Thank You for Being Concerned and Sensitive by Jim Henry. University of Iowa Press, $24.95.
It was Ann Beattie, the distinguished master of the short story form, who chose Jim Henry's collection Thank You for Being Concerned and Sensitive as the recipient of the 1997 Iowa Short Fiction Award. It may not be quite on the level of the Pulitzer or the Booker, but for an up and coming artist like Henry, it's exciting recognition.
Henry joins the Oberlin faculty this semester as a Visiting Writer in the Creative Writing Department. He gave a reading Wednesday, which he shared with Lisa Lenzo, winner of this year's John Simmons Short Fiction Award. Henry read only one story from his collection, the final piece, Mouthfeel.
The tone of the twelve stories in the collection is fairly diverse. Mouthfeel, for example, is a strange blend of humor and dark subject matter. The story is about the increasingly problematic marriage of two young professionals. The husband, Miles, narrates, telling the reader about his wife Jenny's descent into unlikely near-madness. Strange that the tone of the story seems a sharp contrast to the title of the book: it's far from sensitive.
The story treads on thin ice. The narrator's sarcasm and cynicism become more intrusive as his wife's madness develops, yet he remains dispassionate, almost dismissing it as feminine hysteria. Of course, this kind of device can be effective, but Henry never really fleshes out the husband's character. In a reading, this can be even more problematic than on the page, as the author tends to take the place of the narrator. There were noticeable flinches in the audience.
The narrator has to telephone his wife's parents to tell them the news of her hospitalization after a breakdown. "He poured himself a drink before making the call and then was relieved to get Jenny's father .... He thought that, as a man, he would be less likely to become overly emotional; and he was right." This is the kind of observation which does not feel particularly jarring, especially out of context. The problem is that it is not as woven into the body of the story as it should be, and feels therefore jarring and sexist.
This is the kind of material that has been handled subtly, and powerfully, by other writers. Raymond Carver is one who comes to mind. Though Henry does create some well-drawn characters, there is generally only one per story, leaving the rest of his cast to their own devices.
Beattie, on the jacket, likens Henry's writing to Donald Barthelme. There is a Barthelme-esque sensibility to some of the pieces, notably Motherhurt and Congressman Spoonbender. However, these stories lack his punch. The humor and satire are similar, but Henry seems almost uncomfortable in this territory. Motherhurt is very interesting. It opens the collection on a bizarre and surreal note, which is completely contrasted by the following story, Gladys Knows. Motherhurt's exaggeration is effective, but one can't help feeling that the story should end about halfway through.
More exemplary satire is the story Congressman Spoonebender. This story has some of the same weaknesses of Mouthfeel , though: the congressman is less developed than his mistress, yet ostensibly more the focus of the story. This story packs a lot of punch, and is one of the more interesting in the book. Gladys Knows is another powerful piece, succinct yet somehow more emotionally affecting than the longer Mouthfeel.
The collection of stories here is diverse to say the least, and Henry demonstrates impressive skill in a number of areas. There are weaknesses, but they are certainly forgivable, as what he does, he does well. This is the kind of book which a reader could devour in one sitting, but the fact that it is short fiction allows one to savor it in small doses. Each story is so different and surprising that a reader will inevitably be pleased, and it will be interesting to see what Henry comes up with next.
Copyright © 1998, The Oberlin Review.
Volume 126, Number 15, February 20, 1998
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