I first read Charles D’Ambrosio’s short story, “The Point,” a few months ago, and I was moved by its beauty and genius. D’Ambrosio was my teacher for two fiction workshops at the Summer Iowa Writer’s Workshop. He was intimidatingly smart but also humble. While our class was discussing a story, he would sit at the far end of the table, head tilted to the side, listening intently. At first he didn’t say much, other than to pose an occasional question that would turn the conversation in a different direction. Eventually, as our discussion waned, dying for lack of resolution, he would start talking, and talking, explaining the concepts we were leaning toward but failing to grasp. As he talked he would read quotes from an eclectic variety of thinkers—John Gardner, Flannery O’Connor, Augustine, Henry James, a famous boxer whose name I forget. We would listen in silence, captivated. When the class reached the end of its three-hour allotment and we still had more to discuss, he would ask if we...
reflections and whimsies on literary fiction