Shirley Jackson's "The Lottery": A Little Horror Goes a Long Way

This week I had a chance to reread Shirley Jackson's masterful short story, "The Lottery," and to introduce it to a young friend who had never read it before. What a treat that was! I first read it as a teen and carried that chilled, I-can't-believe-what-I-just-read feeling with me for a long time. It was a thrill to read it again. (If you've never read "The Lottery," go here and read it. Then come back. I don't want to spoil any surprises.)

"The Lottery" was first published in The New Yorker in 1948. Although it is considered a classic today, at the time it was widely reviled--to the surprise of both Shirley Jackson and The New Yorker--and was even banned in South Africa. Many readers wrote in to complain about it, and some even canceled their subscriptions. Jackson herself said about it, "Explaining just what I had hoped the story to say is very difficult. I suppose, I hoped, by setting a particularly brutal ancient rite in the present and in my own village to shock the story's readers with a graphic dramatization of the pointless violence and general inhumanity in their own lives."

In spite of the initial bad press, "The Lottery" endures to this day as an example of powerful storytelling. No study of the American short story is complete without it.

Why did such a simple story have such an explosive impact? After setting up a cozy, small-town, pastoral scene, it then punches the reader in the stomach with a portrayal of group-think and conformity run amok. Written in a detached, almost journalistic voice, it's a disturbing story, and many readers don't like to be disturbed.

Yes, it's a horrifying story. But what struck me on this reading was how non-graphic it is. Most of the story consists of a description of a small, peaceful New England village and its inhabitants: farmers, small-business owners, housewives, children, all interacting in ordinary ways. As long as anyone remembers, the town has held an annual lottery, as have neighboring towns. Suspense builds as the lottery process unfolds. But when the ending comes, we aren't shown blood or made to witness the result. We are left to our imagination which, as it turns out, does a fine job of scaring us to bits.

Some of today's writers could take a lesson from "The Lottery." It's not always necessary to depict violence in excruciating detail in order to shock or to drive home the point that something terrible has happened. Sometimes just a hint, a suggestion, is enough.

There's a saying in the theater that the more an actor weeps onstage, the less the audience will feel the need to. But an actor who stops on the brink of emotion, who chokes it back, whose voice quavers with unshed tears, will have them crying in the dark in no time. It seems to me that the same goes for books.

The author who lays every grim detail out in the open will not have as powerful effect on the reader's emotions as the author who merely lights the imagination's fuse and then stands back to watch it burn.

What do you think?

Do you remember a short story that affected you deeply? What was it, and how did it make you feel?

Short Stories: The Literary Version of "We're Not Short, We're 'Fun Size'"

Lately I've rediscovered the joy of the short story. I've been reading a collection that I checked out of the library on a whim called Great American Short Stories: O. Henry Memorial Prize Winning Stories, 1919-1934.

It's been said that the early twentieth century was the golden age of the short story. Nearly every magazine, from the obscure to the most widely read, used to contain a short story, sometimes more than one. In recent decades, many magazines have stopped publishing short fiction. I don't know why--maybe it's a combination of changing demographics, a thirst for celebrity gossip, and a practical mindset that seeks "just the facts" in a how-to article or expose. Too bad, because I think the reading public would be enriched by a regular infusion of fiction.

Here's what I most enjoy about short stories:

*They can be read in one go--maybe two at most. I'm often tempted to read a novel in great gulping waves, either to find out what happens next or merely to reach "The End" and call it done. A well-written short story can be read through once, twice, three times, with new insights, details, and turns of phrase appearing on each pass. 

*The author of a short story is forced to write succinctly, to squeeze the most out of every word. That economy of language makes it both a pleasure to read and a lesson in how to make music with words and phrases.

*I find that short stories often pack a greater emotional whallop than novels. I'm not sure why this might be. It seems counterintuitive, but with less space to build backstory and no room at all for tangents, the reader's focus is undiluted on anything but the author's intended one-two punch.

Here are just a few of my current favorites:

The Waltz and Big Blonde, both by Dorothy Parker. One story is funny, the other's sad. In each case, Parker's trademark rapier wit shines through.

An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge by Ambrose Bierce. I first saw a film version of this story in high school. The memory still haunts me years later. A story of similar mood that affected me deeply is A Trip to Czardis by Edwin Granberry.

The Lottery by Shirley Jackson. A classic bone-chiller.

White as Snow by Kay Boyle. An tale of grace and dignity in the Jim Crow era.

If you'd like to take a crack at writing short stories, or to refine the ones you've already written, I recommend The Handbook of Short Story Writing, Volume II.

Do you prefer to read short stories or novels? Why? If you enjoy short stories, what are some of your favorites?