Bear and His Daughter

If you've read a lot of Robert Stone, it's easy to go through "Bear and His Daughter" looking for precursors or sequels to his better-known novels. So let's get it over with: "Porque no Tiene, Porque le Falta" and "Under the Pitons" echoes the menacing tropical setting of "A Flag for Sunrise", while the former and "Aquarius Obscured" both tap the same vein of post-sixties malaise that made "Dog Soldiers" so darkly seductive. There are other connections to be made, but it's "Miserere," the collection's first story, that hits hardest. In it, a woman who's suffered an unimaginable family tragedy is theological extremes and political radicalism, but what makes the story really special is how ordinary, perhaps even logical, Stone makes the show more journey sound. The story features some frankly shocking emotional cruelty, but it also seems to typify what is often the default position for many of Stone characters: a sort of stunned emotional numbness combined with a determination to persevere using whatever tools are at hand. Stone, who worked in the gutter press as a young man, might be accused of wallowing in lurid subject matter, but, when one considers his characters' unexpected capacity for resilience, "wallowing" seems to wrong term to use here. I get the sense, after reading these stories again for the first time in perhaps twenty years, that he genuinely admires many of characters' tenaciousness. I'd never call any of these stories "uplifting," mind you, but their continued survival often seems like a small victory in itself.

This may make the last story in this collection, which describes a poet, near the end of his creative rope and haunted by a poem that he wrote and forgot years ago, trying to reconcile with his daughter, a park ranger who's fonder of methamphetamines than she should be, so affecting and so effective. Stone's always specialized in the sad decline of movements -- like Hunter S. Thompson, he's not a sixties writer as much as an end-of-the-sixties writer, but I was impressed how easily Stone adapted to a new temporal setting in this little novella. Bear's daughter does her drugs at work, in her uniform, and Bear himself ruminates on how the end of the Cold War, along with the inevitable passage of time, has dented his reputation. The emotional interplay between these two characters is, I suppose, shocking, as is its ending, and I suppose that that's part of the attraction here, but that's not the real reason that I spend my time reading this author. Recommended, but, as always, readers seeking either moral instruction or mere misery porn should probably look elsewhere. There's a lot of white-knuckle courage on display in these stories, but no real heroes. show less

Robert Stone writes stories that don't rely on gimmicks or cheap tricks.
The stories contain power that builds quietly, behind interesting, even aggravating characters. They are very flawed.
The content of these stories is nothing new: life, death, love, and alcohol, but you can't help but be moved by their immense pressure. They are intense, completely absorbing experiences that absolutely must be read in one sitting. 7 Stories in the collection, 7 sittings. You should take a break between them, to catch your breath.
These stories sit nicely alongside Flannery O'Connor and Carver. If you like stories told from one point of view, these can be miniature lessons, all memorable, on the impact of violence. Start with "Under the Pitons," and show more chase with "Helping." show less

Quite a decent collection of short stories from Stone. The titular story, and a few others, really stick out as exemplars in both the art of the short story and of narrative themselves. Others fall a little by the wayside, but I do believe this collection will be interesting to those into short stories and American literature.

3.5 stars.

"Mr. Stone makes you grateful for the very smallest of mercies."
-NEW YORK TIMES