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The Stories of Breece D'J Pancake
Breece D'J Pancake cut short a remarkably promising writing career when he took his own life in 1979 at the age of 26. In 1983 Little, Brown and Company's posthumous publication of this book electrified the literary world with a force that still resounds across two decades. A collection of stories that depict the world of Pancake's native rural West Virginia with astonishing power and grace, The Stories of Breece D'J Pancake has remained continuously in print and is a perennial favorite among aspiring writers, participants in creative writing programs, and students of contemporary American fiction. "Trilobites", the first of Pancake's stories to be published in The Atlantic, elicited an extraordinary immediate response from readers and continues to be widely anthologized.
192 pages, Paperback
First published February 1, 1983
About the author
Breece D'J Pancake
5 books227 followersBreece (Dexter John) Pancake was born in South Charleston, West Virginia, the youngest child of Clarence "Wicker" Pancake and Helen Frazier Pancake, and was raised in Milton, West Virginia. Pancake briefly attended West Virginia Wesleyan College in Buckhannon before transferring to Marshall University in Huntington where he completed a bachelor's degree in English education in 1974. After graduating from Marshall he spent time out West, visiting his sister in Santa Fe. As a graduate student he studied at the University of Virginia's creative writing program under John Casey and James Alan McPherson. Pancake also worked as an English teacher at two Virginia military academies, Fork Union and Staunton.
While at the University of Virginia, Pancake deliberately styled himself as an uncultured hillbilly, distancing himself from the mostly erudite students at the prestigious school. He was an avid outdoorsman who enjoyed hunting, fishing and camping. Pancake was a devout fan of the music of folk singer Phil Ochs, who had attended Staunton Military Academy, where Pancake later taught. His favorite song was Ochs' "Jim Dean of Indiana". Ochs committed suicide exactly three years and a day before Pancake.
The unusual middle name "D'J" originated from a misprint of Pancake's middle initials by The Atlantic Monthly (D.J., for Dexter John) when Pancake's first published story, "Trilobites" was published in 1977. Pancake decided not to correct it. Dexter is Pancake's middle name, while John is the name Pancake adopted after converting to Catholicism in his mid-20s.
Pancake died from a self-inflicted shotgun wound in Charlottesville, Virginia. His death was officially labeled a suicide, although there has, over the years, been some debate from people who believe the gunshot may have been an accident. Pancake was buried in Milton.
Pancake published six short stories in his lifetime, mostly in The Atlantic. These and six stories left unpublished at his death were later collected in The Stories of Breece D'J Pancake, a 178 page volume published by Little, Brown and Company in 1983. This includes the short story "Time and Again". It was reprinted in 2002 with a new afterword by Andre Dubus III. Pancake was posthumously nominated for the Pulitzer Prize for The Stories of Breece D'J Pancake.
His vivid, compact style has been compared to that of Ernest Hemingway. Most of his stories are set in rural West Virginia and revolve around characters and naturalistic settings, often adapted from his own past. His stories received critical acclaim from readers and critics. The Atlantic's editor recalled receiving letters that "drifted in for months - asking for more stories - inquiring for collected stories, or simply expressing admiration and gratitude ... in 30-something years at The Atlantic, I cannot recall a response to a new author like the response to this one."
Among the writers who claim Pancake as a strong influence are Chuck Palahniuk, author of Fight Club and Andre Dubus III, author of House of Sand and Fog. After Pancake's death, author Kurt Vonnegut wrote in a letter to John Casey, "I give you my word of honor that he is merely the best writer, the most sincere writer I've ever read. What I suspect is that it hurt too much, was no fun at all to be that good. You and I will never know."
While at the University of Virginia, Pancake deliberately styled himself as an uncultured hillbilly, distancing himself from the mostly erudite students at the prestigious school. He was an avid outdoorsman who enjoyed hunting, fishing and camping. Pancake was a devout fan of the music of folk singer Phil Ochs, who had attended Staunton Military Academy, where Pancake later taught. His favorite song was Ochs' "Jim Dean of Indiana". Ochs committed suicide exactly three years and a day before Pancake.
The unusual middle name "D'J" originated from a misprint of Pancake's middle initials by The Atlantic Monthly (D.J., for Dexter John) when Pancake's first published story, "Trilobites" was published in 1977. Pancake decided not to correct it. Dexter is Pancake's middle name, while John is the name Pancake adopted after converting to Catholicism in his mid-20s.
Pancake died from a self-inflicted shotgun wound in Charlottesville, Virginia. His death was officially labeled a suicide, although there has, over the years, been some debate from people who believe the gunshot may have been an accident. Pancake was buried in Milton.
Pancake published six short stories in his lifetime, mostly in The Atlantic. These and six stories left unpublished at his death were later collected in The Stories of Breece D'J Pancake, a 178 page volume published by Little, Brown and Company in 1983. This includes the short story "Time and Again". It was reprinted in 2002 with a new afterword by Andre Dubus III. Pancake was posthumously nominated for the Pulitzer Prize for The Stories of Breece D'J Pancake.
His vivid, compact style has been compared to that of Ernest Hemingway. Most of his stories are set in rural West Virginia and revolve around characters and naturalistic settings, often adapted from his own past. His stories received critical acclaim from readers and critics. The Atlantic's editor recalled receiving letters that "drifted in for months - asking for more stories - inquiring for collected stories, or simply expressing admiration and gratitude ... in 30-something years at The Atlantic, I cannot recall a response to a new author like the response to this one."
Among the writers who claim Pancake as a strong influence are Chuck Palahniuk, author of Fight Club and Andre Dubus III, author of House of Sand and Fog. After Pancake's death, author Kurt Vonnegut wrote in a letter to John Casey, "I give you my word of honor that he is merely the best writer, the most sincere writer I've ever read. What I suspect is that it hurt too much, was no fun at all to be that good. You and I will never know."
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 781 reviews
January 26, 2015
These 12 stories silenced the general clamour I carry around with me.
Few experiences can render me peaceable & sated, but with Breece D'J Pancake, this guy just surrenders everything, he is authentic, and as John Casey mentions, Breece absorbs, learns & ages everything he welcomes. (While he lived). Receiving that honest and embracing nature of his is a nourishing and often bracing experience.
The stories offer you a bruising. The characters are deeply connected to nature, they are earnest when they choose to dream, they fill up on wild meat and whatever emptiness disguises itself as.
The prose is just his. It is exciting, vigorous, tarred & feathered.
'Trilobites' is a known favorite, it has the high polish, but the raw gold is mined from 'A Room Forever' 'Fox Hunters' & 'In the Dry'. All 12 are a master class.
If you haven't had the pleasure yet, you are in for a treat.
Few experiences can render me peaceable & sated, but with Breece D'J Pancake, this guy just surrenders everything, he is authentic, and as John Casey mentions, Breece absorbs, learns & ages everything he welcomes. (While he lived). Receiving that honest and embracing nature of his is a nourishing and often bracing experience.
The stories offer you a bruising. The characters are deeply connected to nature, they are earnest when they choose to dream, they fill up on wild meat and whatever emptiness disguises itself as.
The prose is just his. It is exciting, vigorous, tarred & feathered.
'Trilobites' is a known favorite, it has the high polish, but the raw gold is mined from 'A Room Forever' 'Fox Hunters' & 'In the Dry'. All 12 are a master class.
If you haven't had the pleasure yet, you are in for a treat.
January 2, 2021
Short stories set in the West Virginia mountains, of coal mines, coal miners, moonshine, and cockfights. The coal dust is a part of everything, the air that you breathe, lodged in the creases of your face, the very cells of your skin. Catch the waft of wet ashes and vomit that hang in the air, hear the unending drone and buzzing of the blowflies that never seem to go away. Grim and bleak, without hope. These folks are stuck in rut from which they are unable to extricate themselves. Bitter, with a dull acceptance of there being no way out.
It is my understanding that these are the only stories from this author that exist. All written before he committed suicide at the age of 26. What a loss. Thank you to Robin, who brought this book to my attention. My library did not have it, but was able to acquire a copy from a college in St. Louis through the Mobius program.
It is my understanding that these are the only stories from this author that exist. All written before he committed suicide at the age of 26. What a loss. Thank you to Robin, who brought this book to my attention. My library did not have it, but was able to acquire a copy from a college in St. Louis through the Mobius program.
November 29, 2020
A gorgeous, albeit bleak (unrelentingly so) collection of stories written by a guy with an unusual name, who committed suicide at the age of 26. What a shame. At 26 he'd already written these extraordinary stories, and befriended James Alan McPherson, among other literati. The blurbs on this collection range from Joyce Carol Oates, Margaret Atwood, Andre Dubus III, and others. Imagine, just imagine had he lived, the heights he might have soared.
Most of these stories are set in rural West Virginia, where Pancake was born. Dubbed "hillbilly Hemingway", the stories are vignettes in which the story is delivered primarily through atmosphere, place, and state of mind. Characters are poor, unloved, trapped. The world is dirty, ramshackle, unfriendly. Hopeless. People eat squirrel. Say no more. I read the collection slowly, to keep from sinking into the bog.
It's hard not to read these stories through an autobiographical lens, the fact that the young author killed himself. The stories can't help but exude a prescience that is disturbing, and haunting. There is so much heart in these pages, a heart that is fighting against... inevitability? There's a true authenticity to the stories too.
Pancake captured something here - I just wish he'd been able to survive it.
Most of these stories are set in rural West Virginia, where Pancake was born. Dubbed "hillbilly Hemingway", the stories are vignettes in which the story is delivered primarily through atmosphere, place, and state of mind. Characters are poor, unloved, trapped. The world is dirty, ramshackle, unfriendly. Hopeless. People eat squirrel. Say no more. I read the collection slowly, to keep from sinking into the bog.
It's hard not to read these stories through an autobiographical lens, the fact that the young author killed himself. The stories can't help but exude a prescience that is disturbing, and haunting. There is so much heart in these pages, a heart that is fighting against... inevitability? There's a true authenticity to the stories too.
Pancake captured something here - I just wish he'd been able to survive it.
September 28, 2020
Along with Denis Johnson's Jesus' Son, this collection of short stories was the best I've read in at least the last couple of years.
There are two ways I tend to read short fiction — one being reading only one or two stories a day and spacing the book out over a longer period of time — and the another being to just rip through it in a day or two: depending on the length of the book of course.
In this case it was the latter. Simply put — I was hooked.
Even though I know very little about West Virginia and couldn't relate to the rural way of life depicted in these stories, it really didn't matter. If anything it just made me love them more —getting to read about folk that generally don't get much of a look in, and are a world away from the city dwellers of L.A. or New York for example.
Twelve stories featured here, and they were for me at the very least really good. Three or four of them I thought were damn near perfection when it comes to the short story, and I've already read them again.
It really was quite sad reading up on Breece D'J Pancake: who I hadn't even heard of this time last month, after reading a really interesting forward by the late American essayist and short-story writer James Alan McPherson, who knew Pancake personally — and yes, like others have mentioned: McPherson even says so here, that Pancake's writing style was in a large part derived from Hemingway. He describes him as very much a lover of the outdoors: fishing, hunting, hiking, but through heavy drinking he became a melancholy man that was in great need of contact with other people.
"You may keep the books or anything Breece gave you —
he loved to give but never learned to receive. He never felt
worthy of a gift — being tough on himself. His code of living
was taught to him by his parents — be it Greek, Roman or
whatever, it's just plain old honesty. God called him home
because he saw too much dishonesty and evil in this world
and he couldn't cope"
— letter from Mrs. Helen Pancake.
Had Breece not taken his own life aged just 26 then who knows what he could have gone on to achieve as a writer. Just going by this book alone — this kid had bucket loads of talent.
July 4, 2021
February 2009
This was a difficult one to review objectively. After all, to read Breece D'J Pancake is to know Breece D'J Pancake, and to know about him is to know about his death. A self-inflicted shotgun blast to the head at age 26, and these twelve stories the only works he left; how can you ignore that?
This collection has an almost mythical aura to it, the kind that seems to surround the works of all artists who died long before their time. This is all he wrote--this is all we have. And with that realization, there's almost a need to elevate the work, no matter the quality, to greatness. You want to join the cult. I know I do.
Thing is, Breece D'J Pancake deserves all that. He deserves the accolades, he deserves the praise, and he certainly deserves to be read. Mind you, these stories aren't polished; they're rough around the edges, jagged in places. Breece Pancake wasn't trying to be neat here. There is absolutely no pretension: these are not the stories of a self-aware literary figure who exploits fiction rather than telling it. Pancake's stories are honest--brutally so, at times--and he does not embellish. It's as if he is familiar with the people and places of his stories (and he is, you'll learn--he really is), and, perhaps most importantly, he respects them, too.
It is difficult to separate Pancake's stories from Pancake's life (and death), and it's almost painful to imagine what other stories he would have given us if he had lived longer. But there's no use crying over such an old loss. He left us these twelve stories--and we should read them.
This was a difficult one to review objectively. After all, to read Breece D'J Pancake is to know Breece D'J Pancake, and to know about him is to know about his death. A self-inflicted shotgun blast to the head at age 26, and these twelve stories the only works he left; how can you ignore that?
This collection has an almost mythical aura to it, the kind that seems to surround the works of all artists who died long before their time. This is all he wrote--this is all we have. And with that realization, there's almost a need to elevate the work, no matter the quality, to greatness. You want to join the cult. I know I do.
Thing is, Breece D'J Pancake deserves all that. He deserves the accolades, he deserves the praise, and he certainly deserves to be read. Mind you, these stories aren't polished; they're rough around the edges, jagged in places. Breece Pancake wasn't trying to be neat here. There is absolutely no pretension: these are not the stories of a self-aware literary figure who exploits fiction rather than telling it. Pancake's stories are honest--brutally so, at times--and he does not embellish. It's as if he is familiar with the people and places of his stories (and he is, you'll learn--he really is), and, perhaps most importantly, he respects them, too.
It is difficult to separate Pancake's stories from Pancake's life (and death), and it's almost painful to imagine what other stories he would have given us if he had lived longer. But there's no use crying over such an old loss. He left us these twelve stories--and we should read them.
August 7, 2018
A solid 3.5★s for me.
Stark. There is nothing uplifting about these stories. Reading them had me feeling raw. The characters aren’t particularly likeable. Whether they’re trying to escape where they live, or end up returning, there is an overall sense of dissatisfaction among them.
But oh, the writing! It draws you in and you feel the same desolation, and breathe in the same air…
Haunting, aching, sad. The pictures painted here will stay with you. The crispness of the writing shows a depth of understanding of both the people and the natural landscape where it’s set.
It saddens me to think that this little collection is all we have of Breece Pancake’s work. There is so much promise contained in these pages. It seems that he was a troubled soul, and this is what we have of those thoughts.
I have to admit that a few of the stories I simply did not understand at all. The dialect threw me. But the ones which I did had a deep impact.
Not any easy read by any means, but worth the time.
Many thanks to GR friend Ian, whose review piqued my interest in reading this book. It’s always a joy to discover a new Writer.
Ian’s review can be found at https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
Stark. There is nothing uplifting about these stories. Reading them had me feeling raw. The characters aren’t particularly likeable. Whether they’re trying to escape where they live, or end up returning, there is an overall sense of dissatisfaction among them.
But oh, the writing! It draws you in and you feel the same desolation, and breathe in the same air…
Haunting, aching, sad. The pictures painted here will stay with you. The crispness of the writing shows a depth of understanding of both the people and the natural landscape where it’s set.
It saddens me to think that this little collection is all we have of Breece Pancake’s work. There is so much promise contained in these pages. It seems that he was a troubled soul, and this is what we have of those thoughts.
I have to admit that a few of the stories I simply did not understand at all. The dialect threw me. But the ones which I did had a deep impact.
Not any easy read by any means, but worth the time.
Many thanks to GR friend Ian, whose review piqued my interest in reading this book. It’s always a joy to discover a new Writer.
Ian’s review can be found at https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
April 6, 2024
Some critics have called Pancake a ‘writer’s writer’, but that’s an asinine and meaningless phrase. Anyone can read and be affected by these stories, not to mention learn from them. But it might help to be at least somewhat familiar with the complicated history of West Virginia in order to appreciate Pancake’s writing on a deeper level. And even more to have been there—traveled the state’s winding roads, walked through its wild forests, seen the rundown towns built, scarred, and left behind by the coal industry. These stories hold all of that in their language. There is cruelty and ugliness in them, but it’s not gratuitous, and it’s tempered by a bedrock of authenticity and lyricism. The protagonists of these stories are all out of sorts—not fitting in with the crowd in remote rural places where not fitting in is a serious problem. They are not fully comfortable in their own skin. Kind of like Breece was himself, it seems. He checked out early, maybe because of that, or maybe because he’d written all he had to say and knew when to stop. And stopping meant the end of his purpose. We’ll never know for sure.
February 28, 2016
Ποτέ δεν μου άρεσαν ιδιαιτέρως τα διηγήματα. Αυτή η περίπτωση όμως ήταν τελείως διαφορετική. Καθένα από τα 12 διηγήματα ήταν πλούσιο σαν ένα μυθιστόρημα. Εξαιρετικά ταλαντούχος ο συγγραφέας, ο οποίος από την πρώτη λέξη με έβαζε στο κλίμα της ιστορίας.
Μου θύμισε σε αρκετά σημεία John Steinbeck. Κρίμα που δεν έζησε περισσότερο, θα μπορούσε να αφήσει εποχή. Αντιπροσωπευτικό δείγμα καλής αμερικάνικης λογοτεχνίας, με την οποία αν και δεν είμαι ιδιαίτερα εξοικειωμένος, ωστόσο με συναρπάζει.
Πολύ προσεγμένη δουλειά από τις εκδόσεις Μεταίχμιο. Για πρώτη φορά εντυπωσιάστηκα από τις σημειώσεις στο πίσω μέρος ενός βιβλίου - πλήρως κατατοπιστικές και ενδιαφέρουσες. Θεωρώ, τέλος, ότι η μετάφραση ήταν άριστη, αν και έχοντας να κάνει με ντόπιους ιδιωματισμούς.
Μου θύμισε σε αρκετά σημεία John Steinbeck. Κρίμα που δεν έζησε περισσότερο, θα μπορούσε να αφήσει εποχή. Αντιπροσωπευτικό δείγμα καλής αμερικάνικης λογοτεχνίας, με την οποία αν και δεν είμαι ιδιαίτερα εξοικειωμένος, ωστόσο με συναρπάζει.
Πολύ προσεγμένη δουλειά από τις εκδόσεις Μεταίχμιο. Για πρώτη φορά εντυπωσιάστηκα από τις σημειώσεις στο πίσω μέρος ενός βιβλίου - πλήρως κατατοπιστικές και ενδιαφέρουσες. Θεωρώ, τέλος, ότι η μετάφραση ήταν άριστη, αν και έχοντας να κάνει με ντόπιους ιδιωματισμούς.
October 13, 2015
Λοιπόν άκου να δεις τώρα, αυτό δεν το περίμενα. Ναι μεν ιδιαίτερη η περίπτωση του Πάνκεϊκ, άλλωστε κάθε προσωπικότητα της τέχνης που πεθαίνει πριν της ώρας της μας συναρπάζει, αλλά δε μπορώ να πω πως η θεματολογία των διηγημάτων του ήταν κάτι που μου κέντρισε το ενδιαφέρον πριν ανοίξω το βιβλίο.
Όμως ο συγγραφέας μάλλον δίκαια θεωρείται ένα μεγάλο χα��ένο ταλέντο. Τα διηγήματά του είναι απλά, δεν κουράζουν, αφηγούνται ολοκληρωμένες, δυνατές ιστορίες γύρω από τους χαρακτήρες τους. Χαρακτήρες που αδυνατούν να ξεφύγουν από τη μοναξιά και τη μοίρα τους, και που νιώθουν τα λεπτά, παγωμένα δάχτυλα της απελπισίας πάνω τους. Που ψάχνουν συνεχώς να βρουν απολιθώματα μέσα στην αποστεωμένη τους καθημερινότητα.
Τούτο δω δεν είναι ένα χαρούμενο βιβλίο. Η Δυτική Βιρτζίνια, η αγροτιά της, το κυνήγι, άνθρωποι που εργάζονται όλη τους τη ζωή σε χειρονακτικές εργασίες, που πίνουν, που σκοτώνουν, που κυκλοφορούν στις ερημιές των περιγραφών του Πάνκεϊκ και στη μικρή πόλη που επινόησε, το Ροκ Καμπ [που μου θύμισε λιγάκι τη μαυρίλα του Καστλ Ροκ του Στίβεν Κινγκ], αυτά είναι μερικά από τα στοιχεία των 12 διηγημάτων που απαρτίζουν τους Τριλοβίτες.
Με τα Εν τω ξηρώ και Το κυνήγι της αλεπούς να ξεχωρίζουν, οι μικρές ιστορίες του βιβλίου μεταδίδουν άμεσα κάθε αίσθηση του κειμένου. Η μυρωδιά του καφέ, ο ήχος του φορτηγού σε έναν αγροτικό δρόμο, η επαφή ενός χεριού με μια φωτογραφία, όλα ξεπετάγονται από το χαρτί, η έκφραση του Αμερικανού συγγραφέα μοιάζει να ζωντανεύει τις λεπτομέρειες του κειμένου και τα ίδια τα Αππαλάχια στα οποία εκτυλίσσονται τα διηγήματα.
Δίκαια τα 4*/5 που θα του βάλω, όσοι αγαπάνε τις συλλογές διηγημάτων νομίζω πως δε θα λαθέψουν αν δοκιμάσουν τους Τριλοβίτες.
Όμως ο συγγραφέας μάλλον δίκαια θεωρείται ένα μεγάλο χα��ένο ταλέντο. Τα διηγήματά του είναι απλά, δεν κουράζουν, αφηγούνται ολοκληρωμένες, δυνατές ιστορίες γύρω από τους χαρακτήρες τους. Χαρακτήρες που αδυνατούν να ξεφύγουν από τη μοναξιά και τη μοίρα τους, και που νιώθουν τα λεπτά, παγωμένα δάχτυλα της απελπισίας πάνω τους. Που ψάχνουν συνεχώς να βρουν απολιθώματα μέσα στην αποστεωμένη τους καθημερινότητα.
Τούτο δω δεν είναι ένα χαρούμενο βιβλίο. Η Δυτική Βιρτζίνια, η αγροτιά της, το κυνήγι, άνθρωποι που εργάζονται όλη τους τη ζωή σε χειρονακτικές εργασίες, που πίνουν, που σκοτώνουν, που κυκλοφορούν στις ερημιές των περιγραφών του Πάνκεϊκ και στη μικρή πόλη που επινόησε, το Ροκ Καμπ [που μου θύμισε λιγάκι τη μαυρίλα του Καστλ Ροκ του Στίβεν Κινγκ], αυτά είναι μερικά από τα στοιχεία των 12 διηγημάτων που απαρτίζουν τους Τριλοβίτες.
Με τα Εν τω ξηρώ και Το κυνήγι της αλεπούς να ξεχωρίζουν, οι μικρές ιστορίες του βιβλίου μεταδίδουν άμεσα κάθε αίσθηση του κειμένου. Η μυρωδιά του καφέ, ο ήχος του φορτηγού σε έναν αγροτικό δρόμο, η επαφή ενός χεριού με μια φωτογραφία, όλα ξεπετάγονται από το χαρτί, η έκφραση του Αμερικανού συγγραφέα μοιάζει να ζωντανεύει τις λεπτομέρειες του κειμένου και τα ίδια τα Αππαλάχια στα οποία εκτυλίσσονται τα διηγήματα.
Δίκαια τα 4*/5 που θα του βάλω, όσοι αγαπάνε τις συλλογές διηγημάτων νομίζω πως δε θα λαθέψουν αν δοκιμάσουν τους Τριλοβίτες.
April 8, 2017
Just 3.5 stars rounded up to 4. The writing was brilliant, and I have a sense that there was a part of Pancake in every one of these stories, he knows his people and his territory well. He committed suicide at the age of 26, and his depressive personality is on view in all of these stories. Not a one of them has anything in it of hope or escape from the bleak landscape that was his part of West Virginia.
I was in WV once, in Harper's Ferry, which I thought was a pretty little town nestled in the hills above the Potomac River. Breece Pancake's WV is clearly not the same place, and his characters are not people I would feel comfortable with at all. It's really too bad that these 12 stories are all we'll ever have of him; as I said, the writing was brilliant and a wicked sense of humor was on display in some of them.
Favorite story: (because of the humor) "The Salvation of Me"
I was in WV once, in Harper's Ferry, which I thought was a pretty little town nestled in the hills above the Potomac River. Breece Pancake's WV is clearly not the same place, and his characters are not people I would feel comfortable with at all. It's really too bad that these 12 stories are all we'll ever have of him; as I said, the writing was brilliant and a wicked sense of humor was on display in some of them.
Favorite story: (because of the humor) "The Salvation of Me"
September 29, 2020
Staggeringly brilliant stories on a level of achievement with Raymond Carver, Grace Paley and Cesare Pavese.
December 9, 2015
Gli scorpioni non ritornano
“Mi alzo. Passerò la notte a casa. Devo chiudere gli occhi nel Michigan, forse anche in Germania o in Cina, non lo so ancora, cammino ma non ho paura. Sento che la mia paura si allontana in cerchi concentrici attraverso il tempo, per un milione di anni”.
Questi racconti vivono di un'arida aderenza con le cose, con la materia e con la natura; sono cantati da un'anima fertile e ribelle, ripudiata nella razionalità e nel senso, composti in una prosa irrevocabile e stilisticamente autentica. La sostanza cosciente dei personaggi è formata da malinconie, sogni defunti, lutti, ansie, paure e frustrazioni, in un groviglio polveroso e inutile che diventa parola fossile, ossa e ferita, carbone, maledizione e preghiera. Pancake attraversa le strade, con i camion e la ruggine, il vento secco e le miniere e abita le stanze, le fattorie e i paesaggi, con uomini e donne in una desolazione selvaggia, fatta di campi, monti, boschi, i bar, le roulotte e i porti, e poi scoiattoli, serpenti, volpi, vespe, cavalli, lupi, paludi, laghi, notti e famiglie; la sua voce convive con questi elementi dentro una tragedia immotivata, una morte compresente e infinita, nella sua rumorosa angoscia. Lo scrittore ha un'intonazione biblica ed è soggetto ad una introspezione dolorosa e sorda, fino all'isolamento; le sue storie sono generate dall'incontro tra violenza cieca, atemporale e immobile e fuga poetica nella grazia e nel ricordo, nella silenziosa e mistica solitudine della natura, in un orizzonte di fraterna misericordia e di rassegnata incomunicabilità. Figlio di un minatore e di una bibliotecaria, insegnante di lettere in un'accademia militare, cacciatore e pescatore, fu travolto da una vita di sofferenza e lutto, arrendendosi al tramonto dell'amore possibile, alla depressione, al perfezionismo formale, all'infelicità. I racconti di Trilobiti eleggono rabbia e disperazione a inconsapevoli fondamenti e ineludibili compagni e discendono i fiumi dei grandi narratori americani, Hemingway e Flannery O'Connor, consegnando ballate tristi e sconsolate, di aperta rinuncia al vivere, di inesorabile decadenza: un universo rurale e infelice immaginato e narrato da un dio assente, da un padre demente o folle, da un fratello morto da eroe. Unici interlocutori, scomparsi e per sempre inaccessibili.
“Il cielo è blu scuro e la nebbia è un fumo freddo che rimane basso sul terreno. In questa prima traccia di buio le mie mani sembrano azzurre, ma non fredde; cose così diventano fredde prima o poi, ma per ora la mia mano è calda”.
“Mi alzo. Passerò la notte a casa. Devo chiudere gli occhi nel Michigan, forse anche in Germania o in Cina, non lo so ancora, cammino ma non ho paura. Sento che la mia paura si allontana in cerchi concentrici attraverso il tempo, per un milione di anni”.
Questi racconti vivono di un'arida aderenza con le cose, con la materia e con la natura; sono cantati da un'anima fertile e ribelle, ripudiata nella razionalità e nel senso, composti in una prosa irrevocabile e stilisticamente autentica. La sostanza cosciente dei personaggi è formata da malinconie, sogni defunti, lutti, ansie, paure e frustrazioni, in un groviglio polveroso e inutile che diventa parola fossile, ossa e ferita, carbone, maledizione e preghiera. Pancake attraversa le strade, con i camion e la ruggine, il vento secco e le miniere e abita le stanze, le fattorie e i paesaggi, con uomini e donne in una desolazione selvaggia, fatta di campi, monti, boschi, i bar, le roulotte e i porti, e poi scoiattoli, serpenti, volpi, vespe, cavalli, lupi, paludi, laghi, notti e famiglie; la sua voce convive con questi elementi dentro una tragedia immotivata, una morte compresente e infinita, nella sua rumorosa angoscia. Lo scrittore ha un'intonazione biblica ed è soggetto ad una introspezione dolorosa e sorda, fino all'isolamento; le sue storie sono generate dall'incontro tra violenza cieca, atemporale e immobile e fuga poetica nella grazia e nel ricordo, nella silenziosa e mistica solitudine della natura, in un orizzonte di fraterna misericordia e di rassegnata incomunicabilità. Figlio di un minatore e di una bibliotecaria, insegnante di lettere in un'accademia militare, cacciatore e pescatore, fu travolto da una vita di sofferenza e lutto, arrendendosi al tramonto dell'amore possibile, alla depressione, al perfezionismo formale, all'infelicità. I racconti di Trilobiti eleggono rabbia e disperazione a inconsapevoli fondamenti e ineludibili compagni e discendono i fiumi dei grandi narratori americani, Hemingway e Flannery O'Connor, consegnando ballate tristi e sconsolate, di aperta rinuncia al vivere, di inesorabile decadenza: un universo rurale e infelice immaginato e narrato da un dio assente, da un padre demente o folle, da un fratello morto da eroe. Unici interlocutori, scomparsi e per sempre inaccessibili.
“Il cielo è blu scuro e la nebbia è un fumo freddo che rimane basso sul terreno. In questa prima traccia di buio le mie mani sembrano azzurre, ma non fredde; cose così diventano fredde prima o poi, ma per ora la mia mano è calda”.
July 21, 2024
I’m normally a fast reader, and the first story in this collection straight away got my attention and caused me to read on quickly. On reaching the end, I had the distinct feeling I had missed something, and I went back and read it again, taking my time a bit more. That’s one of the features of this collection. The stories really have to be read slowly to be properly appreciated. Even at that, I’m not sure I fully understood them, but for what they’re worth my impressions are below.
Breece Pancake was born in 1952, committed suicide in 1979, and was a native of West Virginia. The context of time and place is important to these stories, almost all of which feature male characters from rural West Virginia in the 60s and 70s. Panacke’s characters work as farmers, miners, mechanics, truck drivers, etc. They go hunting and fishing, and they fight. In “First Day of Winter”, an old man asks his son to go hunting with the admonition “Won’t be Thanskgiving without wild game.” In “The Scrapper”, a bar and street brawler seems to almost consciously struggle against the affectionate feelings he is starting to develop towards his girlfriend. Meanwhile the story “Time and Again”, packs a punch of the metaphorical kind.
I would have to describe this collection as one of the bleakest I have come across. Entrapment seems to be a common theme across a number of stories, especially in “A Room Forever”, “The Salvation of Me”, and “First Day of Winter”. The title story “Trilobites” has a slightly different feel, but to say more would introduce spoilers. That story incorporates a search for fossils, and that touches on another common theme. Throughout the stories the main characters uncover bones and artefacts – mouse skeletons; deer skeletons, human skulls from Indian burial grounds, and Indian arrowheads, underlining the connections that the lead characters feel for the land. A powerful set of stories, but each was written separately and I think they might work better read that way, rather than as a collection.
Breece Pancake was born in 1952, committed suicide in 1979, and was a native of West Virginia. The context of time and place is important to these stories, almost all of which feature male characters from rural West Virginia in the 60s and 70s. Panacke’s characters work as farmers, miners, mechanics, truck drivers, etc. They go hunting and fishing, and they fight. In “First Day of Winter”, an old man asks his son to go hunting with the admonition “Won’t be Thanskgiving without wild game.” In “The Scrapper”, a bar and street brawler seems to almost consciously struggle against the affectionate feelings he is starting to develop towards his girlfriend. Meanwhile the story “Time and Again”, packs a punch of the metaphorical kind.
I would have to describe this collection as one of the bleakest I have come across. Entrapment seems to be a common theme across a number of stories, especially in “A Room Forever”, “The Salvation of Me”, and “First Day of Winter”. The title story “Trilobites” has a slightly different feel, but to say more would introduce spoilers. That story incorporates a search for fossils, and that touches on another common theme. Throughout the stories the main characters uncover bones and artefacts – mouse skeletons; deer skeletons, human skulls from Indian burial grounds, and Indian arrowheads, underlining the connections that the lead characters feel for the land. A powerful set of stories, but each was written separately and I think they might work better read that way, rather than as a collection.
July 21, 2014
I'm struggling with this review, just as I struggled with these stories -- not because they're difficult, despite the instances of jargon that aren't always clear from the context and that I came to feel were too inclusive -- but because most of the stories left me lukewarm. The descriptive language and some observations shine, but right now the only character I can bring to mind (even though I finished the book last night) is the first-person unreliable narrator of "Time and Again," which I read twice. It's the the only one I wanted to read again, even though it's probably the simplest, most straightforward of the bunch.
I almost started off this review by apologizing to the book because it arrived from the library at an unusually busy time for me. I read most of the stories late at night when I might've been too tired, but I read that way quite a bit and if a story fires my imagination or captures my attention, when and how I read it is not usually an issue.
Perhaps I needed to read this with my short-story friend, Mikki, who recommended this book to me and gave it five stars. I'm sure she would've pointed out things I've missed -- though the symbolism in "The Mark" seems almost too obvious and "The Salvation of Me" seems autobiographical, adding interest to a story I might've otherwise found boring. Perhaps the overall style and content is not for me. Pancake has been compared to Hemingway and I struggle with him too.
The most interesting fact I read about the author after I finished this book is that he converted to Catholicism not long before his death, which was either suicide or accidental, at age 26. (He took the name "John" after his conversion, thus the initial J.) That left me wondering if any of his Catholicism might've crept into his later stories, though I can't recall anything that would lead me to that conclusion.
I almost started off this review by apologizing to the book because it arrived from the library at an unusually busy time for me. I read most of the stories late at night when I might've been too tired, but I read that way quite a bit and if a story fires my imagination or captures my attention, when and how I read it is not usually an issue.
Perhaps I needed to read this with my short-story friend, Mikki, who recommended this book to me and gave it five stars. I'm sure she would've pointed out things I've missed -- though the symbolism in "The Mark" seems almost too obvious and "The Salvation of Me" seems autobiographical, adding interest to a story I might've otherwise found boring. Perhaps the overall style and content is not for me. Pancake has been compared to Hemingway and I struggle with him too.
The most interesting fact I read about the author after I finished this book is that he converted to Catholicism not long before his death, which was either suicide or accidental, at age 26. (He took the name "John" after his conversion, thus the initial J.) That left me wondering if any of his Catholicism might've crept into his later stories, though I can't recall anything that would lead me to that conclusion.
April 5, 2021
Still superb second time around. Hemingway influence is undeniable but there's still nothing else quite like these stories.
June 6, 2023
I thoroughly enjoyed all of these brilliant short stories. It’s a pity that I’ve only just discovered this author, some 44 years after his death by suicide at the age of 26. His local language and landscape descriptions — with very few words — transported me to rural West Virginia, a place I’ve never been before.
August 22, 2014
My Thanks must go first to Melanie for suggesting this amazing book. Thank you for sharing this! The image of a fox on the cover was very misleading as I might have expected peaceful nature stories. A poor assumption, these stories are dark, violent, challenging, hopeful, tragic and just so damned good that I can't explain except to say these stories satisfy absolutely. There is buzzing energy as you hold the book, hot young blood pulses through it, its...Shit- Grit- and Mother Wit. I don't know what it is but in my hand it is some of the most powerful writing I have come across. The forward itself is wonderful and helps one see how important Breece's legacy is. He captures so much from the decade it was from and of his West Virginia homeland. The stories are so finely crafted, edited to perfection, bristling with sensations. I can not say enough about how he concludes his stories with just enough wiggle room that readers can twist it in their own way. One of his friends, John Casey says that in his writing there is "a bending of violence into gentleness." Perfect pitch.
I like to think that the raw and savage power in these stories came from Breece Pancake's desire to consume himself by attacking life with such passion and ferocity that he could not survive. A premonition. Enough for him to know to leave these perfect stories. Such a beautiful gift. God bless you for what you left us.
I like to think that the raw and savage power in these stories came from Breece Pancake's desire to consume himself by attacking life with such passion and ferocity that he could not survive. A premonition. Enough for him to know to leave these perfect stories. Such a beautiful gift. God bless you for what you left us.
June 23, 2007
Ever buy a book for the poem on the first, unnumbered, page because the poem is so spot on you can hardly stand it? And you didn't have a pen or a big enough scrap of paper or the time to kneel in the aisle of the store and scribble the first line and maybe perhaps the author? And although Professor Dane taught you well and with certainty how to lift a page from any book, including those in fancy temperature controlled archival rooms--like the Huntington and the Bancroft and the Getty--you resist and buy the whole damn thing, in hardcover, even though you are fairly sure no one is watching, and even if they were with some spit and a string you could lift it anyhow. So you buy it outright and tote it through the city. Even though your walk is long and the Santa Anas are blowing hot and your bag is already bursting with books you haven't yet read, and are supposed to, and most likely will not get to. You buy it and forget about it. You buy it and shelve it with the others. And then one day, when the very same winds are blowing hot and nasty you recall the poem and search out the book only the poem isn't in there anymore. Someone tore it out. Without class. Without style or skill. With jagged edges. So you flip through the book hoping it's folded in half and tucked neatly inside and that's when the words start and draw you in and you realize the poem was a piece of crap written by a two bit hack, but this book...
March 29, 2022
Un cuentazo!
Merged review:
Trilobites 5⭐
Quebrada 5 ⭐
Una habitación para siempre 3⭐
Cazadores de zorros 5⭐
Una y otra vez 5⭐
La marca 4⭐
El Broncas 3⭐
El honor de los muertos 5⭐
Como debe ser 3⭐
Mi salvación 3⭐
De la leña Seca 5⭐
El primer día de Invierno 5⭐
Promedio: 4.2⭐️
No puedo dejar de aplaudir la genialidad de algunos cuentos, por lo que se cuenta entre lo que no se dice, pero, que esta soterrado en toda la elipsis. El hecho de no ser explícito, pero que de alguna manera no es indiferente tu mente cuando encajas todo lo demás es increíble, y aterrador!
Nadie habla de estos personajes, golpeados por la pobreza, por el paisaje frío e implacable, hay hombres aquí, en su estado más primario...arraigado a su Virginia, como un todo. Buenísimo, Breece.
Merged review:
Trilobites 5⭐
Quebrada 5 ⭐
Una habitación para siempre 3⭐
Cazadores de zorros 5⭐
Una y otra vez 5⭐
La marca 4⭐
El Broncas 3⭐
El honor de los muertos 5⭐
Como debe ser 3⭐
Mi salvación 3⭐
De la leña Seca 5⭐
El primer día de Invierno 5⭐
Promedio: 4.2⭐️
No puedo dejar de aplaudir la genialidad de algunos cuentos, por lo que se cuenta entre lo que no se dice, pero, que esta soterrado en toda la elipsis. El hecho de no ser explícito, pero que de alguna manera no es indiferente tu mente cuando encajas todo lo demás es increíble, y aterrador!
Nadie habla de estos personajes, golpeados por la pobreza, por el paisaje frío e implacable, hay hombres aquí, en su estado más primario...arraigado a su Virginia, como un todo. Buenísimo, Breece.
July 30, 2018
27 yaşında (evet o uğursuz yaş) intihar etmiş bir yazarın kitabı.
amerika’nın güney’ine, edebiyatına bayılırım. pancake de o güney gotiği denen tarzın ustalarından.
aslında öyküleri okuyunca intihardan başka yol bulamamış yazarı anlamak mümkün.
batmış çiftlikler, rezalet madenler, hiçbir hayalini gerçekleştirememiş kaybolan gençler... kimi oto tamircisi kimi benzincide pompacı kimi 5 kuruşa dövülen boksör... hiçbir çıkış yolu yok, despot ana babalar, ölmüş ana babalar, kaybolmuş arkadaşlar... yitip giden hayaller...
minimum betimleme, gerçek cümleler. çok ustaca. coğrafyanın yönettiği kader. ve keder.
amerika’nın güney’ine, edebiyatına bayılırım. pancake de o güney gotiği denen tarzın ustalarından.
aslında öyküleri okuyunca intihardan başka yol bulamamış yazarı anlamak mümkün.
batmış çiftlikler, rezalet madenler, hiçbir hayalini gerçekleştirememiş kaybolan gençler... kimi oto tamircisi kimi benzincide pompacı kimi 5 kuruşa dövülen boksör... hiçbir çıkış yolu yok, despot ana babalar, ölmüş ana babalar, kaybolmuş arkadaşlar... yitip giden hayaller...
minimum betimleme, gerçek cümleler. çok ustaca. coğrafyanın yönettiği kader. ve keder.
April 24, 2019
Jim Dean of West Virginia*
West Virginia, anni Settanta.
Sono questi i territori di Breece D’J Pancake, fra i monti Appalachi, che se non sapessimo già dal romanzo pubblicato in questo periodo da Chris Offutt per Minimum Fax che racconta del riscoperto padre pornografo, e se non fosse, appunto che l’uno scrive del West Virginia, e l’altro del Kentucky, se non fossero nati l’uno nel 1952, e l’altro nel 1958, sospetteremmo essere padre e figlio, o forse, anagraficamente, fratelli.
Di sicuro lo sono letterariamente, di sicuro certe atmosfere, che non sono solo geografiche, ma soprattutto panorami interiori, lo fanno pensare ed evocano l’uno, leggendo l’altro.
Sono racconti dolorosi, questi di Pancake, in cui la foschia degli eventi che segnano i protagonisti si diradano (ma mai del tutto) solo leggendoli, in cui gli avvenimenti che vengono dal passato, spesso remoto, segnano il presente come macchie indelebili: un lutto, una partenza, un addio, aleggiano come fantasmi; un fruscio, uno sparo, un animale, amato o abbattuto, scuoiato o accarezzato, scuotono ed echeggiano fra passato e presente come colpi di fucile nella vegetazione.
E la natura, sempre presente, sotto forma di una terra che i protagonisti dei racconti mai riescono ad abbandonare, di un campo di tabacco da raccogliere, di una fabbrica della Chemical Valley da cui fuggire, o di una miniera la cui vena è da tempo esaurita e abbandonata da tutti, ma dalla quale gli stessi minatori faticano a staccarsi, al tempo stesso viva e rigogliosa, reca stratificazioni che ne raccontano le storie passate, alcune immobili, accolte e cristallizzate dalla terra come fossili, controversa e incerta, contraddittoria e ferita come quella degli esseri umani che popolano i luoghi e le storie di Pancake.
Ho molto apprezzato, oltre ai racconti stessi, la breve e concisa postfazione di Percival Everett (autore con il quale ho un conto in sospeso, ma confido nel fatto che prima o poi ci ritroveremo) che così sintetizza il suo apprezzamento nei confronti di Breece D’J (a proposito, una curiosità, il suo nome prese origine da un errore di stampa sulla rivista The Atlantic Monthly - D’J stava appunto per Dexter John - per l'uscita del suo primo racconto, Trilobiti, pubblicato nel 1977), e ricusando il confronto con la scrittura di Hemingway (che definisce un paragone superficiale): È difficile definire «austero» il linguaggio di queste storie. Si potrebbe definire «parsimonioso», ma anche questa definizione è fuorviante e, credo, sostanzialmente errata. Il linguaggio è rigoglioso, poetico, e ciononostante è preciso, sobrio e potente. Leggere Pancake è come camminare attraverso i canali e lungo i fiumi del West Virginia, dove la bellezza è a ogni angolo e il pericolo è facile da trovare.»
*Jim Dean of Indiana era la canzone preferita da Pancake del musicista folk Phil Ochs, morto anche lui suicida; per quanto sul suicidio dello stesso Pancake, non ancora ventisettenne e con problemi di alcolismo, gli stessi comuni al padre e ai personaggi dei suoi racconti, si nutrano molti dubbi e alcuni sostengano la tesi dell’incidente - Pancake amava la vita in solitaria, andare a caccia e a pesca e in cerca di trilobiti, i fossili dai quali prende il titolo questa raccolta di racconti.
«Apro la porta del camioncino, scendo sulla stradina di mattoni. Guardo ancora una volta Company Hill, tutta consumata e logora. Molto tempo fa era davvero scoscesa e stava come un’isola sul fiume Teays. C’è voluto più di un milione di anni per fare questa piccola collina liscia e io ho cercato dappertutto trilobiti. Penso a com’è sempre stata lì e a come ci starà sempre, almeno per tutto il tempo che importerà qualcosa. Quando arriva l’estate, l’aria si fa afosa. Un branco di storni fluttua sopra di me. Sono nato qui e non ho mai voluto andarmene davvero. Ricordo gli occhi di papà morto che mi guardavano» (che estrapolo dalla bella recensione pubblicata su Minima&Moralia nella traduzione di Ivan Tassi).
Qui è possibile leggere, Trilobites, il racconto che dà il titolo alla raccolta, in originale, e questo è un altro commento molto bello alla scrittura di Breece D’J Pancake.
West Virginia, anni Settanta.
Sono questi i territori di Breece D’J Pancake, fra i monti Appalachi, che se non sapessimo già dal romanzo pubblicato in questo periodo da Chris Offutt per Minimum Fax che racconta del riscoperto padre pornografo, e se non fosse, appunto che l’uno scrive del West Virginia, e l’altro del Kentucky, se non fossero nati l’uno nel 1952, e l’altro nel 1958, sospetteremmo essere padre e figlio, o forse, anagraficamente, fratelli.
Di sicuro lo sono letterariamente, di sicuro certe atmosfere, che non sono solo geografiche, ma soprattutto panorami interiori, lo fanno pensare ed evocano l’uno, leggendo l’altro.
Sono racconti dolorosi, questi di Pancake, in cui la foschia degli eventi che segnano i protagonisti si diradano (ma mai del tutto) solo leggendoli, in cui gli avvenimenti che vengono dal passato, spesso remoto, segnano il presente come macchie indelebili: un lutto, una partenza, un addio, aleggiano come fantasmi; un fruscio, uno sparo, un animale, amato o abbattuto, scuoiato o accarezzato, scuotono ed echeggiano fra passato e presente come colpi di fucile nella vegetazione.
E la natura, sempre presente, sotto forma di una terra che i protagonisti dei racconti mai riescono ad abbandonare, di un campo di tabacco da raccogliere, di una fabbrica della Chemical Valley da cui fuggire, o di una miniera la cui vena è da tempo esaurita e abbandonata da tutti, ma dalla quale gli stessi minatori faticano a staccarsi, al tempo stesso viva e rigogliosa, reca stratificazioni che ne raccontano le storie passate, alcune immobili, accolte e cristallizzate dalla terra come fossili, controversa e incerta, contraddittoria e ferita come quella degli esseri umani che popolano i luoghi e le storie di Pancake.
Ho molto apprezzato, oltre ai racconti stessi, la breve e concisa postfazione di Percival Everett (autore con il quale ho un conto in sospeso, ma confido nel fatto che prima o poi ci ritroveremo) che così sintetizza il suo apprezzamento nei confronti di Breece D’J (a proposito, una curiosità, il suo nome prese origine da un errore di stampa sulla rivista The Atlantic Monthly - D’J stava appunto per Dexter John - per l'uscita del suo primo racconto, Trilobiti, pubblicato nel 1977), e ricusando il confronto con la scrittura di Hemingway (che definisce un paragone superficiale): È difficile definire «austero» il linguaggio di queste storie. Si potrebbe definire «parsimonioso», ma anche questa definizione è fuorviante e, credo, sostanzialmente errata. Il linguaggio è rigoglioso, poetico, e ciononostante è preciso, sobrio e potente. Leggere Pancake è come camminare attraverso i canali e lungo i fiumi del West Virginia, dove la bellezza è a ogni angolo e il pericolo è facile da trovare.»
*Jim Dean of Indiana era la canzone preferita da Pancake del musicista folk Phil Ochs, morto anche lui suicida; per quanto sul suicidio dello stesso Pancake, non ancora ventisettenne e con problemi di alcolismo, gli stessi comuni al padre e ai personaggi dei suoi racconti, si nutrano molti dubbi e alcuni sostengano la tesi dell’incidente - Pancake amava la vita in solitaria, andare a caccia e a pesca e in cerca di trilobiti, i fossili dai quali prende il titolo questa raccolta di racconti.
«Apro la porta del camioncino, scendo sulla stradina di mattoni. Guardo ancora una volta Company Hill, tutta consumata e logora. Molto tempo fa era davvero scoscesa e stava come un’isola sul fiume Teays. C’è voluto più di un milione di anni per fare questa piccola collina liscia e io ho cercato dappertutto trilobiti. Penso a com’è sempre stata lì e a come ci starà sempre, almeno per tutto il tempo che importerà qualcosa. Quando arriva l’estate, l’aria si fa afosa. Un branco di storni fluttua sopra di me. Sono nato qui e non ho mai voluto andarmene davvero. Ricordo gli occhi di papà morto che mi guardavano» (che estrapolo dalla bella recensione pubblicata su Minima&Moralia nella traduzione di Ivan Tassi).
Qui è possibile leggere, Trilobites, il racconto che dà il titolo alla raccolta, in originale, e questo è un altro commento molto bello alla scrittura di Breece D’J Pancake.
April 7, 2016
*April 2016 update- had to raise this from 4.5 to 5 as the feeling I got from reading the work is so raw, it's really hanging around.
This impressive debut collection is perhaps given more weight by the fact that the writer killed himself in his mid twenties, making this his one and only published work. Mr Pancake's shotgun ending helps to confirm the similarity with Hemingway- although I actually thought these stories were better than the Hemingway shorts I have come across in my time. These are seriously impressive examples of outsider writing.
Set in a rural and semi-rural world of West Virginia rife with poverty, this is a grim, one-note compilation (the complete opposite of Michel Faber's compendium of 16 stories, 'The Farenheit Twins,' that could have been written by 16 different writers) and yet that seems to enhance its power. Each story spotlights some continuation of misery, although generally there is the sense of characters looking back on a life that maybe once held a tenuous string of hope. This is a land of industry on its last legs, alcoholism, spousal abuse, cockfighting, fox-hunting, the intense violence of the dispossessed. It is, in some sense, a masculinised, grittier version of Annie Proulx's 'Heart Songs' (bar the different locale) and is extremely important, offering as it does takes on a white, working-class America that is not represented enough in literature. Such is Breece Pancake's writing skill, I felt as if I was walking alongside his broken characters. What immense power these stories have.
Like another reviewer has mentioned, I expected this collection to be surreal- I think because of the writer's unusual name and the majestic cover art. But in fact it is hyperreal, steeped in what feels like genuine, broken humanity, with Pancake's uncanny ear for dialogue and bleak descriptions of a land and a people of the margins, where life and death walk hand in hand. I will come back to this collection again, always with a sense of wonder: what would the writer have achieved had he allowed himself to live beyond 26?
This impressive debut collection is perhaps given more weight by the fact that the writer killed himself in his mid twenties, making this his one and only published work. Mr Pancake's shotgun ending helps to confirm the similarity with Hemingway- although I actually thought these stories were better than the Hemingway shorts I have come across in my time. These are seriously impressive examples of outsider writing.
Set in a rural and semi-rural world of West Virginia rife with poverty, this is a grim, one-note compilation (the complete opposite of Michel Faber's compendium of 16 stories, 'The Farenheit Twins,' that could have been written by 16 different writers) and yet that seems to enhance its power. Each story spotlights some continuation of misery, although generally there is the sense of characters looking back on a life that maybe once held a tenuous string of hope. This is a land of industry on its last legs, alcoholism, spousal abuse, cockfighting, fox-hunting, the intense violence of the dispossessed. It is, in some sense, a masculinised, grittier version of Annie Proulx's 'Heart Songs' (bar the different locale) and is extremely important, offering as it does takes on a white, working-class America that is not represented enough in literature. Such is Breece Pancake's writing skill, I felt as if I was walking alongside his broken characters. What immense power these stories have.
Like another reviewer has mentioned, I expected this collection to be surreal- I think because of the writer's unusual name and the majestic cover art. But in fact it is hyperreal, steeped in what feels like genuine, broken humanity, with Pancake's uncanny ear for dialogue and bleak descriptions of a land and a people of the margins, where life and death walk hand in hand. I will come back to this collection again, always with a sense of wonder: what would the writer have achieved had he allowed himself to live beyond 26?
January 1, 2019
Amerikan kırsalını Hollywood bize yanlış tanıtmış olsa da biz burada Faulkner ve Amerikan öyküsü okurları duruma daha vakıfız. Ama burada, bu öykülerde daha spesifik durumla karşı karşıyayız. Bu durum Batı Virginia insanının karakteristik özelliğidir: Batı Virginyalıyı böyle kovboy şapkası ve ağzında sigarasıyla, külüstür arabasıyla sürekli gaza basan kasabalı tipi olarak düşünmek lazım. Daha ziyade çiftçi ve işçidir. Kuralsız yaşar, bunun sebepleri vardır yalnız. Çünkü Batı Virginyalı sahip olduğu toprağı kan ve gözyaşı ile elde etmiştir. Sert bir doğası, aynı sertlikte iklimi vardır Batı Viriginia'nın. Sert bir rüzgarı ve çetin koşulların hüküm sürdüğü bir kışı vardır...Sert bir mizacı vardır insanının dolayısıyla. Yine de Batı Virginia'da kendinizi tekinsiz bir yerde hissetmeyin. Evet Batı Virginialı çabuk parlar ama ona zaman tanıyın sakinleşmesi çok zaman almayacaktır... Bu insanı ya da bu karakteri on iki öyküde, on ikiye bölünmüş şekilde analiz edeceğiz...Sıkı bir edebiyat ama sanki sosyoloji ve antropolojiden de destek alınmış...
February 5, 2024
One of the strangest, sparest and quietly affecting story collections I've ever read. Mr. Pancake's prose is reminiscent that of Sherwood Anderson's and Hemingway's; stories that cut like a knife in which exposes humanity at its darkest heart.
Oddballs, serial murderers, jilted lovers, and resigned rednecks take center stage here to expose humanity's darkest truths with biting language with a fury and detachment towards people.
Oddballs, serial murderers, jilted lovers, and resigned rednecks take center stage here to expose humanity's darkest truths with biting language with a fury and detachment towards people.
June 8, 2020
The stories in this collection really evoke the poverty and way of life in coal country. They are infused with the landscape, language, and culture of the area. My only complaint is that Pancake either didn’t know how to write nuanced female characters or didn’t care to do so. Nevertheless, there was such great potential here, and it is tragic that he died so young.
February 3, 2008
The stories of Breece D'J Pancake (real name) look unflinchingly at the gritty realities of the impoverished Appalachian region-- its difficulties, tragedies, and impossibilities, and the strength that people pull together which is somehow never quite enough. Pancake grew up in the hills of West Virginia and took his own life with in 1979 at the age of 27, just as his literary career was beginning to gain a little momentum. While alive, The Atlantic accepted a few of his stories for publication, but this posthumous collection brings together the work he was doing in the University of Virginia's creative writing program just before his death. This collection isn't for the weak of heart, and should be avoided when already feeling down. I basically had to put the book down after each story to catch my breath and collect myself. They're heavy, pounding stuff that'll get caught in your head.
In his work, it is evident that Pancake was weighted down by the psychological ramifications of the decaying South's extreme poverty. This collection is packed with frustration-- young girls taking to prostitution, beloved dogs being murdered by best friends, serial killers, heavy drinkers, waitresses, cockfights. Pretty much every story features a character whose life had been charted out since they were conceived, born into a household ripped apart and forced upon a path not of their own choosing. In this light, it's tempting to read Pancake's own biography as just another story in his collection. James Alan MacPherson, a professor who took Pancake under his wing at U of VA and encouraged him to send his work out for publication does just that. A writer in his own right, MacPherson's introduction manages to do just that. I would recommend the introduction on its own, it's that good. Most importantly, the introduction captures the deep respect MacPherson had for Pancake and inspires the reader to feel the same way after understanding Pancake's own battles. It shows that the dark, crushing powers which Pancake shows ripping his characters apart inside acted on him as well.
Parallels of Pancake's work can be noticed in early Palace Brothers albums, specifically "Days in the Wake," or the work of director David Gordon Green ("George Washington," "All the Real Girls"), both of whom may well have been inspired by Pancake's work. These artists similarly capture a certain feeling of modern post-industrial Southern intellectualism and sensitivity which, rather than allowing an escape from the poverty of opportunity plaguing them, instead gives their protagonists a vivid and profound awareness of what they're losing and missing. These stories are rich with regional detail-- the characters use Southern syntax so deep that it can be indeterminate what they're talking about, but this doesn't detract from the stories. The detail Pancake infuses into the stories lends them a magical feeling, shrouds them in a bit of mystery that serves to cut through what I think is a natural predilection on the part of Northerners to condescend to the people of the South. The people of Pancake's stories are experts in their own right, can hunt, skin, brine, and eat a squirrel without too much thought, and are aware of and ripped apart by obligation, family, lust, and impossibility.
In his work, it is evident that Pancake was weighted down by the psychological ramifications of the decaying South's extreme poverty. This collection is packed with frustration-- young girls taking to prostitution, beloved dogs being murdered by best friends, serial killers, heavy drinkers, waitresses, cockfights. Pretty much every story features a character whose life had been charted out since they were conceived, born into a household ripped apart and forced upon a path not of their own choosing. In this light, it's tempting to read Pancake's own biography as just another story in his collection. James Alan MacPherson, a professor who took Pancake under his wing at U of VA and encouraged him to send his work out for publication does just that. A writer in his own right, MacPherson's introduction manages to do just that. I would recommend the introduction on its own, it's that good. Most importantly, the introduction captures the deep respect MacPherson had for Pancake and inspires the reader to feel the same way after understanding Pancake's own battles. It shows that the dark, crushing powers which Pancake shows ripping his characters apart inside acted on him as well.
Parallels of Pancake's work can be noticed in early Palace Brothers albums, specifically "Days in the Wake," or the work of director David Gordon Green ("George Washington," "All the Real Girls"), both of whom may well have been inspired by Pancake's work. These artists similarly capture a certain feeling of modern post-industrial Southern intellectualism and sensitivity which, rather than allowing an escape from the poverty of opportunity plaguing them, instead gives their protagonists a vivid and profound awareness of what they're losing and missing. These stories are rich with regional detail-- the characters use Southern syntax so deep that it can be indeterminate what they're talking about, but this doesn't detract from the stories. The detail Pancake infuses into the stories lends them a magical feeling, shrouds them in a bit of mystery that serves to cut through what I think is a natural predilection on the part of Northerners to condescend to the people of the South. The people of Pancake's stories are experts in their own right, can hunt, skin, brine, and eat a squirrel without too much thought, and are aware of and ripped apart by obligation, family, lust, and impossibility.
August 16, 2013
The first thing you must do to appreciate the strengths of the twelve stories posthumously collected in The Stories of Breece D'J Pancake is to distance yourself from the cult of Breece D'J Pancake, an accretion that has formed around his writing since his suicide in 1979 at the age of 27.
There is certainly good writing here, but Pancake wasn't quite yet the new Hemingway of his jacket copy or the savior of modern fiction. Several of his stories are well-polished gems, but more than a few ("The Mark," for example) are simply incomprehensible.
In these twelve stories, in fact, there are several occasions when Pancake walks too far over the line that separates the effective, authentic use of slang, accent, and jargon from the creation of a text that is both alien and alienating, where the reader can barely find a toe-hold. Arguably, that makes the stories "true," but it also effectively narrows their ability to communicate, which is something a writer ought to be concerned about.
Taking all twelve as a whole, meanwhile, there's a sameness to their language and tone that wears much less well than many of Pancake's admirers seem to recognize, especially the considerable group of them who are worshipful to such a distorted extent that one begins to to suspect it is the mythology of the poète maudit that appeals and not the writer .
Since Pancake's death, meanwhile, the boom in "new" Southern writing has brought us a bumper crop of writers who explore many of the same issues of class, family, origin, geography-as-destiny, and cultural estrangement that were Pancake's palette (Chris Offutt and Keith Banner come immediately to mind, but there are dozens).
Pancake's work, then, is foundational but he's not necessarily the best at the game. More than anything, I am unmoved by Pancake's adherence to what I would call the "Iowa Writers' Workshop" school of story-writing, which is the inclination to write muscular, painstakingly crafted stories that are linguistically imposing but in which ABSOLUTELY NOTHING HAPPENS.
They become (not just Pancake's stories, but the orthodoxy as a whole) sedulous but frequently overconscientious miniatures and I find them, frankly, to be a bore. Yes; it's a matter of personal taste, but I want a short story to tell me a story, not give me ten carefully honed minutes in the life of someone whom the author examines microscopically but to no apparent purpose.
The fact that the arts-reward system overly privileges this style in short fiction (what my dear friend and mentor Jim Colbert called the "pif" story--short for "epiphany," meaning that the reader is supposed to search hard for deep moments of change, illumination, or psychological revelation in the mica-thin layers of lapidary prose) fails to convince me of its intrinsic worth.
There is certainly good writing here, but Pancake wasn't quite yet the new Hemingway of his jacket copy or the savior of modern fiction. Several of his stories are well-polished gems, but more than a few ("The Mark," for example) are simply incomprehensible.
In these twelve stories, in fact, there are several occasions when Pancake walks too far over the line that separates the effective, authentic use of slang, accent, and jargon from the creation of a text that is both alien and alienating, where the reader can barely find a toe-hold. Arguably, that makes the stories "true," but it also effectively narrows their ability to communicate, which is something a writer ought to be concerned about.
Taking all twelve as a whole, meanwhile, there's a sameness to their language and tone that wears much less well than many of Pancake's admirers seem to recognize, especially the considerable group of them who are worshipful to such a distorted extent that one begins to to suspect it is the mythology of the poète maudit that appeals and not the writer .
Since Pancake's death, meanwhile, the boom in "new" Southern writing has brought us a bumper crop of writers who explore many of the same issues of class, family, origin, geography-as-destiny, and cultural estrangement that were Pancake's palette (Chris Offutt and Keith Banner come immediately to mind, but there are dozens).
Pancake's work, then, is foundational but he's not necessarily the best at the game. More than anything, I am unmoved by Pancake's adherence to what I would call the "Iowa Writers' Workshop" school of story-writing, which is the inclination to write muscular, painstakingly crafted stories that are linguistically imposing but in which ABSOLUTELY NOTHING HAPPENS.
They become (not just Pancake's stories, but the orthodoxy as a whole) sedulous but frequently overconscientious miniatures and I find them, frankly, to be a bore. Yes; it's a matter of personal taste, but I want a short story to tell me a story, not give me ten carefully honed minutes in the life of someone whom the author examines microscopically but to no apparent purpose.
The fact that the arts-reward system overly privileges this style in short fiction (what my dear friend and mentor Jim Colbert called the "pif" story--short for "epiphany," meaning that the reader is supposed to search hard for deep moments of change, illumination, or psychological revelation in the mica-thin layers of lapidary prose) fails to convince me of its intrinsic worth.
June 11, 2017
Breece D’J Pancake killed himself in 1979, aged 26, mere days before this, his debut collection of short stories was published.
These stories roil with the secret histories, fossils, Indian bones, and of course coal embedded in West Virginia. Not to mention memories, anger, and desire: everything bursting, erupting. Secrets of the body—in ‘Trilobites,’ a man is finally, suddenly killed by a shrapnel fragment embedded in his brain years before.
All these seismic disturbances compel utterly.
Pancake has a small cult of admirers but these stories have not received the attention they deserve. I think I know why. They evoke the barren melancholy of the working poor of his native West Virginia (his own family was decidedly middle class), yes. The prose is jaw-droppingly good, oh my god yes. But Pancake's narratives are marred by the whore-madonna simplification of his female characters, and by animal cruelty—bizarrely violent incidents involving animals in pretty much every story.
I couldn't really get past that. A novelist I greatly admire, Samantha Hunt, could, or at least does her best to contextualize it - I urge readers to check out her fascinating
essay on Pancake.
But one of the tragedies here is that this gifted young writer didn’t live enough, long enough, to burst free of such cultural gunk.
These stories roil with the secret histories, fossils, Indian bones, and of course coal embedded in West Virginia. Not to mention memories, anger, and desire: everything bursting, erupting. Secrets of the body—in ‘Trilobites,’ a man is finally, suddenly killed by a shrapnel fragment embedded in his brain years before.
All these seismic disturbances compel utterly.
Pancake has a small cult of admirers but these stories have not received the attention they deserve. I think I know why. They evoke the barren melancholy of the working poor of his native West Virginia (his own family was decidedly middle class), yes. The prose is jaw-droppingly good, oh my god yes. But Pancake's narratives are marred by the whore-madonna simplification of his female characters, and by animal cruelty—bizarrely violent incidents involving animals in pretty much every story.
I couldn't really get past that. A novelist I greatly admire, Samantha Hunt, could, or at least does her best to contextualize it - I urge readers to check out her fascinating
essay on Pancake.
But one of the tragedies here is that this gifted young writer didn’t live enough, long enough, to burst free of such cultural gunk.
March 31, 2020
I got to know about this work and the author, thanks to Goodreads Author pages. Breece D'J Pancake was one of the most favorite writers of one of my most favorite writers - Kurt Vonnegut.
"The best, most sincere writer I've ever read" ~ Kurt Vonnegut
And the work didn't disappoint me much. In fact, most of the works are too good to be cherished for the lifetime.
Breece D'J Pancake was one of those classic writers who killed himself by shotgun, at the verge of becoming a literary celebrity around his locality. The short stories he had managed to write are intense in emotions elaborates mostly about the life and times around West Virginia - the working class people with creased, tainted faces with coal in the mines; old age people with their broken dreams confronting their haunting/nostalgic pasts; the pointlessness of surviving the stark reality and somehow people taking back the concept of meaningful existence for granted.
These works, I can relate more to George Orwell than Kurt Vonnegut, I guess.
"The best, most sincere writer I've ever read" ~ Kurt Vonnegut
And the work didn't disappoint me much. In fact, most of the works are too good to be cherished for the lifetime.
Breece D'J Pancake was one of those classic writers who killed himself by shotgun, at the verge of becoming a literary celebrity around his locality. The short stories he had managed to write are intense in emotions elaborates mostly about the life and times around West Virginia - the working class people with creased, tainted faces with coal in the mines; old age people with their broken dreams confronting their haunting/nostalgic pasts; the pointlessness of surviving the stark reality and somehow people taking back the concept of meaningful existence for granted.
These works, I can relate more to George Orwell than Kurt Vonnegut, I guess.
December 29, 2015
Από τα βιβλία που διαβάζοντάς τα καταλαβαίνω ότι (πρέπει να) είναι πολύ καλά αλλά εμένα δεν με τραβάνε ιδιαίτερα λόγω είτε θεματολογίας είτε ύφους. Στη συγκεκριμένη περίπτωση το ύφος μου άρεσε πολύ, αλλά δεν με προσέλκυσε το θέμα. Δυτική Βιρτζίνια, αγρότες και εργάτες σε ορυχεία, δύσκολη ζωή που σκληραγώγησε και σκλήρυνε τους ανθρώπους, ατμόσφαιρα βγαλμένη από country μουσική ή και από καουμπόικη ταινία και κάτι από τον κόσμο του Μπουκόφσκι. Η μετάφραση εξαιρετική, ειδικά αν λάβει κανείς υπόψη του τη δυσκολία του εγχειρήματος λόγω της συχνής χρήσης τοπικών ιδιωματισμών.
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