My Apology by Sam Lipsyte

Yummy banana bread.

In my ongoing attempt to read more contemporary fiction, The New Yorker has been an excellent source for discovering new authors (at least to me). Sam Lipsyte's sharp, absurdist humor and biting satire in My Apology immediately reminded me of Donald Barthelme, though with a bit less postmodern abstraction and a more direct, punchy style. It makes me wonder: did Lipsyte grow up on a steady diet of Barthelme, or is this just a case of two writers tapping into the same weird, satirical frequency? Lipsyte’s humor is packed with snappy quips, absurd contradictions, and the kind of witty dialogue that I think would make Donald Barthelme proud.

My Apology is a comedically dark send-up of 21st century cancel culture, centering on a narrator forced to write an apology letter to his coworkers after some, uh, regrettable office antics—namely, urinating on a colleague’s desk and using offensive language (which is never explicitly revealed). In essence, the entire short story becomes the apology letter, turning the act of forced atonement into a self-reflexive metafictional spiral of frustration and catharsis. 

The narrator is stuck in a doomed attempt to craft a genuine apology while navigating impossible expectations and his superiors won't be satisfied unless it is a confession soaked in total self-flagellation. Every draft he submits is met with rejection, and nobody seems interested in nuance or redemption. He must suffer, end of story.

|"Thing is, I am sorry and I am also not sorry. It’s all so nuanced. The nuance itself is highly nuanced."|

That line pretty much sums up the inherent contradictions and hypocrisy of cancel culture that Lipsyte is satirizing. The performative nature of public apologies and the Kafkaesque absurdity of trying to say exactly the right thing in a political climate where no response will ever be enough. The letter, initially an act of forced penance, gradually morphs into a bitterly funny venting session where the narrator subsequently examines his personal life, failed relationships, and trauma. We learn that he even enjoys baking banana bread.

Are we supposed to sympathize with the narrator or condemn him like everyone else? That’s the beauty of Lipsyte’s satire. The narrator is undeniably flawed, and yeah, peeing on someone’s desk isn’t exactly a minor slip-up, but does he deserve absolute ruin? The story never forces a moral stance on the reader, instead letting us decide: is he a misunderstood victim of mob justice or just an irredeemable office gremlin? Yet, the final paragraph certainly reveals the narrator's stance on the matter but of course, his position is steeped in irony. My Apology is a funny, painfully relevant take on the absurdity of public shaming—and Lipsyte’s sardonic wit makes it quite enjoyable without being overly preachy. 

You can read this story HERE.