Jonathan Lethem's new short-story collection, "Men and Cartoons," enables him to dabble in one of his interests, comic books. More importantly, the nine stories allow the writer to experiment with writing in general, and form in particular. "Form is visible in a short story in a very different way, because the beginning, middle and end are so close together," says Lethem, who appears at the Carnegie Library Lecture Hall in Oakland as a guest of the American Shorts Reading Series. "You can get your reader involved in structure in a different way." Lethem's short stories exhibit the same penchant for seamlessly blurring reality and fantasy as his novels, "Motherless Brooklyn" -- winner of the 1999 National Book Critics Circle Award for fiction -- and "The Fortress of Solitude." The latter, the a story of a friendship between a white boy and a black boy growing up in Brooklyn during the 1970s, hints at the supernatural in the guise of a ring that may or may not give its wearer the ability to fly. But it's the relationship between Dylan Ebdus and Mingus Rude that causes most of the stories in "Men and Cartoons" to be "in the orbit" of "The Fortress of Solitude," Lethem says. "You see again and again I'm working through these problems of friendship between people who knew each other as children," he says. "I was attacking my obsession from different angles, and sometimes a short story might be a way to warm up to certain ideas in the book. But it might also sometimes function as an opportunity to blow off some steam about some aspect that the book couldn't contain." The short form provides Lethem with opportunities to experiment and work outside the restrictions of a novel. "Access Fantasy," a fable about consumerism set in a world where cars clog the streets, is 22 pages set in a single paragraph. "The National Anthem" uses a letter to narrow the gap between two friends. "That's a really interesting piece for me, because I've never fooled around the epistolary form at all before," Lethem says, noting one of the few books he's read that has a similar construct is Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein." "In this case, it was a kind of a move in the direction I associate with Philip Roth, which is kind of playing with the expectations of intimacy between the reader and the writer. It's a very personal voice, and I wanted to involve the reader in the sense of their impression that they're meeting someone outside of the disguises of fiction, or the usual metaphors, and that the story had an unexpected quality of intimacy. ... It was a way to bend my own voice away from the usual props and metaphors of my own fiction and more to the voice people use when they're confessing something." As the title implies, Lethem is especially interested in the relationship people -- men, specifically -- have with cartoons and comics. A fan of the Fantastic Four when he was growing up in Brooklyn, he's hesitant to guess why women are outnumbered by men as enthusiasts of comic books and a few other collectible items. "I don't know why women don't make themselves out of this kind of assemblage of their favorite movies, their favorite records and their favorite comic books," he says. "It's very much like men have to build a of shelf for themselves, as if they're hermit crabs and they need to exist in this armor of references, protective fetish objects, CD collections." A writer's life with comics: Jonathan Lethem Jonathan Lethem, author of the just-published short-story collection "Men and Cartoons," was an avid comic book collector growing up in Brooklyn. His favorites were not the stars of D.C. Comics -- Superman, Batman or Wonder Woman -- but the underdogs of Marvel Comics, especially the Fantastic Four. Lethem enjoyed the exploits of Doctor Doom, Black Bolt, the Inhumans and especially The Thing, who he thinks might be the greatest Marvel character. "But (the Thing) wouldn't exist without the family, that community; he's part of it," Lethem says. "And that's part of what I like." Marvel Comics also appealed to him because they were set in New York City. "You see ordinary New Yorkers in the corners of the frame," he says. "Pretzel vendors, newspaper guys, old ladies on the street. It was particularly certain for us because it was set in our own back yard." In the 1950s, comic books were accused of causing juvenile delinquency, most famously in Frederic Wertham's "Seduction of the Innocent." Since then, they've evolved into an art form, with graphic novels by artists and writers, including Art Spiegelman and Marjane Satrapi, earning review in publications such as The New York Times. Lethem thinks the form is a cousin to film, and worthy of serious discourse. "The 20th century's greatest innovations are these narrative forms that combine words and images," he says. "And cartooning, comic books, graphic novels -- there is no right name for it -- is probably where film was in 1938. There are a few early giants that have emerged, and certainly the vocabulary is there. You've got people who are the equivalent of Howard Hawks or John Ford or (Jean) Renoir in France, already up and running. "And yet the definition of the medium, the critical comprehension of it, is still kind of retarded. But there's no mistaking that it's going to take its place among the arts, which include a body of masterpieces beginning with R. Crumb and now Art Spiegelman." -- Regis Behe Capsule review Many of the short stories in Jonathan Lethem's "Men and Cartoons" are filled with fantastic elements: the futuristic scenario of "Access Fantasy," a commentary on consumerism set in a divided society, or the "The Spray," in which two lovers are forced to confront their infidelities via a magical spray that reveals lost items in a salmon-colored glow. But Lethem is at his best when the setting is anchored in reality, whether it's chronicling a keening feeling of loss in "Vivian Relf" or the separation of two friends in "The National Anthem." -- Regis Behe Additional Information:

Details

An Evening with Jonathan Lethem What: American Shorts Reading Series presents the author of 'Men and Cartoons' (Doubleday, $19.95) When: 7 p.m. Thursday Admission: $9 Where: Carnegie Library Lecture Hall, Oakland Details: (412) 622-8866

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