I don’t know why I continue to subscribe to McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern. I used to enjoy receiving semi-regular collections of short fiction. The stories were usually interesting and the volumes themselves, whether hardbound or paperback, were always of the highest quality. Unfortunately, ever since around Issue 16, things have been going to shit.
Issue 17 was a packet of faux junk mail rubber-banded together. Yes, there was some quality stuff, but just how am I supposed to store junk mail on my bookshelf? I can’t. I should just throw the damn thing out. When I received Issue 19 this morning, I was pleasantly surprised that it came in a square, fairly book-shaped box. But I soon learned that a book-shaped box does not necessarily indicate the presence of a traditional book. Issue 19 is a cigar box.
Inside the cigar box is a bunch of crap. Pamphlets about the Middle East and how to survive nuclear fallout. Black-and-white postcards. A stapled collection of white 8 1/2 x 11 paper. And George Bush’s dental records. I paid money for this crap? Yes, down at the very bottom there’s a small book containing some stories and a T.C. Boyle novella, but it upsets me that an actual collection of short fiction takes a backseat to a collection of random junk posing as a collection of short fiction.
To make matters worse, I can’t tell just how McSweeney’s expects me to appreciate this collection of junk. Is it retro? Am I supposed to laugh at the silly old-fashioned scaremongering and relate it to the modern scaremongering? Is it satire? Am I supposed to be amused by the authentic mimicry of old-fashioned scaremongering and then relate it to modern scaremongering. And why should I care about George Bush’s dental records? I don’t care about my own teeth, much less the teeth of others.
And why the cigar box? Does McSweeney’s assume that I’m a tobacco addict? For am I not. The only things I’m addicted to are caffeine and pornography. But now, when sexy ladies come to my apartment and see Issue 19 sitting on a bookshelf, they’ll say, “Do you like cigars or other tobacco-based products?” And I’ll say, “No. No I do not.” And they’ll say, “Then why do you have a cigar box on your bookshelf?” And then I’ll say, “It’s actually an issue of a quarterly short fiction journal.” Then they’ll say, “Then why isn’t it a book?” Then I’ll say, “Because they over-emphasise superficial cleverness.” Then they’ll say, “A cigar box really isn’t very clever. Not for a short fiction journal.” And then I’ll say, “There’s a fine line between stupid and clever.” I can never resist a good This Is Spinal Tap reference.
Anyways, I’m very disappointed with Issue 19. I generally enjoy T.C. Boyle, so I’m looking forward to reading his novella, but I doubt it will be great enough to compensate for the rest of the garbage in the cigar box. On my scale of one to five tiny Ludivine Sagniers, I give Issue 19 of McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern one tiny Ludivine Sagnier.
I spent some of my new found disposable income on a McSweeney’s subscription this year. I received my cigar box a couple weeks ago and found the assorted knick-knacks fun enough. I took this to be simulating the experience of finding long-forgotten junk in the attic of your grandma’s house and sifting through it. To paraphrase Bart Simpson from that episode where he writes his name in wet cement, items that seemed mundane 80 years ago are fascinating to us. The artifacts take on greater meaning in light of events which they predated (and where therefore unaffected by.) Except of course, this was all fake. Anyway I found it cute enough. I have gone through the first quarter or so of the stories and haven’t been blown away. The quality of the stories so far is lower than that of the few I’ve read in The Better of McSweeney’s collection (free with my subscription, like a football phone.) Although that first one about a murderous retard in 19th century Louisianna isn’t bad. And Dave Eggers really has his hands full raising his younger brother, so your subscription is really a bit like charity.
Also it is raining like a mother fucker up here. It is a good thing that I live on the high ground because the Merrimack River is swelled and washing out the lowlanders. Also, according to The New York Times, my town’s main sewage line has collapsed. I don’t really know what this means, but it seems like I should probably go out to the store and buy some bottled water. Except it is so yucky outside, and I don’t want everyone to look at me and think “there goes one of those paranoid horders. I bet he purchased several pressurized drums of Mountain Dew in preparation for Y2K.” I’m going to stick because in any case I have a couple 1 liter bottles of Zazz brand lemon-lime seltzer in the fridge.
Seltzer is for spraying, not for drinking. If you drink it all, how will you play wacky pranks? And don’t buy bottled water. That’s a waste of money, as hoarding purposes go. Buy the gallon (or even five gallon, if available) jugs of water . It should be much, much cheaper and since you’d be using it for home purposes, not on-the-go drinking, it’s far less waste. This is, of course, assuming you have clean drinking glasses. I hope weren’t planning to drink that seltzer straight out of the bottle.