Handle with Care

Summary

Selected Shorts Podcast Episode Summary: "Handle with Care"

Host: Meg Wolitzer
Episode Title: Handle with Care
Release Date: November 21, 2024
Description: Our greatest actors transport us through the magic of fiction, one short story at a time. Sometimes funny. Always moving. Selected Shorts connects you to the world with a rich diversity of voices from literature, film, theater, and comedy.

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1. Introduction to the Episode

In the episode titled "Handle with Care," Meg Wolitzer sets the stage by exploring themes centered around the beauty and vulnerability of the natural world. She emphasizes the role of fiction in reminding us of our place within the grand design of nature, highlighting its miraculous yet fragile essence.

Notable Quote:
"Nature is as old as anything, and yet in written form, it never gets old." ([00:45])

2. First Story: "Joyas Volodorus" by Brian Doyle

Reader: Becca Blackwell
Timestamp: [03:24] - [12:14]

a. Summary

"Joyas Volodorus" delves into the intricate workings of the heart, both biological and metaphorical. Brian Doyle masterfully intertwines scientific facts with poetic reflections to portray nature's awe-inspiring scale and fragility. The narrative contrasts the relentless pace of creatures like hummingbirds with the immense strength of blue whales, underscoring the interconnectedness and vulnerability of all living beings.

b. Key Points and Notable Quotes

• Hummingbirds' Metabolism:
  "Each one visits a thousand flowers a day and they can dive at 60 miles an hour. They can fly backwards. They can fly more than 500 miles without pausing to rest." ([04:10])

• Blue Whale's Heart:
  "The biggest heart in the world is inside the blue whale. It weighs more than seven tons. It's as big as a room." ([07:50])

• Philosophical Insight on Human Connection:
  "We are utterly open with no one in the end. Not mother and father, not wife or husband, not lover, not child, not friend." ([10:45])

3. Host's Commentary on "Joyas Volodorus"

Meg Wolitzer:
Meg reflects on the story's intricate construction, comparing it to the chambers of a heart. She praises Brian Doyle for his ability to blend scientific detail with poetic depth, creating a mesmerizing narrative that seamlessly transitions from the minuscule to the grandiose.

Notable Quote:
"Writers have access to a secret telescope and are able to pull back and go close as needed in this gem of a story." ([12:14])

4. Second Story: "Fox 8" by George Saunders

Reader: John Cameron Mitchell
Timestamp: [16:55] - [54:32]

a. Summary

"Fox 8" presents a poignant fable narrated by a fox who learns to speak human language. Through Fox 8's journey, George Saunders critiques environmental degradation and human encroachment on nature. The story juxtaposes the innocent perspective of the fox with the harsh realities of human actions, blending humor with tragedy to underscore the consequences of environmental neglect.

b. Key Points and Notable Quotes

• Metaphorical Use of Hummingbirds:
  "So much held in a heart in a lifetime. So much held in a heart in a day, an hour, a moment." ([07:30])

• Environmental Destruction by Humans:
  "They dug up our primary forest. They tore out our leaning tree, they wrecked our shady drinking spot and made totally flat the highest place of which we know from where we can see all of creation." ([34:15])

• Fox 8's Isolation and Guilt:
  "Fox 7 is dead and it is all my fault. Why had I ever had that dumb idea of entering the mall?" ([53:10])

• Human Cruelty Depicted Through Interaction:
  "He threw that hat at us. From the sound it made upon not hitting us, but only parking, I saw it must be made of rock." ([50:22])

5. Host's Commentary and Introduction to Book Club

Meg Wolitzer:
After "Fox 8," Meg introduces the Selected Shorts Book Club, highlighting its collaboration with the Mother Daughter Book Club. She lauds George Saunders's genius in creating unique character voices and the depth of his storytelling, emphasizing how "Fox 8" serves as a perfect example of his ability to engage listeners on multiple levels.

Notable Quote:
"Fox 8 was a perfect story for our recent collaboration with the Mother Daughter Book Club." ([54:32])

6. Book Club Discussion

Participants:

• Meg Wolitzer
• John Cameron Mitchell
• Unnamed Participant

Timestamp: [55:47] - [60:09]

a. Creative Writing Style

• John Cameron Mitchell:
  "The fox has a very creative way of writing." ([55:47])

• Meg Wolitzer:
  "It's very phonetic. So we have things like books spelled as B U K s. We have wood, which is W D rite, spelled R I, T, E." ([55:52])

b. Emotional and Thematic Impact

• Emotional Depth:
  John Cameron Mitchell:
  "It's a fable, and it's both hilarious and tragic... it really made me so, so sad." ([56:18])

• Environmental Themes:
  Unnamed Participant:
  "It's really dark." ([56:43])

  John Cameron Mitchell:
  "He felt like someone or something that's innocent see human cruelty and its random acts and how sad that can be." ([56:43]-[57:08])

• Political Undertones:
  Meg Wolitzer:
  "Saunders is making a point about what we've done to screw everything up and the tragedy of how we've ruined the Earth." ([57:55])

c. Language and Irony

• Irony in Human Zones:
  John Cameron Mitchell:
  "The human zones are called Riverwalk Estate... Hummingbird Way, Slow Stream Avenue, Melody Manor Passage." ([59:51])

• Complexity of Language:
  John Cameron Mitchell:
  "It's a fable, and it's both hilarious and tragic... it really made me so, so sad." ([56:18])

7. Conclusion

Meg Wolitzer:
Meg wraps up the episode by highlighting the profound messages embedded within both stories. She underscores the delicate balance between appreciating nature's wonders and recognizing the detrimental impact of human actions. Meg encourages listeners to reflect on their responsibilities in preserving the natural world, drawing inspiration from the evocative narratives presented.

Notable Quote:
"Preachy fiction is rarely successful. And these two subtle and complex works don't need to preach to remind us that we're part of an equally subtle and complex nature order." ([59:58])

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Additional Highlights:

• Book Club Insights:
  The Mother Daughter Book Club members appreciate the phonetic creativity and emotional depth of "Fox 8," acknowledging its ability to blend humor with profound tragedy. They discuss the challenges of addressing environmental issues through storytelling, noting Saunders's effectiveness in making such themes accessible and impactful.

• Emotional Resonance:
  Both stories elicit a strong emotional response, with listeners expressing sadness over environmental destruction and appreciation for the nuanced portrayal of nature's fragility.

• Thematic Connections:
  The episode ties together the scientific awe of "Joyas Volodorus" with the satirical critique of "Fox 8," creating a comprehensive exploration of nature's complexity and humanity's role within it.

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This episode of "Selected Shorts" masterfully combines storytelling with insightful discussions, offering listeners both literary enjoyment and thoughtful reflections on the natural world and our place within it.

Transcript

[Meg Wolitzer]

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[John Cameron Mitchell]

Good evening. Hoyas Valadoris Consider the hummingbird for a long moment. A hummingbird's heart beats ten times a second. A hummingbird's heart is the size of a pencil eraser. A hummingbird's heart is a lot of the hummingbird. Hoyas phalladerus. Flying jewels, the first white explorers in the Americas called them, and the white men had never seen such creatures. For hummingbirds came into the world only in the Americas, nowhere else in the universe. More than 300 species of them, whirring and zooming and nectaring in hummer time zones nine times removed from ours. Their hearts hammering faster than we could clearly hear if we pressed our elephantine ears to their infinitesimal chests. Each one visits a thousand flowers a day and they can dive at 60 miles an hour. They can fly backwards. They can fly more than 500 miles without pausing to rest. But when they rest, they come close to death. On frigid nights, or when they are starving, they retreat into torpor, their metabolic rate slowing to a fifteenth of their normal sleep rate. Their hearts sludging nearly to a halt, barely beating. And if they are not soon warmed, if they do not soon find that which is sweet, their hearts grow cold and they cease to be. Consider for a moment those hummingbirds who did not open their eyes again today, this very day in the Americas. Bearded helmet crests and booted racket tails. Violet tailed sylphs and violet capped wood nymphs. Crimson topazes and purple crowned fairies, Red tailed comets and amethyst wood stars. Rainbow bearded thornbills and glittering bellied emeralds. Velvet purple coronets and golden bellied star frontlets, fiery tailed all bills and andean hill stars, spatula tails and puffle legs each the most amazing thing you have ever never seen. Each thunderous wild heart the size of an infant's fingernail. Each mad heart silent, a brilliant music stilled. Hummingbirds, like all flying birds, but more so, have incredible, enormous, immense, ferocious metabolisms. To drive those metabolisms. They have race car hearts that eat oxygen at an eye popping rate. Their hearts are built of thinner, leaner fibers than ours. Their arteries are stiffer and more taut. They have more mitochondria in their heart muscles, anything to gulp more oxygen. And their hearts are stripped to the skin for the war against gravity and inertia, the mad search for food, the insane idea of flight. The price of their ambition is A life closer to death. They suffer more heart attacks and aneurysms and ruptures than any other living creature. It's expensive to fly. You burn out. You fry the machine. You melt the engine. Every creature on earth has approximately 2 billion heartbeats to spend in a lifetime. You can spend them slowly, like a tortoise and live to be 200 years old. Or you can spend them fast, like a hummingbird and live to be two years old. The biggest heart in the world is inside the blue whale. It weighs more than seven tons. It's as big as a room. It is a room with four chambers. A child could walk around it, head high, bending only to step through the valves. The valves are as big as the swinging doors in a saloon. This house of a heart drives a creature a hundred feet long. When this creature is born, it is 20ft long and weighs 4 tons. It's way bigger than your car. It drinks 100 gallons of milk from its mama every day and gains £200 a day. And when it is seven or eight years old, it endures an unimaginable puberty. And then it essentially disappears from human ken. For next to nothing is known of the mating habits, travel patterns, diet, social life, language, social structure, diseases, spirituality, wars, stories, despairs and arts of the blue whale. There are perhaps 10,000 blue whales in the world, living in every ocean on earth. And of the largest animal who ever lived, we know nearly nothing. But we know the animals with the largest hearts in the world generally travel in pairs. And their penetrating, moaning cries, their piercing, yearning tongue can be heard underwater for miles and miles. Mammals and birds have hearts with four chambers. Reptiles and turtles have hearts with three chambers. Fish have hearts with two chambers. Insects and mollusks have hearts with one chamber. Worms have hearts with one chamber. Although they may have as many as 11 single chambered hearts. Unicellular bacteria have no hearts at all. But even they have fluid, eternally in motion, washing from one side of the cell to the other, swirling and whirling. No living being is without interior liquid motion. We all churn inside. So much held in a heart in a lifetime. So much held in a heart in a day, an hour, a moment. We are utterly open with no one in the end. Not mother and father, not wife or husband, not lover, not child, not friend. We open doors to each. But we live alone in the house of the heart. Perhaps we must. Perhaps we could not bear to be so naked for fear of a constantly harrowed heart. When young, we think there will come one person who will savor and sustain us always. When we are older, we know this is the dream of a child, that all hearts finally are bruised and scarred, scored and torn, repaired by time and will, patched by force of character, yet fragile and rickety forevermore, no matter how ferocious the defense and how many bricks you bring to the wall, you could brick up your heart as stout and tight and hard and cold and impregnable as you possibly can, and down it comes in an instant, felled by a woman's second glance, a child's apple breath, the shatter of glass in the road, the words I have something to tell you. A cat with a broken spine dragging itself into the forest to die. The brush of your mother's papery ancient hand in the thicket of your hair, the memory of your father's voice early in the morning echoing from the kitchen where he's making pancakes for his children.

[Meg Wolitzer]

Becca Blackwell performed Joyous Volodorus by Brian Doyle I'm Meg Wolitzer. This story is constructed as intricately as the chamber of a heart, moving us from the smallest to the largest in scientific terms, but also accruing layers of poetic meaning. This story takes its time and hypnotizes you into thinking it's only going to focus on the tiny, that it's going to stay zeroed in on the flying jewel that is the hummingbird, when all of a sudden it goes somewhere new, somewhere big. And then it does something else. So our awe reaches another level. Writers have access to a secret telescope and are able to pull back and go close as needed in this gem of a story. Brian Doyle does both and ends up flying far and wide. When we return, George Saunders speaks Fox I'm Meg Wolitzer. You're listening to selected shorts recorded live in performance at Symphony Space in New York City and at other venues nationwide.

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[Meg Wolitzer]

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[John Cameron Mitchell]

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[Meg Wolitzer]

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[John Cameron Mitchell]

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[Meg Wolitzer]

Welcome back. This is Selected Shorts, where our greatest actors transport us through the magic of fiction, one short story at a time. I'm Meg Wolitzer. There are some 8.7 million species on Earth and plenty of reasons to worry about their welfare, but we don't consider our loyal Selected Shorts listeners endangered. We know that you are survivors and we hope we're helping by giving you great short fiction week after week. To find out what we've got on offer, go to SelectedShorts.org for information about our podcast or earlier shows and our tours and please subscribe There are two definitions of genius available in various forms in that great natural habitat Google. One is exceptional intellectual or creative power or other natural ability. The other is an attendant spirit of a person or place. The author, George Saunders fits both. There's the big stuff in his fiction dystopian society, human frailty, hope and loss of hope, but also the delicious language and subversive humor that transform the landscape of fiction. And we can't offer up a better example than our next piece, Fox 8. It's a listener favorite that we're offering again in this new context. One aspect of Saunders genius is his gift for giving each of his characters a distinct voice. The Saunders world has included the hopeful and the hopeless, manic strivers, misguided swains and contemplative seniors. But he may have outdone himself here, creating not only a character, but a whole semantic world, and all in the voice of a vulpine autodidact. To create that voice, we got the multi talented John Cameron Mitchell. He wrote and starred in Hedwig and the Angry Inch, the Musical and its film adaptation, and has made memorable appearances in series including Girls and City on Fire. And he charted new territory in the podcast realm with the musical podcast anthem Homunculus.

[Unnamed Participant]

First, may I say sorry for any words I spell wrong because I am a fox, so don't write or spell perfect. But here's how I learned to write and spell as good as I do. One day, walking near one of your human houses, smelling all the interest with snout I heard from inside the most amazing sound. Turns out what that sound was the human voice making words they sounded great. They sounded like pretty music. I listened to those words until the sun went down. When all of a sudden I was like Fox 8 Crazy Nut. When sun goes down, world goes dark. Skedaddle home or else there can be danger. But I was fastenated by those music words and desired to understand them totally. So came back night upon night, seated upon that window, trying to learn. And in time, so many words came through my ears and into my brain that if I thought upon them could understand human pretty good if I hear it. What? That lady in the house was saying stories to her pups with love. When done, she would douse the light causing dark. Then due to feeling love would bend down putting snout and lips to the head of her pups. Which was called good night kiss. Which I got a kick out of because that is also how we show our love for our pups as foxes. It made me feel good. Like humans could feel love and show love. In other words, hopeful for the future of earth. But one night I heard something that made me think twice about humans. And I still am. What I heard was a story, but a false and even mean one. In that story was a fox. But guess what? The fox was sly. Yes, true Lee. He tricked a chicken. He lured this plump chicken away from its henhouse claiming there was some feed in a stump. We do not trick chickens. We are very open and honest with chickens. With chickens we have a super fair deal, which is they make the eggs, we take the eggs, they make more eggs. Sometimes we eat a live chicken. Should that chicken consent to be eaten by us through failing to run away upon our approach after she has been looking for feed in a stump. Not sly at all. Very straightforward. That story was also false due to the main chicken is wearing glasses which chickens do I know of do not wear glasses. I do not think this is because all chickens see great. I think it's because chickens do not even know that they don't see great due to. Although I have the greatest respect for chickens loving their eggs, they are perchance not the brightest. But chickens wearing glasses was not the only flag false story I heard. I heard stories about bears in which bears are always sleeping and nice and loving. Believe me, as someone often chased by bears, never was a bear chasing me one asleep or two nice or three loving. You should hear the many not nice things a bear is saying in bear as he is chasing you. As luckily you slide into your den just in the nick of time and try not to start crying in front of your other foxes. And in terms of owls. Owls are wise. Don't make me laugh. Once an owl nipped Fox 6 quite cruel on his neck just because Fox 6 was saying a friendly greeting to the baby owls with his snout. For a long time, no one but me knew that I knew human when one day, as faith will have it, I am walking through the woods with Fox 7, a good pal, when all of a sudden a branch drops down on us from a pond high. And I was like, oh, wow. But said, not in fox, but in human. Fox 7 was so shocked he just sat with haunch on ground and tong lolling out along with the wide eyes of being completely astonished. To which I said, correct. What I just now spoke was human dude. And he was like, that is pretty good, Fox 8, that is pretty good. To which I was like inhuman to perhaps show off slight. It is super Good. No doubt, Fox 7. And he was like, we must tell our great leader. This is so. To which in fox I was like, I know, right? So we went to our great leader, Fox 28 and I spoke to him some human. When I had spoken, my human Great leader turned his head sideways the way us foxes do when feeling quismical or a noise is high and said, fox A, how did you accomplish this? I was like, by studying their speech patterns every night without fail. He was like, perhaps you would be good enough to use your new skill to help the group. I was quite flattered by this show of respect from our great leader, famous among us for wise counsel plus always leading us. Great. I was like happy to help. Great leader was like, follow me Fox 8, which I did shooting Fox 7 a proud look of dude. Check me out soon. We are standing before a sign and upon that sign are some human letters like the ones I had been learning thanks to my studies, I could read it. Luckily I had learned their Alphabet by squinting my eyes through that window at their book. What those words said is coming soon. Foxview Commons. I read them to Great Leader, who back in our den, said them aloud to our group. Those words caused many sudden questions in all our brains, such as what is a fox View Commons? Would it chase us? Would it eat us? Turns out it could not eat us. It could not chase us. But what it could do was even worse because soon here comes trucks smoking while tooting. They dug up our primary forest. They tore out our leaning tree, they wrecked our shady drinking spot and made totally flat the highest place of which we know from where we can see all of curation. If it is not raining, Woe to us as Far as we could see, it was just flat, no trees. Upon trotting to our river, we found it wrecked due to so much sudden dirt floating in. Also wrecked were our fish, who not even swopping a single flipper, just glanced up blank at us like, wow. We do not even get what just happened. While trying to explain it was trucks what happened. We learned one reason they could not swope a flipper is they are dead. Plus, not only are our fish dead, but all the things we love to eat, such as bugs, such as slow fat mice, are totally gone. We searched all day's snouts low, but not one snack. Soon several of our extremely old foxes became sick and died because no food. These dead friends were Fox 24, Fox 10 and Fox 111. Good foxes all. One lesson I learned during my nights at that human window was a good writer will make the reader feel as bad as the human does. In that their story, like the writer, will make you feel as bad bad as Cinderella. You will feel sad you cannot go to the dance and mad that you will have to sweep. You will feel like biting stepmother on her gown. Or if you are Pinocchio, you will feel like, I would rather not be made of wood. I would rather be made of skin. So my father Gepetta will stop hitting me with a hammer and so forth. If you want to feel as bad as we foxes are feeling at this time, one barely eat for weeks. Two, note that many friends, including you, are getting skinnier every day. And three, watch several of your beloved friends get so skinny that they die. At this time, Great Leader grew quite sad. It was like he grew too sad to lead and would sit for hours staring into space. It was like Great Leader blamed himself that we had lost our forest in which we had always lived since time immemorial. But we did not feel it was his fault it happened so fast. Who could have been great enough to stop it? I for sure did not know how to stop it. Once I snuck into the back of a truck and stole their hammer with my mouth. I know it is not good to steal, but I was so mad. But me stealing that hammer did not even slow them down. They must have had other hammers. Finally, some of us went to Great Leader and are like, Great Leader, let us go Farth and find some food plus a better place to live. But he just did this moan and was like, no, no, it's too dangerous. Everyone stay right here where I can see you. And once again placed head between paws. Week upon week, the trucks kept working These humans sure could work. They worked and worked until soon a whole forest is gone. How do they do it? With their hands plus trucks. Turns out what they were making is several big white boxes with written upon them mystery words. Upon my reading of these words, my fellow foxes looked at me all quismical like Fox 8, tell us what is bon ton? What is compue fun? What is hooters? What is cookies and cream? But I could not say these words were never heard by me. At my story window, Fox View Common seemed to be a place humans came to put their cars. They would go into the white boxes and wait there until their cars were ready to go home. Sometimes I would go up to a car inside of which there was a dog, and due to speaking decent dog would be like, how's it going? To which the dog would either look blank at me as if I was not even speaking dog, or fling themselves around inside the car as if they would like to break out and do damage to me, a fox. But finally one dog does answer, going, pretty good. How about you? It's really hot in here. And I was like, friend, what is this, please? He was like, par king? I was like, what is it for? At which point he took a pause to lick his butt while I politely waited. Finally he was like, the mall. I was like, but what is the purpose of the mall? By this time, however, he is asleep with legs running, yet still trapped in that car, probably dreaming he is a fox. Which foxly freedom and also less pudgy. But he was right. It was parking. It was the mall. Humans would go, you can't stop fighting. We're at the mall. Quit it. Quit it. If you don't stop fighting. How would you like it if we just skip the mall and you can get right to your algebra, Kirk? Or speaking into a small box, a human might go, I have to run, genie. I'm just now parking at the mall. Or one human slaps the butt of a second, and the slapped one leans in quite fond, going, elliot, you kill me. Or a lady drops her purse and bends to retrieve her goods, when suddenly her hat blows away. At which time, speaking a bad word, she looks ready to sit and cry. Only a nice man appears and races off in quest of her hat, though he has a slight limp. Humans always interesting. One day I am crouching at the edge of parking, gazing over at the mall, when out comes a pair of humans. One was like, okay, I'll meet you at the food court when you're done with your lip wax and the Other was like, if you are late, I will totally kill you, Megan. And the other was like, don't worry, I'll find you. You'll be the one with the way red lip. Then they laughed. That phrase of food court pricked up my ears. But good. Might there be food in a food court? There might. I felt here, I should say all my life I have quite cured of daydreams. They would just come upon me and I would enjoy them with some favorites being some humans hear me speak. Humans so good. They give me some chicken and I sit right at the table and they go, how is it being a fox? And I go, fine. And they go, foxes are our favorite animal. And I go, thanks. And they go, oh, why were we so stupid to choose dogs as our main pets? And I go, I really don't know. Or some bears are chasing me. I stop holding one paw aloft, give them a speech about being nice. And they are like, maybe this is weird to ask, but could you, a fox, be our great leader and teach us to be nice and not walk funny? And I go, sure. And they applaud with their paws, but awkward. So I teach them to clap good and they look at me with love. Or some birds fly around my head going, what a pretty fox. And we have flown everywhere in this world and never seen one prettier. And one bird goes, and smart too. And the others chirp their agreement. Now crouching near parking, I had a curative daydream about food court, which was, go in, get some food. Why not? How hard could it be? If there is food, it should be food for all, right? That night at group meeting, I brought forth my plan. But sadly, my somewhat reputation as a dreamer preceded me. And not in a good way. Great leader was like, what is food court anyway? Sounds different. I was like, humans are nice, they are cool. And Fox 41 was like all snotty. Oh, right. Oh, very funny. I'm sure we're going to trust the same fox who once claimed he went to college with some baby. Fox 41. Bringing up that baby was not so cool. Once, long ago, at that story window, I daydreamed. Those humans invited me in and let me hold their baby. And that baby loved me so much. Soon we journeyed to college together wearing little college hats. It was great. At college we learned some human tricks like working machines and how to play a violin. Completely screechy. But when I came home and told my foxes about going to college with that baby, they did not believe me. To prove it, I decided to show them my college hat. Which was when I remembered I had daydreamed the whole thing. The only college hat I had was in my brain. Trey. Embarrassing. So that is why in group meeting, Great Leader was like, no, Fox 8, no mall. Good input though. I turned to my other foxes and was like, guys, please support me on this. But found the eyes of my other foxes lolling up at the ceiling. Fox 4 was like, no offense, Fox 8, your ideas are not super practical. Dream, dream, dream, said Fox 11. Fox 41 was like, Fox 8, does this honestly never get old for you? Great Leader was like, I have spoken. And something in me was like, great leader, blah. I still loved him, but it was like he was not being great or even a leader. I mean no disrespect. It was just a strong feeling in my heart that it was no good for foxes to give up and just be dead on purpose. All that night, I could not sleep for beans. I just lay awake looking sadly around me at all my sleeping foxes. And I was like, in my brain, friends, you do not look so good. The hair of your coats is made mangy. You are nearly all eyes due to super hungry. Your sides are heaving in your sleep. Dear foxes, you have known me since as a pup I tried to bite my own face in our river. You knew me back when daydreaming, I stepped in the poop of a wolf and it brought it back inside the den, causing everyone to wrinkle their snouts, going like Fox 8, jeez. How could you not smell poop of wolf when it's raining right on your own dang paw. But you forgave me. You forgave me. And when I got most of the poop off by rubbing against a tree, even help me lick myself all the way good. And since I love you, should I not do my best to save you? Hence, I decided to go alone. And the next morning set off for the mall. You may have heard the human phrase, what are friends for? Well, I will tell you. Friends are for when your whole group turns its back on you. Here comes your friend, Fox7 of who I spoke of earlier as being the first fox I ever spoke human to trotting up beside me, he was like, I'll go with you, Fox 8. I was like, dude. He gave me the small shrug, like, no big deal. We trotted a while in good cheer. Soon here was the mall. Could we cross parking? We could and did. Here's how you do it. You take a deep breath. You look left, you look right. Very vigorous. Careful Careful. Go, go, go, go, go. Do not even pause. Foxview Commons is now bouncing. Because you are galloping so fast a car almost gets you, you do a panic. Yip, stop. Take a slight break under another car. Try to go. Too bad you can't. Too scared. Do a minor worry. Yip. Go. Pause, look again, look again, go. Stop. Look again, go. Just really book it. You made it and they're not dead. But now was a problem we had not mulled, which is a door. Doors being a problem for foxes due to being heavy. Plus there are handles that may be high. But luck was with us. Just then a very young human, a mere toddler, toddled past with a smile of possibly thinking we are dogs. There in her hand, we noted some food. It looked good, smelt great. It is a bun all of a sudden. We desired to enter into a fair deal with her, whereby we would share her bun by us taking it. But then, quick as the wink, she is in taken into the mall with one hand and the hand of her mother's and the other hand our bun. Before we know it, we two, lured by her food, have been in taken into Foxview Commons right through their door. There is high music sound. The ground is like glass or ice. And oh, my friends, the things we saw. We saw the gap. We saw eye openers. We saw a pet store with captured cats. We saw a small river that, though flowing, did not smell right. We saw some fake rocks. We saw some trees, real trees inside Foxview commas. It made us want to dig a den. We saw a group of young humans wearing bright clothes, dancing fast. And some old humans we think are their mothers hopping around quite excited, yelling advice such as pick it up, crystal or smile, Cara, why do you look so sad while dancing, babe? We saw a round thing that had fake horses on it, on which they are enslaved and made to go circular as young humans enjoy it being placed on backs of them. I was left to wonder, why would old humans enjoy putting young humans on fake horses? It was a total mystery and remains so it is if an old fox enjoys putting his young fox on a fake deer. I for one would not enjoy that, although I might think it funny. At first, humans would walk by and go, hey, look, foxes. And drop a bit of food at us. Soon we had caramel corn, several partial biscuits, plus a pear so fresh it did not even stink. I was like, this must be food court. Fox 7 was like, I guess so. We were so happy. We sat between these fake rocks, speaking dreamily of our future, such as we Would get some pants, some glasses. We would ride in a car. We would place a coffee on our briefcase. We would make such good friends with the humans, they would cut us a fox door in their mall. Never had humans seemed so cool. We were surrounded by splendor. No fox could curate. Hence we were filled with respect. Could a fox do this? Build a mall? Fat chance. The best we can do is dig our dens. Then it was time to go home. For now we had food sufficient to save the lives of our friends. Holding that food in our mouths, we trotted back through Foxview Commons, heads held high, having such a feeling of pride being probably the first foxes or even animals inside Fox View Commons, except for those captured cats. Out we went. Here again was the sun. Here again, clouds. I could not wait to see Fox 41 and go, hey, Fox 41, professional turd, cares for some food. But upon reaching the edge of parking, guess what? We did not find Fox 41 or our other foxes or our den. It was like we had gone out a whole different door than we had gone in through. Now, one thing I learned from stories is when something big is about to occur, a writer will go. Then it happened. This tells the reader, get ready. Here I go. Then it happened. There at the edge of parking, was a team of two humans doing some digging. One was like, holy crap, foxes. As if he had never seen a fox before. My feeling was like, yes, yes, we are foxes. Hello, friends. We have just seen the wonder that is your mall. We congratulate you. We glanced your fake river. We observed your cute young ones dancing. We gladly accepted your generous gift of food. You are so nice. What a great day for the fox human connection. Then that first human, quite huge, took off a blue hat he was wearing, and I was like, in my brain. It must be a form of salute. So I did a fox salute back, which is reach out with front legs, bow, yawn. Only. Then running towards us in a startling manner, he threw that hat at us. From the sound it made upon not hitting us, but only parking, I saw it must. Must be made of rock. I gave Fox 7 a glance, like, what did we do wrong? Then the other human, quite small, ran at us, threw his hat and. Oh, my friends, what happened next is hard to write, because that hat wonked Fox 7 square in his face. And suddenly his knees go weak and he gives me one last long, fond look and drops over on his side with blood trickling out his snout. I briefly tried to revive him by sniffing, but here comes the huge and the small human Running off as in victory, making a noise that made my hair stand on my neck. What could I do but flee? Glancing back while trotting, I saw the huge and small human doing such Things to FOX 7 as further hits with their hats and kicks and stomps, while making additional noises I had never heard a human make. As if this is fun, as if this is funny, as if they are proud of what they are accomplishing. Reaching a dirt clod big as me, I lay behind it, panting while shaking. Which is when I saw the last straw of their cruelty. Which was? The small human picked up Fox 7, now dead, and flung him through the air. Poor Fox 7. My friend was spinning while sailing like something long with a weight at one end. And what did the humans do? Stood bent over, laughing so hard, then retrieved their cruel hats and went back to work, slapping hands as if what they had done was good and cool and had made them glad. Rest of the day I hid among those dirt clods, quietly whimpering. When darkness fell, I snuck over and viewed what remained of Fox 7. I had heard many stories at that window, but I never heard a story in which anything like what happened to poor Fox 7 happened. I did not know a fox could look that way. Even our foxes who get hit by cars did not look as bad as Fox 7. And it was humans that did it. I trotted all day, Trey stunned. I would stop to sleep but dream of Fox 7 and his sad last glance, quaking there under the moon. I would remember the nice way Fox 7 had of doing a nose nudge if a friend of his might be feeling low. Then I would rise and run, trying to forget, and by morning was quite lost. For days I roamed, learning many things, such as A road can pass over a river, there is more than one mall, A tree can float in a lake. Sometimes humans run in groups, wearing yellow. Once on a sign is a picture of a duck chopping down a tree by using as his axe another duck who looks tray mad. Soon my pads are bloody, there is no food. Sometimes I could find a grasshopper. Once I found a dead bird which had been dead so long he had bad hygiene, so I could not eat him. I tried, but no way. Perhaps, reader, you have heard that phrase called. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. It's from a book. Once that mother tried reading that book to her cubs, but it proved boring with too many words. Thereby her cubs began doing what young humans do when bored witches rolling around with fingers up, nose pinching baby brother. All I could think was Fox 7 is dead and it is all my fault. Why had I ever had that dumb idea of entering the mall? Why was I born so weird? Why could I not be a simple fox, having no daydream speaking, just fox obeying my great leader. It was the worst of times. It was the worst of times. To tell the truth, my heart went suddenly bad. Trotting through a forest. I used to hear things as birds swooping down praising all nature and mice saying it's a super day. And cows in a nearby field going oh wow, isn't the world great? And so forth. We are really loving this super grass. That is how animals are quite cheerful. But now I was not like that. I knew I would not be like that again. Now their songs of love seem like the dopey chatter Fox 7 and I had been saying to each other as we lay all happy between those fake rocks in the mall, sharing our hopeful plans of getting pants and glasses and so forth. And inviting humans to our den, serving them some fruit if we have some. All that time watching those humans with such love, not knowing what was coming next. Like two little babies fast asleep in the middle of a horrible world who do not yet know how horrible it really is. Sometimes trotting on my bloody pads through a human zone such as Riverwalk's estate, along such roads as Hummingbird Way and Slow Stream Avenue, or even Melody Manor Passage. Seeing so many great dens with lights like indoor suns and water shooting magically out of their grass at will. Seeing that long line of cars trot away so proud every morning full of humans and the other spring humans could do. Such as make grass short, such as cause flowers to grow inside their dens. I was like, why did the curator do it so wrong? Making the group with the greatest skills the meanest. Then one day I came upon a forest the like of which I had never seen before. So deep and green and dark and great smelling. It made those holes in my nose go super wide with shell. Sheer delight. Oh, the light through the trees. The moving shadows when the wind would blow. The million great smells such as water not far away. The wind in the high part of the trees. And sometimes a branch will crack. All of a sudden I smell fox big time. Then I saw foxes big time. A whole other group just like us, only not compared to us. They were one less skinny and two had no fear in their eyes. And three coats of the prettiest red ever, a deep Foxley red that made me ashamed of my own dull coat. I told them my name and they let me smell them. I was hoping they would like me, which they did. They did smell me. They did like me. They took turns smelling and liking me. I told them all that had befallen me. They believed it about the mall. They did not believe it about Fox 7. I could tell they looked at me funny. Then they looked at each other funny. To tell the truth, I would have not believed me either if I'd showed up and told me that those foxes were super nice. One came over all shy and out of her mouth dropped a fruit at my paw. One dropped a gift of a part of a bird. They showed me to a pond where I drank so much they were slightly laughing and I was like, there's no food or good water where I live. One of them was like. We kind of figured. Then happened. Thanks to my daydreaming, I saw myself in my brain leading my own foxes to this paradise. One by one through Foxview Common. I would show them the gap. I would show them the fake rock. If one was scared, I would say, don't be scared, and made a joke. If one was slow, I would push him from behind with an encouraging snout. If one was looking around all freaked out, I would calmly go, focus, focus. And if one was old, such as great leader, I would carry him or her on my back. Soon, in my mind, we are all safely there.

[Meg Wolitzer]

John Cameron Mitchell performed Fox 8 by George Saunders. I'm Meg Wolitzer. Maybe not dogma, but how about Fox Ma? Okay, that joke was maybe not worth it, but Saunders story makes me want to play with words a little. In fact, because of the phonetic and creative spelling of words here, this is one story that you might want to go out and track down later so you can actually see the visual gag of it on the page. Of course, the story works really well if you only listen to it, but if you do get a chance to read it, you will have an even greater awareness of the plight of animals in a world of humans. Not to mention a new awareness and awe for the genius of George Saunders. Now that you've heard it, you'll know why we thought Fox 8 was a perfect story for our recent collaboration with the Mother Daughter Book Club, established by our frequent shorts reader Rita Wolf and her daughter Anjali. The lively participants of this group, who have been discussing good books since the daughters were in high school, kindly agreed to our proposal that it make some of our shorts picks the focus of their get togethers. I was our emissary. And here's a little of that conversation, we're going to talk about Fox 8. Part of the power of the story.

[John Cameron Mitchell]

Is the fox has a very creative way of writing.

[Meg Wolitzer]

It's very phonetic. So we have things like books spelled as B U, K s. We have wood, which is W D rite, spelled R I, T, E. Human is Y, U, M, A, N. Totally. A lot of the ly words are total with L, E, e two words.

[John Cameron Mitchell]

Now, as an editor, I find this.

[Meg Wolitzer]

Really interesting and a little aggravating, but it works in the story.

[John Cameron Mitchell]

It's a fable, and it's both hilarious and tragic. And the fox raises those sort of.

[Meg Wolitzer]

Deep questions of why does evil exist?

[John Cameron Mitchell]

Why are people who have the most.

[Meg Wolitzer]

Talent, why do they do bad things, you know, destroy the environment that they propose to cherish?

[John Cameron Mitchell]

There's a lot of power to that. I think.

[Unnamed Participant]

It's really dark.

[John Cameron Mitchell]

Yeah, it's really dark. It really made me so, so sad because I think there's some, like, specific sadness of watching someone or something that's innocent see human cruelty and its random acts and how sad that can be. And I felt like the story lures you in with, like, all the humor and all this lightness, and so you.

[Meg Wolitzer]

Think you're fine, and then it just.

[John Cameron Mitchell]

Hits you with this moment.

[Meg Wolitzer]

I knew nothing could be that cute. I was like, there's no way this is gonna keep being so cute. I think a lot of parents struggle with how to have difficult conversations with their children about topics like this, you know, like human nature and good and.

[John Cameron Mitchell]

Bad and environmental stuff, like the company.

[Meg Wolitzer]

Coming in and taking away the land from the animals and ruining the forest.

[John Cameron Mitchell]

And, like, things like that.

[Meg Wolitzer]

Like, there are parents that I think want to have those conversations with kids but need sort of material.

[John Cameron Mitchell]

Maybe even like this, maybe a little watered down.

[Meg Wolitzer]

It broke my heart, like, a lot, especially in the moments when they were in the mall. It's just the splendor of, like, what humans could create.

[John Cameron Mitchell]

And I was like, you don't even.

[Meg Wolitzer]

Know what we do and what we destroy.

[John Cameron Mitchell]

You're gonna find out, though.

[Meg Wolitzer]

Well, that language almost makes that more heartbreaking, right? Because it's so innocent. Like, I loved sounding it out to myself, like, I got a weird kick out of it. But he's setting you up in a way he does, because it has a fable quality, but the innocence of somebody who thinks these words are spelled this way. And then walking into the horrors of.

[Unnamed Participant]

Mankind, it's like a guileless, innocent babe.

[John Cameron Mitchell]

Who'S descending into darkness pretty fast.

[Meg Wolitzer]

I wanted to go back and read Jonathan Livingston Siegel. But I didn't have time to do it. But I remember when it came out, we were young adults or teenagers and everyone was saying it's written so simply and it feels like it's for kids, but it's not for kids.

[John Cameron Mitchell]

It's got lessons and a story that resonates for adults. And that's how this felt to me.

[Unnamed Participant]

There was a very popular children's book called Watership down about rabbits and it was clearly a children's story, but it had an edge. You know, I think often stories dealing with animals and the environment can give us a way of looking in a naive way, realising things for the first time. I think that's a great in sometimes to bigger questions around the environment, destruction of the planet and all that.

[Meg Wolitzer]

Yeah, I thought this was very charming and it was a really interesting way.

[John Cameron Mitchell]

Of revealing something about human nature in.

[Meg Wolitzer]

A light hearted, fun and interesting way that at the end made you devastated. I thought it was really political, political story in the best way. And I'm just sort of wondering about, you know, his way in to politics. That's not doctrinaire, you know, I mean, he's really making a point. He's hitting you hard with this point about what we've done to screw everything up and the tragedy of how we've ruined the Earth. Saunders obviously is making a point when he.

[John Cameron Mitchell]

The human zones are called Riverwalk Estate.

[Meg Wolitzer]

Hummingbird Way, Slow Stream Avenue, Melody Manor Passage.

[Unnamed Participant]

The Mole is called Fox Commons or something.

[John Cameron Mitchell]

Yeah, clearly it's supposed to show like, you know, we're infiltrating these spaces, making.

[Meg Wolitzer]

Them not what they were at all.

[John Cameron Mitchell]

And then pretending as if it's like nature still somehow.

[Meg Wolitzer]

Somehow natural. Yeah. Those levels of irony would not be gotten to. Right. They're meant, they're meant for us. There's such a depth, there's so many levels with the language. It's just. You can just dive into what he does. That was Rita Wolf and members of the Mother Daughter Book Club sharing their thoughts about George Saunders. Fox 8. Preachy fiction is rarely successful. And these two subtle and complex works don't need to preach to remind us that we're part of an equally subtle and complex nature order. One links the whole world through the image of a beating heart. The other asks us to imagine ourselves through the eyes of another creature. In either case, what shall we do with all that responsibility to keep things whole? As Fox 8 asks, seeing that long line of cars trot away so proud every morning full of humans and the other splendors Humans could do, such as make grass short, such as cause flowers to grow inside their dens. I was like, why did the curator do it so wrong? Making the group with the greatest skills the meanest. I'm Meg Wolitzer. Thanks for joining me for Selected Shorts. Selected Shorts is produced by Jennifer Brennan and Sarah Montague. Our team includes Matthew Love, Drew Richardson, Mary Shimpkin, Vivienne Woodward, and Magdalene Wrobleski. The readings are recorded by Myles B. Smith. Our programs, presented at the Getty center in Los Angeles are recorded by Phil Richards. Our theme music is David Peterson's that's the Deal, performed by the Deardorf Petersen Group. Selected Shorts is supported by the Dungannon Foundation. This program is also made possible with public funds from the New York State Council on the Arts with the support of Governor Kathy Hochul and the New York State Legislature. Selected Shorts is produced and distributed by Symphony Space.

[Unnamed Participant]

Foreign.

[Meg Wolitzer]

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