The Collected Stories [Hardcover]

Paul Theroux is the kind of writer who is not afraid to go out on a limb. His literary output over the last twenty-five years or so is as diverse and inspired as any other American writer working today. And I'm pleased to say that in this handsome paperback re-issue he seldom disappoints. Take, for example, the almost hallucinogenic vigor of "Dengue Fever". I challenge anyone to read this story once through in a quiet setting and not be haunted by its shadowy, sinuous images a week, a month, or even a year after the initial experience. It is Theroux's turgid depictions of fever, deftly mixed with the not implausible elements of the supernatural, that make this tale a breath-taking excursion into the horrific realm of the subconscious.

Then there is the creepy, nocturnal brilliance of "World's End," in which the narrator of the story becomes the not so subtle victim of his own vanity. The suspense never lets up while steadily building toward a sat! isfying, even shocking ending. Is his wife having an affair while the narrator smugly entertains yet another road trip? The narrator's son, shrewd and tight-lipped, is a wonderfully nuanced portrait of silent anguish and controlled fear, while the timorous image of a kite and the ironic metaphor of "play" are cleverly juxtaposed by Theroux who knows well the value of a ripe Joycean symbol.

My schedule doesn't permit a lot of free time for reading so I randomly picked up Theroux's collected stories from the local library and I must say that the storylines are intriguing and the characters are so believable, you may very well find yourself empathizing with them.

This is a fantastic collection of stories if you have a long commute and need a break from the rubbish on the airwaves.

I picked up The Mosquito Coast by Paul Theroux years ago, and it was the first book I read by which I judged the movie by the book. Through the years came other books, most notably The Old Patagonian Express, which ends where I live, in Argentina. The discussion of Theroux's time with the indomitable Jorge Borges alone was worth the price of the book. When I recently saw Collected Stories at the yearly Buenos Aires Book Fair I quickly picked it up, happily returning to all things Theroux for awhile.
Collected Stories takes us from Malaysia, to Africa, to London, and gives glimpses, almost photo like, of the lives of people Theroux knew, or invented, along the way. So convincing were his embassy stories that I looked up his biography online to see if he actually worked in one. Theroux is often the narrator of his tales, starts strong with a number of good first lines, and to me writes convincingly when his character is a woman. Although the stories vary in quality, the collection shows a master storyteller. The book contains many, many stories, yet for me a general theme stands out.
As I read the book, I began noting the different topics discussed. Theroux deals with affairs, a drinking problem, murder, deceitful friendships, leaving a spouse, deception, a loss of hope, and a resignation of what life has become for the characters. Though not every story was a downer, a human resignation, an inability to resolve life's problems, resonated throughout the book, and I found myself hoping for something nice to happen...to somebody. As well, Theroux has the ability to make interesting the lives of characters whose international lives are really not that interesting. While reading the story The Exile, I came across " ...his reading was vigorous and gave life to what seemed to be little more than spidery monologues about his domestic affairs..."; to me, that line might summarize some of the stories. As I kept reading, I found myself at times doing so because I was committed to finishing the book, rather than being gripped by what I was reading.
I was struck by the final stories, which deal with the courtship, love and marriage of Flora Doming-Duncan and Spencer Monroe Savage. So happy, so content, so growing-together was the couple that I was left with a good feeling and wanted to wish them well as they began a life together and as I closed the book. Yet, following all that I read, the sadness, unrequited hopes and human resignation that had settled into the numerous lives and marriages of those who went before, I realized that in Theroux's world this was probably expecting too much. Was Collected Stories worth it? For a Theroux fan, or for someone wanting short fiction, the answer is yes. But all the while you are aware of a sadness that prevails, a world where honesty is often just another word for resigned acceptance, and you hope you don't find yourself in the pages, no matter how exotic the background.