Skip to main content

Tobias Wolff Will Receive Our 2024 Hadada Award

Photograph by Elena Seibert.

In an interview published in The Paris Review no. 171 (Fall 2004), Tobias Wolff pinpointed the radical power of a well-written story. “Good stories slip past our defenses—we all want to know what happens next—and then slow time down, and compel our interest and belief in other lives than our own, so that we feel ourselves in another presence. It’s a kind of awakening, a deliverance, it cracks our shell and opens us up to the truth and singularity of others—to their very being.”

The Paris Review has always sought out just this kind of writing, of which Wolff’s own body of work is an extraordinary example. We are thrilled to honor him with the Hadada, our award for lifetime achievement in literature. Previous recipients include Joan Didion, Philip Roth, Lydia Davis, Jamaica Kincaid, and Vivian Gornick. 

Over the last several decades, Wolff has established himself as a virtuosic storyteller across several forms. His memoirs, novels, and short stories express, in infinite variety, the human struggle to reconcile the truth we wish for with the one we get. In This Boy’s Life (1989), his memoir about a peripatetic childhood—which won a Los Angeles Times Book Prize—and Old School (2003), his novel modeled in part on his own disastrous attempt to fit in at an elite prep school, he captures the vulnerability of youth with precision and delicacy. His books set during the Vietnam War—which include a memoir, In Pharaoh’s Army: Memories of the Lost War (1994), and a novella, The Barracks Thief (1984)—bring the candor and intimacy of personal experience to one of the defining events of the last century. In Pharaoh’s Army was a National Book Award finalist, while The Barracks Thief won the PEN/Faulkner Award for Fiction.

Wolff may be best known, however, for his short stories, which have been published in four collections—In the Garden of the North American Martyrs (1981), Back in the World (1985), The Night in Question (1996), and Our Story Begins (2008)—and anthologized widely. Wolff’s stories are defined by their capaciousness and expert construction, from the brilliant title story of his first collection, in which a beleaguered professor fights against the stultifying demands of the academy, to “Nightingale,” a standout from his most recent collection, which depicts the anxious ruminations of a parent who has just left his son at an ominous military academy. Many readers will have first encountered his work through the story “Bullet in the Brain,” originally published in The New Yorker in 1997, a kaleidoscopic account of a jaded critic’s last moments on earth that transforms, unexpectedly, into a reverie for the things in life worth remembering. Widely recognized as a master of the form, Wolff has won three O. Henry Awards, as well as The Story Prize, and has been honored for excellence in the short story with both the PEN/Malamud Award and the Rea Award.

I remember exactly where I was when I first encountered the staccato prose of Tobias Wolff,” says the Review’s publisher, Mona Simpson:

It was December and I was in a tiny apartment in New York City, without a kitchen. I was reading “An Episode in the Life of Professor Brooke.” It was snowing outside, the flakes fizzing in the air shaft, and I was rushing through the story, gulping it down, as if it contained essential nutrients. I’m almost certain I made a sound—I was alone in the apartment—when the woman lifted off her wig. Though I didn’t think of myself as prudish, I was startled when Professor Brooke stayed the night, almost against his will, and felt a new era in my own life begin. Suffice to say, I ordered nine hardback copies of the collection In the Garden of the North American Martyrs, which contained this story, so that I could give one to everyone I loved. I’d never before spent so much money on books—so for this one reader the story ended one more time, with the discovery of the pleasure in generosity.

Many of us at The Paris Review have a favorite Wolff story that we turn to at specific moments for solace, for a laugh, or for spiritual help. Those of us over forty remember rushing to the newsstand to buy a copy of The Atlantic Monthly after a friend called to say there was a new Tobias Wolff story out. One of us recalls reading all of “The Other Miller” while walking home. It’s a great pleasure now to introduce students to Wolff’s stories—standards in anthologies, firmly entrenched in the canon—that we first read on flimsy paper, standing up. Though we can’t claim to have discovered Tobias Wolff, it’s in the spirit of rediscovery and acknowledgement of rightful place that we award him the Hadada prize. His work, in its vernacular beauty, its depth, and its moral capaciousness, deserves the lasting and glorious reputation we hope to insure.

Currently the Ward W. and Priscilla B. Woods Professor in the School of Humanities and Sciences at Stanford University, where he was previously a Wallace Stegner Fellow, Wolff also taught for many years in the graduate writing program at Syracuse University. He is a member of the American Academy of Arts and Letters and a recipient of the Whiting Award, and in 2015, President Barack Obama presented him with the National Medal of Arts. We look forward to presenting him with the Hadada at our Spring Revel—an annual gathering of writers, artists, and friends to celebrate the Review and honor writers—on April 2, 2024. Tickets are now available, and all proceeds help sustain the magazine. We hope you’ll join us.



from The Paris Review https://ift.tt/3INxZn2

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Sphere

Photograph by Elena Saavedra Buckley. Once when I was about twelve I was walking down the dead-end road in Albuquerque where I grew up, around twilight with a friend. Far beyond the end of the road was a mountain range, and at that time of evening it flattened into a matte indigo wash, like a mural. While kicking down the asphalt we saw a small bright light appear at the top of the peaks, near where we knew radio towers to occasionally emit flashes of red. But this glare, blinding and colorless, grew at an alarming rate. It looked like a single floodlight and then a tight swarm beginning to leak over the edge of the summit. My friend and I became frightened, and as the light poured from the crest, our murmurs turned into screams. We stood there, clutching our heads, screaming. I knew this was the thing that was going to come and get me. It was finally going to show me the horrifying wiring that lay just behind the visible universe and that was inside of me too. And then, a couple se...

A Year in Reading: Daniel Torday

I’ve been on leave from teaching this year, so it’s been a uniquely good 12 months of reading for me, a year when I’ve read for only one reason: fun. Now when I say fun … I’m a book nerd. So I tend to take on “reading projects.” The first was to work toward becoming a Joseph Conrad completist. I’m almost there. I warmed up with critic Maya Jasanoff ’s The Dawn Watch: Conrad in a Global World , which granted me permission to remember the capacious scope of his perspective, his humanistic genius. His masterwork was hard work, but Nostromo belongs on the shelf of both the most important and most difficult of the 20th century. The Secret Agent blew the top of my head off—it’s funny and deeply relevant to our moment, about a terrorist bombing gone horribly wrong. Under Western Eyes is all I got left. 2018 isn’t over yet. But then much fun came in reading whatever, whenever. That started with a heavy dose of Denis Johnson . The new posthumous collection of his short stories, The Lar...

The Historical Future of Trans Literature

  Whatever happens against custom we say is against Nature, yet there is nothing whatsoever which is not in harmony with her. May Nature’s universal reason chase away that deluded ecstatic amazement which novelty brings to us.  —Michel de Montaigne If you were trying to get anywhere in the late thirteenth century, the Hereford Mappa Mundi would not have been particularly helpful; the map is rife with topographical omissions, compressions, and errors—the most egregious of which is perhaps the mislabeling of Africa as Europe and vice-versa. Of course, as any medievalist will tell you, mappa mundi were not intended for cartographic accuracy anyway. Rather, they were pictorial histories, encyclopedias of the world’s mythological and theological narratives, records of medical fact and fable. Notable places—Carthage, Rome, Jerusalem, Alexandria, Jericho—appeared, but their placement on the map emphasized their symbolic import, rather than their geographical specificity. Thus, ...