There is a new story by Lorrie Moore in the New Yorker this week. If you're unfamiliar with her, Lorrie Moore is one of the best American short story authors in the business today, perhaps only after Amy Hempel.
I didn’t know anything about adoption. I’d known only one adopted girl when I was growing up, Becky Sussluch, who at sixteen was spoiled and beautiful and having an affair with a mussed and handsome student teacher whom I myself had a crush on. In general, I thought of adoption much as I thought of most things in life: uneasily. Adoption seemed both a cruel joke and a lovely daydream—a nice way of avoiding the blood and pain of giving birth, or, from a child’s perspective, a realized fantasy of your parents not really being your parents. Your genes could thrust one arm in the air and pump up and down. Yes! You were not actually related to them!“Congratulations,” I murmured now to Sarah. Was that what one said?
The story—about Chinese food, the Midwest, and child care—is at once warm and lonely and observant, and you should read it. Lorrie Moore will be publishing a novel titled Gate at the Stairs this September. It'll be the first book of original fiction she's published since 1998, and the first novel since 1994.
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