My "Short Story Saturday" post is just not going to work out well this week. It's not that I didn't pick out a story and read it, though; it's because the story I read led directly to one of those "what the hell" moments for me. I have no idea what I just read...or why, for that matter. (Actually, I think I get it...but even if I'm right about that, I'm still underwhelmed by the literary device used in the story.)
The story I chose was a long one by Joshua Ferris called "The Breeze," in which a woman seems to be having some kind of emotional crisis brought on by the first faint breezes of Spring in New York City. I got that part...but I'm still not sure what happened when her husband got home from the office. Embarrassingly, that's not because this is not a "good" short story - it was published in The New Yorker, after all, and I found it in my copy of The Best American Short Stories 2014. So it has to be good...right?
To make this even worse, I like Joshua Ferris's writing and pretty much enjoyed all three of his rather quirky novels: Then We Came to the End (2007), The Unnamed (2010), and last year's To Rise Again at a Decent Hour. This, though, is my first experience with one of the author's short stories, and it left me bewildered in more ways than one.