Experimental Short Fiction

Introduction

The term experimental short fiction refers to a type of work shorter than a novel that defies the typical structure and development as may be observed in more traditional literary works. Elements found in conventional fiction paradigms—such as Freytag's pyramid: exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, and resolution—might not be present or at least not in the order readers would expect to find them.

Experimental fiction has more in common with visual art and avant-garde film, in which surrealistic elements are suddenly forced into the viewers' perspective without any contextual explanation for their presence. In experimental fiction, characters tend to exist in their reality instead of the reality that is more familiar to readers. The most important difference between experimental fiction and literary fiction is that the reader's role is downplayed in experimental work, which functions within the realm of its reality and not within the limitations that reality-based—literary—fiction does.

Experimental fiction should be distinct from the inability of writers to create works that adhere to the guidelines of traditional literary standards. Sometimes, writers who are considered mainstream create works that can be regarded as experimental.

Structure

Its typical adherence to a nonlinear plot structure is integral to experimental short fiction. Even in works that seem to follow a linear path from beginning to end, scenes within scenes are often created, a stylistic technique that supports experimental fiction's surrealistic rather than literary aims.

In addition to plot and structure, there is character development. The classic setup of a piece of literary short fiction should allow readers to determine what kind of narrator is telling the story. Readers begin to discern if they are being told facts from the perspective of a reliable or unreliable narrator. If the narrator is the latter, then the reader must identify elements in other characters, plot, and structure to get the complete story. This way, literary fiction is not only in the world the writer created but also in the world of the reader. However, like its visual counterparts, experimental short fiction creates its context. It uses the lack of boundaries between its elements to tell the story it is intended to convey and often to provide a socio-cultural critique.

History

Because of its roots in surrealism, experimental short fiction continues to demonstrate elements of the style. Commonly, readers will find realities—usually in the form of plot points—sequentially near one another that seemingly do not belong. This is a trope derived from the surrealistic tradition of juxtaposition of disparate realities. In other instances, there will be moments when parts of the body will perform sensory acts that such an organ or appendage should not be able to do—this is derived from possibly more than one surrealist development but could be attributed to the exquisite corpse as well, in which a body, as a work of art, is put together in ways that are "right" to the artist but cannot be considered literal representations of human corporeality. This further demonstrates the tendency of experimental works of short fiction to have all the elements of traditional short fiction, but their arrangement and function will defy readers' expectations.

Like any work of fiction, experimental fiction takes many forms on the printed page. Some works meet readers' expectations of paragraph development and dialogue structure, while others use the forms found in scientific texts, lists, or other genres. In addition, because experimental short fiction is fiction, the various examples will use theme, figurative language, subtext, and other elements as chosen by individual authors.

Perhaps as an acknowledgment of the form's surrealistic beginnings, contemporary experimental short fiction is often used to protest against societal ills. Surrealism developed as a reaction to the rationality that caused World War I and II. After World War II, surrealism was applied not only to visual art but also to film, poetry, and fiction

John Barth

The Book of Ten Nights and a Night (2004) is a collection of previously published stories that illustrates experimental fiction's ability to create narrative frames through unconventional narrators, structure, and flexible language. There are hints of the medieval classic Decameron: O, Prencipe Galeotto (1349-1351; The Decameron, 1620) as the narrator and muse discuss the current works' potential likeness to it, a connection is made between an element of 1980's computer jargon and the name of the collection's muse. Throughout, a mix of imagination and reality, interjections by the narrator and the muse, and authentic language versus the resulting cut-up or collage made by bringing terms from other stories into subsequent ones prevent the work from becoming limited by the natural world against which it was created. The central issue of John Barth'sThe Book of Ten Nights and a Night is whether or not it should be permitted to indulge in irrelevant arts, such as fiction writing, in the aftermath of a tragedy, particularly that of September 11, 2001.

The eleven stories in the book take several forms: Stories within stories, extended dialogue between a narrator and a muse, who eventually mock the actual author, Barth himself, and even a musical score that accompanies what Barth titles "The Invocation." Additionally, during the invocation, readers are prepared, so to speak, for the unconventional style of the works that follow. The muse is WYSIWYG, meaning "What You See Is What You Get," which refers to personal computer lingo of the 1980s, describing how text that appears on the computer screen would look the same once printed. The metaphor drawn is that the muse WYSIWYG represents the nonlinear thought process of the author, and, thus, thoughts appear on the page of the story collection just as they did in the writer's head.

Accompanying WYSIWYG is Graybeard, the collection's "true" narrator. Through the unconventional use of punctuation and typefaces, readers can distinguish when a passage is part of the story and when it is an exchange between Graybeard and WYSIWYG.

Because of the work's experimental nature, elements are constantly interjected outside of each story's frame of reference. Unlike traditional fiction, which seeks to remove obvious traces of the author's control, experimental fiction, especially that of Barth, calls attention to the author, both what he has created in terms of content and whom he has chosen to tell it, in this case, the narrator and the muse.

While the setup of the stories—as individual works and as parts of a whole—is experimental, in terms of theme, there is a commonality with traditional fiction. Barth presents stories about aging, human relationships—biographical notes about the author woven into the stories—time, and possibility. An example of Barth's almost traditional rendering is the third-night story, "Dead Cat, Floating Boy." The precursor to the story is another exchange between Graybeard and the muse. The two constant fictional characters are given human characteristics and seemingly play the alternating roles of close friends or old lovers. For instance, their discussions frequently revolve around wine. Readers learn that the muse does not wish to discuss stories before she has had a bath, and she also prefers to bathe before beginning the "business" of making the author tell his stories. This activity is called "Conversation" and "Intimate Metaphorical Congress." Barth informs readers that when the narrator and muse had finished for the day they released "Author" (Barth), he could spend more time with his wife. The mix of the biographical elements of the passage with the fictive aspects creates a different kind of reality for all parties involved—the writer, the reader, and the text itself.

In addition to including personal elements of the author, the collection is replete with events from recent American history. A page and a half contain references to Ground Zero and the Timothy McVeigh bombing in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, as well as a physical description of the muse. The relationships between the human and almost human characters and the historical context for the writing are all deftly portrayed. This illustrates the flexibility of experimental fiction. In traditional fiction, there is no discussion by characters about the context in which they are being written about, in fact, characters in traditional fiction are not typically depicted as being conscious of the idea that they are characters. Instead, the characters are shown to readers as real people, with no idea that anyone would write about them.

In the example set by Barth, experimental fiction is a consciousness-raising device. By calling attention to various relationships between the writer and his external and internal worlds, Barth answers the questions that he posits at the start of the collection—by having written the work, he answers in the affirmative that it is permissible to write in the aftermath of a national tragedy, and he informs readers that the author is more of a character in his works than perhaps previously realized.

Ben Marcus

The experimental nature of the story collection The Age of Wire and String (1995) is evidenced by Marcus's structure, approach, and language. The work appears to be arranged at first like any other collection of stories. However, at the end of each chapter is a section titled "Terms." Further, the various sections of the book have arguably deceptive titles. When reading sections named after concepts and figures previously understood, the reader might need help connecting the title of the chapter or section and the content in that portion of the book.

The stories of this collection are divided into the following chapters:

• Sleep
• God
• Food
• The House
• Animal
• Weather
• Persons
• The Society

Each portion ends with a glossary, known simply as "Terms." To create this experimental work, Marcus takes stylistic cues from such variable works as religious documents, folktales, and scientific texts. While Marcus does borrow stylistically, he is unique in his use of language. He uses words that already exist at times and applies different meanings to them. At other times, Marcus creates new words to capture the idea he is trying to define adequately. In addition to scientific, religious, and other jargon, Marcus mixes in his biological facts and uses them as the basis of his definitions.

As further evidence of Marcus's postmodern approach, in lieu of an introduction, foreword, or other literary arts convention, Marcus initiates readers to his approach by using a section called "Argument." Similarly, elements of the fantastic and the surreal permeate the work, seemingly applied at random, thus giving the work its experimental feel. The only hints of logic can be found in the names of chapters and the list of terms at the end. In this way, the traditional orienting of readers, by providing context or exposition, is achieved through nontraditional means.

It is as though Marcus is playing word games, and the "games" become more difficult in light of the various "rules" he presents to his readers. Where there seems to be no connection to a larger reality, the information presented is usually biographical. Marcus inserts proper nouns that correspond with facets of his personal history, thus inviting readers to input their realities to understand those of the author.

Elizabeth Graver

The stories in Have You Seen Me? (1991) appear at first to adhere to the expectations of traditional short fiction. Graver provides a rich palette of sensory details that make readers feel as if they are fully engaged with each story's elements. However, unlike traditional fiction, in which readers have to be shown reasons to believe that what the narrator is saying is true, in Graver's experimental works, the various narrators give their views of events. Readers do not have any grounds to determine whether or not they are reliable. The works are separate from any reality known to readers.

Upon closer inspection, however, elements of the grotesque or fantastic are revealed, or, at the very least, traditional elements—those that readers were set up to expect—must be included. In "Around the World," readers get a detailed view of the narrator, Hannah, putting on clothing that belonged to her family members. Readers are shown the narrator's life—her job, her interactions with others—but never learn why the narrator asserts that her family would never ask her to leave the family home. The narrator also wears a back and neck brace—the result of a dancing incident. Readers are left to assume that her physicality impacts how she interacts with other people and interprets facts of the world around her. Her family has gone on vacation and left her behind. On the other hand, she seems proud to be a "mystery" to East Coast neurologists.

The story's title is derived from the name of one of the dances Hannah and a boy named Ian Nisbet performed when her neurological condition developed. In the passage that explains Hannah's past, the description of pain is grotesque, and personification becomes a tool both in illustrating Hannah's perceptiveness and in rendering the brutality of something as innocent as square dancing. In addition, there are hints of surrealism as Hannah feels the pain in her eyes, even though that was not the point of contact, and the entire room moves like a bundle of nerves, even before Hannah can register the pain in her eyes. The expectation is that Hannah's affected body parts—neck and arm—would twitch uncontrollably, not the room she and her dance partner are in, and as a result, the fantastic becomes a reality.

In the title story, Willa—the narrator—is on the cusp of adolescence. On the surface, the story of the narrator and her artist mother is a common one of youthful rebellion. However, a closer read reveals that Willa's mother is overly concerned with the threat of nuclear war and has made enough potato soup to fill dozens of empty milk cartons. The milk cartons bear the photographs—sometimes computer-enhanced—of missing children. Obsessed with the children on the cartons, Willa orders them by age and allows them to "talk" to one another without her mother's knowledge. Willa also will not eat the soup—her mother is forced to take her out for fast food. The realities of Willa and her mother seem disparate in a surrealistic fashion. Willa does not support her mother's causes and will not hang the antinuclear-war posters her mother makes in her room. Instead, she chooses the halcyon images of wild animals to grace her walls. When her mother meets a woman with a blind four-year-old son, Willa babysits the boy and quickly discovers that the boy is not only blind but also has no eyes, yet he has eyelashes. Such a grotesque detail serves as a metaphor for sight. Ironically, the boy is also quite perceptive. When the boy and his mother leave and never return, Willa is dejected. There are no stylistic elements to distort what is happening, as Willa uses plain language. All of the details and the painfully drawn relationship between Willa and her mother point to the fact that the story is about survival: How will a pubescent girl survive without friends, and how long can she pretend that her friends are child images on milk cartons? Then there is survival from the mother's perspective—she uses her obsession with a cause as a protective measure, but there is no proof that it is necessary, and in the process, Willa's life loses quality.

Graver does not shy away from using children as narrators, which is typically considered out of the norm in traditional fiction. Graver uses children and their concepts of truth or honesty to convey problems with the larger world(s) that the children inhabit. Along with other characters who cannot always be depended upon for the truth, using children as narrators constitutes a stylistic risk, an identifying trait of experimental fiction.

In "The Boy Who Fell Forty Feet," the narrator is an unnamed child who, like many children in postmodern society, is left to his own devices. The story usually begins enough by describing a small girl in the boy's French class with whom he has a crush. In the next paragraph, readers learn that the boy is also in love with a boy from his class. The title character's father is ill with an unidentified disease, and the boy's mother is a secretary. The three characters in the family represent or affect the boy's relationship with the truth. The mother forces the boy to visit his father in the hospital, an event that the boy cannot take seriously. Instead of telling his father goodbye at the end of the visit, the boy insists he must use the bathroom. This scene represents the juxtaposition of society's imposed manners against the (natural) desire of the individual. The boy gets his way, and the social critique is nearly complete.

Left alone after school, the boy climbs a scaffolding and, upon reaching the top, lies down on the crooked boards and peers between the slats. Instead of seeing the actual scene in real-time of the story, the boy sees the people in his life: the two love interests and his parents. This is an element of the fantastic, a matter of what is inside the boy, manifesting in a physical vision. In this case, what is internal are pictures of the people he presumably cares about or, because of their proximity, about whom he is forced to think.

The story's problem and social critique climax when, after witnessing a crane accident and being sent away by a police officer when the boy offers to help, the boy ventures into a neighborhood and begins kicking a garbage can, an act that twists his ankle. Physical acts, such as kicking the can and climbing the scaffolding, make the boy aware of his body. When the owner of the garbage can demands an explanation, the boy claims falsely that his father has died. This wins the man's sympathy, and no more is said about the destroyed can. Once the boy's mother returns home, she asks the boy about his bruised body, and he—finally crying—says that he fell forty feet, which is not valid. His mother, while sympathetic, insists that "they" should have taken the boy to the hospital, but she does not take him herself. Ultimately, the boy's father begins to feel better, greatly troubling the boy. This story could be read as a failure of the postmodern family and, by extension, postmodern society, one in which lying goes unquestioned and, in some instances, is rewarded. Cased within the confines of traditional literature, such criticism could appear didactic and offputting. However, in experimental fiction, it seems a natural development in the subtle revelation of plot and character that can occur amid more fantastic, grotesque, or otherwise nontraditional elements.

Bibliography

Barron, Kaelyn. "What Is Experimental Fiction? 10 Books That Bend the Rules." TCK Publishing.com, 2024, www.tckpublishing.com/experimental-fiction. Accessed 21 July 2024.

Cheuse, Alan. "Experimental Fiction At Its Finest—And Funniest." NPR, 24 July 2012, www.npr.org/2012/07/24/156904369/experimental-fiction-at-its-finest-and-funniest. Accessed 21 July 2024.

Domini, John. "Renaissance of the Weird: Experimental Fiction As the New American Normal." LitHub, 25 July 2022, lithub.com/renaissance-of-the-weird-experimental-fiction-as-the-new-american-normal. Accessed 21 July 2024.

Ruland, Richard, and Malcolm Bradbury. From Puritanism to Postmodernism: A History of American Literature. New York, Penguin Books, 1991.

Walker, Michael. “Boyle’s! Greasy Lake' and the Moral Failure of Postmodernism." Studies in Short Fiction vol. 31, Spring, 1994, pp. 247-55.