She started to take off her uniform shirt, then stopped. ", "Oh God," I said. A good short story collection is meant to be savored and contemplated story by story, not plowed through in hopes of extracting a single tear. The title story, “Drinking Coffee Elsewhere,” was first printed in 2000 in The New Yorker. "That's some heavy stuff," he said. I awoke remembering the expression on her face after I'd finished my dizzying whale lecture. We hosed the dish room, the kitchen, the serving line, sending the water and crud and suds into the drains. ', Upon picking up Drinking Coffee Elsewhere I quickly glanced over a few chapters and soon realized the gem in my hands. "Stand back and spray me.". I spent the entire last part of this book debating in my head whether I was going to be generous and give it three stars, or be honest and stick it with two. Let us know what’s wrong with this preview of, Published Dialogue flows believably into the reader's "ear", turns of phrase are peppery and. she found my hand under the blanket and brought it to her hairline. I thought that that first encounter would be the last of Heidi, but then her head appeared in a window of Linsly-Chit during my Chaucer class. An El Dorado. The worse it looks, the more they say they like it.". Not a shampoo smell. Students played hackeysack in T-shirts and shorts. For this blog post, the story I read from ZZ Packer's book Drinking Coffee Elsewhere, was “Drinking Coffee Elsewhere,” which also shares the same title. The dialog was the first thing that made me fall for this book while the realism behind ZZ Packer’s characterization was the second. Video conference trends for 2021; March 12, 2021. I saw the lemon meringue of her skin, the long bone of her arm as she reached down to clip her toenails. I read it in the Times." When I began reading Drinking Coffee Elsewhere by ZZ Packer, I was taken aback by the power of a good story; the kind of story that gives me a peek into a life I don’t know anything about, the kind of story that surprises me or that makes me stop a moment to contemplate what I’ve just read. She looked at me, eyes steely from trying not to cry. "lead me to it. Every day was the same: I read and smoked outside my aunt's apartment, studying the row of hair salons across the street, where girls in denim cutoffs and tank tops would troop in and come out hours later, a flash of neon nails, coifs the color and sheen of patent leather. Kevin Gable 8/30/10 Engl 1167 Communication Drinking Coffee Elsewhere is a very interesting story that brings up a number of thought-provoking issues in a relatively short format. Thursday night at Atticus. "That's all right." Though it sounded stupid, I felt good saying it. ", "That's all I'm getting. But a short story isn't supposed to be a novel. She was proud that she liked girls, she said when she reached the microphone. ", "There's always Mr. Dick," I said. The words slid from my brain, and knotted in my stomach. This is one of the best short story collections I've ever read--incisive, moving, allowing characters to breathe on the page who often have the best of intentions but whose paths become complicated along the way by the simple fact of their having to navigate a racist, misogynistic world as Black women, and without judging their actions and reactions to their circumstances. Heidi, next to me, clenched my arm in support, but I remained motionless, waiting to see what the frat boy would do. I didn't wear a bra, since I didn't have much to fill one. The remark was not well received. The m.c. Great! she asked. "You're not. Of course, that was the wrong thing to say. But she looked normal. I love the wide array of African American characters she brought to life- different ages, sexes, and lifestyles. I said. Well, I know. He looked up at me as if to ask another question, but he didn't. "My mother is dead." "You don't know. I love her ability to create a sense of place and how her characters fit in that setting. she repeated. The person looked like a boy but sounded like a girl. Need another excuse to treat yourself to a new book this week? Frat boys arrived at the dish-room window, en masse. Or when you think you’re almost done and your reaction is - Oh. ", "It's a gay party," I said, crumpling the card. Is there something more important than both? Heidi asked. I'd expected her to disagree, but she kept touching my hair, her hands passing through it till my scalp tingled. We’d love your help. Then we hosed them again so the solution wouldn't eat holes in our shoes as we left. I unbuckled my belt. Is Brownies one of your favorite short stories. My revolver comment won me a year's worth of psychiatric counselling, weekly meetings with Dean Guest, and—since the parents of the roommate I'd never met weren't too hip on the idea of their Amy sharing a bunk bed with a budding homicidal loony—my very own room. When he called time on our session his cigarette had become one long pole of ash. "I see," I said. In a desert. Born in Chicago, Illinois, she grew up in Atlanta, Georgia and Louisville, Kentucky. My one criticism is that there are maybe 1-2 too many coming of age stories---I found myself more interested in "Every Tongue Shall Confess" and even the Japan-set "Geese" than the New Yorker published "The Ant of the Self," which strikes me as a fairly conventional "our parents are doomed to fail us" story if not for its Million Man March backdrop. Among these are questions of race, identity, and stereotyping. Dina is the main female character. Every other day, right before dinnertime, they'd look in on me, unannounced. If you tried to prize them off, milk, Worcestershire sauce, peas, chunks of bread vomited onto your dish-room uniform. Not only does it lack a single nutrient but it's full of MSG. "ZZ Packer’s Drinking Coffee Elsewhere is taught in creative writing courses across the country and with good reason. "At an angle, so you get at its middle. She closed her suitcase, clicking shut the old-fashioned locks. Now, 16-17 years ago may not qualify as contemporary anymore, but this collection still has, for the most part,that vague, unwilling to commit to any time period in particular, before the smartphone and after the political movements. Z.Z. He kissed me. She was laughing. "How you doing, sista?" I put my hand around her arm and pushed it till her hand made contact. I yelled. Then she ushered me into her bedroom and closed the door. A guy got sick from reheating Chinese noodles, and his son died from it. I’m not sure what the problem was because the use of sarcasm mad. She was first published in Seventeen magazine at the very young age of 19. I imagined I was drinking coffee elsewhere. "Now what? She is a 1990 graduate of Seneca High School, in Louisville, KY. “She did not want to say it, because it made no practical sense, but in the end she went to Japan for the delicate sake cups, resting in her hand like a blossom; she went to Japan for loveliness.”, “freedom is attained only when the ant of the self—that small, blind, crumb-seeking part of ourselves—casts off slavery and its legacy, becoming a huge brave ox.”, Guardian First Book Award Nominee for Also Commended (2004), PEN/Hemingway Foundation Award Nominee (2004), PEN/Faulkner Award for Fiction Nominee (2004), California Book Award for First Fiction (Silver) (2003), Hurston/Wright Legacy Award Nominee for Debut Fiction (2004), Great African American Short Story Collections. I'll be reading and re-reading the stories in this collection for a while and looking forward to her novel in progress...! Outside in the winter air, students were singing carols in their groomed and tailored singing-group voices. But once I imagined Heidi visiting me. A group of short-haired girls in thick black leather jackets, bundled up despite the summer heat, encircled Heidi in a protective fairy ring. 'Drinking Coffee Elsewhere' By Zz Packer. He arched his eyebrows at the word "soirée. I'm a misanthrope. You're up next.". I just started laughing and she kept saying what, what? I chose honesty. ", "No," I said, guiding her back through my door and out into the hallway. Once upon a time, this was a hyped up work indeed. I was across the street, three stories up. Is the telling of the story more important than the voice? "No way," I said. Is this the part where we're both so mad we kiss each other?". "I guess we won't see you till graduation.". As I hefted a stack of glasses through the steamer, she lit up. With penetrating insight, ZZ Packer helps us see the world with a clearer vision. Dr. Raeburn asked again. February 3rd 2004 "I like how it feels right here. Tacos and spirits don't mix. On my ride from the bus station to the campus, I'd barely glimpsed New Haven—a flash of crumpled building here, a trio of straggly kids there. Heidi looked at me, unconvinced. "You know," she said, as we walked through Old Campus, "you've got to stop eating ramen. Now, I did like "Every Tongue Shall Confess" and "Doris is Coming" for their being able to probe an indefinable something of the human psyche without resorting to sensationalisms, but after having gone through this self-consciously "apolitical" text, I feel the author knew that white people would like that second, final-in-the-collection one. I knew how eventually one accustoms oneself to the physical world's lack of sympathy: the buses that still run on time, the kids who still play in the street, the clocks that won't stop ticking for the person who's gone. "The architecture," the dean repeated. Sexy question marks of smoke drifted up to the windows before vanishing. Her eyes turned glossy with new tears. He wore an Exeter T-shirt and his overly elastic expressions resembled a series of facial exercises. ", "That's right," he said, and slipped the cigarette back into the packet. ", "I hate it here, too," she said. There was a speech about aids, with lots of statistics: nothing that seemed to make "coming out" worth it. "We'll pay for your ticket to Vancouver," the dean said. Very good. So weird I could hear the stylus etching its way into the flat vinyl of the record. After one of my meetings with Dr. Raeburn, she was waiting for me outside Health Services, legs crossed, cleaning her fingernails. We got to get something for dinner before your father gets back.". All in all, these left me with the glazed over feeling of watching one too many chaotic action scenes in a movie that I later discovered to have cut out in pre-production a scene implying queer romance. wonderful stories. Maybe I saw his face, maybe it was handsome enough, but what I noticed first, splayed on either side of the bag, were his shoes. Then I had an idea. And lesbians had cats. Open up a library. © 2021 Condé Nast. Suddenly I was hard-bitten and recalcitrant, the kind of kid who took pleasure in sticking pins into cats; the kind who chased down smart kids to spray them with mace. "It keeps the skin radiant.". She also doesn’t seem to know how to wrap a story up. answered the door. She guided my hand. You know whose job that is.". As I touched her hair, it seemed as though I could smell it, too. What are you going to do this time?" The New Yorker may earn a portion of sales from products that are purchased through our site as part of our Affiliate Partnerships with retailers. The dialogue in her writing is sharp and precise, never taking up more space than it needs to. He asked about the revolver at the beginning of my first visit. ", "That constantly saying what one doesn't mean accustoms the mouth to meaningless phrases." Fresh, versatile, and captivating, Drinking Coffee Elsewhere is a striking and unforgettable collection, sure to stand out among the contemporary canon of fiction. You can't scroll through a GR review page without coming across mounds of complaints about how the reviewer "just isn't a short story person" or "can't connect with short stories" or "felt nothing about the stories." We could just take a shower right here. "See that? Heidi leaned over and read it: "Wear Black Leather—the Less, the Better. Compra online o livro Drinking Coffee Elsewhere de na Fnac.pt com portes grátis e 10% desconto para Aderentes FNAC. ", "It's O.K., Cynthia," Heidi said. "What I meant to say," I began again, "is that I don't like anybody. "Plagiarist!" "There's also hepatitis." Heidi and I signed on to work at the Saybrook Dining Hall as dishwashers. Probably Heidi has few friends and... Dr. Raeburn. I imagined I was drinking coffee elsewhere. Packer has been around for over a decade, but I'd never even heard of her until recently. I didn't know whether she was confused or delighted, but she picked up the squirt gun and sprayed me. Somewhere where no one comes in for books. Rather, it reads as a deep longing for deliverance to a better existence. I continued walking, a little stunned. "I mean, really, psych-ward flipped. ", "You want to know if I've ever had a boyfriend?" I'd been given milk to settle my stomach; I'd pretended it was coffee. These are certainly accomplished short fictions, literary in the sense that their plots are asymmetical in interesting ways, many ending with codas that introduce ambiguity instead of wrapping up the drama. She swatted me with her free hand. Then the person began to sob, and I heard a back slump against the door. It seemed straightforward, but then I learned better. Heidi went to Vancouver for her mother's funeral. One more story! "A revolver?" "That's a guy's name," I said. Clear amniotic fluid coated the can of cinnamon rolls. I think Dina choosing to be revolver emphasizes that she likes to being alone. "I don't know. Rearranging that bag, it almost gone to slip, then hefting it back up again. That means I never have to go to Commons. "Who knows?" Some Arabic country where I'd sit in a tented café and be more than happy to don a veil. ", "You are so lame. Dr. Raeburn said, flipping through a manila folder. We guiltily read mysteries and "Clan of the Cave Bear," then immediately threw them away. I left his office, walking quickly down the corridor, afraid to look back. Um, what did I think of this? Aren't you a lesbian?". We spent the first ten minutes discussing the Iliad, and whether or not the text actually states that Achilles had been dipped in the River Styx. In my group we played heady, frustrating games for smart people. "I don't have anyone to talk to!" Dina thinks Heidi sleeps with them. I think it's the architecture.". She looked at me as though she'd expected this sort of answer and didn't know why she'd asked in the first place. "Open up a psych clinic. Each time you reheat it, you're killing good bacteria, which then can't keep the bad bacteria in check. He lit one cigarette off another. It was a fall day, and I walked for blocks. I'd hooked on to that one word, pretending. "My father was a dick and my mother seemed to like him. Collections of this quality are extremely rare; ZZ Packer is an incredibly talented writer. In the title story, a self-destructive Yale student shuts herself off from a potential ally/friend with whom she has something in common (the death of a mother), leading to a devastating moment of indifference that ruins their connection. I slept feeling as though Dr. Raeburn had attached electrodes to my head, willing into my mind a dream about my mother. ", "Yes," I said. A sex change? I didn't smoke, but Heidi had begun to, because she thought it would help her lose weight. Combine that with being assigned one or two of the short stories in one of my classes during my last and most beloved year of undergrad, add in my own "diversity" sensitivities, and you have a recipe for my choosing to read this. She shuddered, disgusted. It was sacrifice time. I imagined how the college must have looked when it was founded, when most of the students owned slaves. Then a freshman counsellor made everyone play Trust. ", "It's all cool, it's all cool," the counsellor said. I sat there, waiting to see how long it would be before she blinked again. I've heard a lot of criticism about this book, so I put off reading it. These are certainly accomplished short fictions, literary in the sense that their plots are asymmetical in interesting ways, many ending with codas that introduce ambiguity instead of wrapping up the drama. I was also impressed with the diverse array of characters and settings presented in each of these stories. Not that I understood the black people at Yale. She seemed thinner and meaner. "We'll find enough change here. Read it for tfa book club (aka three tfa friends drink a beer together monthly to talk about great literature by women of color). It isn't some perfect masterpiece and (of course) some stories grabbed me more than others, but it's good. Not denial in the strictest sense, nor is it escapism. Well, it's a great example of why I hate short stories – when they're bad I wonder why I bothered, and when they're good I can't understand why the author only gave me such a tiny tease. We'd already searched the couch for money the previous week, and I knew there'd be nothing now, but I began to push my fingers into the couch's boniest corners, pretending that it was only a matter of time before I'd find some change or a lost watch or an earring. "Slurp, slurp. Are you? "I like your hair," she told me, touching it through the darkness. She likes Shirley Jackson-ish main characters: young people who live too much in their own heads, socially-awkward, alternating between remaining passively and resentfully where they are and impulsively jumping into situations that they then don’t know how to extricate themselves from. Then the women spoke. By the second week, I had made a point of sitting in a chair in front of the door, just when I expected a counsellor to pop her head around. "I think that you are having a crisis of identity," he said. "Well," I said, "maybe I meant it at the time." Her response was to nod politely at the perilous elaborateness of it all; to nod in the knowledge that she would never be able to get where she wanted to go. So I told him about the boy with the nice shoes. "No, Dina. He looked down at his sweater. "How do you feel about Dad?" It would be like him to trot after me, his navy blazer flapping, just to eke the truth out of me. "Good, good, good!". I wondered how to explain that if death is unavoidable it should be quick and painless. In the title story, Dina the main character copes with her challenges by drinking coffee while imagining herself in a different place. I didn't like going to the Super Fresh two blocks away from my house, plunking government food stamps into the hands of the cashiers. she said. ", "I watched you carry them groceries out that store, then you look around, like you're lost, but like you liked being lost, then you walk down the sidewalk for blocks and blocks. Not at all," he said, sounding as if he were telling a subtle joke. You never kissed anyone. And don't call me insane. "Stop me if I wax Platonic," he said. I don't think you're gay.". I loved it. "A crush on a male teacher, a crush on a dog, for heaven's sake. There would be no psychiatrists or deans. She could not have seen me. The material on this site may not be reproduced, distributed, transmitted, cached or otherwise used, except with the prior written permission of Condé Nast. She continued to cry, but it seemed to have grown so silent in my room I wondered if I could hear the numbers change on my digital clock. Shortly after getting my first D, I also received the first knock on my door. One game appeared to be charades reinterpreted by existentialists; another involved listening to rocks. Another said nothing at all: she appeared at the microphone accompanied by a woman who began cutting off her waist-length, bleached-blond hair. I took off my shoes and hung my clothes on the stepladder. ", "O.K." One more story - instead of - Oh! She folded a polka-dotted T-shirt that was wrong for any occasion. I was laughing and then I saw she was so—", She didn't finish. Not necessarily a relationship.". We held squirt guns in one hand and used the other to douse the floors with the standard-issue, eye-burning cleaning solution. I'd be visiting her at some vague time in the future, deliberately vague, for people like me, who realign past events to suit themselves. When I returned, to a sleepy, tree-scented spring, a group of students were holding what was called "Coming Out Day." Please feel free to explore our collected thoughts, as well as to leave your own on our comments page. I'm going out with Mr. Dick. The characters are absolutely true to life, their situations real and immediate in a way that makes me feel that Packer lived these things and these people - if not personally, then through people she knows well. Drinking Coffee Elsewhere Analysis 1) Yes, she is having a crisis of identity, that crisis is that she is pretending to not like no one but the truth is that she is not sure if she is gay or straight. After having done so, the usual spiel of my not being a short story person, plus apologies for reading a Woolf collection practically just before this, plus some other disinclinations on my part, and you have my unfortunately frequent reaction to contemporary works that are praised to the heavens. She had just recited a Frank O'Hara poem as though she'd thought it up herself. On Greenmount Avenue you could read schoolbooks—that was understandable. I could also hear my mother saying that this is what happens when you've been around white people: things get weird. I told him about that day in Commons, Heidi's plan to go on a date with Mr. Dick, and the invitation we'd been given to the gay party.