"My Life with R. H. Macy"

"My Life with R. H. Macy"
from The Lottery and Other Stories, by Shirley Jackson

Hm.  Reminds me of a story(/reminiscence) in that other Jackson collection I read (Just an Ordinary Day, I think), in which she recounts an aggravating series of interactions with a large store after purchasing a tape recorder.  Ah, found it!  "My Recollections of S.B. Fairchild", in case you're interested.  (And in looking up that one, I'm reminded of another story set in a department store-- "Mrs. Melville Makes a Purchase".)  ...All this to say, it seems that Jackson had some issues with department stores.  (I don't particularly like shopping, myself, because of all the other people-- though I suppose I shouldn't admit it publicly.  I want to get in, find what I want, and get out again-- unless I'm shopping for something "fun".)

We're supposed to sympathize with the narrator, correct?  She's put through the wringer during "training" and is basically stripped of her identity (including her name) by the Evil Corporate Culture of Macy's.  Honestly, though, I didn't like the girl.  She seemed entirely incompetent and sneaky (taking extra lunch breaks, copying work instead of learning to do it herself, pocketing a customer's cash and then throwing out the order).

And... that's all I have to say about that. ;o)

"The Villager"

"The Villager"
from The Lottery and Other Stories, by Shirley Jackson

Conk-pew... conk-pew...

That is a rough approximation of the "fake sleep"/"zzzzz" sound we used to make as kids when we were pretending to be asleep in such a way as to make it obvious that we were pretending-- or possibly to indicate a truly dire level of boredom, as in this instance. 

I'm sorry, but it was a real snoozer. 
I get it-- I can even identify and sympathize with the woman, though I'd never take it so far as pretending to be another person-- but still... snoozer. 

...I don't know...  I'm being harsh.  But... conk-pew!

"Like Mother Used to Make"

"Like Mother Used to Make"
from The Lottery and Other Stories, by Shirley Jackson

Ok, Jackson, is your whole point just to make the reader angry?  If so, you succeeded.  I'm mad at... Marcia (had to look up the names because names in short stories seem so inconsequential that I rarely remember them)... because she's taking advantage of David.  Yet I'm mad at David for letting her take advantage of him.  Stand up for yourself, man!  Grr.  People!


Random Thoughts:
-- I am not a "pie person".  Maybe because my mother's not, so we practically never had pies, when I was growing up.  When we had desserts, they were usually ice cream, cookies, brownies/blondies, cakes, cobblers, donuts or danish-type things... oh, or salty snacks.  Of course, we all know, deep down, that pie is fundamentally inferior to cake:

-- David is clearly both a better housekeeper and cook than I am (though in my defense, maintaining a whole house and large outdoor space is different from a very small apartment).  I'm tempted to (nastily) say that David will make someone a very nice little housewife, someday.  But seriously, while I sympathize with his pride in his home and his wish to keep things nice, it does seem that he could've done with a little less domesticity and a little more force in his nature.  (Poor guy.)

-- This is the second of these stories, so far, to mention a "studio couch".  The concept's not foreign, but the term is... or was.

"The Daemon Lover"

"The Daemon Lover"
from The Lottery and Other Stories, by Shirley Jackson

Interesting, but so unsatisfying... I don't usually like open-ended tales, and this one was particularly depressing. 

...You know, maybe Shirley Jackson wasn't such a great idea, right now, after all.  (g)  If nothing else, the real world (or at least my corner of it) seems much brighter by comparison, after a trip through her shadows. 

"The Intoxicated"

"The Intoxicated"
from The Lottery and Other Stories, by Shirley Jackson

I've been waffling between reading material, lately, ending up by picking up in the middle of Jane Eyre (right before she leaves Lowood).  Then, this morning, in the mood for something new (something that I hadn't read so many times before), Shirley Jackson caught my eye.  I guess I'll be reading some of her short stories and "reviewing" them one at a time. 


(SPOILERy) Reaction:
It's very short.  (I'll give it that.)  It's also creepily unsettling.  But I find myself impatient with Eileen...  Calmly daydreaming about the end of the world, little girl?  Pah!  And you think that's unique to "your generation"?  Yeah, right.  People have been talking about the end of the world since there have been people to talk!  (Ugh, the children of the Cold War.  Think they're so special!  ...And, you know what?  I'm only half-joking, here!)

Eileen tells the unnamed party-goer (Mr. Intoxicated himself) that "if people had been really, honestly scared when you were young we wouldn't be so badly off today".  Hm.  Nice try, sweetie, but I'm From The Future™, and I'm here to tell you that your generation hasn't done much better.  (So lay off the old drunk, whydontcha?)

Then there's this:  "'Things will be different afterward. ... Everything that makes the world like it is now will be gone.  We'll have new rules and new ways of living.  Maybe there'll be a law not to live in houses, so then no one can hide from anyone else, you see.'"  UGH.  What kind of loopy-doopy, hippie-dippie, pretentious, falsely-deep nonsense is that?  So houses are the problem?  Yeah, people've only been sheltering in structures for ever.  It's just a wonder it took so long for our wicked penchant for living in houses to destroy life as we know it.  It's clearly linked to everything that is wrong with the world today... er, whenever this was written. 

...So, Eileen.  I'm curious.  What's the alternative to houses?  Everyone living out on the open plains like a herd of buffalo?  Are we allowed to seek shelter under a tree, if we should find one?  Or would we all live together, commune-style, in a large building?  Because I guess privacy is the real enemy here.  Everyone has to share everything.  No personal property.  No personal thought.  ...Yeah, no thanks.

This Eileen character just really irked me, in case you couldn't tell.  Her whole attitude irks-- and it's nothing new.  Newsflash: You're not that special.  Everyone's afraid of the end of the world-- even if it's only the end of their own, personal world.  Everyone thinks "it's an interesting time to be alive" (though to be fair, that platitude was courtesy of Mr. Intoxicated).  We all have moments of quiet (or noisy) desperation-- but then we go on about our lives as usual, because what else can you do?  If you run around like a chicken with your head cut off-- or morbidly mope your way through every day-- you might as well cease to exist right away.  What's the point?

I'm probably not supposed to admit it, but I sympathize most with the father character who makes a brief appearance at the end... Kids nowadays!