A Swim in a Pond in the Rain
by George Saunders
For the last twenty years, George Saunders has been teaching a class on the Russian short story to his MFA students at Syracuse University. In A Swim in a Pond in the Rain, he shares a version of that class with us, offering some of what he and his students have discovered together over the years. Paired with iconic short stories by Chekhov, Turgenev, Tolstoy, and Gogol, the seven essays in this book are intended for anyone interested in how fiction works and why it’s more relevant than ever in these turbulent times.
In his introduction, Saunders writes, “We’re going to enter seven fastidiously constructed scale models of the world, made for a specific purpose that our time maybe doesn’t fully endorse but that these writers accepted implicitly as the aim of art—namely, to ask the big questions, questions like, How are we supposed to be living down here? What were we put here to accomplish? What should we value? What is truth, anyway, and how might we recognize it?” He approaches the stories technically yet accessibly, and through them explains how narrative functions; why we stay immersed in a story and why we resist it; and the bedrock virtues a writer must foster. The process of writing, Saunders reminds us, is a technical craft, but also a way of training oneself to see the world with new openness and curiosity.
A Swim in a Pond in the Rain is a deep exploration not just of how great writing works but of how the mind itself works while reading, and of how the reading and writing of stories make genuine connection possible.
A Swim in a Pond in the Rain caught my attention from the time of its release in early 2021. Though not much of a short-story writer, I was intrigued by the chance to learn about fiction from an author with decades of experience as a writing professor, though, at the time, I hadn’t realized how renowned Saunders was. I’d hoped this book would bring something unique to my bookshelf that would benefit me as a writer.
Russian literature is intimidating. While I was looking forward to A Swim in a Pond in the Rain, I put it off for a time, assuming it would be at least somewhat dense, slow, and possibly pretentious. I enjoy classics, and I’ve read some Russian literature before, but I’m not embarrassed to admit there are elements of those classics that go over my head. I’m a thoroughly modern reader—I prioritize entertainment and enjoyment. Brilliance of structure and characterization or use of metaphors or some other literary device doesn’t mean all that much to me if a story fails to engage me and keep me entertained. And those who belong to the literary elite who sing the praises of such writing—whether it be “groundbreaking” offbeat modern novels or the work of classic authors—often present their opinions in ways that frustrate, giving the impression that it’s more important to agree that these works are incredible than simply state that you didn’t enjoy it. Highbrow opinions become facts, and those who disagree don’t simply have different opinions but are too simple to understand the work. Reading is meant to be enjoyed, at least according to me. With that in mind, I feared that, despite my interest in these short stories and the lessons within Saunders’s essays, I’d find it lacking valuable information and full of unbearable pretentiousness.
To my delight, this book had nothing of my anticipated fears within it. While not every one of the seven short stories discussed was to my taste, all of Saunders’s essays about them were. One could easily imagine essays analyzing Russian literature would be drab and droning, but it was the complete opposite experience. Saunders immediately cut through my preconceived notions of what this book might be like. His tone was nothing like that of the pretentious professor of my imagination; instead, his voice was engaging, kind, relatable, and funny. In explaining how he likes to discuss stories with his students, he threw away the more “literary” terms in favor of speaking plainly and simply about writing in order to help writers actually get to the root of issues and how to address them. It was more than just informative reading; it was compelling reading.
Following an introduction, the book allows readers to read the short stories for themselves before analyzing them in the essays (all except the first story, which was analyzed page by page). The essays are then followed by an Afterthought where Saunders shares more of his opinions. I thoroughly enjoyed this structure. It was my first time reading all of these stories, so I enjoyed the chance to read them uninterrupted (after the first). Having the stories pulled apart and examined from so many angles was fascinating. Saunders acknowledges where some stories fall short as well as where he thinks they shine, offering commentary that is both enlightening and entertaining. While certainly a slower read, to have these works explained in such minute detail was incredible. It made me appreciate the stories more, giving me the context to better understand them and their inner workings. While it didn’t change my opinion about the stories in terms of enjoyment, it allowed me to see how all the pieces fit together to create something that worked together seamlessly (or not seamlessly, depending). It was like having a clockmaker open up the back of a clock and explain to you how every gear serves a purpose and how they all come together to make the whole clock operational. Each word a gear, it has to earn its place on the page, and when it doesn’t, readers feel the friction. He touches on so many crucial elements of storytelling, from the subtle ways characters are made real on the page and how the details we’re given create an impression we may not even realize we’ve accepted. He discusses areas of these short stories that feel designed to bore or frustrate readers, reflecting and explaining my own thoughts so clearly, only to then reveal all the ways in which that portion was absolutely necessary to the story and the ways in which it did exactly what the author wanted. To spell out all the ways in which Saunders dissects these stories and pulls out the threads that make short stories—and all fiction—come alive and work as stories would be to write a review nearly as long as the book itself (and much less well written).
None of the concepts Saunders touched on were groundbreaking, but they weren’t supposed to be. He carefully took apart each short story and identified what makes it work, what makes readers care, how readers react to each bit of information we’re given as the story progresses and what we draw from it. As a writer who hasn’t taken any formal writing classes, I loved seeing the elements of storytelling pulled apart like this, the things we know almost intrinsically as writers laid out cleanly and explained in a way that was easily understandable, compelling, and engaging. His in-depth analysis allowed me a chance to view these types of stories through a different lens. It’s not about defending or enjoying them; it’s about learning from them—why they made the impact they did, why we still talk about them now, why they’re relevant in the modern conversation about writing.
This book was everything I’d hoped it would be and nothing I feared it might be. Pretentiousness left behind, these Russian short stories and their analyses were engaging and illuminating. Saunders’s approach and tone made this digestible and enjoyable for average writers; you needn’t be a fan of Russian literature or highbrow literary analysis to enjoy this book. A Swim in a Pond in the Rain is well worth the read.