Millhauser's Latest

There is a remarkable consistency to Steven Millhauser's short stories. Critics seem unanimous on the fact that the thread running through these manifold missives is a phenomenal clarity. Indeed, Millhauser's world is rendered with such acute precision that at times, he seems more scientist than author. Look no further than "A Game of Clue." The story is an elaborate parallel between two worlds. The one involves the group gathered around the board game, and the other, the characters within the game. Throughout the story, the narrator transports the reader seamlessly from world to world, the focal point of the story being the board game itself, for it is the gateway that allows access to both worlds, and it is no surprise that Millhauser describes the game as if it were an organism, noting its many cracks, those portions that are now attached with adhesive, and the cards that have been lost and replaced with those of a poker deck. In a sense, the game is one of the characters; it is the mediator between the two worlds. Adding to these layers are the inner worlds of each of the characters, which play out respectively throughout the story. So, the line between object and observer becomes blurred and what emerges is a world where everything is potentially animate.
And this is so in "The Invasion from Outer Space," Millhauser's latest story to appear in the Feb. 9 & 16 edition of the New Yorker. The name itself is a cliche, and it is ideal for Millhauser's purposes. Because this title carries certain connotations, namely vignettes of poorly executed scifi films like "It, the Terror from Outer Space," or "Attack of the Saucer-Men," it allows the author to pull the rug out from under our feet. No green men enter the picture, no flying saucers descend from the heavens, no sinister plan to enslave the human race, no communist undertones, just a purposeless yellow substance, with the consistency of dust, that covers everything and reproduces rapidly through binary fission.
We feel somewhat disappointed and this is the point. And here we come upon a theme quite dear to Millhauser's heart. Namely, the demand for spectacle. We've seen it before, most notably in the "Knife Thrower," and "Paradise Park." Consider the following lines from the present tale: "We had wanted blood, crushed bones, howls of agony. We had wanted buildings crumbling onto streets, cars bursting into flame." But all that has happened is the arrival of an anonymous empty specimen; "We have been invaded by nothing, by emptiness, by inanimate dust." And somehow, even mass-murder and carnage is preferable to this mysterious lifeless powder.
If you've ever read Millhauser you'll no doubt recall his rather ominous invocation of the plural pronoun, his use of "we." In a fascinating interview the author shared a few thoughts on the matter, "What interests me is the way moral indecisiveness or questioning may be given more weight or significance by attaching itself to a multiple being. A single narrator might have multiple interpretations of an event, or might try to evade moral choice in numerous ways, but the same kind of uncertainty in an entire community becomes public, societal, even political, and carries a different weight." In other words, "we" are all indicted. These stories remind us of our own all-too-human bloodlust. This hunger permeates Hollywood and even primetime. From Jerry Springer to Nip Tuck, our insatiable appetite for spectacle seems to be rivaled only by our need to placate this desire by adding to it ourselves, to throw ourselves to the dramatic wolves.
"Invasion from Outer Space" may not frighten on a visceral level, but it will leave a definite sense of foreboding in the heart of anyone who's ever slowed down at the scene of an accident.. .