It’s been too long since David Means published a collection of his masterful short stories. “Instructions for a Funeral” demonstrates why his voice is so unique and compelling. A typical Means story like “Fistfight, San Antonio, Sacramento, 1950,” illustrates his modus operandi. A central incident takes place, often of a violent nature and spirals out from there in wholly unexpected ways. Not only does the reader not know the outcome of this isolated brawl between two denizens of a bar, we can’t predict how the narrative will spiral beyond that incident, or assume the perspective of one participant over another, or travel forward in time—all within the same story. It’s what Means has been doing for years and remains effective, thought-provoking and expands the conventional dimensions of short fiction. “The Tree Line, Kansas, 1934,” is, for me, the highest achievement of Means’ techniques. Two FBI agents in the 1930s - one seasoned, one young and impulsive—keep watch on a Kansas farmhouse, waiting for a violent criminal’s likely return there with his gang. Means drops us in the moment, and builds suspense about the outcome with each sentence, while also taking the narrative years ahead into the future and one character’s troubled retirement years. The way the story ends is close to perfect—and completely satisfying—and has resonated with me for years, since it first appeared in the New Yorker. Everyone interested in short fiction should read Instructions for a Funeral, but it will be particularly gratifying to long-time fans of David Means’ work.

Overall, I liked Instructions for a Funeral enough to finish it, but it was not in any means an easy read. At times I found myself skimming over sentences that, although beautifully crafted, seemed superfluous to the story. His writing felt stagnant at points, in some stories more than others, and I struggled at times to grasp what was happening, having to go back several times to reorient myself.
However, I emphasized with Means as a writer myself — lines such as “if I could get even a fraction of this down in some kind of pure form, I would be able to lean back, rest, and simply live in the world,” were poignant — and I felt as if I could grasp at least one of the reasons he was writing this collection.
Instructions for a Funeral had several great stories in it (“The Terminal Artist” being my personal favorite), though it was interspersed with sections that felt more like Means’ own personal musings rather than stories, which slowed things down quite a bit. Maybe I will try reading this again when it is published and I am in a bit of a different mindset. I think that dedicating some more time to it in a reread would add some value.