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This past May, One Story hosted our first fundraiser, where visual artists created original work based on short stories from the magazine. In our new issue, “The Omega Point or Happy Birthday Baby,” the reverse has happened–a writer has written a short story based on a collection of art. Personally, I love to see different mediums riffing off each other this way, especially when the result is so fantastic. And so now fellow readers, let’s all step back and roll out the red carpet and welcome A.M. Homes to the pages of One Story.

When I was first introduced to A.M. Homes’s work, I was a bookseller in Massachusetts, and a friend pressed a copy of her collection, The Saftey of Objects in my hands. I had never read a writer who broke so many rules so well, and I tore through her other books: Jack, In A Country of Mothers, and The End of Alice. Later, I waited for her new books to be released with great anticipation: Music for Torching, Things You Should Know, This Book Will Save Your Life, and her memoir The Mistress’s Daughter. She is hands-down one of my favorite authors.

A.M. Homes is a legend in the literary arena, but she has also made a name for herself in the art world, collaborating with artists to produce books and writing introductions to gallery catalogs. “The Omega Point or Happy Birthday Baby” was inspired by the work of Petah Coyne, published in conjunction with Coyne’s new exhibition at Mass Moca in North Adams, MA titled Everything That Rises Must Converge.  

Petah Coyne Untitled # 1240 (Black Cloud)

It is clear from the title that Coyne was inspired by the work of famed short story writer Flannery O’Connor. And here is where all things began to fall into place for me, because I’ve always associated A.M. Homes’s work with O’Connor–they are both masters at combining violence with spirtuality, while at the same time keeping their stories grounded in character–real, ordinary people having an extraordinary moment in their lives.

And that brings us to our new issue, “The Omega Point or Happy Birthday Baby,” where Homes quickly draws us into a family circle of Mary Grace Mahon, her son Paul, her daughter Eliza  and her granddaughter Ruby.  Mary Grace has been keeping a secret about their shared heritage, and through a variety of events involving Lue Gim Gong and Peking Man, the truth comes out, and things that rise do, in fact, converge.

For the first time One Story has included an author’s note at the end of the issue, to explain the connection of Petah Coyne, Flannery O’Connor, and some of the historical facts involved with this story. I hope that you will also read our Q&A with A.M. Homes about how she wrote the story, and also go to see Petah Coyne’s exhibit at Mass Moca. The Omega Point is a term coined by Jesuit priest (& philospher) Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, used to describe a maximum level of complexity and consciousness that the universe seems to be evolving towards. The idea is in some ways the opposite of the big bang theory, which has all life developing as it moves away from that one spark. In the Omega point, all life is moving towards something, and this moving forward is dependent on interconnectedness. I’m no philospher, or even a scientist, but I do like the idea of trying to connect, and I can’t help but feel that even a tiny effort like reading a short story can potentially, even if only for a moment, bring us closer together.

I’ve been a fan of T Cooper’s writing since I read Lipshitz 6 or Two Angry Blondes, which made me go and seek out his first book, Some of the Parts. There is a truth to T’s characters that as a reader I rarely come across, and so I’m just over the moon that we’re running one of his new stories,“The Husband,” in our pages. What is interesting about this piece is how it turns from an exploration of grief to a study of masculinity, all while maintaining a tight emotional through-line. The husband in this story is also a father, and finds himself mourning not only his wife, but also his daughter, who has transitioned from female to male, and taken on a different name: Daniel. Daniel’s father watches his new son’s ease inhabiting the world, just as his own masculinity is failing him. What follows is both beautiful and heartbreaking, as the husband retreats into memories of the days when he could still take hold of his wife’s dress and pull the zipper down. To find out more about how T wrote this story, visit his Q&A with us. And be sure to check out T’s new graphic novel, The Beaufort Diaries, out this month with Melville House. Trailer is below, narrated by X Files/Californication actor & One Story crush David Duchovny!

When I read The Collected Works of T.S. Spivet, I knew that some day I wanted to work with Reif Larsen. In his amazing first novel, Reif was able to weave together the inner world of his narrator’s thoughts, emotions, even drawings and diagrams, to tell a story full of heart and exploration of the self. And now: lucky us! One Story is happy to present a new piece by this talented writer. “The Puppet” takes readers in a new direction, following a lost young man, Valise, out of Oklahoma to the battle-worn streets of Sarajevo. Valise is driven by his father’s death, but it wouldn’t be a Reif Larsen story if there weren’t other elements attached to these deep-seated emotions. He also explores the work of Louis de Broglie, the Copenhagen Divide, and the shaking internal sense we call déjà-vu, all with characters, such as Brusa, the indomitable foreign reporter, and Thorgen, the war-time puppeteer, that remain long after you put the story down. To find out more about how Reif wrote “The Puppet,” read his Q&A with us. In the meantime enjoy this story by one of our most talented new voices. I for one can’t wait to see what Reif Larsen writes next.

Publisher’s Note: This issue printed with an error on page 2. The 4th sentence of the second paragraph should read: “The hotel was filled with the useless yard-sale of war: burnt-out mattresses draped across railings, gouged sandbags, intermittent buckets filled with ancient, intestinal piping at an abandoned tourist kiosk in the lobby, a sun-blanched poster of a skier smiling slopeside in a turquoise one-piece.” We apologize for this error, and any confusion it may have caused.

For #136 I’m turning the blog reins over to Marie-Helene Bertino, One Story’s Associate Editor, who was the issue editor for Smith Henderson’s amazing story “Number Stations.” Hope you all enjoyed this one as much as I did.-HT

Smith Henderson’s story “Number Stations” was pulled directly out of the slush pile by our keen editorial assistant James Scott who, when forwarding it to me, included this note: This is the best story about an ostrich I read today.

“Number Stations” is a story about the flawed members of a small summer town in Montana.  The people in this town are tied together by the protagonist Goldsmith who owns the restaurant, employs the ex-con Bill, is crushed on by Emily, envied by Van, is father to Charity and whose mother’s late night finger of Beam is interrupted by the ominous voice of a man over the baby monitor, droning through a series of numbers.  The story itself, however, is tied together by the sporadic sightings of a runaway ostrich.

There is much to say about the language of this piece.  The verbs alone sing many sentences to new and unexpected places.  Hot little clouds of breath are “chuffed” by the ostrich, testimonies of time “vouch” in glaciers, and thin water “rills.”  Sometimes strong verbs can feel forced, but Smith Henderson’s capable voice sews each one perfectly into the dense fabric of the story.  It is a voice that knows when it can get away with sentences that wind long around daring verbs and knows when to just land one quickly, in the case of: “Goldsmith didn’t mind if the biddies were upset.  Life was short and weird.”

Smith Henderson’s writing favors fewer words to open up the door to everyday surreality.  I think of “Number Stations” as an American story because America is weird.  For proof, watch the first five minutes of any episode of Nancy Grace.  In America, boys fly over cornfields in the Midwest in manmade space ships, women sell their granddaughters into sex trades, and former DAs with blonde helmut haircuts have successful talk shows delighting over all of it. 

Once in a while, a miracle.  The enormously difficult last scene balances Emily’s kindness to Bill, her simultaneous horror and inclination to help, his quick forgiveness, his pain, and ice cream.  I read somewhere that endings should feel surprising and inevitable.  This one was impossible for me to predict.  Yet, every time I read it, I feel it ends exactly where it should.  The story has already offered its explanation for these seemingly bizarre elements.  Life is short and weird. 

Travel Guide of America

Bigfork, Montana.  I’ve never been there.  I’d like to go. I’d like to sit in a hot tub kept boiling by the take-turns methods of drunk kitchen workers.  I would like to experience a late-summer snowstorm.  I would like to chase a wild bird down a dirt road that changes to a meadow of Russian thistle.  I would even like to realize, while watching an ostrich traverse the horizon, that my life is going to be difficult, like Charity does. 

While working with Smith over the past few months, I never got tired of reading “Number Stations.”  While each day the East Coast, shaking winter off, was becoming green again, each night I returned to the end of summer in Bigfork.  Each night I starred different lines that struck me, in addition to the old ones again.  Lines like, “Only seven, the girl already did not forgive herself her own crooked features and was certain that her destiny was to ride an ostrich or griffin or rainbow to her true self, who was beautiful and free.”  Each night the language revealed itself newly, in the way certain people’s voices never fail to make me happy.  Or, in the example of this story, the way Van’s “wonderful hips” never fail to elicit the same thrill from Emily.  Each time the ostrich tink tink-ed on Van’s kitchen window, the snow falling behind its head straight then shunting sideways then straight, I could see it.  It never got old.

Smith Henderson’s “Number Stations” is remarkable.  At the very least, it will be the best ostrich story you read today.

Go here to read an interview with Smith about “Number Stations” and find out who he thinks “sings like an angel, looks like a sasquatch.”

Once again, I’m turning the reins over to Contributing Editor Pei-Ling Lue, who has championed our latest issue, “Corporate Park” by Grant Munroe all the way from the slush pile to the final product. I hope everyone enjoys this strange and beautiful story. It’s always thrilling to publish an author for the first time, but even more so with a writer like Grant Munroe. We’re looking forward to seeing his career soar.–HT

At One Story, I’m the person who assigns stories from our slush pile, but every once in a while, I’ll come across a cover letter that’s compelling enough that I’ll read the story myself. This was the letter written by Grant Munroe:

Dear Editors,

The story that I’ve attached, titled, “Corporate Park,” may fit One Story. It’s strange, but humorous and timely. 

I’m currently enrolled in NYU’s MFA program for fiction, and live in Brooklyn and southwestern Ontario. I’m the author of an ongoing series of Corporate Folktales–humorous stories on contemporary corporate culture written as oral folk narratives–at McSweeney’s Internet Tendency. If published, this will be my first story in print. 

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Regards,
Grant Munroe

I liked that the letter was short, but conveyed everything I needed to know about his story. Also, we’re always looking for emerging writers, so the fact that this would be his first published story was another plus. When we met last winter to go over his story, I found out that Grant had attended a lecture on cover letters given by our  Hannah Tinti and that he kept her advice in mind when he wrote the cover letter.  

When I read “Corporate Park,” I found the premise of a mountain lion finding his way into a corporate building hilarious. It was also a perfect response to what’s going on during this current economic crisis. I haven’t worked in a corporate environment in ten years, but the bureaucracy and pettiness of the characters in this story brought me right back to those gray cubicles. 

Next week, on May 21st, we will be cheering Grant Munroe, along with 8 other debut authors, at One Story’s Literary Debutante Ball: A Celebration of Emerging Writers. If you’d like to meet Grant in person, you may purchase tickets here. And to read more about “Corporate Park,” check out Grant’s Q&A.

One Story has a rule: we don’t like to publish novel excerpts. Nearly always, when I read novel excerpts in other magazines, I walk away feeling unsatisfied. But every once in a while, a chapter from a novel crosses my desk that works as a stand alone short story. We did it once before, with Calvin Baker’s “Dominion.” And now we’re doing it again, with Issue #134, Susanna Daniel’s “Stiltsville.” I was reading an advance copy of the book, and fell in love with these characters, Dennis and Frances. Set in the aftermath of Hurricane Andrew, “Stiltsville” follows two marriages–that of Dennis and Frances, as they clean up from the storm, and that of their newlywed daughter. The dialogue, the pacing, and the tenderness between this married couple is so authentic and true. And every time I get to the end, I find myself choking up.

But it’s the setting of Florida, and especially the place that is Stiltsville, that literally elevates this story to magic. Stiltsville is an area located on Biscayne Bay, with houses built on stilts over the water. Only 7 of these houses are left–the rest of them have been washed away. You can see more pictures and find out more about Stiltsville in Susanna’s Q&A with us. And if you want to find out what happens to Dennis and Frances, you can pre-order your copy of Stiltsville, the novel or visit Susanna’s website. Her book will be published by Harper Collins on August 3, 2010. A perfect read for the end of summer!

It always gives me great pleasure to introduce a debut writer. So, ahem! Readers, pay attention: Here comes Cheston Knapp. One Story is lucky to be publishing his first short story, and I know that there will be many more to come. And you, happy subscribers, will be able to tell your friends that you read him first. “A Minor Momentousness in the History of Love”starts in the real world–a famous tennis match that occured on July 2, 2001 between Pete Sampras and Roger Federer at Wimbledon. Cheston Knapp has taken this event, meticulously recreated it and at the same time, added his own sub-plot. A love triangle between two ball boys and a ball girl, working the game. We’re introduced to William Able, and follow him point by excruciating point as he plays an entirely different kind of match against the girl he loves. These two stories, fiction and non-fiction, cross  into a tightly woven tapestry of tragedy and loss, triumph and defeat. Take a look at the trailer Cheston Knapp created for issue #133, below, and be sure to read his Q&A with us on how he wrote the story (which includes references to Heidegger as well as a very cool self-portrait). If you like tennis, you will enjoy reading this story, and even if you know nothing about the sport (like me), you will still love it. In “A Minor Momentousness in the History of Love,” Cheston Knapp has made a fantastic debut, and served his readers an ace.

For issue #132, “The Quietest Man,” I’m turning the reins over to Tanya Rey, our managing editor, who stepped in as issue editor for this fantastic new story by Molly Antopol. Enjoy!–Hannah

Growing up, people in my family always told stories about living under Batista, then Castro, in Cuba. My grandfather was an underground politician—anti-Batista—and it was politics, my aunts said, that ruined things for everyone. But I saw the way my grandfather sat up a little straighter whenever the subject was brought up. I knew that for him, it was politics that had made his life. His work had been so important to him he’d split his family for it, sending off his only son for what would become ten years, two marriages and two grandchildren, before he and my grandmother could make it to the states. And if anyone had bothered to ask him if he regretted any of it, I’m sure he would only allude to the fact that power is still in the wrong hands in Cuba.

In this way, when I first read “The Quietest Man” I felt that I could immediately understand a man like our protagonist, Tomas Novak—a man willing to risk his life for thousands of strangers in the name of revolution, yet incapable of identifying with those closest to him. He is a dissident first, father last, searching for inclusion and validation in places that no longer exist. His daughter Daniela is seeking similar things in a place that has been closed off from her. So by the time Tomas tells us “Part of me was saddened that my daughter was the kind of person who would crack so quickly, that the wall she’d built around herself could be so easily kicked down…” we understand his version of disappointment, because this is what his life’s work has been about: building impenetrable walls around himself. And the fact that his daughter is the one to help him find a new place for that validation and maybe begin kicking down those walls, offers a hopeful ending to a great story.

“The Quietest Man” is about censorship and recognition, yet ultimately it is the story of a father and daughter inadvertently building a bridge between two worlds. Author Molly Antopol never tells us whether or not the bridge will actually be crossed, but watching them build it is well worth reading for. I welcome Molly to our family of authors here at One Story, and look forward to reading many more of her stories to come. Read the Q&A with Molly to find out more about how she wrote “The Quietest Man,” and please feel free to share your thoughts with other readers.

Our next issue of One Story takes us back in time to 1786. Set in Lituya Bay, Naomi Williams’s “Snow Men” concerns the La Pérouse expedition, told through the eyes of a young girl of the Tlingit people of southeast Alaska. I always enjoy stories that tap into history, and “Snow Men” is meticulously researched (read Naomi’s Q&A with us to hear more about her process). But what drew me the most to this piece was how it went beyond the “first contact” stories I was familiar with and shifted the focus, so that instead of highlighting the damage white explorers brought to native populations, the story turned instead into a meditation on loss and mourning in different cultures. “Snow Men” is part of a cycle of stories that Naomi Williams is working on, all concerning the La Pérouse expedition. I’m very excited to see how the collection comes together. “Snow Men” was recently performed by actress Cynthia Mitchell Speakman as part of Sacramento’s Stories on Stage  series. I’m sure it was the first stop of many for Naomi Williams, and I’m happy to welcome this talented new writer to our pages.