![]() ![]() ![]() Males like Danny Ketchem, with their absurdly specific names, with their penises sticking in or out or jerking up and down like windshield wipers, frequently enter The Collected Stories of Diane Williams and withdraw with a dumb sense of self-regard the females work hard to redeem their intrusions. “She could be his wife, his mother, his daughter, his best woman friend, these, or any combination of these, or add in any other female you can think of that she could be.” Whatever the precise configuration of their relationship, Danny “was bound to get confused” about Nancy’s experience of his penis. “It is immaterial who she is,” the narrator insists of Nancy Drew. Like most of Williams’s stories, there’s only the suggestion of a plot, and the characters are barely sketched. “His penis was sticking itself in between her breasts, as if a button were being pushed,” Williams observes in “A Contribution to the Theory of Sex,” the one-page story of a man or boy named Danny Ketchem and a female called-improbably-Nancy Drew. ![]() The penises in her very short stories never do what they are supposed to be doing, which is, in a word, fucking or, rather, fucking well, fucking artistically. More than any other writer today, Diane Williams understands the essentially tragicomic nature of the penis, human or otherwise. Diane Williams, Central Park, New York City, 2018 ![]()
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