Liberation Day

Liberation Day by George Saunders (2022) I don’t read many short story collections—I’m not sure exactly why—I just like novels better. Maybe it’s because stories are similar to poems in that you’ve really got to connect with them—and I usually only connect with a small percentage. But, well, same goes with novels! I feel like a really good reader (who is also a fast reader) could insist on finishing every novel started, even if they didn’t like it much. And so… same goes with short stories? But then, how about poems? I guess what I’m saying is, is it easier to connect with something because of the narrative? Well, I really connected with some of these stories—and to such a degree that I felt like the ones I didn’t connect with—it might just be a matter of me coming back to them, later. Which I might do. Some are quite long, like the first one (title of the book)—and it seemed even longer—it felt like a novel in scope. It was one of the stranger ones—but I liked it in that way I often enjoy things I don’t understand—disorienting to the point of making me feel insane. “The Mom of Bold Action,” then, was to me, the funniest one here—but it’s also quite disturbing—good combo. I particularly liked the work-oriented stories. “A Thing at Work”—really pretty scary. And “Sparrow”—another funny plus disturbing. I noticed at least a couple of stories where there’s a character named “Randy”—always fascinating to me when an author chooses to use that name—like we’re already halfway to making fun of that character because his of his name. My favorite story was the last one, “My House”—it’s the shortest, but it really got to me. On the surface it’s the simplest—but that’s deceptive, because there’s more to it than is at first apparent. It seems to be about the weirdness of owning a house (which I’ve never done—but has always been something that’s bothered me—the idea of it—that I could never put my finger on). And communication between us odd humans. But then it manages, seemingly without trying, to sum up the ephemeral nature of our existence. For me, it’s the most devastating one in the book.

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