Jeff Roberts recently graduated with a B.A. in Liberal Studies in writing from Iowa and is currently attending Penn State's Art Program. His writing has been recently nominated for a William Rockhill Nelson Award and is a Finalist in the 'Short Story-Fiction' Category of the 2009 Next Generation Indie Book Awards and as well as having been featured in the University of Iowa’s Daily Palette. He currently resides with his family in Kansas City, Missouri.
Little Stories
by Jeff Roberts
Little Stories
by Jeff Roberts
Published Aug 17, 2008
101 Pages
Genre: FICTION / General
Book Details
My mind started racing. We had never really planned to live together; we hadn't planned on living apart, either. After she moved in with me, it was easier to get more involved than it was to cause a scene and split up… What we had certainly wasn't the spiritual love of Shakespeare's sonnets, but it was certainly a comfort born of affection and habit… The tales and vignettes found in Little Stories were first penned by author Jeff Roberts during his undergraduate years at the University of Iowa, where he tried to balance school with the full-time task of being a writer. Whether he's writing about the end of a love relationship or the pain in dealing with the loss of a beloved pet, Roberts' quietly moving stories are packed with real emotion and rich detail.
Author Interviews
Tyler Tichelaar of Reader Views (October, 2008) Interview
Juanita Watson of Inside Scoop Live (November, 2008) Interview
Lia Metal; Reviewer from Corfu, Greece (December, 2008) Interview
PageOneLit.com (January, 2009) Interview
Sarah Moore of Writers in the Sky (April, 2009) Interview
Critical Reviews
"The hallmark of Roberts' collection is his strong writing. He captures scenes with expertise, and his characters come to life through the dialogue. The author's stories are moving, light-hearted when appropriate, and explicitly human. In its best moments the powerful stories quickly become page turners once you get into the text."
—Writer's Digest
"...Roberts demonstrates a talent for tapping into the fault lines of human landscapes and the brittleness of relationships that are felled with a single word."
—Kirkus Discoveries
"Gritty, dark and existential best describe these vignettes of life. Roberts may well be the new voice of the modern man, lost in the city of despair and despondency. Noir best describes the mood in most of the stories. One cannot help but feel that no matter what opportunities present themselves, Roberts' narrator will not escape smoke-filled apartments and dark city streets. Even stories told from a different point of view cannot break away from the dismal landscape of walk-ups and tenements…There is every possibility that Roberts, with time and experience, will emerge as a new Kerouac or Sartre. Roberts is a perfect candidate to pursue the noir novel, a genre for which he seems, at least at this time, well suited."
—Author of Northern Escape and Death in the Desert ; R.L. Coffield
"The unassuming title of Jeff Roberts' 'Little Stories' belies the richness of the narratives within. These character-driven stories are haunting and believable. A master of writing 'tight' (as one of my college English profs termed it), Roberts is capable of crafting psychological portraits of his characters in very few words…My personal favorites, 'A Triptych' and 'The Red and The Black', revolve around a failing marriage, a lonely old man, and the death of Roberts' grandfather. The characters in these stories are not happy people, but Roberts reveals glimpses of beauty in their lives. Readers will feel compassion for the characters, and squirm occasionally as they recognize aspects of themselves."
-Adrienne Muncy of BookReview.com
"Jeff Roberts is an author to watch. His first book, LITTLE STORIES, a compilation of works written while an undergraduate at University of Iowa, is such a rich literary experience for the reader that it seems we have a very important new voice rising in American literature. He has the ability to observe quiet events of everyday life and from them mold brief episodes of stories that seem so much a part of our own experiences that he startles us with his intuitive eye. Most of the emotions he creates or shares suggest a preoccupation with the tenuous threads that hold our lives together…This is a winsome little book, one that holds more moments worth re-reading than most authors accomplish in a major novel. To say that he is sensitive to the human condition is too embarrassingly obvious to state. He is a bornstoryteller and a poet the likes of whom we rarely encounter in first books. This is one of the finest book releases of the year, and a welcome to the field of literature."
—Grady Harp, “Top 10 Reviewer” for Amazon.com
'Little Stories' contains a collection of eleven short stories about human nature. The author, Jeff Roberts, did an incredible job with writing these tales. He brings each one to life and is able to vividly describe them in a way that makes them appear real. The stories range from a tale about a mischievous boy who gets in trouble, to one about an elderly grandfather who is preparing to die as his great-granddaughter is welcomed into the world... I found myself wishing that there were more. I think that 'Little Stories' by Jeff Roberts will make an excellent addition to the collections of people who enjoy quality fiction. It would also be a great book for a college-level reading course and it would be a great selection for reader's groups. I truly hope that more stories will be forthcoming from Mr. Roberts."
—Paige Lovitt of Reader Views
"Little Stories is a collection of short stories that lure the mind into a dream space of relationships and turbulent feelings. The author uses vivid scenes, live images and real strong characters and situations. His stories are detailed and well crafted, and his writing style is highly emotional and sensitive. Jeff tries to capture moments in real life, just like a photographer does. He depicts the raw reality using detailed descriptions, complex sentences and live dialogue. He talks about relationships, love, death, betrayal, misery, desperation and loneliness, all the emotions a man can feel. The readers will sympathize with him and feel the emotional ups and downs his stories convey. . This book is enjoyable to read and feel; Jeff’s stories stimulate imagination and leave the reader thinking about the future. "
—Reviewed by Liana Metal; Corfu, Greece
"…the beauty of Robert's "little stories." They transplant you into the situation and you find yourself questioning how you would react. I even came across a few stories that seemed to be written about me, and while reading those it came to my attention that Roberts has a gift. He recognizes that life is not all roses and happiness and joyful times. Life is sometimes tough and his little stories are a fantastic snapshot of what some people choose not to pay attention to…I made a small list of friends and family that may enjoy reading this: friends graduation from college, mothers, daughters, people in relationships, sons, fathers, anyone that has lost a loved one... There is something in this small book for everyone. I suggest you pick this up, pour yourself a cup o' Joe, and let yourself get sucked into this great book. "
—Ashley Newsom of Book and Cranny
Book Excerpt
“Excerpt from Little Stories”
"As I parted the curtain and stepped toward the bed, I heard a whimper, then a groan. I inhaled deeply the strange smells that saturated the air. It was the scent of primordial life, brine and flora all mixed with the sweet medicinal smell of a hospital. I took Sarah’s hand, drew it to my lips, and kissed it lightly. She pulled her hand away, clutched her face with both hands, squinted her eyes, and turned toward me, moaning, “God, it hurts so much, Jeff”
"Sarah was sprawled across the hospital bed, her body coated in sweat and her disheveled blond hair matted to the pillow. Two nurses and the doctor stood at the foot of the bed, commenting nonchalantly about how well this delivery was going, that she was fully dilated, and the baby was crowning. Sarah cried out and then exhaled heavily, her body not her own as she breathed in…out…in…out, and twisted from the contractions.
"She arched her back as she pushed downward with all her might, and her eyes closed into narrow slits. All these sounds, motions, and smells were swirling around us in this miracle of birth. Sarah grabbed my arm again, clinched her teeth, dug her nails into my arm, and let out a low moan, “Oh…Jeff….Oh, God, Jeff.” Hunching forward, Sarah breathed harder, deeper, and pushed from her very soul as the head slowly emerged and a baby’s cry rang out in the delivery room. After he clipped the umbilical cord, the doctor placed this bundle of wet hair and soft folds of flesh into Sarah’s waiting arms. As she pulled the naked little infant to her chest, Sarah turned to me with tears streaming down her face and sobbed, “We got our baby girl.”Far across town, an old man named Arthur Johnson dozed in an uneasy sleep in a hospital room that was filled with the acrid smell of urine combined with sweat. By his side, monitors glowed and lights flickered as they registered the slow progress of a life ebbing away. His shallow breathing was labored, as if a heavy weight rested on his chest. From days of struggle, this normally well-groomed man had a four-day-old beard, his body was covered with a sheen of perspiration, and his hair had become a matted collection of overgrown gray ringlets.
At the head of the bed his son, Jake Johnson, spoke in low tones to his sister, Judy. He stood there in his well-pressed Oxford shirt and slacks, which looked like they had just been delivered from the dry cleaners. His arms were folded across his chest as he stroked a finger across his lips and gazed on this heart-rending scene. The bloodshot eyes and the creases on his cheeks attested to the sleepless nights and helpless days that were taking their toll on this fifty-five-year-old man. Judy stood beside him near the wall, her skirt and blouse immaculately fresh and clean, in sharp contrast with her eyes, which were red and swollen from days of crying. She pulled Jake close and whispered, “Dad’s not going to make it. The doctor said his chest is filled with infection from the surgery, and it’s just slowly eating him inside.”
Jake shook his head, ran his open palm down the side of his face as he sighed and said, “Yes, we all know that, but I just wish we could make it easier on him.” His voice broke as he continued, “Last night he pulled me close and whispered in my ear. ‘Jake, just get me a gun. Please, put me out of this misery.’ It’s just a horror to watch this and not be able to do anything.”
Peggy, Arthur Johnson’s youngest daughter, sat beside her father, keeping a solemn vigil. Her hair was styled in a short perm, which was just beginning to show a light frosting of gray. Despite having had three children, she still had the figure of a twenty-two-year old, and she had a carefree attitude that was more appropriate for a woman twenty years younger. Tonight though, a dull gaze replaced the sparkle in her eyes. She held her sleeping father’s hand, stroking his forearm and his hair. Each morning for the past two weeks she had washed his face, tried to comb his hair, and given him as much comfort as she could.
Judy signaled to Peggy to join her and Jake in the corner of the room. Peggy got up, pulled her father’s hand to her lips, and, her voice cracking, called out, “Oh, Dad.” She gave his hand a kiss and then laid it by his side like it was fragile porcelain.
She walked over and joined her brother and sister in the corner. Tears streaming down her face, Judy said, “Mom called from home. She wants us all to get a good night’s sleep, so she’s hired a nurse to sit with Dad tonight. You know, normally I would never let anyone else stay with him, but he’s so medicated, he’ll just sleep through the night. And we all need some rest.”
Still farther away, on the edge of town, Emily Johnson, Arthur’s wife of fifty-three years, sat at her kitchen table having dinner. Her face was fully made up with light red lipstick, rouge, and eyeliner. Her hair looked as if it had been done that day at the beauty parlor, and her light brown blouse and pantsuit were neatly pressed as if she were ready to receive houseguests. She had cooked a full meal: roast beef, mashed potatoes, green beans, iced tea, and a chocolate cake. This dark November evening she sat at an empty table, staring across an empty kitchen inside an empty house. After blandly poking at her food and eating a few bites, she wrapped the leftovers in aluminum foil, loaded the refrigerator, cleaned all the dishes, and put them away in the cabinets. She followed the same ritual she had observed religiously all years they’d been married. Then she retired to an empty bed and sat staring blankly at the television screen, contemplating the unimaginable.