The Leap by Donald Barthelme

Sir Patrick Stewart and Sir Ian McKellan in Waiting for Godot.

Donald Barthelme seems to be channeling his inner Samuel Beckett in The Leap, a short story composed entirely of dialogue. We’re dropped into this fragmented, often delightfully incoherent conversation between two men who manage to talk about nothing and everything at once. One of their recurring debates is the big one: the existence of God and what it really means to take a “leap of faith” in a world that can be equal parts cruel and inexplicable. One man is a believer and the other needs a bit more convincing, referred to as the “double-sided” man. As a contrarian at heart, Barthelme has always loved playing with dualities, irony and paradoxes so the label feels very on-brand.

In classic Barthelme fashion, nothing is straightforward. He nudges the reader into searching for meaning in this verbal tennis match, and just when you think you’re finally onto something he yanks the rug out and veers into a totally different direction. You can practically hear him laughing somewhere. His usual bag of tricks is on full display here, including playful repetition, which fuels the story’s frolicsome little tête-à-tête. Sure, there’s some genuinely witty banter, but the philosophical digressions start piling up fast. To be honest, a good chunk of it went right over my head although I caught glimpses of hermeneutics, phenomenology, inequality, God-as-artist musings, and the usual science-vs-religion showdown. There’s even a Kierkegaard reference that feels like a sly wink to his earlier piece, Kierkegaard Unfair to Schlegel, which could make for a fun comparison if you’re feeling brave enough.

My favorite moment comes when the cynical, double-minded man challenges the logic of the so-called “Divine Plan.” He points out that if humans keep propagating at an exponential rate (because really, what else are we doing?), we’re heading straight for a claustrophobic dystopian nightmare:

“Because there’s not going to be any room to fucking move, man, do you follow me? There’s not going to be any room to fucking sneeze, without you sneezing on somebody.”

It’s one of the few moments that genuinely made me laugh. I only wish the story leaned into that kind of humor more often instead of leaving me tangled in its more evasive, puzzle-box chatter. But that’s Barthelme for you. Forever flippant, forever perplexing, and somehow still has me coming back to his work even though it might not always hit the mark.