They say Eskimos have lots of different words for “snow.” I wish there were as many for “lying.” Because I would have loved to tell that frightened, shamed girl sitting in the oppressive silence of that room, imbibing the thick disapproval in the air and believing that she was, to quote Miss Fitz-Maurice-Kelly, a “corrupting presence”—that what she did that day wasn’t so bad at all (although the joke was lousy). That coming up with an imaginary culprit may have been a lie, but it was also creative and kind, and that one day she would turn into a novelist, who would make up things every day, and give people pleasure from it. And moreover, she would explore lying in her work, she would make her main character also tell a whopper that was far more outrageous and disastrously consequential, but creative and kind and morally interesting, too.
Ben, the novel’s protagonist, sets out on a quest to audition for Big Shot, a Shark Tank–style reality show, even though he has no real idea to pitch. Ben is an out-of-work accountant, but he resembles a writer. He spends his days in a library carrel, staring at a computer; he procrastinates, struggling to dream up an invention or a business plan. Gradually, True Failure comes to seem like an allegory for the writing life today.
Always witty, sometimes surreal, frequently diving beneath mundane surfaces to mysterious and mesmerizing depths, An Oral History of Atlantis, the first collection of Ed Park’s short stories, showcases a master of the form.
The result is a comic melodrama that’s never dull, and a satire that hits most of its targets. After the darkness Niven lets in, the ending feels a touch glib, but the slow comradeship that grows between the two leads is charming nonetheless. The Fathers is a fine choice for anyone who likes a little grit in their holiday read.
Cosby’s precise prose and exacting plotting keep “King of Ashes” on a forward momentum. Cosby knows how to draw in a reader. Liking his characters isn’t as important as wanting to know what they will do.