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... one of 37 regular columns concerning notable backlisted and out-of-print books
 Today, any mention of the name Breece D’J Pancake invariable draws a blank stare, followed by a look of open disbelief when someone is told that a comparison was once drawn between his writing talents and those of Faulkner, Hemmingway, Fitzgerald and Joyce.
After all, a name so odd and a writing talent so great would surely have been remembered. Right?
Wrong. Breece D’J Pancake is in literary limbo today, a little more than 12 years after taking his own life in Charlottesville, Virginia. He was 26.
At that time, Pancake had seen six of his short stories published in The Atlantic, to strong acclaim from readers and critics alike. The magazine's editor recalls that letters 'drifted in for months — asking for more stories, inquiring for collected stories, or simply expressing admiration and gratitude ... in 30-something years at The Atlantic, I cannot recall a response to a new author like the response to this one.'
The critics were also impressed. Margaret Atwood was prompted to write: 'This is an exceptional voice; gritty, mordant, invested with the texture of stroked reality; urgent and haunting.'
In the early 1980s, Little Brown and Company assembled the six short stories published in The Atlantic and issued them in book form along with six other short stories unpublished at the author's death. Titled, simply, The Stories of Breece D’J Pancake, the 178-page volume contains all of his known works.
They are not pleasant stories in the sense of tone or topic, but they are wonderful stories for people who appreciate truly exquisite writing. Pancake wrote about the poor white trash who struggle to eke out a bare living in the hills and mountain hollows of West Virginia. Depression, sex, violence, drinking and death are constant companies in those lives, and in these harsh tales.
Pancake's skill is in his deft handling of words. He uses them sparingly, trusting one sentence of slight shadings and veiled inferences to convey far more meaning than a whole paragraph. It is as if a scalpel has been used to carry away any word with the slightest hint of redundancy.
Pancake is also a master of analogy. In Hollow, for instance, he shows us a man at the door of a trailer, rifle ready to shoot any stray dog foolish enough to attempt an amorous liaison with his bitch-dog. The strength of this opening scene is reinforced later, when the man learns his wife has been unfaithful.
As with most of Pancake's stories, Hollow relies on simple scenarios and everyday occurrences to illustrate complex but universal situations. We come to understand that life on the lower rungs is no less involved than elsewhere.
 For pure writing ability, and strong stories well-told, Breece D’J Pancake deserves to be rediscovered. The book can be difficult to find, however. I went through two softcover copies (both loaned and not returned) before my bookseller turned up a real gem — a first edition hardcover, published in 1983. It may still be available, but will have to be specially-ordered.
Sunshine Coast News, 1992
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