The Red Convertible
When reading for pleasure, I don鈥檛 usually choose short stories. I鈥檝e got exceptions, such as Flannery O鈥機onnor, Jhumpa Lahiri, Angela Carter, and, of course, Alice Munro. But often, it doesn鈥檛 seem like there are enough pages for me to fully sink inside a tale. That鈥檚 not a problem with Louise Erdrich鈥檚 gloriously fat new collection of short stories, The Red Convertible.
At a hair under 500 pages, it鈥檚 stuffed with 30 years鈥� worth of Erdrich鈥檚 gorgeous prose. And her fictional town of Argus, N.D., and its environs is so detailed, you could walk for days without finding the backs of the sets.
Presented in chronological order (you can tell how much real time has passed by noting when 鈥淐hippewa鈥� changes to 鈥淥jibwe鈥�), most of the stories will be familiar to fans. More than half are excerpted from Erdrich鈥檚 novels, and the names are old friends.
The Nanapush, Kashpaw, and Pillager families jostle and squabble, but there鈥檚 enough room in the anthology for everyone to get their say. By my count, her earliest novels, 鈥淟ove Medicine鈥� and 鈥淭he Beet Queen,鈥� get the most representation, with five stories culled from each.
Last year鈥檚 鈥淎 Plague of Doves鈥� gets only one, but it鈥檚 a particularly good one. Shamengwa was one of my favorite characters, and rereading the story of how he acquired his violin was no hardship.
There are six stories that have never before been published, but they make up less than 80 pages of the total. Now, this could strike some as cheating (probably the purists who sniff scornfully when a band puts out a greatest hits album).
But here鈥檚 the thing: A lot of us plebians liked listening to those albums (before MP3 players rendered them quaint). And when you鈥檙e dealing with a writer like Erdrich, you鈥檙e talking about a lot of hits.
The stories range from athletic feats 鈥� a former trapeze artist rescuing her daughter from a fire in 鈥淭he Leap鈥� 鈥� to acts of grace that get a little boost from magic, such as the US soldier who rescues a baby from a massacre in 鈥淔ather鈥檚 Milk.鈥�
Erdrich is perhaps best known as a creator and chronicler of native American fables, and 鈥淔ather鈥檚 Milk鈥� is an excellent example of her talents in magic realism. She also excels at the haunting first sentence: 鈥淭he first time she drowned in the cold and glassy waters of Lake Turcot, Fleur Pillager was only a girl.鈥�
But Erdrich never lets the air get too thin. 鈥淭he Red Convertible鈥� is also populated with tall tales such as 鈥淟e Mooz,鈥� in which a hunt turns into a summertime sleigh ride, thanks to laziness and some unfortunately placed fishhooks; and 鈥淭he Gravitron,鈥� which made me laugh so hard, I woke my family. And while male characters are occasionally swallowed up by the ground, sometimes the supernatural has a pragmatic side, such as the ugly reality behind a teenage girl鈥檚 鈥渟tigmata鈥� in 鈥淪aint Marie.鈥�
Whether Ojibwe or white, Erdrich鈥檚 women have broad shoulders and impressive stomach muscles. And most of them need this strength, since, as one character remarks, 鈥淟ife is just bad timing to begin with.鈥�
These women can turn even the most domestic task into an act of war. Take an expectant mother in 鈥淪cales鈥�: 鈥淪he knit viciously, jerking the yarn around her thumb until the tip whitened, pulling each stitch so tightly that the little garments she finished stood up by themselves like miniature suits of mail.鈥�
The men 鈥� unless they鈥檙e predators 鈥� tend to be bemused fast-talkers who can鈥檛 quite figure out either life or women.
鈥淭ime was rushing around me like water around a big wet rock,鈥� explains Nector Kashpaw in 鈥淭he Plunge of the Brave.鈥� 鈥淭he only difference is, I was not as durable as stones. Very quickly I would be smoothed away.鈥�
Money evaporates before it can be spent, new cars inevitably get wrecked, and land is swiped out from under those tending it. Faith offers some promise, but religion鈥檚 role is more suspect. (The Roman Catholic church and its long missionary history plays a role in several stories.) Romantic love offers temporary respite, if at all.
Despite the fact that I鈥檇 read many of the stories before, they all still compelled attention 鈥� no mean feat for a 500-page book. If you鈥檝e never encountered Erdrich before, the anthology offers readers an insider鈥檚 tour of Argus.
For those who have read her novels, 鈥淭he Red Convertible鈥� will hold few surprises, but many pleasures.
Yvonne Zipp regularly reviews fiction for the Monitor.
