I’m reading George Saunders short story collection, “Tenth of December.”
I begin with “Victory Lap,” which opens the book. A few pages in, I’m enjoying it but not super-immersed. However, it’s good, and it’s George Saunders, so I read on.
Then something unexpected happens. Suddenly things take a dire turn, but I have to put it down ‘cuz I’m reading it on my dinner break at work in the ER.
So now I’m back in the chaos that defines all ERs, and I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m actually worried about what’s going to happen to the characters. Characters I don’t identify with, BTW.
It’s magic. Ordinary people doing ordinary things until jeopardy presents itself. But by the time it does, you’ve somehow become emotionally invested.
George Saunders has a way of writing literary fiction that can be appreciated by the most casual reader, but for those who want to dig a little deeper, it’s the gift that keeps on giving.
It’s quite a trick.