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Going For a Beer: Selected Short Fictions…
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Going For a Beer: Selected Short Fictions (édition 2018)

par Robert Coover (Auteur)

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Robert Coover has been playing by his own rules for more than half a century, earning the 1987 Rea Award for the Short Story as "a writer who has managed, willfully and even perversely, to remain his own man while offering his generous vision and versions of America." Coover finds inspiration in everything from painting, cinema, theater, and dance to slapstick, magic acts, puzzles, and riddles. His 1969 story "The Babysitter" has alone inspired generations of innovative young writers. Here, in this selection of his best stories, spanning more than half a century, you will find an invisible man tragically obsessed by an invisible woman; a cartoon man in a cartoon car who runs over a real man who is arrested by a real policeman with cartoon eyes; a stick man who reinvents the universe. While invading the dreams and nightmares of others, long dead, disrupting them from within, Coover cuts to the core of how realism works. He uses metafiction as a means of "interrogating the fiction making process," at least insofar as that process, when unexamined, has a way of entrapping us in false and destructive stories, myths, and belief systems. These stories are riven with paradox, ambivalence, strangeness, unrealized ambitions and desires, uncertainty, complexity, always seeking the potential for insight, for comedy. Through their celebration of the improbable and unexpected, and their distinctive but complementary grammars of text and film, Coover's selected short fictions entertain by engaging with the tribal myths that surround us--religious, patriotic, literary, erotic, popular--often satirizing the mindsets that, out of some obscure primitive need, perpetuate them. The thirty stories in Going for a Beer confirm Coover's reputation as "one of America's greatest literary geniuses" (Alan Moore).… (plus d'informations)
Membre:Anukrati
Titre:Going For a Beer: Selected Short Fictions
Auteurs:Robert Coover (Auteur)
Info:W. W. Norton & Company (2018), Edition: First Edition, 432 pages
Collections:Votre bibliothèque, En cours de lecture, Liste de livres désirés, À lire, Lus mais non possédés, Favoris
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Going For a Beer: Selected Short Fictions par Robert Coover

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If there ever was a short-short story portraying life as a cycle of mindless activities, this is it. An alternate title: Kill the Depth. Life devoid of tenderness and warmth, not to mention love and compassion; life devoid of literature and the arts; life devoid of spiritual transformation. Life as a round of numbness and the tawdry leading to the last scene where you are on your deathbed and your son stops in for a quick visit to tell you, in so many words, your passing is probably for the best since you will no longer stand between him and his glass of beer.

Did Robert Coover write this story as a warning? Did Robert Coover write this story as a challenge for our age? Does Robert Coover own a collection of Kewpie dolls? This work of fiction might set the Goodreads record for the greatest number of creative reviews for such a short piece. Thank you Ian, Praj, Rakhi, Brian, Warwick, Hadrian, Algernon, Garima, Gautam, Nandaksihore, Rand, MJ, Zrena, Lit and especially Nathan, who brought this Coover zinger to light for many, including myself.

UPDATE: Goodreads friend Mark just did post a short review of this Coover gem. Really worth checking out: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1812398163

Can be read in less than ten minutes courtesy of The New Yorker: http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2011/03/14/going-for-a-beer


Robert Coover, American author par excellence ( )
  Glenn_Russell | Nov 13, 2018 |
An interesting, unusual writer who mixes together different points of view and mixed up chronology to tell many of his stories. These are often based on well known fairy tales (including bible stories.) A sort of fractured fairy tale. In general, I thought the stories were a mess, understandably. The best of the 8 or so stories I read was "Going for a Beer." ( )
  ghefferon | Mar 28, 2018 |


If there ever was a short-short story portraying life as a cycle of mindless activities, this is it. An alternate title: Kill the Depth. Life devoid of tenderness and warmth, not to mention love and compassion; life devoid of literature and the arts; life devoid of spiritual transformation. Life as a round of numbness and the tawdry leading to the last scene where you are on your deathbed and your son stops in for a quick visit to tell you, in so many words, your passing is probably for the best since you will no longer stand between him and his glass of beer.

Did Robert Coover write this story as a warning? Did Robert Coover write this story as a challenge for our age? Does Robert Coover own a collection of Kewpie dolls? This work of fiction might set the Goodreads record for the greatest number of creative reviews for such a short piece. Thank you Ian, Praj, Rakhi, Brian, Warwick, Hadrian, Algernon, Garima, Gautam, Nandaksihore, Rand, MJ, Zrena, Lit and especially Nathan, who brought this Coover zinger to light for many, including myself.

UPDATE: Goodreads friend Mark just did post a short review of this Coover gem. Really worth checking out: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1812398163

Can be read in less than ten minutes courtesy of The New Yorker: http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2011/03/14/going-for-a-beer


Robert Coover, American author par excellence ( )
  GlennRussell | Feb 16, 2017 |
I find myself gaping at the Kewpie dolls thinking about the devilish grin in those angelic eyes. Eight! Perfect circles of heaven. I count them twice before lining them like a bunch of soldiers. Was it that friendly man from the street who gave me these little drops of heaven? Does it really matter? Perry Como keeps calling those dolls like a lost child, “Kew Kew Kewpie dolls...She’s the cutest one of them all!!” Did I already put one of the soldiers in a grave between my teeth? Or were they two? Do I remember their deathly orgasm? The yellow stain transforms into a fluorescent rainbow through the green spout of the bottle thrust in between my lips. I can't remember the mustard on my shirt. It’s proof exposed on my shirt, the howl of the wounded dog echoing the cry of a baby for a warm bottle of milk. He hates the bar food, the taste festers a stale vomit. I serve him a turkey on rye with mustard, every time he walks in that bar. Did he eventually fuck that lady who keeps the Kewpie dolls lined like soldiers in her apartment? The smell of stale urine pervade the foggy streets, I need eight more of my soldiers. I need to drown them in a tipple chasm. Those Kewpies they follow me everywhere. In the arms of the child, on the hospital beds ,in the womb of a woman as she walks down the aisle. One more drink. A punch in the face. A celebratory drink. A child is born. Life passes by. Death lurks. Perry Como sways to a bunch of dancing puppets. I stagger on the streets with a dart stuck in my neck. Did he really fuck those women? Doesn't he remember those orgasms after the crazy carnival wins? The man at the bar. The one who remembers my mustard stain. The stench of my dried blood. The man at the bar. I don't know, maybe he’ll have another one. “Well...you know...life”; I’m going for a beer. Are you? ( )
  Praj05 | Oct 22, 2013 |
I find myself gaping at the Kewpie dolls thinking about the devilish grin in those angelic eyes. Eight! Perfect circles of heaven. I count them twice before lining them like a bunch of soldiers. Was it that friendly man from the street who gave me these little drops of heaven? Does it really matter? Perry Como keeps calling those dolls like a lost child, “Kew Kew Kewpie dolls...She’s the cutest one of them all!!” Did I already put one of the soldiers in a grave between my teeth? Or were they two? Do I remember their deathly orgasm? The yellow stain transforms into a fluorescent rainbow through the green spout of the bottle thrust in between my lips. I can't remember the mustard on my shirt. It’s proof exposed on my shirt, the howl of the wounded dog echoing the cry of a baby for a warm bottle of milk. He hates the bar food, the taste festers a stale vomit. I serve him a turkey on rye with mustard, every time he walks in that bar. Did he eventually fuck that lady who keeps the Kewpie dolls lined like soldiers in her apartment? The smell of stale urine pervade the foggy streets, I need eight more of my soldiers. I need to drown them in a tipple chasm. Those Kewpies they follow me everywhere. In the arms of the child, on the hospital beds ,in the womb of a woman as she walks down the aisle. One more drink. A punch in the face. A celebratory drink. A child is born. Life passes by. Death lurks. Perry Como sways to a bunch of dancing puppets. I stagger on the streets with a dart stuck in my neck. Did he really fuck those women? Doesn't he remember those orgasms after the crazy carnival wins? The man at the bar. The one who remembers my mustard stain. The stench of my dried blood. The man at the bar. I don't know, maybe he’ll have another one. “Well...you know...life”; I’m going for a beer. Are you? ( )
  Praj05 | Oct 22, 2013 |
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Robert Coover has been playing by his own rules for more than half a century, earning the 1987 Rea Award for the Short Story as "a writer who has managed, willfully and even perversely, to remain his own man while offering his generous vision and versions of America." Coover finds inspiration in everything from painting, cinema, theater, and dance to slapstick, magic acts, puzzles, and riddles. His 1969 story "The Babysitter" has alone inspired generations of innovative young writers. Here, in this selection of his best stories, spanning more than half a century, you will find an invisible man tragically obsessed by an invisible woman; a cartoon man in a cartoon car who runs over a real man who is arrested by a real policeman with cartoon eyes; a stick man who reinvents the universe. While invading the dreams and nightmares of others, long dead, disrupting them from within, Coover cuts to the core of how realism works. He uses metafiction as a means of "interrogating the fiction making process," at least insofar as that process, when unexamined, has a way of entrapping us in false and destructive stories, myths, and belief systems. These stories are riven with paradox, ambivalence, strangeness, unrealized ambitions and desires, uncertainty, complexity, always seeking the potential for insight, for comedy. Through their celebration of the improbable and unexpected, and their distinctive but complementary grammars of text and film, Coover's selected short fictions entertain by engaging with the tribal myths that surround us--religious, patriotic, literary, erotic, popular--often satirizing the mindsets that, out of some obscure primitive need, perpetuate them. The thirty stories in Going for a Beer confirm Coover's reputation as "one of America's greatest literary geniuses" (Alan Moore).

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