NYSSD: "The Niece"

I am failing to get the the short stories because I read just one more and then just one more of the earlier articles in the magazine. Stilll reeling on the Seymour Hersh article...

Back later, promise.

I know just what you mean. Gotta love the New Yorker.

I read the story last Tuesday when I got my New Yorker. It surprizes me, Sozobe that you do not get yours until Thursday. By sheer haphenstance I was browsing through old threads last night and saw that you live in the Chicago area, as do I, and I've always gotten my magazine on Tuesday. When you reported that yours came on Thursday, I imagined that you must live in some isolated part of the country, say, like one of the outer islands of Hawaii. I guess there is no accounting for the mysteries of the postal service.

I thought the story was pretty much written just as entertainment. I saw nothing especially profound in it. There was a touch of sadness about the whole thing. Zeke, the painter, who was all thumbs, so to speak, when it came to getting on with the ladies, managed to establish a kind of nice raport with the niece, whose name he never learned. As for the niece, she seemed to find in Zeke a man who had an appreciation for her despite her delicate condition. It was one of those times in life when a possibility comes along just when it is required. But then, and there is always a "but then," owing to some circumstance the nature of which we are not made privy, the niece disappears into the lonely night, leaving Zeke to wonder.

I agree, Sozobe, there was some good writing. There is almost always that to enjoy in a New Yorker story.

And what, may I ask, were those annoying touches that you found so annoying, Sozobe? There were one or two bits that I thought were almost touching.

Oh I lost track of this one.

First, why do you get your New Yorker so early?! Growl, snarl. I actually got mine on Wednesday this time, but it's often Thursday. Ya think the mailman sneaks a read first?

Hmm, I just have a moment now, but I found the story a little annoying in its foreshadowing. Why did the lightbulbs go out? It seemed big and portentous, and then was kinda "oh". For me, anyway.

I'll have to re-read and return. Thanks for your follow-up.

Yes, I agree, we would seem to have been hung out to dry on the light bulb business. It's as if Livesey intended to do something with it, then dropped the whole line of thought mid-stream and went on to other things.

I know, however, that this cannot be so. Short story writers of this caliber don't do things like that. Usually, every word counts. I guess I'll have to reread also. Humm, and I didn't think this story was that complicated.

The Niece
I must say that what I took to be a simple story on first reading has turned out to be pretty complicated on the second reading.

Here is how I figure the popping light bulbs. Five lightbulbs burn out. Zeke does not have a sense of premonition, or if he does, he decides against that interpretation, and accepts that the problem is somehow with the power supply. Only later, the narrator tells us, does it all make sense. Much later in the story, the niece asks him why the lights are burned out. He answers. Then she says, "interesting," and continues, "I'm okay with appliances, usually. But I can't wear a watch for more than a day or two before it goes haywire. Apparently, I make my own electricity." A short while later, perhaps only a few minutes, and they are in bed together, and "wherever they touched, he felt the tingling of her electricity." I take from this that the lights went out because she was about to visit the house. She carried candle sticks in her suit case. (Perhaps something like this always presaged her coming just as the wind always changed direction in advance of Mary Poppins sailing in on her umbrella.) However, there is still a mystery here. They are in bed, and he senses Ms. F between them. Then time passes, "hours, days, weeks." She tells him that she is not really a niece of the Burrows. It is then that he feels the electricity. I think that the "hours, days, weeks," is not to be taken literally, but simply signifies that they were laying there together for what seemed quite a while, and she finally felt comfortable telling him who she was, or at least part of the truth. He cannot overcome his fear of the unfamiliar, and he goes home, excusing himself to her on the grounds that he can't stand a strange house.

I found even more difficult the references to Ms. F. I finally took Mrs. F to mean her mysterious unknown persona, which he always sensed lay between her and him. Still, just who she is or what she is remains a mystery to me. But, then, I cannot claim to have ever come close to my life long goal of understanding women, let alone stories.

Also, I cannot guess at the meaning of the coveralls nailed to the floor at the foot of her bed.

Help.

Neither do I understand, Sozobe, why I get the New Yorker a day or two before you do. This may be an even bigger question than the above.

Ms. F is the fetus. The niece is pregnant.

The Niece
Sorry to be so dense.

Ack, have had very very few opportunities to be at the computer lately, and when I am it seems to be hit and run. Sorry I didn't come back to this story properly OR post the story from this week. (Liked it, wasn't super impressed with it.) I will get back on track with this week's story.

This is particularly pitiful since (perhaps due to Hazlitt wielding his formidable influence?) my New Yorker arrived on TUESDAY last week! I think that mailman has been hoarding 'em after all.

Here's the new one!

http://www.able2know.com/forums/viewtopic.php?p=177943#177943