It is the case that Barbet actively dislikes Morton, whereas Morton is absolutely indifferent to Barbet. Morton acts upon Barbet like a rug that makes you ill, a rug that is your own rug, clean, in good condition, not frayed or stained, but suddenly looking at the rug you are made ill, a wind around the heart, looking at the gray, green, and yellow rug, with its melon-shaped figure, purchased, yes, at Klecksel’s, where the very best recent rugs, V’Soke and the like, are to be found (as well as both Klecksel and Jeri, his girlfriend, yes, even Klecksel has a girlfriend, so bounteous/fortunate are the times, even Klecksel has a girlfriend and the two are always at the symphony, or at the opera, or at the ballet, giving one very odd feelings, in that the person who sells you rugs, whom you regard as a rug person, someone who swims into your ken when rugs are an issue, and then swims out again when the issue has been resolved, must also be regarded as part of a social pair on quite another plane, and not just part of a social pair but part of a set of
new lovers,
God help us all), illness ensues. Morton is a very fine singer, a bass with the opera, where he sings Hunding in “Die Walküre,” Méphistophélès in “La Damnation de Faust,” etc. I find a slightly nasal quality to his singing, but perhaps I am imagining it. He is a handsome fellow, of course, my wife’s self-regard would not allow her to be seen out with anyone who is not a handsome fellow. The nose is quite large but there is, I suppose, no necessary connection between the quite large nose and the slightly nasal quality he brings to Hunding or Méphistophélès or Abul in “Der Barbier von Baghdad,” the last a role in which his comic flair, what is called in the newspaper his comic flair, is employed to great advantage. I have seen him many
times at the opera (which offers something for the eye as opposed to the symphony where one can watch the kettledrums going out of tune) and have found his performances juicy and his comic flair endurable and have chosen him as a member of my new group, an honor he may, of course, decline.
My group will be unlike any existing group, will exist in contradistinction to all existing groups, over against all existing groups, will be in fine an anti-group, given the ethos of our city, the hysterical culture of our city. My new group will contain my wife, that sugarplum, and her friend Morton and a Gypsy girl and a blind man and will take its ethos from the car wash. My new group will march along the boulevards shouting “Let’s go! Let’s go!” with the enthusiasm of the young men at the car wash who are forever shouting “Let’s go! Let’s go!” to inspirit their fellows, if there is a moment of quiet at the car wash someone will take up the cry “Let’s go! Let’s go!” and then others will take up the cry “Let’s go! Let’s go!,” shouting “Let’s go! Let’s go!” over and over, as long as the car wash washes.
This story appeared in
The New Yorker,
December 4, 1971, and is a particularly intriguing example of Barthelme’s tendency to use and reuse material in various ways. “Flying to America” incorporates material first published in “Notes and Comment” in
The New Yorker
(unsigned, June 13, 1970) and reprinted in
The Teachings of Don B.
(1992) as “Many have remarked . . .”. Sections had also been part of “A Film”
(The New Yorker,
September 26, 1970). “A Film” was included in
Sadness
(1972), and then reprinted again in
Forty Stories
(1987) as “The Film.” Some sections not used in “A Film” were resurrected as “Two Hours to Curtain” in
Guilty Pleasures
(1974) and reprinted in
The Teachings of Don B.
(1992), and still others were incorporated into
The Dead Father
(1975). Roughly half of the story has never appeared except in its original form.
First published in
The New Yorker,
June 12, 1971. Reprinted in
Sadness.
First appeared in
The New Yorker,
September 25, 1965. Reprinted in
Unspeakable Practices, Unnatural Acts
(1968).
First appeared in
The New Yorker,
August 31, 1963. Reprinted in
Come Back, Dr. Caligari
(1964).
First appeared as “Alexandria and Henrietta” in
New American Review
12 (1971). Reprinted with significant changes and its new title in
Overnight to Many Distant Cities
(1983).
First published in
Penthouse,
December 1977. It was subsequently published in 1980 in a limited edition of 376 copies by Pressworks, and included Barthelme’s own collages. Sections of “Presents” subsequently appeared as an interchapter in
Overnight to Many Distant Cities,
which itself was reprinted as “A woman seated on a plain wooden chair . . .” in
The Teachings of Don B.
Readers of
Not-Knowing
will recognize that most of one of the later paragraphs was reprinted in that collection as “Bliss . . .” “Presents” in its entirety is previously uncollected.
This story is previously unpublished, and was probably written sometime in the early 1970s. There are two typescript versions of the story, one titled “Among the Beanwoods,” and the other, “The Beanwoods.” The version published here is slightly longer and appears to be the later of the two.
You Are As Brave as Vincent Van Gogh
First appeared in
The New Yorker,
March 18, 1974. Reprinted in
Amateurs
(1976).
First published in
The New Yorker,
October 14, 1974. Reprinted in
Amateurs.
The story appeared in
The New Yorker,
October 21, 1985. It includes some material later incorporated into
Paradise,
which was published late in 1986. Previously uncollected.
The story was published in
Esquire
in August 1986, and was adapted from Barthelme’s novel
Paradise,
then completed and published about a month later. The story is uncollected in this form.
Published in
Fiction
1 (1973). Previously uncollected.
First appeared in
Come Back, Dr. Caligari.
First appeared as “Mouth” in
Paris Review
48 (1969), then under its current title in
City Life
(1970).
First appeared in
New World Writing
20 (1962). Reprinted in
Come Back, Dr. Caligari.
First published in
The New Yorker,
February 12, 1966. Reprinted in
Unspeakable Practices, Unnatural Acts.
First published in
Great Days
(1979).
First appeared in
Harper’s,
December 1973. Reprinted in
Amateurs.
First appeared in
Art and Literature
5 (Summer, 1965). Reprinted in
Come Back, Dr. Caligari.
First appeared in
First Person
1 (Spring/Summer, 1961) as “The Hiding Man.” Reprinted with its current title in
Come Back, Dr. Caligari.
First appeared in
Playboy,
April 1974. Reprinted in
Amateurs.
Published in
The New Yorker,
September 9, 1972. Previously uncollected.
First appeared in
The New Yorker,
October 12, 1963. Reprinted in
Come Back, Dr. Caligari.
Published under the pseudonym “David Reiner” in The University of Houston
Forum
3 (March, 1959). It is, arguably, the first of Barthelme’s published stories. Previously uncollected.
Published in
Viva
1 (March, 1973). Previously uncollected. A fragment of “The Bed” appears in “The Sea of Hesitation.”
First published in
The New Yorker,
August 20, 1971. Reprinted in
Amateurs.
First appeared in
The New Yorker,
July 23, 1973. Previously uncollected.
First appeared in
Contact
10 (June, 1962). Reprinted in
Come Back, Dr. Caligari.
First appeared in the
University of Houston Forum
13 (Winter, 1976). Reprinted in
Great Days.
First appeared in
The New Yorker,
October 21, 1972. Reprinted in
Overnight to Many Distant Cities
(1983).
First appeared in
Great Days.
Manfred
(with Karen Shaw)
In February 1976,
The New York Times Magazine
ran the beginning of a yet unnamed story written by Barthelme. Readers were invited, in Barthelme’s own words, “to complete it in not more than 750 words . . . as an experiment in literary collaboration.” Barthelme hoped that the entries would be “serious, rather than parodies or burlesques.” He added, “I have done the easiest part, the beginning; you are asked to provide the terrifying middle and the subtle, incomparably beautiful ending. God be with you.” The “terrifying middle” and “incomparably beautiful ending” was provided by Karen Shaw, for which she won $250. Barthelme’s beginning encompasses the story’s first three paragraphs, Shaw provides the last eight, and the final version was published in
The New York Times Magazine
on April 18, 1976. It is previously uncollected.
Published in
The New Yorker,
December 30, 1972. Previously uncollected.
This story is previously unpublished. The date of its writing has been impossible to determine with any precision, though it appears to have been written sometime during the middle to late 1970s.
“Pandemonium” was among the stories that Barthelme was working on at the time of his death in 1989. It is probably unfinished, and appears here for the first time.
First appeared in
The New Yorker,
June 20, 1964. Reprinted in
Unspeakable Practices, Unnatural Acts.
First appeared in
The New Yorker,
August 22, 1964. Reprinted in
Unspeakable Practices, Unnatural Acts.
First appeared in
The New Yorker,
November 11, 1972. Reprinted in
Overnight to Many Distant Cities.
First appeared in
The New Yorker,
September 11, 1971. Reprinted in
Overnight to Many Distant Cities.
First published in
The New Yorker,
May 29, 1971. Reprinted in
Sadness.
First appeared in
The New Yorker,
July 15, 1974. Reprinted in
Amateurs.
First appeared in
Genesis West
2 (Fall, 1963). Reprinted in
Come Back, Dr. Caligari.
First appeared in
The New Yorker,
February 20, 1978. Reprinted in
Great Days.
First appeared in
Harper’s Bazaar,
April 1963. It was the lead story in
Come Back, Dr. Caligari.
Published in
The New Yorker,
March 6, 1989, his last story for the magazine. Previously uncollected.
About the Author
D
ONALD
B
ARTHELME
published seventeen books, including
City Life,
one of
Time Magazine’s
Best Books of the Year, and
Sixty Stories,
which was nominated for the National Book Critics Circle Award, the PEN/Faulkner Award, and the Los Angeles Times Book Prize. He was a longtime contributor to
The New Yorker
and a winner of the National Book Award. He was a founder of the University of Houston Creative Writing Program where he taught for many years. He died in July 1989.
About the Editor