NYSSD: "Dick"

Gotta read the story. Then I'll be back.

A lot has happened today, but I finally got this story read. I agree with you that Nelson has the almost perfect description for the L.A. sunset: Toxic Beauty.

I'm so often wrong in what I think of these stories, that I hesitate to tie into this one. However, what are we here for? I think that the theme of this one is that it does not help to run away. they are living in the midst of toxic beauty. To escape the toxic part they run away to Colorado where they live in the midst of pure beauty, until the toxicity invades the atmosphere in Colorado in the form of Dick's disappearance and all the questions and doubts that accompany that event. they also carry a toxicity with them in the form of Ann's secret determination to seek a divorce after their son graduates from HS.

By the end, it appears that their son, Cole, may be wanting to run away. In the end the mother, Ann, has hope within herself, and the realization, as well, that she cannot ask her son to change his feelings, nor can he ask her to do the same. This all seems pretty bleak to me, unless Ann is thinking that she ought to get over the need to run away.

I'm waiting to see what others think.

One thing that has kept me from this story is that Mrs. Hazlitt has come home from the library with the entire 28, or so, episodes of the original Forsyte Saga, which is major excitement for us septuagenarians who enjoyed this series so much back in the 60s. My 50 year old children have no memory of it! Astonishing.

As long as we are in the New Yorker, I find the cartoons on pages 76, 81, and 88 especially funny, in particular, the one on 76. They are so with the times.

Ooh, I have to check the cartoons. I remember there was one I thought of posting here, but forget which one. The only one I remember right now is about becoming a vegetarian for moral reasons, then continuing because it annoyed people.

I think this was in many ways another 9/11 story. I remember thinking when it happened that it was such a huge event, it was bound to show up in the arts, and wondering when that would happen. I think that's happening now, in many media.

This one explicitly mentions 9/11, as being the impetus of getting out of L.A., as being the catalyst that sends Ann's mother over the edge. I think it is partly about the sense of trying to escape, trying to go back to a simpler time which of course doesn't exist. (I loved "She would resist the impulse to shake them [Richard's hands] off, restrain the flash of impatience she felt: wasn't it obvious, this beauty just outside their door? A tangible beauty, like hard candy, something you could bite.")

I was really impressed with the depth and subtlety of the family descriptions. Especially her drawing away from Richard, and his realization thereof. It seems like so often in these stories one spouse is feeling an inexplicable detatchment, and the other blunders along all unawares. I thought Nelson handled Richard's dawning awareness, and reaction, fantastically well.



Dick is such a bathetic figure. I'm not sure about intention, motivations, what Nelson was thinking when she created him. I have the feeling that this story just kind of came together from disparate thoughts, felt right. I don't think, for example, she started from wondering how a child who shoots classmates gets that way, or anything so prosaic.

Anyway, my disjointed observations -- also very interested in what others think.

The 9/11 connection and the non-existant past


Sozobe, I keep overlooking the importance of the 9/11 connection in these stories. As I have said in the past, I do not register a lot of personal fear over 9/11. It just is not in my nature. Neither have I ever particularly had a fear of being hit by lightning or of tornados. It is hard for me to imagine that people allow this fear to turn their lives upside down.

I thought Nelson was very good in her description of how Ann's marriage was, or perhaps I should say, had dissolved. Lines like:"She flushed when she thought of the secret she had kept for years now, her escape clause:she had given herself permission to divorce her husband when Cole graduated from high school." People often harbor a secret plan, because having the plan makes life bearable even if the plan is later discarded because of a change in circumstances. I like your thought that Ann was trying to get back to a simpler time. Perhaps she also hoped for a social environment that would preserve Cole's innocence (as she saw it), and not spoil it as the LA social environment had done for Lizzie.

There are certainly many variations to be played pm the dissolving marriage syndrome.

Yes, the vegetarian cartoon was a good one.

Ann has so many contradictions! She can leave her failing mother and her lovely daughter in LA, but is so caring with Cole. And in some ways, she sees the big picture, and in others, she is so deluded. (Of course, that is fairly realistic, isn't it?) I'm sure that Cole can discover drugs and a smart-ass attitude just as easily in Colorado as he might have in California, though perhaps a little later.

Early in the story, I empathized with Ann. Wanting to move and find a better life, allowing Lizzie to stay behind and go to college, even leaving her mom at the assisted living facility (which hugely echoes my current situation with my own mother, minus the Alzheimer's). But the secret plan left me behind. I've never been in anything close to that situation.

There seem to be a lot of secret plans... Dick's leaving was a secret plan, so was Ann's plotting to divorce. I'm with Mac, I just can't warm up to someone's secret plan to leave her husband at a future point. It seems so cold.

There were some very good descriptions in this story, but it fell apart for me, starting with the drug paraphenalia cache. I just couldn't see that as something today's teens would have -- for one thing, cocaine use, as implied by a razor and a rolled-up dollar bill, is almost non-existent in today's kids. They'd be much more likely to be eating mushrooms, taking ecstacy or some sort other pills. For another, they wouldn't be likely to leave any pot and they wouldn't use a brass pipe, which is very 80's. They'd have a bong.

I also couldn't understand why Ann and her daughter were driving in a second car if the daughter was staying in LA to go to school. That didn't make any sense to me. If they could have a cell phone, why hadn't they called her husband & son in the first car? Why wasn't the cat riding in the car with the son who loved it? Why hadn't they noticed the cat was dead in the pool?

The change from the discovery of the dead cat to suddenly months later and Thanksgiving in Colorado is too abrupt. There was no sense to that, it seemed to be put there to give the readers a sudden and unwelcome jolt.

I also didn't think it rang true that a 11 year-old would run away, call twice within the first week and never be found. That's something that a kid a few years older... 14 or more, is likely to do. I also think that for a child who had loved animals to suddenly be found killing them, perhaps killing the neighbor's cat, ripping off the legs of lizards... uhhh, this doesn't start overnight. This is something that would have begun as a very young child. It just doesn't fit reality. But no mention is made of earlier abuse.

I also couldn't see a dog-breeding redneck relying on his dreams to drive 1000 miles one-way to check on a KOA. There is some mention that they are doing that to see if Ann is harboring Dick (which Dick?) but even that doesn't make sense. A quick call to the Colorado police would be much more realistic and in keeping with that family's perceived belief in authority.

The author is playing games with ideas without a clear view, IMO. The story leaves the reader with an unwelcome feeling of hopelessness and for what? There is not a single character that has enough oomph to make you interested. The story goes nowhere, nothing is resolved. Ann, the main protaganist, is neither a sympathetic nor intelligent character. She droops through life, not connecting with her mother, her daughter, her husband, the cat, the puppy, her neighbors or even her beloved son. She is just flat and gray. The only one with any life is the daughter -- she at least sees her mother's aimlessness and is rebelling against it.

The point where I was most interested in the story was the description of the future with the children talking about their parents, but then to have that lead in to her marital perfidity... well, it didn't make me love the story.

As a mother, I want the mother in the story to be all-wise, wonderful and a problem-solver. At the very least I want her to be sympathetic, an admirable character or one who makes a resolution within the bounds of the plot. She has tried to make an escape but there is no escape. She is a liar who forgets her lies; a lover who doesn't love; a mother who can't reach her kids. Oh my.

And why are three of the five male characters named Richard or Dick? Good grief.

The end goes like this:


Since when do people "hope not"? I think we are more likely to be successful if we "hope for" something. Here, we've hoped for a story that has meaning, that adds to our lives and to our understanding. Ann is worrying about something that she doesn't even know if it's true, begging him, as he might beg her to not feel so hopeless. In the same way we have no hope that we can beg the author to give us something better.

Here are some ways that the story could have been better:
-the parents could have reached an understanding
-Ann could have realized she was not going to leave her husband
-the boy, Dick, could have been found
-the husband's love for the puppy could have moved Ann to love him again
-Cole could have shown he'd grown up and was a whole person
-the daughter and mother could have connected
- any of a number of much more clever ideas than this

<Sorry, I am in a bitchy mood this evening and really picking the story apart. Maybe I'll like the story better later, but I doubt it. Who needs a downer like this?>

Agreed. It was a hopeless story. In fact, invoking 9/11 almost seems like a cheap shot when you consider the whole story. As if that tragedy were to blame for what's happened to these characters...

I completely object to the notion that "interesting things happened early, a piece of information that Ann was consciously, uncharitably, withholding from her daughter." I was much too young and inexperienced to enjoy or appreciate the interesting things that happened to me early on (and there were a few). And interesting things haven't let up yet for me, have they for you? This is a very bitter woman.

Many of the author's descriptions did delight me. "...the whole smooth suit of skin she wore without thinking" and "He submitted happily as she untucked his shirttails and frowsed his hair" and "Every adult in the room watched his face fill with the knowledge that Dick had not made a miraculous journey to join him on his birthday."

Didn't it seem that both mothers had more knowledge of their situations than made sense for them to have? Ann can observe her children so closely and yet take no action to help them. And Nancy's telling of how Dick's life had changed just seemed entirely too aware for a blue-collar mom with 3 other sons, a lot of puppies, and a stern husband to manage. It seemed like a convenient storytelling device to have the women be so observant.

So who was the third man named Dick/Richard? Was that Dick's father's name? I didn't catch that.

Third male... the little puppy was also named Dick, right?

Oh, you are more charitible than I and right that those turns of phrase were well-done.

Do you think the author thought it would be modern to have a short story without a point? Did the New Yorker? It reminds me of that other New Yorker story of hopelessness we read, (I'm not sure I even commented on it) about the handyman fixing up an apartment, who allows a faux-niece to move in, falls in love with her and she leaves him, finis.

And I was so fond of the short story about the drum....

Yes, of course, the puppy was named Dick!

Sounds like I've missed some good stories!

I don't mind the occasional story without a point, but it still needs some redeeming value - and I'm not sure that the interesting phrases in this one qualify...

Well, The Drum was the best as far as I was concerned. The Niece was OK, I didn't care for the story about the screwed-up couple. I think that might be all I read -- wait, no there was another and oh, this may be the best... about a catering family. I loved that one! Can't remember the names or authors, but they'd be in the forum.

I must be getting picky -- obviously if the New Yorker magazine chose these stories, they would all be of particular value. I look forward to what Sozobe and Hazlitt have to say about this one, maybe they'll mention some other good aspects about it.

The only one I've read with y'all was the one about the middle-aged couple who were divorced and the husband was crazy and followed her around and fantasized about killing people...

Glad to see you guys here!

Interesting observations.

Let me ask you a rather broad question, which maybe should have its own thread -- do you need to personally identify with one or more characters to enjoy a story?

Yes, that may be true for me, sozobe. I'll have to give it some thought...

I'd say yes, I do need to have a character with whom I identify. That doesn't mean that character must be a woman of uncertain age. For example, I identified with the Jesuit priest who was the main character in a book I just finished, THE SPARROW. And this happened even though there were two women in the story who were equally compelling, one who was much closer to my style.

I do prefer to have a believable character when I'm reading fiction because, after all, I could be reading non-fiction. Who is going to be more believable to me than someone with whom I share (or would like to share) certain qualities? That character should seem reasonable EVEN if they're in a science fiction story like the Sparrow. I want that character to respond in ways that seem reasonable to me and I do want to admire the character, even if they have obvious character flaws.

I suppose that shows how mundane my tastes really are!

Sozobe, I do not have to identify with a character; although I frequently do. I've tried various ways to approach a short story. Here is what I really like to do.

First, ask what is there about the story that is compelling?
Second, how did the author get us to that realization?

I deeply regret that I am getting packed up to leave town for a week and will not be able to contribute to the good discussion you all are enjoying.

I did not like this story very much. In fact, I'd say I liked it least of all so far, but it's still worth doing. When it comes to strange behavior, I generally figure that if someone can think of it, there will be someone out there who will be doing it. Within bounds, of course. One thing, I love dogs, but I have little sympathy for people who keep vicious dogs. However, whether I like them or not has nothing to do with the story or the purpose of the dog in the story.

I'd say that I have less need to identify with characters in a short story than, say, a novel. I'm willing to go along for a little while and see where the author is going. But I won't give days of my time to a story and characters who don't interest me.

I have arrived back in town after attending a graduation for one granddaughter in Atlanta, and Mrs. Hazlitt and I have returned with a second granddaughter in tow. She's 14, and we're having a great time with her.

While in Atlanta, I had a chance to read "Dick" again, and, as usual, got a little better idea of what I think it's about. The Ponders, Anne, Richard, Lizzie,and Cole, plus Anne's mother who has Alzheimer's, is a very stressed family, living in a world that seems to defy understanding. Not the least of the worlds imponderables is the post 9/11 malaise.

Anne's love for her husband, Richard, has long sense faded, a not uncommon phenomenon, and she comforts herself with the fantasy that she will leave him when Cole goes off to college. She is dissatisfied with her existence in general and badgers the family to move to Colorado, using the 9/11 fear of terrorist attack as her trump card. She is willing, however, to leave mother behind in the nursing home, and daughter, Lizzie, behind at the university.

Anne is willing to live in a world constructed, in part, of lies. There is the pretense, however slight, that she loves her husband, the lie to Cole about the death of the cat, and the keeping of the truth from Cole about Dick's disappearance. Richard, on all of these counts, is or would like to be truthful. He seems far more able to live a sensible life than is his wife; although, he is uncertain and tentative in his personality and lets her push him around.

Cole is distraught at loosing his friend, and may, in general be on the verge of believing that life is not worthwhile. But he is hanging on.

Anne, who early on in the story, shows a tendency to control Cole's life, in the end realizes that she cannot take away his freedom to see the world according to his own lights.

Gray and Nancy and their children are different altogether. Gray is a strong patriarchal father imposing a strict moral and philosophical ethic on is family. No one there has a choice about what they will believe. Dick, in reaction to his father's strictures, leaves home, apparently demoralized and perhaps preferring death to the stifling home atmosphere. His final decent into depression is brought on when Cole, his friend with whom he enjoyed a bit of freedom, moves away.

To me, the giving of the puppy Rottweiler, a vicious guard dog, signifies an attempt on the part of Gray to infuse his philosophies into the Ponders family. One wonders how that will turn out. The dog being a puppy, affectionately referred to by Gray as a Rottie, indicated that he is being received with a lack of awareness of how things will turn out as the dog matures.

I can identify more with the general confused and uncertain social, ethical, and family environment that is presented in the story than I can with any of the characters. We do get a fairly accurate picture of how many people react to what we are going through at this point of human history.

I am eager to reread all your interesting comments on the story and make some response. It may take a day or two because right now is a busy time.

Oooh, very nice analysis!!! I very much agree. I hadn't thought of the specifics of the gift of the Rottweiler -- that totally makes sense.

Enjoy your time with your granddaughter!

Pifka and Mac,

I finally got the time to reread your comments. Pifka, you pointed out that in several instances the authors account of what happened seemed not to ring true. That is a frequent occurrence in stories, and I would not argue those points with you.

I do think the overall idea of the story is worthy of some consideration. Just as something to work with, we might say that the theme of the story is the search for hope in a dark and complex world. The writer makes no effort to be up-beat or to say that although things seem a bit dicey everything will be okay if we just have a positive attitude. Gray and Nancy may in fact reflect the thinking of those who hold that if you think the right way, your life will turn out wonderful and you will be happy. The Ponders, particularly Richard, seem to be to be trying to grope their way through the darkness. Ann is hindered by her many self deceptions.



For me, all the dangling dissatisfactions that you name, are the things that make this a gripping story. It raises questions about what kind of place the world has become, and leaves me wondering about the future of the people in these two families.