In 2004, I interviewed Jim Shepard over the phone about “Project X,” his novel about a Columbine-like plot.  

Shepard was probably the best writer I ever interviewed. He didn’t treat me like some perfunctory annoyance with whom he couldn’t wait to be rid of like Joyce Carol Oates or Clive Cussler, and he wasn’t in the midst of a whirlwind book tour in which interviews were so common that the answers were stock. See Amy Tan.

No, as Shepard took his time from his Massachusetts home and gave long, reflective answers to my questions, I was struck by the breadth of his intellect. I remember thinking: how could someone improvise such thoughtful responses? 

I only relay this anecdote to provide a context for assessing Shepard’s new book of short stories: “Like you’d understand, anyway.” 

Lots of History

This collection may have failed to clock large sales last year, or even grace the lips of the talk-show types, but it gained a certain momentum on best-of lists and the respect of other writers.  

In no particular order, the subjects covered by the 11 stories include Chernobyl, Roman history, Greek history, high-school football, the yeti, an Alaskan earthquake, Australian expeditions, the U.S.-Soviet space race and the French Revolution. Got all that?  

Judging from the stories, Shepard’s mind is a repository of history from virtually any time and place. The trick he pulls off is to focus these minutiae into the short story format. It’s a remarkable feat both in theory and in practice.

The Catch

There’s only one problem, though: to these melting pots of ideas, Shepard often forgets to add the ingredient of fun.  

For those looking for entertainment, the nadir of the collection is “My Aeschylus,” a first-person about an ancient Greek conflict, or some such thing. Even at 13 pages, it feels like a novel, and I’m afraid that’s not a compliment.  

Of course, it would be unfair to judge a collection by one piece, and Shepard’s historical vignettes sometimes do entertain. “The First South Central Australian Expedition” (exactly what is says it is) is oddly gripping, while the closer, ‘Sans Farine,’ which concerns the misadventures of an executioner during the French Revolution, qualifies as a thought-provoking page-turner.

In the final assessment, “Like you’d understand, anyway,” is a sublimely striking collection, but one that illustrates the sometimes-gap between the impressive and the enjoyable.  

It may be a low blow, but there were times while slogging through “Like you’d understand, anyway” when I thought, ‘Is the title a taunt to potential readers? To me?’