bullet in the brain
Written by Tobias Wolff
Published in The New Yorker in September 1995
i was introduced to the short story, “bullet in the brain”, as a creative writing major at uc riverside, and i am a strong believer that it is one of those short stories you read and never forget. on a personal note, this story was incredibly useful to my development as a fiction writer due to wolff’s usage of character to drive his plot.
the story begins with a book critic named anders who finds himself waiting in a long line at the bank. he is introduced as cynical and cranky immediately from the beginning as he interacts with two women waiting in line and critiques everything around him harshly.
however, the situation changes as two robbers enter the bank and begin to rob everyone inside. anders maintains his cynicism and critical nature even as the two criminals brandish their guns and demand for money to be put in their bags, even commenting on the lines that the pair are using to execute the robbery.
one of the robbers dislikes anders’ attitude and ends up putting a bullet through his brain, hence the title of the story.
while this sounds like a story in which a grumpy book critic finally meets somewhat of a karmic end, it is actually a reflection on how easy it is to forget the essence of humanity and “the pleasure of respecting others”, and it’s all made possible by the way wolff constructs anders’ character.
Anders burst out laughing. He covered his mouth with both hands and said, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” then snorted helplessly through his fingers and said, “Capeesh, oh, God, capeesh,” and at that the man with the pistol raised the pistol and shot Anders right in the head.
for context, in the quote above, the robber is already holding the gun under anders’ jaw as he bursts out laughing. up until this moment, readers infer that anders is just a sour book critic with no capacity for empathy or human consideration. his behavior and actions up until this point also enforce this idea.
but, after anders is shot, his life “flashes” before his eyes and he remembers one moment in time that contradicts all that we know about him.
“Shortstop,” the boy says. “Short’s the best position they is.” Anders turns and looks at him. He wants to hear Coyle’s cousin repeat what he’s just said, but he knows better than to ask. The others will think he’s being a jerk, ragging the kid for his grammar. But that isn’t it, not at all—it’s that Anders is strangely roused, elated, by those final two words, their pure unexpectedness and their music. He takes the field in a trance, repeating them to himself.
instead of remembering all the “important” things, like his wife, his daughter, his first love, and his activism, anders’ last thought is of an instant in time where he respected the humanity of someone. he didn’t just respect it, but was ignited with excitement that there was a perspective other than his in the world.
we don’t find out this crucial information until the end as anders is dying, but the intention of withholding it is much more impactful to the overall message of the story.
