There is a genre of fiction known as the fragmented novel and "Separation," by Claire Sestanovich, might be viewed as a fragmented short story. It has that aspect, according to the writer in the usual New Yorker author interview, is because it's all about coherence, or the lack of it, in life. Things that are separated or don't connect well can be incoherent.
In "Separation," readers are told a few things about the chief protagonist -- a woman named Kate -- such as at the very beginning, that she had "unkempt" pubic hair after skinny dipping in a reservoir. Later, another not particularly interesting or surprising detail of her nether regions is revealed. Other than that, one has no idea what she looks like, where she comes from, her family background, the state of her education, her religion or lack of same and so forth and so on. Well, one must keep one's character-development priorities straight.
The other main characters are also sketches at best.
In addition, motivation is for the most part absent except, perhaps, when Kate has a month-long affair with a man whose large face is almost ugly. "But he was tall and tanned and his voice was so softly beautiful that Kate let herself assume it was full of the same grief as hers."
That's presumably the grief of losing a spouse (which he hasn't), but Kate apparently felt it unnecessary to make any inquires. Her concerns are about herself except perhaps with respect to her first marriage, which appears to have been as much about compassion as it was about love, given the sketchy depiction of her spouse. He has long-term eczema and is basically blind when not wearing huge glasses. The only other thing one finds about about him is that soon after marriage he comes down with a terminal condition of one sort or another and dies.
Kate experiences separation as a result: from just about everything because she responds to this development by leaving town -- as she does again later after separation from her ill-advised married lover -- an affair that appears, among other things, to have been a conflict of interest for a teacher whatever the man's marital status. Readers with children of their own might think that, but if so, they will have to fill in those blanks as well because that aspect of the affair is apparently of no concern to Ms Sestanovich,
While separation is an essential part of life -- Kate helps young children learn to cope with this when they first experience day care or school -- it can also be a source of incoherence, leading to a life that doesn't really make sense.
In due course, Kate meets a man in a bar, about whom readers are told almost nothing, and has what appears to be a conventional marriage -- outwardly. Inwardly, Kate can't get over the separation from her first husband and she tucks the remnants of that life into labeled boxes in the attic, hoping her daughter -- an only child from the second marriage -- will find them and presumably learn that her mother isn't who she thinks she is. Separation and incoherence, one might say.
That aspect of Kate seems again to suggest she is a modern woman -- probably a type Ms Sestanovich knows well and my even identify with: "It's all about me."
Even though Leah, Kate's daughter, doesn't find the box, she's clearly experienced a sense of separation from her mother through other means. There is an (unexplained, of course) incident involving blood and a cut and a bathtub and when it comes time for Leah to leave home, she moves all the way across the country for no identifiable reason. But when readers discover she's only interested in talking to her father on the phone, one can surmise why and fill in yet another blank.
As for style, once again, as has been the case with a number of recent New Yorker short stores, this piece is not particularly "writerly." That seems to have gone out of fashion. If Ms Sestanovich attended the Iowa Writer's Workshop or some other literary MFA-type program, it doesn't show. Here again, readers can fill in the blanks.
That's presumably the grief of losing a spouse (which he hasn't), but Kate apparently felt it unnecessary to make any inquires. Her concerns are about herself except perhaps with respect to her first marriage, which appears to have been as much about compassion as it was about love, given the sketchy depiction of her spouse. He has long-term eczema and is basically blind when not wearing huge glasses. The only other thing one finds about about him is that soon after marriage he comes down with a terminal condition of one sort or another and dies.
Kate experiences separation as a result: from just about everything because she responds to this development by leaving town -- as she does again later after separation from her ill-advised married lover -- an affair that appears, among other things, to have been a conflict of interest for a teacher whatever the man's marital status. Readers with children of their own might think that, but if so, they will have to fill in those blanks as well because that aspect of the affair is apparently of no concern to Ms Sestanovich,
While separation is an essential part of life -- Kate helps young children learn to cope with this when they first experience day care or school -- it can also be a source of incoherence, leading to a life that doesn't really make sense.
In due course, Kate meets a man in a bar, about whom readers are told almost nothing, and has what appears to be a conventional marriage -- outwardly. Inwardly, Kate can't get over the separation from her first husband and she tucks the remnants of that life into labeled boxes in the attic, hoping her daughter -- an only child from the second marriage -- will find them and presumably learn that her mother isn't who she thinks she is. Separation and incoherence, one might say.
That aspect of Kate seems again to suggest she is a modern woman -- probably a type Ms Sestanovich knows well and my even identify with: "It's all about me."
Even though Leah, Kate's daughter, doesn't find the box, she's clearly experienced a sense of separation from her mother through other means. There is an (unexplained, of course) incident involving blood and a cut and a bathtub and when it comes time for Leah to leave home, she moves all the way across the country for no identifiable reason. But when readers discover she's only interested in talking to her father on the phone, one can surmise why and fill in yet another blank.
As for style, once again, as has been the case with a number of recent New Yorker short stores, this piece is not particularly "writerly." That seems to have gone out of fashion. If Ms Sestanovich attended the Iowa Writer's Workshop or some other literary MFA-type program, it doesn't show. Here again, readers can fill in the blanks.
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A few years ago, I wrote a brief post on a related topic, since deleted. It was the following:
"And anyhow, whether reading one or trying to compose one, novels are terrain for discontinuities, sometimes violent ones."
Rachel Kushner, author of "The Flamethrowers," explaining the nature of her home office in Los Angeles, a large, but cozy room that she says has lately become "porous to certain brutalities."
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