
George Saunders Reads Claire Keegan
The New Yorker: Fiction
The Shellburn
He asked her to go out for a drink with his co-worker Cynthia last week. She said things may now be changing, but that at least half of men your age just want us to shut up and give them what they want. Is that so? He wanted to deny it, but it felt uncomfortably close to a truth he had not once considered. It occurred to him that he would not have minded her shutting up right then and giving him what he wanted. Carl lifted his hand and reached for her plate, rose, and placed it on the draining board with his own before leaning back and holding on to the edge of the counter. I really don't know, he said
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