"Sparks" by Susan Minot
"It's always seemed odd to me, and wrong, that the lights far away are the ones which sparkle most quickly..."
This is probably obvious, but it only occurred to me recently—taking long walks in December (“He apologized for being from California”)—that Christmas lights must have had some origin in illuminating shorter, darker days.
“Sparks” by Susan Minot (from Lust, published in 1989) feels written for this season: for darkness, cold, gloom. “Sparks” bottles a night (and era, and age) like a firefly in a jam jar. Inside the glass: a young person’s shakiness and a young person’s brightness. Also the timeworn activity of tracking a compelling someone through the course of an evening (we’ve all been there). Reading this story, I can feel myself in my twenties, fretting at a party, head spinning with insecurity, believing everybody else to be normal but me, fixated on what’s wrong with me in particular, not yet aware that there are things wrong with everyone, or more accurately there is no normal, and it’s tiresome to be so self obsessed.
“Sparks” starts lightly (“Okay, so I met this guy the other night”), and flits deftly: people and conversations come in and out of focus, thoughts intrude from a narrator who’s trying to act casual, but is barely holding it together. Right away I’m charmed by the story’s rhythm and compression. Images and details seem to give off sparks (“beers in the freezer stacked like torpedoes”), even colors—lilac barrettes and red pepper—and too-loud shoes: “In the middle of the floor like a centerpiece were Stacey’s red plastic shoes and during pauses in the conversation we’d look at them.”
Every new year makes me recall the old ones. And “Sparks,” published thirty-six years ago, feels like that: like time collapsed on itself. I was in my twenties about thirty years after Susan Minot, but recognize a similar black-cloud feeling. I’ll be forty in July and instead of burning too intensely there’s the opposite issue: running myself down and needing my pilot light relit. This is not me complaining about being old, by the way. Right now I’m younger than I’ll be again and older than I’ve been; that was true at twenty, too. That every year starts out new and becomes old—that’s how this story feels to me. Of course time can’t be arrested. But “Sparks” captures what ordinarily is lost to it—a failed dessert, a lit cigarette, what happens between people.
On one of my walks I came across a lemonade stand manned by two boys in soccer jerseys. Kids! They’re still at it! I thought. I also thought, Times have changed. They accepted Zelle and Venmo. Mint was an extra 50 cents (inflation!). Because I tipped, I was offered a joke, which I accepted. (“Why couldn’t the stuffed animal eat any more?” “He was so stuffed.” I didn’t offer feedback, but was tempted.) I was at the end of a five-mile walk, so the lemonade tasted especially good. The sun was setting and, all around me, lights were flickering on.
Those lemonade vendors are coming of age in a changed world, with easier access to information than I had. But they aren’t any more omniscient than I was, especially when it comes to their own lives. Each of us has no choice but to live forward, and through. On a winter’s night, candles and fairy lights aren’t exactly functional: they won’t heat a room, or illuminate the path before you. But they change the mood. They give us something to share: a mild glow, a tiny flame, recognition.
Here’s “Sparks” from Lust by Susan Minot, included here as a PDF, with her permission. (Thank you, Susan!) This story was scanned from a library book, and the star on page 29 is not mine, though I agree with it (the star, not the practice of writing in library books). Susan Minot’s latest work is the novel Don’t Be A Stranger (2024).
Books: The Complete Stories of J.G. Ballard (2006, written in the 50s); Lust and other stories by Susan Minot (1989); The Hive and The Honey by Paul Yoon (2023); The O. Henry Prize Stories 2008 (because my friend Cecilia recommended Michel Faber’s excellent “Bye-bye Natalia”)
What stories did you read this month? What were your favorites? Any thoughts on “Sparks”? Comment with text below; I have also enabled the chat if you’d like to share a photo of a paper list.
My hope for this and future comments sections is that you’ll respond not only to me but to other readers, too. (I think it’s a missed opportunity when comment sections are written only to the newsletter author! In this case the newsletter author is going on vacation, and will be slow to respond.) I’ll select one random comment-leaver to snail-mail a short story to.
Need story recommendations for January? I’ve compiled a list here.
 | A guest post by
|
AH! the distinct pleasure of not only learning about a new-to-me author but also getting to read their work immediately, LOVING IT, and then rereading your words after to close the loop. a 10/10 morning where I tucked my feet under me, clutched my coffee, and read this story from the glow of my laptop. I will be reading again! I will likely be purchasing the collection. can't wait for the next one. :)
For several years I’ve kept track of the books I read, just a simple list in my Notes app with a binary rating. A book gets a star or it doesn’t, that’s it. I’ve never kept track of short stories but this is making me think I should! In 2025 so far the list is just Sparks. I loved the specificity of all the images, like you was reminded of my twenties and my twenties-era brain.
I was struck by this quick passage early on: “Lex had on a faded green shirt he'd been wearing since high school and around Nita's throat hung her usual gold chain with the charm and the dangling fist. Duer wears a chain, a plain one." Impressive how a single throwaway sentence about an ex can so accurately capture a whole headspace.
Anyway, thanks for sharing!