Close to the Bone: Mary Robison Reconsidered

On a dormant blog called “Gordon Lish Edited This” there are some blurry photographs of a personal letter on Alfred A. Knopf letterhead—a blurb request—that Lish sent to someone named Bill, to accompany the uncorrected proof of a book he had acquired. It was February of 1979:

I stood on my left ear to work up special notice for Raymond Carver and Barry Hannah, for their stories, and I do not think my will to raise a rumpus for these two young writers was thereafter judged too assertive or misplaced. Carver’s Will You Please Be Quiet, Please? and Hannah’s Airships have proved themselves notable additions to the record of the contemporary American short story, and I am of a mind in that account. I am also of a mind to think the same will be proved of Mary Robison’s Days.

Robison was thirty at the time. Today she is the author of eight books, six of which are being reissued by Counterpoint throughout 2018–19. The project began in January with her novel Why Did I Ever, followed in May by Tell Me: 30 Stories. Two novels, Subtraction and One D.O.A. One on the Way, appeared in September. Her first novel, Oh!, and her second collection, An Amateur’s Guide to the Night, will round out the package in February 2019, to coincide—wittingly or otherwise—with the fortieth anniversary of her debut, and let’s just never mind that Days is not among those titles being reissued. (Also excluded is Believe Them, Robison’s third collection.)

I understand why Counterpoint chose Why Did I Ever as the inaugural title in the reissue series. It’s arguably her best-known work, having achieved something approaching cult-classic status—at least among the MFA set. The book is written in 536 numbered sections (some have titles, some don’t), most of them small enough to fit on an index card. Here’s Robison describing the composition process to Bomb in 2001: “I would go out, take a notebook. Or drive, or park wherever and take notes. . . . Some berserk conversation I overheard. The crap on the radio. This big, brilliant cat. Ridiculous weather. Then it was months before I read over the scribbles and realized they had a steady voice, and that there were characters and themes.”

Three ex-husbands or whoever they were.  I’m sure they have their opinions.  I would say to them, “Peace, our timing was bad, thelight was ugly, things didn’t work out.” I’d say, “Althoughyou certainly were doing your all, now weren’t you”.  I would say, “Drink!”

That’s section 4 of the novel presented in its entirety. It is short enough to tweet (I checked) but then so are Kafka’s aphorisms, Martial’s epigrams, and every haiku ever. What makes Robison feel so startlingly contemporary is her sense of humor, the way it toggles between flatness and agitation, exhaustion and incredulity; the way she juxtaposes specificity and vagueness, pivoting from snark (“I’m sure they have their opinions”) into fantasy (all those “I would”s); the way the acid tone of the prose betrays just a hint of wistfulness, perhaps even regret.

The novelist Adam Wilson, writing in the online journal 4 Columns, rightly describes Why Did I Ever as “the spiritual spawn of Elizabeth Hardwick’s Sleepless Nights and Renata Adler’s Speedboat, and the missing generational link between those and recent works like Jenny Offill’s aphoristic divorce drama Dept. of Speculation, Rachel Khong’s diaristic Alzheimer’s comedy Goodbye, Vitamin, and the entirety of Tao Lin[.]” This genealogy, and specifically Wilson’s notion of a missing link, may contain a clue as to why this particular cultural moment feels optimal for a Robison renaissance.

I remember encountering Why Did I Ever when it was new. I was attracted to the format and thought it was pretty funny, but I couldn’t quite grok what the author was up to. The whole thing seemed, frankly, a little self-indulgent and a little undercooked. Rereading...