This paper offers a critical review of four short stories by Donald Barthelme: "The Glass Mountain," "The School," "Some of Us Have Been Threatening Our Friend Colby," and "A City of Churches." The review examines Barthelme's signature postmodern style — characterized by dark parody, absurdist humor, and minimalism — and how each story uses unconventional narrative structures to comment on society, mortality, conformity, and the nature of friendship. The paper traces individual story elements, including symbolism, character behavior, and thematic depth, while arguing that Barthelme consistently defies literary convention to produce work that is unsettling, humorous, and thought-provoking.
Donald Barthelme wrote novels, short stories, children's literature, and more. His style has been called "experimental" and sometimes "impersonal" (Lingan). A writer in the Texas Observer recently observed that Barthelme's plots "are about as straightforward as a Picasso portrait" (Agresta). Nevertheless, his works draw the reader in from the start, tether one to the plot, and often leave one dizzy, unnerved, and even somewhat fearful.
Of the four stories, "The Glass Mountain" offers the most roller-coaster-like reading experience. A fairy tale of great depth and wit, the story follows a youth — presumably a kind of knight — attempting to scale a glass mountain situated in the midst of a modern city ("The Glass Mountain"). His goal is an enchanted symbol and a castle of pure gold at the top. While the youth is new to the neighborhood, he has so-called acquaintances cheering him on his quest. With shouts of "shithead" and "asshole" from below, the youth has a bird's-eye view of the city as he hammers his way up the side of the mountain.
Vivid depictions of junkies, dog walkers, and an oddly observed tree-cutting scene create a landscape rich in sensory detail ("The Glass Mountain"). These descriptions leave the reader with a sense of powerful disdain for urban life and perhaps a rebuke of rapid progress. Dying and dead horses and knights litter the ground around the mountain, and despite this evidence of previous failures, the youth continues his mission to "disenchant" the symbol because "stronger egos still need symbols." While his critical friends continue to shout — "won't he make a splash when he falls" and "fart-face fool" — the youth recounts the names of the knights who failed before him, all of whom lie below. Blaming the wearing of full armor for their failures, one may presume the youth wears none. As his friends strip the fallen knights of valuables, he notes the "lean-headed eagle with blazing rubies for eyes" that guards the golden castle.
Recalling that the eagle is the traditional means of breaching the castle, the precise method is described: being caught in the eagle's talons, flown around the castle, the knight pulling out a knife as they approach a balcony, amputating the eagle's legs, landing safely, and ultimately discovering a beautiful princess. As this process makes clear, a fully armored knight could not survive the eagle flight. The youth then suddenly remembers he forgot the bandages — a hilarious leap entirely fitting the tone of the story. He reconsiders the entire climb simply to go back for bandages, but he wants no further taunting from his friends and so forges ahead.
When the eagle finally takes the youth in its talons, all proceeds as expected, including his safe landing on the balcony. Upon entering the glorious castle, the youth finds the enchanted symbol "layered with meaning," and when he touches it, it transforms — revealing the beautiful princess. In what one might read as an act of disgust, he throws the princess headfirst down the mountain to his friends, whom he trusts to deal with her ("The Glass Mountain").
The first thing that stands out is that this is not a typical fairy tale with romantic sentiments and a happy ending. Barthelme uses the fairy tale form to convey an updated, irreverent version of the genre while taking aim at society and its conventional attitudes. The story balances genuine humor and pure silliness against a pointed commentary.
Two interpretive possibilities emerge: either the previous knights knew what was actually inside the castle and simply did not know the conventional method of approach — which would mean the youth was entirely wrong — or the youth had the right goal but should never have touched the enchanted symbol. Part of what makes this story so enjoyable is the taunting the youth receives, which seems to arise from his friends' certainty that disaster is imminent. There are many presumptions the reader must make: Does the youth wear any armor? Did he fail to notice all the dying horses and knights around him? As with any good story, this one leaves the reader wanting more.
One of Barthelme's short stories that begins with apparent humor before deepening into more serious territory is "The School." So much of the story is concerned with death that on first reading it might be taken as an exaggerated account of a single year in the life of an elementary school teacher. Tragedy befalls the classroom at every turn, beginning with the inexplicable deaths of all the orange trees the students had planted ("The School"). While this might be explained as a natural occurrence, it is only the beginning.
A student discovers a puppy, which the teacher, Edgar, privately foresees will surely die. His concern is evident in his morning checks on the puppy in the closet, until he discovers it dead and has the janitor quietly dispose of it. A great deal of dying takes place, but Edgar, while at moments appearing to shield the children from this unrelenting bad luck, makes his own fateful contribution. It is significant that Edgar discusses the tropical fish and their deaths: "we expected the tropical fish to die," yet "the lesson plan called for a tropical fish" ("The School"). Knowing that the tropical fish had died the previous year, and that this particular class had already suffered an alarming number of deaths, Edgar still sacrificed the fish. One can only speculate how much the lesson plans actually drove the acquisition of various living creatures for the classroom, but the episode is compelling.
The deaths progress from plants and animals to human beings. Beginning with the Korean child adopted by the class through the Help the Children program, the story takes its string of bad luck and death to a new level. Parents of students begin to die — and in unusual ways: suicide, a massive car accident, grandparents dying in close succession. When two fellow students die together in a freak accident, the deaths seem to have reached as far as they can go. With surprising resilience, the students seek answers to death using strangely advanced vocabulary. When Edgar is unable to provide sufficient answers, the children ask him to make love to the teaching assistant, Helen. Though Edgar and Helen share some kisses, no sex takes place ("The School"). Finally, a new gerbil appears and the students cheer. If that is not proof that life begins again, what else could possibly serve the purpose? The gerbil represents a fresh start after all the death. The story thus moves from detailed, numbing mortality to another fundamental biological fact — reproduction — and it is entirely fitting that a question about a life-giving act should bring it to a close.
"Friends plan a hanging in a darkly comic tale"
"Town of total religious uniformity suppresses individual freedom"
Barthelme has been called a postmodern writer, and while that label seems fitting, he also stretched his skills considerably further. His dark parody, twisted humor, and reflections on society drew upon the simplest and most everyday activities of life — from schools and churches to the cycles of life and death. He addressed the reader without always defining a theme or explicit message. Each of the four stories contemplates issues that are, at a minimum, uncomfortable. Seeking answers to age-old questions, exploring issues of choice, hoping to understand the symbols in our lives, and questioning the nature of friendship, the stories are individually shaped and molded to defy any specific standards that literary convention might impose.
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