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"With a story like [‘Big Me’] from the marvelous writer Dan
Chaon, I am confronted not only with an unfathomable mystery such as
that of the endurance of a single human identity over time, but also
with new proof of the enduring value of telling tales in the ongoing
struggle to understand those mysteries."
–Michael Chabon
Pulitzer Prize-winning author
Reviews
(for Fitting Ends)
From Publishers Weekly
Anyone who has ever toyed with the idea of staying in school an extra
year in order to delay the sobering responsibilities of adulthood will
identify with the people in Chaon's first collection. Familial burdens,
sexual confusion and unchallenging jobs are just a few of the
impediments to the happiness of these 20-something characters, leaving
them disillusioned and powerless to move on. It is especially poignant
in ``Rapid Transit,'' when the transition from fair-haired collegian to
entry-level lackey stirs up some scary emotions. In ``Fraternity,'' a
party-boy rejects reality even as ``the music faded, the lights came
up.'' Many seek constancy from family members, only to find that they
too are changing beyond their control. One man looks to his ailing
grandmother for some order, while another hunts down his biological
mother to provide ``whatever's missing'' in his life. Mired in the
present, the characters often glorify the past: ``Scott had felt ashamed
to have such fond memories, and so little desire to start over.'' The
stories are deftly written and brilliantly structured, with titillating
beginnings and somewhat cryptic endings. The prospect for this
generation is not grim, Chaon seems to say; it's just uncertain.
Copyright 1995 Cahners Business Information, Inc.
From Library
Journal
News reports from small towns on the Nebraska prairie tend to dwell on
the greying of a way of life, but Chaon's first collection of short
stories is more concerned with the life still taking place that passes
underneath the radar of public regard. Thus, "Transformations"
tells of the homecoming of a newly uncloseted homosexual from the point
of view of his younger brother; "Dread" is the story of a
young man living with his brother and sister-in-law in Chicago who
spills the beans about his brother's affair. Most of the stories deal
simply with simple themes (the exception being "My Sister's
Honeymoon: A Videotape," a more experimental piece about a brother
reflecting on the changes brought about by his sister's marriage that is
organized by the time tag of a video camera). It is in the telling, the
subtle shifts of perspective, and the transformation of character in a
short space that distinguish Chaon as a writer to watch. Though most of
his stories seem suspended rather than concluded (an unfortunate
trademark of university writing programs, of which Chaon is a product),
this is a very respectable first effort; it's unfortunate that the high
hardcover price might keep this work out of smaller libraries. For
collections of literary fiction.
(for Among the
Missing)
From
Publishers Weekly
In the 12 quietly accomplished stories of his second collection, Chaon
explores the complicated geography of human relationships, from the
unintentional failures and minute betrayals of daily existence to the
numbing grief caused by abandonment, disappearance or death. Specific
and disquieting absences an uncle who killed himself, a mother who
vanished, a friend who was kidnapped haunt the protagonists, and a
series of metaphoric and literal stand-ins take the place of what's
missing. In "Safety Man," a dummy intended for crime
deterrence propped in the passenger seat, it looks like a male companion
becomes a kind of surrogate husband for a young widow, and for her
daughters, an inflatable father; in "I Demand to Know Where You're
Taking Me," a woman caring for her incarcerated brother-in-law's
macaw comes to loathe the bird, its ugly talk transforming it into a
symbol of everything wrong and incomprehensible about him. By and large,
Chaon's characters are citizens of the emotional hinterlands, lonely
even when surrounded: "How did people go about falling in love,
getting married, having families, living their lives?" Even those
who think they know the answers recognize their powerlessness, such as
the father who, looking into his son's eyes, thinks, "I am aware
that hatred is a definite possibility at the end of the long tunnel of
parenthood, and I suspect that there is little one can do about
it." And yet these stories are neither morbid nor even particularly
melancholic. Singularly dedicated to an examination of all the
profundity and strangeness of the quotidian, they are, in their best
moments, unsettling, moving, even beautiful. (July 3)Forecast: A jacket
blurb by Lorrie Moore and a five-city author tour may help sell this
understated collection, which will be respectfully reviewed but may be
overlooked on bookstore shelves.
Copyright
2001 Cahners Business Information, Inc.
From Booklist
*Starred Review*
People go missing both literally and figuratively in Chaon's beautiful
and insightful stories, most of which are set in small, muffled Midwest
towns. In "Passengers, Remain Calm," 22-year-old Hollis,
reflective and immensely kind, tries hard to let F. D., his 8-year-old
nephew, know that he loves him without making F. D.'s father, who has
inexplicably disappeared, look bad. Another expressive narrator is
haunted by a long-held secret associated with the vanishing of his
boyhood friend. As each of Chaon's profoundly thoughtful characters
discovers, missing selves are just as distressing as missing people. A
young father is astonished at how quickly he becomes a caricature dad,
and he mourns the loss of his "real" self. In a curious
reversal, the lonely boy in "Big Me" becomes obsessed with a
boozy neighbor who, he fears, embodies his future. Riveting and
unpredictable, each pristine tale of absence looms like the proverbial
tip of the iceberg as Chaon succeeds brilliantly in suggesting the
immensity and mystery floating silently below the surface of everyday
life, shadowy compressions of all the complicated and contradictory
thoughts and feelings that humans conceal from each other out of fear
and love. Donna Seaman
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved
From Library
Journal
Short stories don't usually get this much hype a two-page spread in the
catalog, no less but Chaon has done well with his works: they have
appeared in the "Distinguished Stories" section of The
Pushcart Prize six times and in Best American Short Stories three times.
These pieces focus on people just trying to get by in America today.
Copyright
2001 Cahners Business Information, Inc.
Amazon.com's
Best of 2001
Dan Chaon opens his new collection of stories with an epigraph from
Raymond Carver: "Whatever this was all about, it was not a vain
attempt--journey." This is pretty opaque stuff from Carver, a
writer not much given to mystification. But it strikes just the right
note for Chaon's assembly of characters, a group vaguely unsettled by
life, trying to make the best of it. First and foremost, this is a book
beset by moms. You get the feeling that the characters in Among the
Missing never really had a chance to figure out the world, with
these cryptic, uncommunicative women to care for them. In the title
story, for example, a car is discovered at the bottom of a local lake,
with an entire family drowned inside. The college-age narrator, however,
is preoccupied by the more mundane puzzle of his parents' relationship.
"Somehow," he recounts, "they'd stayed married for twenty
years, and then, abruptly, somehow they'd decided to give up. It didn't
quite make sense, and I looked at them, for a minute aware of the other
mystery in my life. 'Do you want some soup?' my mother asked, as if I
were a customer."
That's
about as much as you'll ever get out of one of Chaon's mothers: soup.
When not fielding their aging parents' passivity, these characters seem
to spend a lot of time grappling with ghosts. The "missing" of
the title story are, literally, gone. In "Safety Man," a widow
comes to rely on one of those inflatable dolls meant to intimidate
intruders. In "Prosthesis," a young wife and mother falls for
a stranger with a missing arm; meanwhile, she watches her son grow up
and away from her, "disappearing into his own thoughts and
feelings." In the end, Chaon is the rare writer who deserves
comparison to Carver: both write an affectless prose that takes on a
surprisingly emotional life of its own. --Claire Dederer
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Rights: Contact Ballantine
Dramatic Rights:
Contact Lukeman
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