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The Elements of the Story

The earliest written stories-such as Defoe's Robinson Crusoe or Richardson's Pamela-sought to deceive the reading public into believing that their tales were in fact factual accounts of real people. Robinson Crusoe, though a fictional story, takes on the guise of a personal journal: the entire story is told through entries in Crusoe's "journal" to trick people into believing its story. Similarly Pamela is told through a series of letters, each one faithfully reprinted as though, they too, were the genuine article. These early devices were used to convince readers of the story's authority, these first novelists struck by one daunting thought: why should readers care about characters if they weren't real? So the authors took great care for their narratives to imitate the narratives of history: they were journals, diaries, a traveler's report, letters, and so on. Without realizing it, these early writers would establish a tradition that, even after the disguise of history fell away, would stay with literature up until today.

Although today we no longer believe the "reality" of fictional characters, modern literature carries over the tradition of many early novels, most notably that a novel or short story should, like a letter or diary, convey intimate and important knowledge about a particular character. Along with this, the form of these early stories influenced the form of later narratives. The early novels (1) concentrated on a particular character or set of characters, (2) told the story in chronological order, (3) had a definite beginning, middle and end, and (4) promised that the story would move these characters to a moment of importance or inner change. If these stories did not move characters to a point of importance, what was the point of reading them?

These ideas, when distilled, form the basis for the Traditional Story. The Traditional Story, quite simply, is a series of events that move a character out of the regular pattern of his or her life and towards a moment of importance or inner change. Robinson Crusoe, for example, is thrown out of the regular pattern of his life and shipwrecked on an island. Pamela Andrews, likewise, leaves the comfort of home and moves to a place where her virtue is in danger, each of the important details being relayed back to her family in the form of a "letter." The initial problem is then repeatedly complicated-Crusoe learns he is not really alone on the island; the town letch tries to get his claws into our dear Pamela-until the story reaches an emotional breaking point where some level of resolution must be offered. In its most basic form then, the Traditional Story has as its elements Pattern, External Change, Complication, and Internal Change (or resolution). These elements have defined most stories for the last 300 years.

Although some authors have attempted to rearrange the rules for a story, this concept has enjoyed considerable success mainly because of its close ties to reality. These early authors sought to duplicate the documents of personal life: letters, diaries, etc.. In many ways they were successful. Because of their close ties to reality, almost all later writers continued to work in the tradition of this type of story: Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, Mark Twain, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Earnest Hemingway, J.D. Salanger, Toni Morrison, and so on. The concept has been adopted by Hollywood, TV, and even more recently in certain narrative CD-Rom games. It is, quite simply, how we have come to identify a character-driven story.

In the following pages, I will discuss the elements of the Traditional Story. The Traditional Story is both a fairly simply yet simultaneously sophisticated concept. The Traditional Story is the narrative structure for most of what is termed "serious" literature and is a backdrop for many genre works as well, such as westerns, sci-fi, and romance. I have divided the discussion into the Four Elements of the Traditional story, followed by a few related points and finally the definition of a few terms which will be important for this class. Below is a simple diagram of how a traditional story, in its barest form, might be constructed. Each element of the diagram will be discussed and illustrated on the following pages.

Element One: Pattern

Only a few stories, such as Madame Bovary, attempt to cover a character's complete life. Most stories, however, limit themselves to a year, a week, a day, even an hour. A story, for example, might begin the first day of Spring and end the first day of Summer. Most stories focus their attention on a limited time. In such a story, pattern is important.

Pattern, in its most basic form, is the history of a character up until the story begins. If we are to care about and understand a character, we must understand the basic movement of the character's life up to and through the story. If a plot is to be successfully enacted upon a character, it must affect the character at a deep and significant level. Only through pattern can we understand the deep and significant areas of a character's life. Pattern then is an essential element of any traditional story because it provides both a context for the character and an impetus for the plot. Its importance in a story is manifest in many ways.

(a) Characters, like people, have histories which effect their personalities. These histories are called Pattern because they explain the pattern of a character's life up until the start of a story. If a story tells an important occurrence in a character's life, the pattern explains the importance of this occurrence. For example, if a small man is drafted into the army, the pattern explains why this occurrence (that of entering the army and being surrounded by large, muscular men) takes on special significance. Perhaps as a child he was pushed around, excluded from games, treated as an outsider because of his size. The character then, we as readers understand, wants something specific (to be accepted by the type of men who shunned him as a child) and has something at stake (to overcome his childhood stigma of being small or to accept it in a new way).

(b) Pattern, in addition to explaining general histories, sometimes explains how a particular tension has expanded to a place where a story might begin. Some stories begin in the middle of a tension, so pattern must also, at an appropriate section, explain the expansion of the tension to the place where the story begins. This use of pattern, as above, is usually character-based, describing the build-up of tension within a character or between characters. For example, in a story where the tension clearly begins in the middle of the action (scene one: our character is reprimanded by the sergeant), pattern might explain (1) the general history of our character's life and (2) the expansion of tension between our character and the sergeant. This being accomplished, the story can then begin at an important moment of dramatic suspense.

(c) Because most stories begin with action (with an external change, such as our character reprimanded or, even more basic, simply entering the army), pattern must be worked in to the body of a story. Although pattern explains the earliest important sections of a character's life, it is usually not placed first in a story: it is worked in, after the reader's attention has been engaged. Pattern information, as a general rule, is often completed in the first third of a story because pattern information is essential for readers to understand and interpret the importance of the story. Pattern information explains why this story is particularly important to a character: it explains the relationship between character and plot.

(d) Finally, pattern information can be worked into a story in a number of different ways, including:

1-Flashback a complete scene depicting past events

2-Exposition the narrator simply explaining the history of a character's life

3-Dialogue through dialogue, a character's past is partially explained

4-Detail the details in a story often explain a character's past

5-Voice the voice (that is, the way a character has learned to use language), especially with a first person narrator, often reveals a good deal about his/her past.

Element Two: External Change

Most stories begin with an external change, such as the day our character-let's call him Dave-joins the army. The entry into the army is a significant break from the pattern of Dave's life and will force him into a place where internal change is possible: stories, as a general rule, examine moments of importance; moments of importance, then, are most likely after a character's life has changed. Change is the impetus for story: it allows daily life to take on meaning and significance it does not usually hold.

External change does not always occupy the first scene, but is usually located near the initial scene. Nick Carraway (of The Great Gatsby) begins his story by moving to New York-the move to New York, of course, being a significant change. Holden Caufield (the narrator of Catcher in the Rye) begins his story by leaving prep school to return home. In other stories, the external change happens shortly after the story has begun: Huck Finn, for example, forty pages into the novel fakes his own death then begins his journey down river. Still in other stories, the initial change occurs shortly before the first scene: in Tim O'Brien's short story "The Things They Carried," the main character, Lt. Jimmy Cross, has already left for Vietnam before the opening of the story-the move to Vietnam being in this case the most important external change. The external change then is often located in or near the initial scene.

Although external change often takes the form of large, easily identifiable events-the move to New York, the trip down river, the entry into the army-other stories use the element of external change in more subtle and delicate ways. An external change may be something as minor as a bad day at work, a change in a person's routine, a particularly intriguing observation made from across the room. In John Updike's short story, "The A & P," the external change is nothing more than three attractive girls entering a grocery store wearing only thin bikinis. In Richard Ford's story, "Communist," the initial change is the return of the mother's old boyfriend. Still in Raymond Carver's story, "What We Talk about when We Talk about Love," the initial change is the introduction of a particularly touchy topic, that of previous marriages and the illusive nature of love itself. The initial change, then, is a break however small from the regular pattern of a person's life.

It might also be noted that a great many stories use the idea of movement to define external change. Nick Carraway moves from home (the midwest) to New York at the beginning of The Great Gatsby. Huck Finn ventures away from Hannibal, floating down river, at the start of his story. In Moby Dick, the main character, Ishmael, leaves home and ventures out to sea. Catcher in the Rye tells the story of Holden Caufield who, as the novel opens, is ready to leave prep school for home. The beginning of Call of the Wild centers on Buck being forcibly taken from his home in California to the Arctic north. The movement of such a novel is the general movement of adventure, the modern life imitating great wandering quests of the past.

Similarly other stories sublimate the idea of movement into psychological or social arenas. The beginning of Zora Neale Hurston's classic Their Eyes Were Watching God illustrates this concept: the main character, Janie Crawford, gets married thereby leaving the protection of her grandmother and, through the change of social arenas, enters the house of her husband. At the start of Phillip Roth's Goodbye Columbus, the main character, Neil Klugman, falls in love and so stumbles upon the foreign terrain of courtship-the shift to love, of course, being the move to new psychological territory. Likewise, Jane Austen, structures many of her books around the idea of romance being a foreign land where her characters must travel: most notably, at the beginning of Pride and Prejudice, Darcy appears and with him he brings the difficult territory of courtship.

Our story-the one about Dave-might begin with Dave entering the Army: his first day in Boot Camp. This, of course, would not only be a physical move-Dave has left home and entered the army-but would also be a significant break from the pattern of Dave's life, a break which has a natural tension: he is a small man surrounded by big, muscular men. Because of the natural tension inherent in the scene, it is a good place to begin: it is the type of event which might force following events to align themselves into a way which would best benefit a story: Dave is at a place of heightened awareness; his life has shifted into new and unfamiliar ground. Elements of pattern would be added-through dialogue, flashback, perhaps exposition-as the story progresses.

Element Three: Complication

In most stories, the initial tension, after being introduced, is expanded. This happens for the most part in one of two ways:

(a) The initial tension can be directly expanded; that is, the author turns up the volume; the initial tension becomes more complicated, more involved. The initial tension in The Adventures of Huck Finn, for example, concerns the return of Pap, who is Huck's father. Pap has a history of being abusive with Huck. When he hears that Huck has won reward money, he returns to claim it from Huck. This tension is then complicated: because Pap returns, Huck gives the money to the Judge for safekeeping. Because Pap cannot get the money, he takes Huck to a river island where he beats Huck and keeps him as a servant. Because Huck is beaten, he fakes his own death and sets off down river, hoping for freedom and a more generous life elsewhere. These scenes are therefore connected by cause. The events of each scene push the story to the next scene: the initial tension-that of Pap's return-is continuously complicated until Huck spreads pig blood around the cabin and escapes from the island at night.

(b) The initial tension can also be complicated indirectly; that is, the author adds an additional element (or elements) to complement the initial tension. This allows the story to alternate between tensions, to work as a series of scenes, not necessarily causally connected. Many authors in longer works, such as novels or novellas, use both direct and indirect complication to further a plot. Again, from Huck Finn, an element of indirect complication: Jim joins Huck when he leaves the island. This juncture does not necessarily expand the initial tension, that between Huck and Pap-it is essentially unrelated to the tension between Huck and Pap-but it does help to complicate the plot and produce a more complex story. Both Huck and Jim are searching for elements of freedom; both need to leave their old lives and be born into new ones; both are at risk on the river.

Our story-the one concerning Dave's entry into the military-will most likely only have one central tension. Short stories, because of their brevity, usually only examine one element of conflict. The story then will function as a series of causally connected scenes, each scene expanding the tension in the scene before, until the tension itself reaches an emotional breaking point. The story, then, might be structured something like this:

(1) Dave enters boot camp.

(2) Because he was picked on as a child, he is immediately aware of the social dangers inherent in this situation and decides to separate himself: he spends time alone; he tries to become a personnel assistant; he is quiet around other men.

(3) Because Dave has separated himself, the Sergeant singles him out as a loner and decides to make an example of him in front of the other men.

(4) Because the Sergeant has singled him out, the other men treat Dave as a trouble-maker, further compounding his sense of self-imposed isolation.

Element Four: Internal Change

The goal of any such story is to move a character to a place of internal change. In the traditional story, the primary purpose of plot is to take a character to a place where his/her personality has irrevocably changed. Huck Finn, because of his trip down river and the decisions he has made, grows up at the end of the book. Nick Carraway discovers the shallowness and beauty of Gatsby's life and in doing so loses his adolescent innocence and trust. In Richard Ford's short story, "Communist," the narrator, Les, wants a man named Glen Baxter to be a father-figure to him, but by the story's close Les understands Glen Baxter would not make a good father and that furthermore Les himself is now too old to learn much from a father; the hardness of this-growing up without a father-is something, at the end of the story, he knows he will feel for most of his life. The barest structure then of the traditional story might be diagrammed as such:

PATTERN explains the character

EXTERNAL disrupts the regular routine of a character's life and places the character

CHANGE in a situation where personal change is possible

COMPLICATION expands the initial tension and further moves the character towards change

INTERNAL the goal of the traditional story, a place where a character has, as a

CHANGE result of the story, changed in a significant way

In our story, the purpose of plot would be to bring Dave to a place where he is forced to change, where he can, because of certain events, no longer be the person he was at the beginning at the story. There are a number of ways to prepare for such an ending-Dave could reconcile himself to the Sergeant; he could enlist the help of one of the older men-but perhaps the ending that most appeals to me might go something like this: Because Dave is cast as a loner, he takes up that role in a more substantive way: he drinks more, he gambles, he bribes the MPs to let him leave the base. One night, while drinking at a bar called The Salt Flats, he looks towards the distant military base, now lit with the amber haze of sulfur streetlamps. Sitting there, with a Jack and Coke in his hand, he notices how faraway the base appears, while at the same time realizing it is now his home. He knocks back the rest of his drink, then runs his index finger around the rim of the glass and licks it. He remembers how, back home, he was never a popular person, but at least he had a few friends. Here, though, he will have no such comfort. He pays the bartender for a small bottle of gin and slips it into his pocket before leaving, then begins the long slow walk uphill to the base, where his bunk, properly made, awaits him. Only then, with the gin in his pocket and a cool breeze curving down to greet him, does he see how the future will lay. It hits him with unexpected clarity. He senses how being cast as a loner will follow him through the Service, that he will not be able to escape it, and how, in months to come it will make him bitter and resentful and how, for many years, he will have trouble outrunning these feelings. When he reaches the base, he lifts his hand to the MP. The MP waves back.

As with most contemporary short stories, this story too plays out after it is over. At the end, with Dave returning after a night at the bar, the reader should have a fairly strong sense of how the next few years will turn out, though the story only hints at the future. The story takes readers to an important moment of internal change-Dave's self-understanding-then allows the story to close. Important events will most likely occur after this story has finished: Dave will continue to fight with the sergeant, the men will continue to ignore him, he may or may not become a personnel assistant. This, though, is not the story's main concern. The story has taken us to the point where an aspect of Dave's nature has changed: he can no longer go back and be the person he was at the beginning of the story, when he was new to the army. All such future events are merely a consequence of this internal change, that of Dave accepting his social isolation in a new and perhaps more destructive way. This story then closes at the right moment, when Dave has been changed, leaving all such consequences to unfold only in the reader's imagination.

The movement towards personal change has always been the goal of the more serious varieties of narratives. Personal change is one of the great social mysteries, how one person becomes a slightly different person. Shakespeare's plays, which are in form the basis for much of Western literature, seek to show a character's development toward change. Likewise many later novelists and short story writers attempt to define, moment by moment, the events which force a character to become a slightly different character, thereby explaining one of the great mysteries of life. Social and psychological movement is then at the heart of most stories. The better we understand stories-the characters, the plots-the better we will be able to understand our own lives. The love of literature is in a way a love of life: literature offers us possibilities, its expands our thinking and our awareness of people, it draws in one of the most ancient and essential art forms, that of being pulled into a story.

Causality in Stories

Although it has been mentioned before, it is probably worth mentioning again: a story is most often a series of scenes that are connected causally, not just chronologically; that is, a story is not just a collection of scenes which occur close in time to each other. Each scene, in a carefully crafted story, causes the following scene. The tension in the first scene is expanded, by the introduction of some dramatic element, into the second scene. Likewise the tension in the second scene is expanded into the third scene. In our story, the tension in the initial scene-Dave being in an uncomfortable situation-is expanded by an element in the second scene, the sergeant singling him out as a loner and trouble maker. This, in turn, causes the other infantrymen to treat Dave as an outcast. Because Dave was treated as an outcast, he takes on his identity as a loner in a new and more dangerous way. In this way, one scene causes the next scene; the primary tension is expanded until the night he is alone at the bar, where he understands how this identity as a loner will follow him for years, that he will not overcome it, and that this stigma will change and embitter him.

Marriage of Pattern and Plot

A story, by its very nature, implies importance: this story was a particularly important occurrence for our character. This idea, that of a story being important, was established at the beginning of Western narratives and has been carried through to the present day. As readers, we expect that a story will, in some way, be important to its main character, will change him or her. If it's not important, why read it? Because of this, pattern and plot are usually married in such a way they directly compliment each other. Elements of pattern (he was a small, bookish boy not readily accepted by the other boys) must be challenged by the plot (he was drafted into the army). In this way the plot poses an uncomfortable or threatening situation for our character. It is only then that it offers the possibility of eventual inner change.

This same plot would not, for example, work as an impetus for change on a different character. Take, for example, a man named Brad. Brad was raised solely by his mother in the inner-city, was a member of a gang, has always considered himself a fighter. Brad, most likely, will easily adapt to the regiment of the army. This particular plot, for him, will not affect him at a deep, meaningful level. A plot, in order for it to be effective, must at least, in part, affect a character in an area of significance. Brad would be more affected by spending a week in a hospital or, even more so, by finding his father.

The plot ideally should bring a character to a place where the pattern (his bookishness, his stand-off-ishness) is broken, altered, or solidified in a new way: it should bring a character to a place where things, afterward, cannot be the same, even if that character would like them to be. In our case, when our plot is enacted upon Dave, he eventually becomes even more of a loner, somewhat embittered, and edging towards periods of self-destructive behavior. Plot, then, is an extension of pattern: it is the point where pattern has expanded to overt tension. If left at home, Dave's life would probably not evolve into a story; however, once he enters the army, patter and plot are joined in such a way-with direct and unavoidable tension-his life will most likely take on unique significance, this particular experience undoubtedly aimed towards inner change.

The Shape of the Story

As mentioned earlier, many stories function as quests or journeys. The archetypal quest, as pictured below (figure 3), has five standard elements, much like the Traditional Story: a character (1) leaves his home, (2) travels to a foreign area where (3) he has unique experiences which (4) force him to become a different person so that (5) when he returns home he has irrevocably changed. The basic journey, then, is the move from a familiar place (home) to a foreign plane (where the adventure occurs) then a return to home (the character having been changed). Below are three brief sketches which help demonstrate this movement.

The earliest examples I can think of are Biblical examples: Jesus, the nation of Israel during their wandering years, Noah, Jonah, Paul, etc.. This is not to imply that the Bible contains fictional stories; rather that the Traditional Story is an accurate conceptual template for many human experiences. Jesus, before beginning his ministry, (1) leaves his home, (2) travels to the dessert where (3) he has unique experiences (tempted by the devil) which (4) show that he has overcome human weakness so that (5) when he returns to society he has entered a new phase of his life (the beginning of his public ministry). This, then, is an example of the completed journey.

This same paradigm can be applied to many works of literature. Huck Finn, for example, (1) leaves home (by faking his own death), (2) floats down river, (3) has unique experiences with Jim, (4) overcomes difficulties in the journey and by doing so matures, and (5) returns home a changed person. Similar plotting can be seen in many other novels, including Moby Dick, The Great Gatsby, Their Eyes Were Watching God, etc.. Each one of these novels demonstrate the Completed Quest because the characters complete all aspects of the quest: leave home, experience growth through adventure, return home changed.

The important thing to notice here is that the adventure occurs away from home. Change, then, is most possible in a foreign terrain; home is the realm of the static. Huck would not mature if he had not left Hannibal; Nick Carraway would not gain a distance and depth if he had not left the Midwest. Buck, in Call of the Wild, would not have evolved into a model of Nitzsche's superman if he had not left California. Change, therefore, is usually a product of new experience.

In other narratives, however, the main character never returns home. Even though this character has entered a quest he, for whatever reason, decides to remain in the foreign territory. This perhaps is the most common variation of the narrative quest and can be illustrated by many novels and short stories. In Call of the Wild, for example, the main character, a dog named Buck, undergoes all aspects of the quest, except the final return home: (1) he leaves his home of California, (2) he travels to the Arctic north, (3) where he undergoes a series of physical struggles, (4) and finally emerges as a stronger, more self-reliant character than he was at the beginning of the novel. Similarly, in Swiss Family Robinson, members of the family decide, after being shipwrecked on an island, not to return to civilization.

Finally the idea of the quest or journey can be sublimated into the domestic novel-that is, into novels without actual geographic travel. In such a novel, the quest is not travel from one physical place to another, but travel from one psychological plane to another. The journey is not through the sea or the Arctic north, but rather through an unfamiliar experience. The foreign territory may be love or divorce or even reunion. There are many such narratives, but one of my favorites is Phillip Roth's 1959 novel, Goodbye Columbus, which won the national book award. In this story, a downtown man, Neil, falls in love with Brenda, a young up-town girl who is home from college for the summer. More than entering a new geographic landscape-after all, Neil only ventures across town-he enters a new emotional landscape, that of courtship and love. It is here that the elements of adventure occur: while in that foreign land of love, Neil is forced to face his own possessiveness, the shortcomings of his upbringing, and finally the limitations of his life. He learns important lessons about life, including some not particularly pleasant lessons of love (Brenda, in the end, dumps him). At the novel's close, he is returned to his home land of singleness significantly changed: now that he has been in love, loneliness will affect him in a new way. Neil's journey might be diagrammed as follows:

High Narrative Versus Low Narrative

At this point, it may be useful to make a distinction between different types of narratives. A few readers may have already noticed that not all narratives work this way-with pattern and plot leading to inner change. The elements I have described so far are those of the traditional story, or what is often labeled as literature. The heart of literature (or of the high narrative) is most often significant character change. Huck Finn, to reuse that example, is brought to a point of maturity through his experiences on the river and with Jim. The aim of the traditional low narrative, conversely, is situation change.

A typical example of the low narrative might be Jurassic Park. In Jurassic Park, both the book and the movie, genetically cloned dinosaurs escape their cages and reek havoc on unprepared scientists and island guests. The story is far more concerned with the situation-that of the dinosaurs running amuck-than with providing a plot which will bring characters to a moment of significant change. The narrative's direction then is towards situation change (not character change). The plot works towards altering the situation-confining the dinosaurs-not towards scenes where plot is enacted upon pattern. Likewise many genre narratives focus primarily on situation, not on meaningful character change: in mysteries, the situation is improved by discovering the murderer; in westerns, by running the bad guys out of town; in sci fi, the carnivorous aliens are finally killed; and so on.

Having said this, I should also point out that many authors seek to mix elements of high and low narrative into a single story. In fact, some of the best genre stories also function as high narratives. Clint Eastwoood's film, "Unforgiven," is not just a western, it is also the story of how particular events caused a group of characters to truly mature. Scott Turrow's novel (and later movie), "Presumed Innocent," is not only a mystery but is also the impetus for the main character, Rusty, to reexamine his understanding of family and ideas of love. Likewise, many traditional high narratives also use elements of low narrative to build an effective plot. Charles Dickens, in a number of his books, employs elements of mystery. Similarly, many of Hemingway's works function, at times, as war stories. In the final analysis, a book's overall aim mainly determines whether it is more closely aligned with high or low narratives; that is to ask, is this particular story more concerned with interesting situations or with the movement towards significant character change.

Finally, to avoid entering a debate about the merits of high and low narratives, it might be best to say this: both forms of narratives can be interesting and compelling, both can be good reading. The inscription of "high" to describe character-based works is most likely because the majority of critics believe character-based works to be more complex and more lasting. Such authors attempt to explain some of the most important mysteries, that of realistic human life: they attempt to explain why we are the way we are. It is the understanding of people, then, that has lasting merit and therefore judged as "high."

The Traditional Story and Contemporary Fiction

Most writers today still write within the confines of the traditional story. A traditional story in its most basic sense is, after all, closely tied to the chronological nature of life. Stories, in their earlier forms, are an outgrowth of history: they explain how a character moved from Monday (a day of external change) to, let's say, the following Friday (a day of internal change). Within this structure, though, some writers experiment with the elements of a story. Lorrie Moore (in her collection Self Help) writes many stories in the second person (where "you" are the main character of each story), often imitating the diction and style of self-help manuals; likewise, Tim O'Brien, in his story "The Things They Carried," mixes sections of essay into the body of a traditional story. Other writers, such as Donald Barthleme or John Barth, in their most experimental endeavors attempt to deconstruct the traditional story and rebuild it with narrative elements other than those described here (Pattern, Plot, Internal Change, etc.). Even here, though, the traditional story is at the heart of these new, experimental forms: without the established mode of the traditional story, these writers would not have a form to react against.

For examples of these reactions to (or reorganizations of) the traditional story, you might want to read from the following books:

Self Help by Lorrie Moore

The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien

Lost in the Funhouse by John Barth

60 Stories by Donald Barthleme

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