"THE SMOKER" . . . STILL SMOKIN'

This weekend I picked up three books, for a dollar each, at a library booksale: a first edition (signed, no less) of Richard Russo’s Pulitzer Prize-winning novel Empire Falls; a copy of Zoli, a novel about European Gypsies by New York City-based Irish novelist Colm McCann (I’ve had this title on my list for a while but hadn’t gotten around to picking it up); and Kissing in Manhattan, a collection of linked short stories by David Schickler.

I immediately dove into Schickler’s book . . . and was immediately reminded of the mixed reviews it received when it first appeared in 2001: a number of the stories strain the reader’s credulity, as at times both characters and action push the envelope of plausibility even for narratives set in NYC. One notable exception, however, is “The Smoker,” the story that gave Schickler instant celebrity when it first appeared in the June 19, 2000 issue of The New Yorker. What a debut: I remember reading it at the time—and I still remember the envy I felt! I felt it again when I re-read it this weekend. I’ll not give away any of its details here . . . but I will provide this link to the full text of the story. While the collection in its entirety may come up a bit short, “The Smoker” is an absolute keeper. Give it a read: I think you’ll agree.