The Lovely Troubled Daughters of Our Old Crowd by John Updike

White Picket Dreams

Updike often walks a fine line between urban poet and a writer whose masculine reflections on gender can sometimes be problemtic. The Lovely Troubled Daughters of Our Old Crowd is no exception. While the undertones of toxic masculinity are present, they are not so overbearing as to detract from the story’s more compelling elements. The narrator is fixated on the unmarried daughters of his old friends, their singleness seemingly a quiet disruption of the expected social order. This unsettling preoccupation is established immediately in the story’s opening line:

|"Why don’t they get married? You see them around town, getting older, little spinsters already, pedalling bicycles to their local jobs or walking up the hill by the rocks with books in their arms."|

Updike’s prose is simple yet deeply evocative. The phrase "little spinsters already" carries an air of condescension, but it is softened by the gentle, almost cinematic imagery of these women navigating their small-town lives. The narrator’s bewilderment suggests an inability or an unwillingness to comprehend how shifting social norms have allowed this younger generation to step outside the traditional path.

As is typical of Updike, the story unfolds in a fluid, almost dreamlike fashion consisting of flashbacks, poetic observations, and finely wrought details that breathe life into the past. The passage of time becomes the story’s undercurrent, shaping the narrator’s perceptions and reinforcing the contrast between nostalgia and present-day reality. This is encapsulated beautifully in one of the story’s most poignant reflections:

|"We were all so young, parents and children, learning it all together—how to grow up, how to deal with time—is what you realize now."|

Updike’s literary talents are apparent in his ability to render nostalgia not as a sentimental indulgence but as a force that both illuminates and distorts. His prose shimmers with an aching beauty, allowing even the most mundane moments to take on an almost sacred weight. And yet, for all its elegance, the story does not fully captivate in the way that some of his best works do. The thematic undercurrents are intriguing enough, but even when the storytelling falters, Updike’s gift for language ensures that every sentence is a pleasure to read. 

You can read this story HERE.

Who Am I This Time? by Kurt Vonnegut

Stellaaaaaaa!!!

Kurt Vonnegut takes us on a quirky little detour into the world of small-town theater in North Crawford. Our protagonist, an amateur director, is struggling to cast the role of Stella in A Streetcar Named Desire. During a chance encounter, he meets a phone operator with untapped acting potential and encourages her to audition.  The obvious choice for the famous Brando role will go to Harry Nash, the local hardware clerk and resident thespian.

At first, our new Stella fumbles, but once Harry steps in, sparks fly—on stage, at least. What follows is a love story that feels a bit forced, as the starry-eyed phone operator tries to melt the icy exterior of the emotionally unavailable Harry. Thanks to the magic of theater and power of art, she gets closer to him than any woman before. This story is a bit more subdued compared to Vonnegut’s usual sharp satire. The romance might feel a little contrived, but somehow, it still works, even if the narrative doesn’t really amount to much in the end.

You can read this story HERE.

Troll Bridge by Terry Pratchett

Trip, trap, trip, trap!

Here is another pick from Levar Burton Reads. 

Terry Pratchett has a knack for poking fun at fantasy tropes in his stories and Troll Bridge is no exception. This time around, he sets his sights on the wandering barbarian archetype—but not the usual brawny, brainless brute on a quest for blood and glory. Well… sort of. Our hero does set out on an adventure, talking horse in tow, determined to cement his legacy in bardic songs by slaying a troll under a bridge.

In classic Pratchett fashion, things quickly take a turn for the ridiculous. Instead of a fierce, earth-shaking battle of steel and stone, our battle-hardened barbarian finds himself face-to-face with… an enthusiastic fan. The troll under the bridge isn’t looking for a fight; he’s looking for an autograph. Normally, trolls demand a toll for safe passage, but there’s just one problem—nobody’s crossed his rickety old bridge in years. The poor guy is down on his luck, struggling to make ends meet, and barely scraping by to support his family. It’s less terrifying bridge guardian and more “underpaid toll booth operator waiting for customers who never show up.

Surprisingly, the barbarian finds himself sympathizing with the troll’s plight. After all, both of them are relics of a world that’s moving on without them. By helping out the troll with his financial troubles as opposed to killing him, they can continue fulfilling their expected fantasy roles. Pratchett has a lot of fun in his retelling of The Three Billy Goats Gruff fairy tale but with his signature absurdity. Yet, beneath all the humor, irony, and parody lies a surprisingly poignant story. As the world shifts away from magic and myth, even the most legendary heroes risk fading into obscurity. It’s a bittersweet reminder that with the inevitable passage of time, even famous barbarians with talking horses will be forgotten.

On the Banks of the River Lex by N.K. Jemisin

Humanity is gone. Starbucks is back. Even Death is confused.

On the Banks of the River Lex by N.K. Jemisin boasts a fantastic premise and some truly rich world-building. Unfortunately, the story itself isn't quite on par. Even though I just read this, it’s already slipping from my memory, which isn’t exactly a great sign.

The setup is undeniably cool: humanity is long gone, leaving behind only forgotten gods, mythical creatures, and, apparently, the undying spirit of capitalism (yes, there’s a whole scene about Starbucks reopening). At the heart of it all is Death—literally—who wanders through an empty New York City like an aimless goth kid in a world with no Hot Topic. The story tries to be a poetic meditation on mortality, but the execution is a bit hit-or-miss.

During one of his excursions, Death encounters a surprisingly resilient octopus that seems to rekindle his faith in life’s ability to endure and adapt. Honestly, I found myself rooting for the octopus more than anything else. In the end, the atmosphere and concept shine, but the narrative doesn’t quite leave a lasting impact. Even though this was disapppointing, I am still excited to read more stories from Jemisin's collection. 

Mr. McCaslin by Peter S. Beagle

Cerberus without three heads.

LeVar Burton has a strong track record when it comes to selecting engaging short stories for his podcast, and I would certainly place Mr. McCaslin by Peter S. Beagle into that category. Set in 1950s New York, the story is steeped in nostalgia, feeling almost semi-autobiographical as it paints a poignant coming-of-age tale infused with Irish folklore, the supernatural, and a touch of magical realism.

The young narrator and his friends form an unexpected bond with the titular Mr. McCaslin, an elderly resident of their apartment building, who approaches them with a peculiar request: he needs their help to stave off a dog from the underworld—an entity that has haunted his family for generations as an omen of impending death. The stakes are deceptively simple: he isn’t asking for a miracle, just a few more days to settle his affairs, particularly to write a final letter to his estranged daughter. This small but deeply human request adds an emotional weight to the story, making it as much about regret and reconciliation as it is about supernatural encounters.

The presence of the spectral hound heightens the tension while reinforcing the story’s themes of fate, inevitability and the loss of childhood. Yet, the children's involvement introduces an element of innocence and defiance against forces beyond their understanding. Beagle effectvely balances the eerie and the heartfelt, capturing the way childhood wonder often blurs the line between myth and reality. The contrast between youthful idealism and the sobering weight of mortality is beautifully executed, making the story both haunting and emotionally resonant.

Prior to this story, my only exposure to Peter S. Beagle’s work was The Last Unicorn, widely regarded as a classic of children’s literature. Mr. McCaslin further cements his reputation as a gifted writer, seamlessly blending the fantastical with the the deeply personal. 

Lovers of Their Time by William Trevor

The title is very apropos since "Lovers of Their Time" attempts to capture the zeitgeist of the 1960's, chronicling the misfortunues of conservative monogomy that was starting to feel outdated. Social attitudes toward love and marriage were shifting, though for modern readers, this transformation might not seem all that groundbreaking. Ironically, the story feels quite outdated, which could be intentional by the author. 

As a man in his 40's, the protagonist finds himself in the throes of a mid-life crisis. Bored with his wife and job as a travel agent, he longs for excitement and ends up falling passionately in love with a much younger woman. Their affair unfolds in the usual fashion, him being the csonservative and cowardly husband unable to divorce his wife whereas she is portrayed as the sexually liberal woman. Worried about being caught, he discovers a fancy hotel conveniently located near a train station. This is a total game changer because sneaking around gets a whole lot easier. Over several years, the couple resorts to meeting in the hotel's abandoned washroom to consecrate their carnal lust. Perhaps security was more lax in the '60s, but it's baffling that no one ever caught them for years.

Whether intentional or not, the story leans heavily into cliché, filled with platudinous dialogue and the well-worn beats of an ill-fated romance. The contrived nature of their relationship robs the story of any poignancy and despite the supposed passion, everything just feels incessantly dull. Don't even get me started on the terrible ending that reaffirms the patriarchy. Given William Trevor’s reputation as a master of the short story, I can only hope this one is an exception rather than the rule.

First Love by Isaac Babel

The Cossacks are coming!

The title of Isaac Babel’s First Love is cruelly misleading because there is absolutely nothing innocent or romantic about this story. Instead of an sweet tale of youthful infatuation, we are presented with a bleak and harrowing account of Jewish persecution in early 20th-century Russia. The protagonist, a 10-year-old boy, develops a crush—maybe even love—for the older woman next door, but their connection is not built on romance; it’s built on survival. She is sheltering his family, hiding them from Russian authorities who are imprisoning Jews on false pretenses or murdering them outright.

Babel’s prose is intentionally chaotic, reflecting the boy's overwhelming fear and confusion of living in a world where safety is an illusion. There are moments where you can feel the protagonist trying to hold onto something hopeful (his feelings for this woman?) but any sense of comfort is fleeting. He is too young to fully comprehend what is happening around him, but he knows enough to feel the dread, to sense the violence lurking just outside the walls of his fragile refuge.

If you’re looking for a feel-good love story, look elsewhere. This is not a tale of passion or happiness; it is a story of displacement, fear, and the heartbreaking realization that childhood does not grant immunity from suffering. The ending does not bring closure or relief—just the suffocating weight of a world that is both cruel and indifferent.

And then there’s the tragedy of Isaac Babel himself. The fact that his works have survived at all feels like a miracle, considering his own horrific fate. Some sources claim he was executed during Stalin’s purges, while others suggest he perished in Auschwitz. Either way, his life—like his writing—was marked by oppression, injustice, and profound sorrow. Reading First Love in that context makes it even more devastating. It’s not just a story about history’s cruelty; it’s a reflection of the author’s own doomed existence.

Punch, Brothers, Punch! by Mark Twain

Punch in the presence of the passenjare!

Punch, Brothers, Punch! is a delightfully wacky satire that comedically critiques the way catchy marketing and brainwashing worm their way into our heads. Reading this made me want to read more works by Twain, since, he's another one of those popular American authors that I somehow managed to avoid. Much to my embarrassment, I once started Huckleberry Finn but never finished it. Maybe one of these days…

What makes this story even funnier is how eerily relevant it feels today. We live in the digital age where TikTok trends, instagram reels, YouTube influencers, viral ads, and social media take over our brains whether we like it or not. Twain was certainly ahead of his time. Here, our poor protagonist Mark reads a catchy railroad jingle in a newspaper ad, and before he knows it, the tune hijacks his entire consciousness. He can’t think straight, can’t hold a normal conversation, and ends up blurting out the words at random—leading to some great comedic moments. Ironically, the only way to free himself is to pass the ailment onto someone else, which ends up being his unsuspecting friend. Now that's what I would call a successful advertising campaign!

Twain imbues the story with just the right amount of absurdity without going completely off the rails (pun intended). The meta-fictional elements add to the fun, and Twain’s signature wit keeps the story lighthearted even as he scoffs at the way we fall victim to repetitive nonsense. It’s goofy, clever, and ridiculously enjoyable—just like good satire should be.

When it Changed by Joanna Russ

No flex zone! No flex zone!

Joanna Russ’ When It Changed is an unapologetically feminist twist on the classic first-contact narrative, and it doesn’t waste any time making its stance clear: men are the worst, and the patriarchy needs to go! This 1970s sci-fi short story remains highly anthologized, and for good reason—it’s a thought-provoking examination of gender, identity politics, and autonomy, all set against the backdrop of Whileaway, an all-female utopia where men have been extinct for centuries. 

And you know what? The women of Whileaway didn’t just survive without men—they thrived. Society flourished, technology advanced, and they built a world free from male oppression that once held them back. Relationships, love, and even family structures evolved, with women partnering with each other, raising children, and continuing the human race through advanced reproductive technology. The story subtly queers traditional notions of gender and sexuality, presenting a society where heterosexuality itself has become obsolete—until, of course, the men come back to ruin everything.

Enter the spaceship carrying these so-called "apes with human faces" and bodies "heavy as draft horses"—a perfect encapsulation of how alien and unwelcome men have become in this world. Their arrival isn’t just a disruption; it’s a threat of colonization, a harbinger of regression. The men show up expecting to be greeted as saviors, only to find that—oops!—they’re completely unnecessary. The women of Whileaway don’t swoon, don’t submit, and certainly don’t see their return as some grand restoration of balance. It’s a brilliant reversal of the classic sci-fi trope where male explorers “discover” alien worlds and impose their will. Here, the so-called invaders are the ones being sized up, dismissed, questioned and ultimately seen as relics of a past best left behind. The women of Whileaway have been doing just fine without them, thank you very much.

When It Changed is often considered a feminist sci-fi classic, and perhaps such a claim holds some merit. With its playful yet scathing critique of gender norms and power dynamics, the story still resonates today—maybe even more than ever. Sure, Russ’ politics are blunt (subtlety is not the goal here), but I suppose that’s why it has resonated with so many readers since it's publication over 50 years ago. It’s radical, defiant, and deeply queer—not just in its depiction of female relationships, but in its radical rejection of patriarchal structures altogether. It forces us to ask: what does gender really mean when one half of the binary is removed? And more importantly, what would a society look like if it were built entirely outside the shadow of male dominance? Russ gives us a glimpse—and while it may appear utopian, it’s also a challenge that can quickly turn dystopian when men remain in roles of power. 

Despite all these positive attributes, I can appreciate the story's political discourse but the actual story itself wasn't particularly engaging. The narrative felt more like a vehicle for its message rather than an immersive experience. While I respect its significance in feminist science fiction, I found myself more interested in the ideas it presented than the characters or plot itself.