A man with a solid work ethic makes the unusual decision to experience a day without work. The premise is deceivingly simple as it’s the underlying message that drives the tale forward.
Another ‘business’ story, The Mentor, stands out as a thoroughly entertaining, engaging cautionary tale of nepotism. Having worked as a manager in a number of places I was easily hooked by the well-drawn characters, rooting for one and loathing the other, as one would a favorite sports rivalry.
This notion though, this ability to connect to characters in short fiction, is not a task easily—nor always—accomplished. I cannot truthfully express being so affected by each story, but it must be understood that as with any fiction the reader brings their own experiences and personality to the story—sometimes it connects and others it doesn’t. This is not to be considered a knock on Aaron’s ability to craft a story. It is, as was pointed out by readers who read my book, an inherent challenge to the writer to bring characters to life and make the reader care about them in such a short amount of space. I had an almost visceral reaction to The Mentor, akin to weather-worn wood, rough and knotted; other stories left me with the contrarian feeling of silk, a nice fabric to sleep upon because it feels good.
One story, The Thirty-Seventh Year—which I highly suspect is perhaps closest to the author’s heart—was far too long and steeped in the device of romantic correspondence for my tastes. At 47 pages it’s the longest story in the book, a span bridged by long treatises of affection between two characters who have found one another at the imperfect perfect time. The declarations of emotion and genuine affection are not the least bit contrived but add an almost interminable distance between character interactions. I absolutely understand the reason behind the letters, and frankly they are wonderful expressions of passion and tenderness, prose which I would bet most women would soak up like a dry sponge. As a reader, though, I had accepted Dan and Jessica, understood and connected with their circumstances, and wanted to view their world through the eyes of an observer; the exchanged correspondence between the pair, while indeed providing emotional underpinning to the story, detracted from them—this proved more agitation than ingratiation. Again, I reiterate, this is not to say the story isn’t worthwhile, nor that others wouldn’t find it engrossing—rather it is a reflection of my tastes in pacing and narrative.
Think, feel, guess, observe, immerse, question—choose your verb and let it dangle its feet in wait as you read through these stories. The length of any given allegory is inconsequential so long as the author has pulled you into his world. Aaron’s narrative style often has a way of quietly pulling you in so you can experience the words from his perspective, from a level of human life and emotion. His style has a different feel to it, much the way someone from the Midwest might have a slightly different lilt to their speech as heard from someone in the Southwest—not so resoundingly distinct as a southern drawl or East Coast dialect, but rather fair and unobstructive.
Revealing oneself through guile and veiled words, to be set free from the immutable fetters of the soul and let those notions breathe in characters which speak for you is a tender yet frightful task. Mr. Aaron, through his stories, takes us on a winding journey through heartbreak and discovery, from hollow to full. A glimpse at his stories offers pause for each of us to take time to recall yarns of our own.
Review copy of this book was provided by Pump Up Your Book/Dorothy Thompson and Hugh Aaron — my genuine thanks to both!
If the review piqued your interest you can get the book online at:
• Amazon
• Barnes & Noble
• Stones Point Press
Excellent review. I really want to read this book. You should see my TBR pile right now. It’s like Mt. Everest.
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Start scaling, woman!
And thanks for the comment :^) I think you would probably thoroughly enjoy Stories.
I absolutely adore reading your book reviews, J.W. I’ve been reading The New Yorker during the past six months or so, and I wish I could see your name in there – I think you’d be a perfect match for the kind of engrossing book reviews they feature there.
Thank you very much, Em. I don’t think I’m cosmopolitan enough for the New Yorker, but I am flattered that you think enough of my reviews to associate my name with them!
Wow…I finally got back from vacation and trying to catch up. Jeff, this was the most beautiful review I’ve ever read…you surpassed any expectations I would ever dream of for this book. Thank you so much!
If you wrote a review of any of my books like this, your review will be better written than the book being reviewed. Can you review my next book?
You are a literary spider spinning silk webs into words. Charlotte, move to the back of the room.
Such accolades run the danger of compromising an otherwise humble soul. Thank you both for your support and generous words.
You can keep a tab on your soul by watching your hat size…
On my schedule to read tomorrow actually! Looking forward to reading the various short stories.