This story can be found in the October 5, 2015 issue of The New Yorker.
This review can also be found at The Mookse and the Gripes.
First Line: "Mark parked his Vespa beside three others outside Yasmin's school, in Manchester, where it would be safe."
Last Line: "He braked to let it go by, then changed his mind, accelerated, and drove straight on past their house, up the slope beyond the village, then on toward the wooded hills and the horizon."
Really!?
Now, everyone knows I am annoyingly cheerful and supportive
of authors’ stories, but this one drove me nuts! But as I am not a lamabaster by nature, I
will limit myself to five points.
1. The title is just two words about an object in
the story, albeit a central object, but without creativity and excitement for
the tale at hand.
2. The writing feels like a well-proofread first or
second draft. I had to check to see who
the author was and if he had anything else to his credit warranting a New
Yorker placement. The story does not
unfold. It tumbles and jerks.
3. The characters are clichés – well-drawn clichés,
but still… Exotic adolescent lover,
privileged young man, distant parents in the midst of divorce, something with
an engine that gives a young man his freedom (usually a car, but…) the bullheaded
police officer… Even down to the female nude model in Mark’s art class. And why is she even there? She doesn’t need to be. Sure, there are connections made to her
feelings and Mark’s later, but other methods could have been used. Or at the very least, this choice could have
been more skillful.
4. The themes are universal. But here they are forced and tried into a
very predictable and clumsy story.
Details abound, but they seem out of sync, heavy, trite. Even reading the interview with Parks was
like listening to a high school English class – adolescence feeling quite
brilliant.
5. I didn’t care about Vespas before reading this
story and I care even less now.
Photo credit: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/b/b8/PerthVespa.jpg/220px-PerthVespa.jpg
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