Sex Appeal by Lucia Berlin

Do you know about the cup sizes and all? - Frank Costanza

Lucia Berlin's "Sex Appeal" is a darkly humorous coming-of-age tale that doubles as a nostalgic, slightly disturbing stroll through the awkward, confusing haze of puberty. The narrator takes us back to her early teenage years, trailing behind her glamorous older cousin Bella Lynn—a determined young woman with her sights set on landing a rich husband at a local golf tournament. As the narrator observes Bella Lynn’s masterclass in flirtation, she begins to grasp the surprising, complex power of female sexuality, all while delivering humorous commentary that steals the show.

With Berlin’s signature wit and deeply empathetic touch, the story breathes life into its flawed, yet relatable human characters. It’s funny and uncomfortably honest, unapologetic in depicting the reality of growing up female in a world where men hold the cards—or at least think they do. Berlin doesn’t shy away from the hard truths: men are sexual deviants, toxic masculinity looms large, consent isn’t always a consideration, and power dynamics are skewed. However flawed, Bella Lynn’s boisterous charm and sexuality is an attempt to reclaim a sense of control. Berlin captures it all with humor, heart, and just the right dose of scornful derision. 

Something about this story feels just a little off, like it's missing that final spark to make it truly great. While Berlin’s writing is as concise and evocative as ever, it doesn’t quite capture her usual magic—a seamless mix of poetic elegance and stark realism. Instead, it feels a bit too slight and silly, like a whimsical experiment that doesn’t fully stick the landing. It’s charming in its quirky way, but it doesn’t hit the same emotional depth Berlin so often delivers.

Deal Me In: Short Stories Challenge - 2025 edition!

Here we go again! It's a brand new year, which means it's time for the annual "Deal Me In Challenge" hosted by Jay over at Bibliophilopolis.  As an added incentive for me to read even more short-stories, count me in! 

What is the goal of this challenge?

To read 52 short stories in 2025 (that’s only one per week – versions with a lesser story requirement are noted below).

What do I need?

1. Access to at least fifty-two short stories (don’t own any short story collections or anthologies? See links to online resources below).
2. A deck of cards.
3. An average of perhaps just thirty minutes of reading time each week.

It's fun and not time consuming so what are you waiting for? Join up! 

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For now, all the stories on this list will include those that I didn't read in previous challenges or random. 

Spades ♠:

A ♠ – The Line by Amor Towles (online)

2 ♠ –  Steady Hands at Seattle General by Denis Johnson (Jesus' Son)

3 ♠ – The Magic Barrel by Bernard Malamud

4 ♠ – The Bet by Anton Chekhov

5 ♠ – Happy Endings by Margaret Atwood

6 ♠ – The Mud Below by Annie Proulx (Close Range: Wyoming Stories)

7 ♠ – The New Owner by Donald Barthelme

8 ♠ – The Paladin of the Lost Hour by Harlan Ellison

9 ♠ – Leave it Jeeves by P.G. Wodehouse

10 ♠ – One of these Days by Gabriel Garcia Marquez (Collected Stories)

J ♠ – Help Me Follow My Sister into the Land of the Dead by Carmen Maria Machado 

Q ♠ – Shiloh by Bobbie Ann Mason

K ♠ – Death Constant Beyond Love by Garbriel Garcia Marquez

Hearts ❤: 

A ❤ – Night Women by Edwidge Danticat (Everything Inside)

2 ❤–  The Night Rhonda Ferguson was Killed by Edward P. Jones (Lost in the City)

3 ❤ – The Finkelstein 5 by Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah (Friday Black)

4 ❤ – Sweat by Zora Neale Hurston (Hitting A Straight Lick with a Crooked Stick)

5 ❤ – A Room Forever by Breece D'J Pancake (Collected works)

6 ❤ – The Management of Greif by Bharati Mukherjee (The Middleman and other Stories)

7 ❤ – We Didn't by Stuart Dybek

8 ❤ – Drinking Coffee Elsewhere by ZZ Packer (Collected stories)

9 ❤ – Key to the City by Diane Oliver (Neighbors and Other Stories)

10 ❤– New Things in My Life by Lydia Davis (The Collected Works of Lydia Davis)

J ❤ – Bridezilla by Kim Fu (Lesser Known Monsters of the 21st Century)

Q ❤ –  Children on their Birthdays by Truman Capote

K ❤ – The Lesson by Toni Cade Bambara

Clubs:

A ♣ – Why Don't you Dance? by Raymond Carver

2 ♣ –  You Never get it Back by Cara Blue Adams (UTL online)

3 ♣ – When Eddie Levert Comes by Deesha Philyaw (The Secret Lives of Church Ladies)

4 ♣– Three Women Of Chuck’s Donuts by Anthony Veasna So

5 ♣ – Wednesday's Child by Yiyun Li

6 ♣ – Bullet in the Brain by Tobias Wolff

7 ♣ – Last Coffee House on Travis by Bryan Washington (Online)

8 ♣ – Gwilan's Harp by Ursula Le Guin (The Unreal and Real, UTL online)

9 ♣ – The Drunkard by Frank O'Connor (online)

10 ♣ – Dead Men's Path Chinua Achebe

J ♣ –  A Strange and Sometimes Sadness by Kazuo Ishiguro (online)

Q ♣ – The Lady With the Dog by Anton Chekhov

K ♣ – My Girl and the City by Sam Selvon (Penguin Book of Caribbean short stories)

Diamonds ♦:

A ♦ – Safe Harbor by Morgan Talty

2 ♦ – Schwarzschild Radius by Connie Willis (Big Book of Science Fiction)

3 ♦ – The King of Bread by Alberto Urrea (online)

4 ♦ – When it Changed by Joanna Russ (Big Book of Science Fiction)

5 ♦ – Galaxy Girl and the November Monstrosity by Aleksandra Hill (online)

6 ♦ –  The Clockmaker and His Daughter by Tobi Ogundiran (online)

7 ♦ – Pastoralia by George Saunders

8 ♦ – How the Marquis Got his Coat Back by Neil Gaiman

9 ♦ – The Gorge by Umberto Eco (online)

10 ♦ – Three People by William Trevor

J ♦ – A Loaf of Bread by James Alan McPherson (Elbow Room)

Q ♦ – The Mad Lomasneys by Frank O'Connor

K ♦ – Cafeteria by Isaac Bashevis Singer

The Bet by Anton Chekhov

The ultimate wager: life, freedom, and the soul.

At last! This is the kind of absorbing Chekhov short story I’ve been searching for—one that strikes the right balance between existential dread and hopefulness without leaving you buried under a pile of despair. The Bet is thought-provoking, packed with pathos, and a perfect showcase of Chekhov’s mastery of the short-story form. Its compact nature and brevity are a masterclass in storytelling—proof that sometimes less really is more.

If, like me, you occasionally find Chekhov a bit... let’s say, intense (or just plain heavy-handed), this story is a refreshing change of pace. It’s surprisingly accessible and, in my opinion, an ideal starting point for those new to his work. Much like Oysters, this is another exploration of suffering but through a more philosophical lens. 

As the title suggests, this tale revolves around a bet. It all begins with a lively dinner party conversation because, of course, nothing brings people together quite like debating life imprisonment vs. the death penalty. A rich banker and an idealistic young lawyer argue over which is worse, and things escalate quickly: the banker bets two million rubles (presumably an eye-watering sum in 19th-century Russia) that the lawyer couldn’t endure 15 years in solitary confinement. To everyone’s shock, the lawyer agrees. What happens next? I'll leave that up to you to discover on your own, since it will spoil the fun. Suffice it to say, there are some unexpected turns that are delightfully ironic where the penultimate question becomes: who is the true prisoner here?

The most captivating part of the story, for me, was its philosophical discourse, grappling with the big, thorny existential questions about happiness, wealth, and the meaning—or meaninglessness—of human existence. And let’s be real, maybe this relentless focus on suffering is just a 19th-century Russian thing. If you have read Dostoevsky, you know what I mean. Yet, Chekhov's stark honesty somehow makes that sorrow feel profound rather than suffocating. 

Admittedly, I was on the fence about Chekhov's work before, but reading The Bet completely won me over. It is such a polished, terse and memorable story, which has officially turned me into a fan. 

"Think better of it, young man, while there is still time. To me two million is a trifle, but you are losing three or four of the best years of your life. I say three or four, because you won't stay longer. Don't forget either, you unhappy man, that voluntary confinement is a great deal harder to bear than compulsory. The thought that you have the right to step out in liberty at any moment will poison your whole existence in prison. I am sorry for you."

The Toynbee Convector by Ray Bradbury

Arnold J. Toynbee, author of 'A Study of History.'

This is one of Bradbury's later works and seems to be indicative of a prolific author running out steam while nearing the end of his creative spark. There really isn't a whole lot of positive takeaways here, other than it was a quick read and doesn't outstay its welcome. 

The plot revolves around Craig Bennett Stiles, a quirky 130-year-old time traveler, who is coming out of retirement for one final trip into the future. At one point, he is recounting to a reporter why he named his time machine after the famous historian Arnold J. Toynbee: "any group, any race, any world that did not run to seize the future and shape it was doomed to dust away in the grave, in the past." Stiles channels Toynbee’s philosophy about humanity needing to embrace the future or face extinction, using it as an inspiration to design a time machine and save humanity from its inevitable self-destruction.

While the premise starts off as promising, the disjointed story fizzles out. The big reveal is also quite silly, lacking the emotional or narrative punch Bradbury usually delivers. Also, how is Mr. Time Traveler 130 years old and still kicking? Did he find the fountain of youth? We never find out, and this detail irked me. 

Unless you’re a completionist like me and feel obligated to read everything Bradbury's ever written, this is an easy one to skip.

“We made it!” he said. “We did it! The future is ours. We rebuilt the cities, freshened the small towns,  cleaned the lakes and rivers, washed the air, saved the dolphins, increased the whales, stopped the wars, tossed solar stations across space to light the world, colonized the moon, moved on to Mars, then 2 Alpha Centauri. We cured cancer and stopped death. We did it—Oh Lord, much thanks—we did it. Oh, future’s bright and beauteous spires, arise!” 

Oysters by Anton Chekhov

Well shucks, that was a downer.

Admittedly, I’m not fully on the “Chekhov is the short-story GOAT” bandwagon just yet, but after reading Oysters, I’m starting to understand the appeal. 

There’s a simplicity to his writing that’s deceptive—like, you’re reading along, thinking, “Oh, this is interesting, straightforward, not much really happening” and then BAM! The emotional weight of it hits you. In Oysters, Chekhov strips everything down to its bare essentials, just the harsh reality of a young boy and his father begging on the cold streets of Russia. The boy’s innocent perspective makes it all the more heartbreaking, as he experiences the cruel side of humanity. 

The boy doesn’t even know what oysters are (spoiler: he thinks they’re some kind of creepy frog), but that detail somehow makes the story even sadder. When a restaurant proprietor takes pity—or, more accurately, takes advantage—of the boy and his father, things take a dark turn. The boy becomes the butt of a cruel joke, eating oysters the wrong way (shells and all) in front of an audience while the restaurant's patrons laugh at his expense. It’s a sad and humiliating scene.

Then, just when things couldn’t possibly get worse, the boy falls seriously ill—whether it’s food poisoning from the oysters, pneumonia from his exposure to the elements, or something else entirely, it’s unclear. What is clear, though, is the grim reality of his fate as he ends up in a hospital bed. Chekhov offers no comforting resolutions here, making this is far from your typical feel-good story. Instead, it leaves you sitting with the weight of it all, a haunting reminder of the fragility of life and the indifference of the world. He doesn’t sugarcoat the harshness of poverty, making us confront the complex morality of these moments—how people with means can be so callous toward those less fortunate. 

The Balloon by Donald Barthelme

Up.

Donald Barthelme’s The Balloon is like a piece of abstract art that refuses to explain itself—and that’s exactly the point. Barthelme, ever the postmodern trickster, thrives on teasing out our need for tidy meanings. In this short story, he inflates (pun intended) a playful meditation on how art is represented, perceived, and, ultimately, misunderstood in a world obsessed with pinning things down.

The premise is as delightfully odd as it gets: a giant balloon appears over New York City. Naturally, the city’s inhabitants do what humans do best—overanalyze. They poke, prod, and project their own interpretations onto this floating enigma. Is it a political statement? A personal outcry? A metaphor for...something? Ultimately, even language and form dissolves into nonsensical jargon. And as the narrator casually points out early on, trying to decipher the “meaning” of this balloon is not just futile—it’s missing the point entirely:

“There was a certain amount of initial argumentation about the ‘meaning’ of the balloon, this subsided, because we learned not to insist on meanings and they are rarely even looked for now, except in cases involving the simplest, safest, phenomena.”

As a piece of metafiction, there is the inherent paradox running throughout the narrative when it comes to interpretation and the author ironically highlights that the “meaning” of the balloon is that the balloon has no meaning.  Instead, we get a playful patchwork of reactions and impressions from the city’s residents, filtered through a sly, shifting narrative voice that doubles as a cheeky commentary on the artist-audience relationship. The narrator, an artist figure, plays with the reader’s uncontrollable urge (consciously or subconsciously) to piece things together, only to remind us how futile that process can be.

And then, there’s the wonderful ending. The final paragraph epitomizes everything that I love about Barthelme's writing! Without spoiling it, let’s just say he pulls the rug out from under us in spectacular fashion. What seemed like an artistic exercise in ambiguity all along suddenly reveals its “true” purpose. The balloon wasn’t some grand symbol or profound statement. Nope, it was just there, because...reasons.

This is Barthelme at his best, poking fun at our literary pretensions while crafting something that’s simultaneously whimsical and deeply philosophical. The Balloon is a playful reminder that good art doesn’t have to mean anything—and sometimes, it’s better that way. Like the titular balloon, it floats beyond our grasp, offering not answers but endless possibilities. So, let it drift. And enjoy the view.

The Game of Rat and Dragon by Cordwainer Smith

Saving the universe, one hairball at a time.

Cats. In Space. Fighting Aliens.

Yes, you read that correctly. If that tagline didn’t immediately grab your attention, I don’t know what will. Cordwainer Smith’s The Game of Rat and Dragon is a wild ride straight out of 1950s pulp sci-fi, where the ideas are big, logic is non-existent, and entertainment value is prioritized above everything else. 

Humanity is exploring the stars, but space travel is a nightmare thanks to terrifying alien beings called "dragons" that can attack your mind and drive you insane. The solution? Astronauts, or “pinlighters,” form telepathic partnerships with cats. Yes, cats. These furry heroes zip around in their own little ships, pew-pewing aliens away with laser-like nuclear bombs. Why cats? No idea, but clearly Smith understood that if anyone’s going to save humanity, it’s definitely not going to be dogs.

This story doesn’t just lean into its ridiculous premise—it cannonballs into it, reveling in its over-the-top sci-fi absurdity like a B-movie that knows exactly where it wants to go. In this case, the destination is Bonkersville, USA. Smith takes what should be a completely unhinged idea and turns it into an entertaining sci-fi romp. Moreover, the relationship between the pinlighters and their cats is oddly sweet, and the alien battles are surprisingly well-conceived, even when you’re picturing a cat piloting a spaceship.

Look, if you’re here for hard-hitting, thought-provoking science fiction, you might want to steer your starship elsewhere. But if you’re in the mood for a story that’s charmingly weird and completely off the rails, you're in for a treat (sorry, no catnip is allowed onboard). After all, who wouldn’t want to imagine cats saving the galaxy?

Rating: 3 out of 5 interstellar felines 🐱🚀

Conversations with Goethe by Donald Barthelme

A Faustian comedy.

Donald Barthelme is often celebrated for his absurdist humor and rightfully so. He's at it again in Conversations with Goethe, showcasing his comedic range when it comes to satire. This story makes a great companion piece to "The Phantom of the Opera’s Friend," with a fun parallel where both stories feature narrators who play second fiddle to someone famous or fictional. This time, we get the inside scoop on what it’s like to hang out with the renowned Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, seen through the lens of a companion-slash-sidekick. Spoiler: it’s not all deep philosophical debates; sometimes, it’s just about buying bread from a local street vendor. 

The story is structured as a series of concise and snappy diary entries, which feel wonderfully random. The narrator reflects on moments with Goethe that are unexpectedly mundane and laugh-out-loud funny. Think dinner conversations where they discuss music, and Goethe casually drops a gem like: “Music, Goethe said, is the frozen tapioca in the chest of History.” Who knew the guy behind Faust could be this funny? Barthelme brilliantly humanizes Goethe, transforming the intimidating intellectual giant into a slightly weird dude who’s just as prone to rambling nonsense as the rest of us.

The story’s success mainly hinges on its comedic rhythm, building up to a perfectly timed punchline. For me, the joke absolutely lands, but comedy is subjective and you might feel differently about this story if the joke doesn't work for you. I think Barthelme’s comedic prowess really shines here, delivering both the absurd and the relatable with wit that’s as sharp as it is silly. 

The City Born Great by N.K. Jemisin

Empire state of mind.

With her engaging storytelling and signature Afro-futurist style, N.K. Jemisin steadily proving herself to be the heir apparent to legends like Octavia Butler. I am a big fan of her Broken Earth novels, so I was eager to see how she would tackle the short-story format. “The City Born Great” is the second story in her exceptional collection, How Long 'Til Black Future Month, and while it certainly has its merits, it feels more like a warm-up act before Jemisin fully hits her stride with the stronger stories that follow in the collection.

Let’s get the obvious out of the way: the world-building is top-tier. This is Jemisin we’re talking about—she could probably create a sprawling, fully-realized Afro-futurist world on the back of a napkin during a coffee break. The concept of New York City as a living, breathing, sentient being is very cool and the narrator’s ability to channel power through their connection with the city gives off major Broken Earth trilogy vibes, like an Orogene moonlighting in Brooklyn.

But here’s where things start to wobble: the story itself. The pacing feels choppy, the narrative meanders, and it reads more like a prologue to something grander than a standalone piece. You’ll keep turning the pages (or swiping, if you’re fancy), thanks to Jemisin’s knack for intrigue and strong characterization, but it’s the world-building that steals the spotlight—maybe even shoving the story to the back row.

As a socio-political metaphor it's effective enough, despite being a little on the nose. It’s a rallying cry for marginalized communities fighting back against oppression, wrapped in a speculative fiction bow. The concept of the city choosing a protector feels empowering, like New York finally decided to ghost all the Wall Street greed and hand its future over to the people who truly understand its heartbeat. While this short story experiment isn’t Jemisin at her strongest, it’s still worth a read, especially if you’re a fan of her ability to weave magic into gritty realities. Just don’t be surprised if you find yourself craving more depth or a clearer destination.