Jim Shepard won the Short Story Prize last night for his collection “Like You’d Understand, Anyway.” First prize was $20,000, and both runners-up took home $5,000. I just finished the book and understand (Yes, I do understand, really) why it won. It has a zest for exploration and a penchant for far-flung corners of the earth (Chernobyl, Hadrian’s Wall, space), while balancing these journeys with the ballast of traumatizing relationships. Tessa Hadley, also nominated for the prize for “Sunstroke and Other Stories,” wrote quiet stories, heavily psychological, many close to home. I haven’t yet read Vincent Lam’s collection “Bloodletting & Miraculous Cures,” but just from Hadley versus Shepard, I’ve noticed that prizes in general usually tilt toward the political, heavy-drama, big-themed stories rather than toward more existential narratives, and I think this prize continues to fit into that trend. Which is not to say that Shepard shouldn’t have won it – it’s an incredible collection.
I’ve been considering lately what it takes to unite a collection. The way Shepard’s collection was marketed was on the basis of its absolute diversity — the blurb from Kirkus on the jacket reads: “So varied in tone, theme, voice, and setting are these stories that they might’ve been written by a hydra.” When I first read that, before I read the book (which breaks all of my rules about never reading the jacket before reading –doesn’t it always spoil the perception of the story?), I thought it exactly counter to most advice about constructing a short story collection. Everyone says to construct it very tightly, theme it as closely as possible, even use some of the same characters in multiple stories. Like two collections I just read: Laila Lalami’s “Hope and Other Dangerous Pursuits,” a collection of stories all about immigration from Morocco, and James Joyce’s “Dubliners,” which announces its theme in its title.
But once I read the book, I realized that “Like You’d Understand, Anyway” was united just as strongly as many others. Even established writers can’t get away with a slapdash arrangement. Shepard’s stories are almost always historical and often heavily researched, since they’re set in exotic locales or eras. They also involve disasters — political revolution in France seen through the eyes of an executioner, a massive earthquake and tidal wave in Alaska. Also, there are several expeditions gone wrong, such as a search for the Yeti and a trip into the center of Australia. Although a few stories don’t fit into the overall theme, such as “Trample the Dead, Hurdle the Weak,” a story about high school football, and “Courtesy for Beginners,” which is about summer camp, they evidence the same brio for life, only close to home, rather than in a foreign land.
One last note: While reading “Like You’d Understand, Anyway,” I enjoyed two occasions where friends asked me what I was reading. I responded with the title, in a derisive tone. But before they could be really offended, I showed them the cover, laughing.
