I’ve been thinking a lot about the passage of time lately. Some of it is logistical: my youngest, Macy, just finished her freshman year at a prestigious performing arts boarding school, so the house has been (for the most part) kid-free for a while. Some of it is social: I’ve started to notice that I’m increasingly the oldest person in the room. (Recently, I met two recent UCSB grads—go Gauchos!—who were fascinated that I was in college when the Berlin Wall came down.)
But mostly, it’s Scott.
A few weeks ago, I was back in Arizona for my nephew’s—Scott’s son’s—high school graduation. After Scott received his initial cancer diagnosis back in 2021, I spent a lot of time flying back and forth to Phoenix, but this was the first time I’d been back since he passed away. (I wrote about him here, if you’re curious.) In his final months, Scott and I spent hours reminiscing about the past, which was wonderful. But we also talked about the future—specifically, the parts of it he wouldn’t get to experience. One of those was his son’s graduation.
As hard as those conversations were, the ones about missing specific milestones weren’t the hardest. No, the hardest moments were when he expressed regret: things he’d put off, assuming—as we all do—that there would be more time. Later is the most dangerous lie we tell ourselves.
A few months after he died, I read an interview with Anne Hathaway in the New York Times. She’d just turned forty, and the interviewer asked how she felt about “middle age.” Her reply: “I hesitate at calling things ‘middle age’ simply because I can be a semantic stickler and I could get hit by a car later today. We don’t know if this is middle age. We don’t know anything.”
For reasons I can’t quite explain, that quote has stuck with me. Maybe it’s because she’s right. Calling this “middle age” assumes we’re guaranteed an equal number of years on either side. But life doesn’t work like that. Time is not symmetrical. It’s not fair. And it’s not predictable. That idea—of how we talk about time, plan around it, and quietly pretend we understand it—has been rattling around in my head ever since.
“Time keeps on slippin’, slippin’, slippin’ into the future.”
— “Fly Like an Eagle” by Steve Miller Band
All of which leads me to Jennifer Egan’s 2011 Pulitzer Prize winner, A Visit from the Goon Squad. Egan’s novel is obsessed with time—not in a philosophical, abstract way, but in a deeply human one. Rather than telling a single, continuous story, Goon Squad unfolds as a kaleidoscope of loosely connected narratives, each centered on a different character—music executives, kleptomaniacs, washed-up rockers, PR agents, children, and more. Their lives intersect across decades and cities, sometimes only glancingly, but together they form a rich mosaic of experience, memory, and change. There is no true protagonist—just a web of people caught in the undertow of time.
One character puts it bluntly: “Time’s a goon, right?”
It’s a funny line until it isn’t. Because in Egan’s world, time isn’t just a backdrop—it’s an antagonist. The goon. The enforcer. The one that shows up late in the story and punches you in the gut with the realization that youth, relevance, possibility—they don’t last.
Time in this book isn’t linear. It loops, skips, fast-forwards, rewinds. It’s messy. It erodes memory, reshapes identity, and reorders the people we thought we were becoming. In one chapter, we meet a character in their prime; a few chapters later, we find them lost, sidelined, or forgotten. The chronology is scrambled, but the emotional progression is sharp and deliberate.
“Time may change me, but I can’t trace time.”
— “Changes” by David Bowie
The characters in Goon Squad are all aging in their own way. Some go quietly, like Sasha, who gives up her impulsive, self-destructive tendencies to build a quieter life. Others rage against it—like Bennie Salazar, a record executive clinging to the ghosts of the punk scene and the gold flakes in his coffee. There’s a whole subplot about washed-up musicians trying to engineer a comeback through viral toddler stardom. It would be bleak if it weren’t so painfully familiar: a world where cool has an expiration date, and no one is quite ready to admit they’ve passed it.
Egan paints the aging process as both absurd and inevitable—especially in the context of a youth-obsessed culture like the music industry. One minute you’re at the center of everything, shaping taste and trend; the next, you’re a punchline at a digital marketing pitch meeting. Some characters try to reinvent themselves, others try to disappear, but most are left grappling with the slow realization that cultural relevance is fleeting, and personal identity isn’t immune to obsolescence.
Egan doesn’t treat aging with sentimentality, but she also doesn’t mock it. Instead, she captures that peculiar feeling of looking around one day and realizing the rooms have gotten younger while you’ve stayed the same. Or worse, realizing that you’re not the main character anymore—you’re someone else’s cautionary tale.
“Of all the words of mice and men, the saddest are, ‘It might have been.’”
— Kurt Vonnegut, Cat’s Cradle
And then there’s regret. Goon Squad is full of it, though the word itself rarely appears. The most devastating moments are the quietest ones: when Sasha reflects on the trail of things she’s taken and the people she’s hurt. When Bennie revisits old recordings of bands he once believed in. When characters realize, too late, that what felt like detours were actually their lives.
Even the book’s structure reflects this sense of emotional aftermath—so many of the chapters take place years after the “main event.” Egan doesn’t show us the moment the marriage breaks, the career collapses, or the betrayal happens—she shows us the echo. The damage. The emptiness that lingers long after the decision is made. That narrative distance gives regret its full weight, reminding us that the things we walk away from don’t always stay behind us.
Regret in Egan’s novel is rarely loud. It’s ambient. It hums underneath the stories like a bassline you can’t quite tune out. You feel it in the silences, in the slide transitions of a PowerPoint created by Sasha’s daughter—yes, one chapter is told entirely through slides—chronicling the subtle rhythms of domestic life. It’s tender, inventive, and quietly heartbreaking. A reminder that the most meaningful parts of our lives often unfold in moments so small we don’t realize they’re worth noticing until they’re gone.
“Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.”
— Søren Kierkegaard
Goon Squad reminds us that life doesn’t follow a clean tracklist. It’s more like a playlist on shuffle—disjointed, surprising, sometimes jarring, occasionally perfect. Moments you thought were throwaways become the ones you replay in your mind. And the songs you skipped too quickly—the people, the chances, the years—come back with a different weight the second time around. Egan’s novel doesn’t offer answers, just the raw material of living: time that slips, aging that humbles, and regret that lingers like a melody you can’t quite forget. It’s not always an easy listen, but it’s worth keeping on repeat.
A few weeks ago, sitting at my nephew’s graduation in the hot Arizona sun, I couldn’t help but feel the presence of someone missing. And yet, as his son walked across the stage, Scott was there too—in the past we shared, in the regrets we talked through, and in the reminders he left behind. Goon Squad hits hard because it echoes something I’ve been living: that time isn’t just something we lose—it’s something we carry. And the only thing more painful than looking back is imagining we had all the time in the world.
“[A] virtuosic song collection unified by its vernacular authenticity and rhythmic dynamism that offers affecting vignettes capturing the complexity of modern African-American life.”
– Pulitzer Committee describing the 2018 Pulitzer Prize winner for Music
“My left stroke just went viral.”
– Kendrick Lamar, the actual 2018 Pulitzer Prize winner for Music
I’m not exaggerating when I say I have been writing this post since 2018. Yes, you read that right. Six years. ‘How do you know?’ you might ask. Well, because the two quotes above describe Kendrick Lamar’s DAMN., the 2018 Pulitzer winner in the Music category, and more importantly, they were the original inspiration for this post. Let me explain.
You see, back in 2018, Kendrick Lamar won the Pulitzer for his album DAMN., making him not only the first hip-hop artist so honored, but also the first – and still the only – pop artist of any kind to receive the award. And not only did they surprisingly give the award to a rapper, they gave it to a rapper at the very top of his game. This was an inspired choice by the Pulitzer people and almost instantly upgraded the relevance of the award. Clap clap.
For those of you that have been around since the beginning of Pulitzer Schmulitzer!, “inspired choice” is not a phrase that I’ve used often for the Pulitzer Prize winners for Fiction. Granted, we’re still in the bottom half of the countdown, but as I’ve talked about before, sometimes the Pulitzer Prize pickers push puzzling picks that perplex prose purists. Try saying that three times fast. In fact, if we go way back to my very first post here, I discussed my least favorite Pulitzer decision – the seven times they looked at all the literature produced in that year and inexplicably determined that no novel was worthy of the prize. Although I don’t want to relive that one decision here, I can’t resist the urge to give a nod to my brother Scott and quote Geddy Lee from Rush: “If you choose not to decide you still have made a choice.”
The 2023 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction: When (Almost) Everyone Wins
So what brought this six year old draft back to the forefront? Well, the kudos that I (almost) gave to the Pulitzer people back in 2018 I sadly must take back because I recently finished reading both of the 2023 Pulitzer Prize winners for Fiction, Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingslover and Trust by Herman Diaz. You read that right; I said “both.” In an unprecedented move, these two novels shared last year’s prize. It was, literally, a tie, and the first time such a thing has happened since the Pulitzer was first awarded in 1918. I haven’t yet decided where each of these novels will show up in the countdown, but I am prepared, however, to lodge an official complaint about the result.
Last year’s decision to award a tie—a close cousin to the dreaded “no winner” years—left a similar bad taste in my mouth. Let’s be honest: no one likes a tie. Winston Churchill called it “a defeat for both sides,” John Wooden said it’s “a sign of mediocrity,” and Yogi Berra famously likened it to “kissing your sister.” You’d be hard-pressed to find a single quote praising a tie. Go ahead, I’ll wait. That’s why I’m adding this latest “tie” decision to my growing list of baffling Pulitzer moments.
Pulitzer Puzzlers: The Problem with Short Story Collections
It turns out that I have a third gripe with the Pulitzer Board’s decision process. In fact, this transgression eluded me for a while and only came to light as I wrestled where to put three books on the countdown: The Stories of John Cheever (1979), The Collected Stories of Jean Stafford (1970), and The Collected Stories of Katherine Anne Porter (1966). You can see the connection; they are all collections of short stories.
I want to start by saying that I don’t have anything against collections of short stories per se. For example, Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri, which won the Pulitzer Prize in 2000, is one of my favorite Pulitzer winners and will appear later on the countdown. But unlike these three works, Lahiri intentionally published her collection of stories together in the year that she was awarded the Pulitzer. There was a deliberate connection between the stories. It was supposed to be a book.
In contrast, the Cheever-Stafford-Porter collections contain stories published by each author years – and even decades – before their Pulitzer Prize. For example, The Collected Stories of Katherine Anne Porter, was simply a meta-collection of three earlier published collections. And although she was awarded the Pulitzer in 1966, the earliest of these stories was written and published in the 1930s. Similarly, The Stories of John Cheever won the Pulitzer in 1979, yet included stories from as early as 1946. These weren’t fresh, cohesive narratives meant to tell a larger story or explore a unified theme. They were reprints, however wonderful, of years’ worth of work. And yet, the Pulitzer committee treated this collection as the best “novel” of the year. So my beef with these choices isn’t that they contain short stories; it is that they are a collection of short stories chosen from decades of work that just happened to be released in a given year.
Greatest Hits Albums Are Just That – Hits
Imagine giving the Grammy for Best Album of the Year to a Greatest Hits collection. Sure, the songs are amazing, but does a curated set of old favorites deserve to stand alongside newly created works? That’s exactly what the Pulitzer Prize has done in the years when these collections won the prize. Should they have? I’m not convinced which is why these titles are ranked down here in the bottom half of the countdown.
I do actually have some specific opinions about the Cheever-Stafford-Porter collections, but before we go there, I would like to clarify that simply because I don’t think that a greatest hits collection should be considered the “best” of whatever it is in a given year does not mean that I think greatest hits collections have no value. I own plenty of them. Interestingly, I’ve found that the most valuable greatest hits collections are not for the iconic artists with storied catalogs, but instead for artists where their separate works don’t hold up on their own. You don’t want a greatest hits collection from The Beatles, Zeppelin, Springsteen or Pink Floyd. The same goes for Prince, Bowie, Radiohead and U2. Each of these acts has some sort of greatest hits album or albums, but they serve only as a gateway to delve deeper into the artist’s catalog. For example, The Essential Bruce Springsteen contains some of The Boss’ greatest tracks, but songs like “Thunder Road” and “The Promised Land” are so much more powerful when placed in the context of their respective albums.
That said, there are bands and singers whose greatest hits collections are all you need. This doesn’t necessarily mean that their albums are bad (although in some cases, they are). It’s just that they pale in comparison to their best-of releases. And since we’re big fans of lists here at Pulitzer Schmulitzer!, here is the definitive list of the 10 greatest greatest hits collections of all time.
The Top 10 Greatest Hits Albums (Because We Love Lists)
10. Aerosmith – Greatest Hits (1980)
This might be the oddest inclusion on my list because this greatest hits album doesn’t include a significant amount of Aeromith’s greatest hits. Released in 1980, this album captures Aerosmtih at their bluesy, dysfunctional best, right at a crossroads in their career. This version of Aerosmith scared me. And it’s hard to fathom now, but I do think there was a 57% chance that this band could have simply imploded given the volatile relationship between Steven Tyler and Joe Perry. But alas, it turns out this album instead paved the way for the massive commercial success that the band enjoyed later in the 1980s and well into the 1990s. So while you won’t get “Janie’s Got a Gun,” “Cryin’,” “Living on the Edge,” or “I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing,” this album includes the classic-rock staples “Dream On,” “Sweet Emotion,” “Walk This Way,” and “Back in the Saddle.”
9. Madonna – The Immaculate Collection (1990)
If I was creating a list for the best name of a greatest hits collection, this would win hands down. Luckily, the songs on this album, covering the years 1983-1990 when Madonna rivaled Michael Jackson as the most influential musician in the world, match the greatness of the album’s title. Seventeen songs, 15 of which were Top 20s plus two new songs including the notorious “Justify My Love” which went to No. 1 on Billboard’s Hot 100 but had its video notably banned (although really the song is just a backbeat with heavy breathing). Honestly, when Madonna first appeared on the scene, I assumed she would be a one hit wonder. I was wrong. From her first hit “Holiday,” to the teen pregnancy verse of “Papa Don’t Preach”, the Carmen Miranda infused “La Isla Bonita”, and the gospel inspired “Like a Prayer”, this collection reminded us how great her music had been up to that point.
8. Journey – Greatest Hits (1988)
Even though I lived through Journey’s late-70s/early 80s heyday (I was very, very young), I never ever purchased a single album. Not even after I saw them headline a show at the Phoenix Coliseum with Billy Squire opening (whose first two albums I did actually buy) while swilling Bacardi 151 and smoking menthol cigarettes (a horrible decision). Not even after I learned to play “Open Arms” on the piano because I thought musicians get all the girls (a much better decision).
Nonetheless, in the decades since, I’ve come around on Steve Perry who, I’ll now admit with a straight face, was one of rock n’ roll’s great voices. I’ve heard “Don’t Stop Believing” and Steve’s still confounding reference to “Streetlights people” a thousand times, and I enjoy it. But despite my coming around on Journey in general, there isn’t any essential Journey album to own, not even their 1981 blockbuster, Escape. Everything you could ever want or need from one of the cheesiest-yet-enjoyable bands of that era is in their 15x Platinum-selling Greatest Hits compilation.
7. Lynyrd Skynyrd – The Essential Lynyrd Skynyrd (1998)
My mom was from Huntsville, Alabama so growing up, I always felt a kinship to Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Sweet Home Alabama.” That said, I didn’t really take the band that seriously, partly because other southern rock bands like Molly Hatchet and 38 Special were kind of goofy, partly because concert goers calling out for “Free Bird” led to the song becoming the poster child of 70s album-rock excess, and partly because the band foreshadowed the trend of rock bands intentionally misspelling their names (see, e.g., Def Leppard). But over time, my admiration for the band (including “Free Bird”) has only grown, especially when you consider their catalog really spans only a four year period from the release of their first album in 1973 to the tragic plane crash in 1977 that killed singer Ronnie van Zant, guitarist Steve Gaines and back up singer Cassie Gaines. This collection distills the essence of their Southern rock sound, full of swagger, rebellion, and deep emotion.
6. Simon & Garfunkel – Greatest Hits (1972)
I feel like I didn’t really listen to Simon & Garfunkel until college when my freshman year dorm mate needed to play music to fall asleep so I spent many a night thinking about how “Bridge Over Troubled Water” could start off so quietly yet end at such uncomfortably loud volumes. The quality of their music as a sleeping aid aside, once you start listening to the duo, you can never stop. Simon & Garfunkel are like the cool, introspective cousins at your family reunion who’d rather hang out in the corner writing poetry than join the potato sack race. It’s like two melancholy troubadours just trying to bridge over troubled waters one introspective ballad at a time. One strums his guitar like he’s having an existential crisis, while the other harmonizes so angelically you forget they probably argued the entire car ride over. Their music is equal parts soothing and soul-searching, perfect for when you’re feeling both too intellectual for rock and roll and too sad to admit you just really want to listen to “The Sound of Silence” for the 10th time today.
5. Eagles – Their Greatest Hits (1971–1975) (1976)
The Eagles’ 1979 album The Long Run was one of the first ten albums that I ever owned, yet even young me wasn’t totally sure what to think of this band. If TED Talks were around in the 1970s, The Eagles would totally be into them. They’ve got some wisdom to share, but sometimes you just want to scream, “Dude, it’s just a road trip, not the meaning of life!” For a band that sings about taking it easy, they sure seem to try really hard to convince you they’re musical philosophers. Between the meticulously crafted harmonies and the endless debates over what “Hotel California” even means, the pretentiousness can feel as thick as 1970s shag carpet.
But let’s be real—do you actually need their whole discography? Nah. Just grab their Greatest Hits (1971-1975) and call it a day. It’s got all the good stuff—“Take It Easy,” “Desperado,” “Already Gone”—without forcing you to endure the B-sides that didn’t make it past their metaphor-filter. It’s basically the CliffsNotes of classic rock: why slog through the deep cuts when you’ve got all the hits in one place? You’ll still be an Eagles fan, and you won’t need to pretend that The Long Run is your favorite album when we all know it’s not.
4. Elton John – Greatest Hits (1974)
Elton John is a glittering legend wrapped in rhinestones and rocket fuel and has been a rock star my entire life. In fact, Elton holds the record for the longest stretch between my first and last concert for any specific artist. I first saw Elton in 1982 on the “I’m Still Standing” tour when I was 14. I saw him last, 37 years later, in 2019 with my daughter Lily at the Chase Center in San Francisco. Yet, despite the fact that on both occasions I belted out “Rocket Man” at the top of my lungs, I just learned “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down on Me” on the piano, and he’s responsible for me wondering for years what a mohair suit was, I never owned a single Elton John album other than this greatest hits collection. Yes, because it is an early collection you aren’t going to get later hits like “Candle in the Wind,” “I Guess That’s Why They Call it the Blues” or even “I’m Still Standing,” this album front to back may be perfect greatest hits collection.
3. Bob Marley & The Wailers – Legend (1984)
I’ll start with a couple of facts. First, Bob Marley’s Legend is the best-selling reggae album of all time, with over 28 million copies sold worldwide. Second, at 855 nonconsecutive weeks, Legend is the second longest charting album in this history of the Billboard 200 (surpassed only by Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon). But numbers aside, Legend condenses into a single disc everything that propelled Marley to international stardom: his intricate songwriting, his astute political commentary, and, of course, the profound spirituality and universal appeal of tracks like “I Shot the Sheriff,” “No Woman, No Cry,” and “Redemption Song.”
And for the past 40 years, Bob Marley’s Legend has been as essential to dorm rooms as ramen noodles and IKEA furniture. Blame it on the iconic album cover, which seemingly captures everything about the man in one snapshot, or the string of must-have hits that comfort the soul over its 51 minutes, but Legend is tangible evidence that spirits do exist in music. Plus, it’s practically impossible to graduate without humming “Everything’s gonna be alright” at least once during finals week. I’ll leave you with one more Marley tidbit: I think that Bono’s speech inducting Marley into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1994 is one of my favorite tributes and not just because Bono is smoking a cigarette and keeps sniffing like he did a ton of blow beforehand. I urge you to watch the whole thing, but the end is beautiful: “Bob Marley didn’t choose or walk down the middle. He raced to the edges, embracing all extremes, creating a oneness. His oneness. One love. He Wanted everything at the same time. Prophet. Soul rebel. Rastaman. Herbsman. Wildman. A natural-mystic man. Lady’s man. Island man. Family man. Rita’s man. Soccer man. Showman. Shaman. Human. Jamaican!”
2. Queen – Greatest Hits (1981)
Queen was unquestionably one of rock’s great bands, but if we’re being honest with ourselves, none of their individual albums is a must own. Even A Night at the Opera, probably their most critically acclaimed work, has filler like “39” and “Sweet Lady.” So yes, as great as Queen was, I’m declaring them a greatest hits band, and you can get all of their essential material from one one of the many Greatest Hits compilations. I’d go with “Queen’s Greatest Hits,” a monumental album released in 1981, has sold over 25 million copies globally and remains a cornerstone of rock music history. With its recent re-release in 2021, featuring digitally remastered tracks, the album celebrates four decades of iconic hits from one of Britain’s greatest rock bands. As a gateway into Queen’s extensive repertoire, it captures the essence of their talent and musical diversity, from the grandeur of “Bohemian Rhapsody” to the infectious energy of “Don’t Stop Me Now.” (The two biggest omissions, “Radio Ga Ga” and “Under Pressure” (which is really a David Bowie song) can be found on both Greatest Hits II and Classic Queen if those are must haves for you.) Despite occasional criticisms about certain tracks aging less gracefully, the overall brilliance of Queen’s songwriting and musicianship shines through, making Greatest Hits a timeless treasure for fans old and new.
1. ABBA – Gold (1992)
ABBA gets a bad rap for no real reason. Until Mamma Mia! hit Broadway, even mentioning ABBA in a serious music discussion was considered a faux pas. Sure, their songs lean into the cheesy side, but of all the bands that face public disdain, ABBA deserves it the least. Their music, though undeniably tied to the disco era, is a cornerstone of modern pop. Enter ABBA: Gold, a greatest hits collection released nearly a decade after the band broke up that serves as both a time capsule of an important musical era and a testament to their enduring talent. From the iconic piano slide of “Dancing Queen” to the catchy rhythms of “Voulez-Vous” and “Take a Chance on Me,” the album strings together hit after hit. The contrasting melodies of “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!” and “One of Us” reveal the band’s versatility, while ballads like “Chiquitita” and “Fernando” prove that ABBA could do more than make you dance—they could tug at your heartstrings too.
While most artists throw together compilations mid-career or long after their prime, Gold benefits from hindsight. Released after ABBA had disbanded, the album is a refined selection of pop perfection, with no filler tracks. Each song remains a timeless pop gem, reflecting ABBA’s enduring appeal and knack for creating music that compels listeners to dance. The songs span nearly a decade, but they flow seamlessly, showcasing ABBA’s knack for timeless pop. And it’s the seamless flow of all nineteen tracks on “ABBA: Gold” that begs the question: is this the ultimate greatest hits compilation? Spoiler Alert: the answer is a resounding yes.
Can We Just Get Back to the Books?
The answer is also a resounding yes. I appreciate your patience but that is enough of our distraction and we can turn our attention back to the three short story collections starting with the earliest winner, The Collected Stories of Katherine Anne Porter.
1.Katherine Anne Porter
Katherine Anne Porter (1890–1980) was best known for her short stories, though she also wrote novels, essays, and journalism. Her life, marked by multiple marriages, financial instability, and international travels, infused her writing with a deep sense of human frailty and existential contemplation. After nearly dying in the 1918 influenza pandemic, Porter’s perspective on life and death shifted, a theme that surfaces prominently in her most famous work.
“Pale Horse, Pale Rider” is perhaps her defining story, set against the backdrop of World War I and the flu pandemic, where the protagonist’s brush with death becomes a haunting meditation on survival and loss. In “The Jilting of Granny Weatherall,” Porter masterfully captures the inner turmoil of a dying woman reflecting on her life’s regrets and missed opportunities. And in “Flowering Judas,” Porter delves into political disillusionment, telling the story of a young woman caught between revolutionary ideals and personal moral conflict in post-revolutionary Mexico.
Porter’s prose is lyrical and deeply psychological, often tinged with a sense of doom. Her stories are layered with symbolism, and her characters grapple with the weight of betrayal, mortality, and the complexities of human relationships. While sometimes dense, her work is widely respected for its precision and depth, offering a timeless exploration of the darker sides of the human condition.
2.Jean Stafford
Jean Stafford (1915–1979) was known for her sharp psychological insight and finely crafted prose. Her difficult early life—marked by family struggles, mental health issues, and a near-fatal car accident that left her with lifelong scars—infused much of her writing. Stafford’s tumultuous marriage to poet Robert Lowell also shaped her later works, with themes of isolation, identity, and emotional hardship running through her stories.
One of her most celebrated pieces, “The Interior Castle,” delves into the psychological aftermath of a car accident, exploring the protagonist’s detached inner world and the pain of recovery. In “In the Zoo,” two orphaned sisters reflect on their abusive upbringing, a chilling meditation on cruelty and emotional survival. Meanwhile, “Bad Characters” examines childhood innocence lost, as Stafford taps into the darker side of growing up, where early experiences shape adult lives in irrevocable ways.
Stafford’s style, more formal and detached than Porter’s or Cheever’s, brings a cold realism to her stories. Her characters often wrestle with trauma, displacement, and the weight of societal pressures, making her work both emotionally charged and meticulously controlled.
3.John Cheever
John Cheever (1912–1982), often referred to as “the Chekhov of the suburbs,” masterfully captured the ennui of post-World War II middle-class America. His characters float through suburban life, their outward contentment masking deep inner disillusionment. Perhaps no story exemplifies this better than “The Swimmer,” where Neddy Merrill, an affluent suburbanite, embarks on a surreal journey, swimming through his neighbors’ pools only to discover that time and his life have slipped away from him. It’s a disarmingly simple premise that unravels into an exploration of aging, denial, and personal collapse.
Then there’s “The Enormous Radio,” where a couple’s new radio starts picking up their neighbors’ conversations, revealing the dark underbelly of seemingly perfect lives. It’s quintessential Cheever—deceptively domestic yet sinister, showing how easily the walls of normalcy can crumble.
And in “Goodbye, My Brother,” Cheever taps into the familial conflicts that simmer under the surface of respectability. The story’s narrator clashes with his pessimistic brother at a family reunion, reflecting Cheever’s recurring themes of nostalgia, guilt, and the desire for escape from the expectations of American life.
Cheever’s stories, with their delicate balance of humor, melancholy, and a touch of magical realism, stand apart for their vivid exploration of what lies beneath the surface of suburban dreams. They may be about cocktail parties, manicured lawns, and swimming pools, but they dig deep into the quiet despair that often accompanies them.
Despite their stylistic differences, Porter, Stafford, and Cheever are bound by shared thematic undercurrents. Isolation and alienation loom large in their work, as characters grapple with emotional disconnection from those around them, often feeling trapped by circumstances or societal norms. Memory and the weight of the past also shape much of their fiction—whether it’s trauma, regret, or longing, each author presents characters haunted by what they can’t change. Mortality is ever-present too, with death looming over these stories in different forms: quiet resignation for Cheever’s characters, deep psychological turmoil for Stafford’s, and philosophical contemplation for Porter’s. Gender dynamics and power struggles add another layer, as all three authors subtly critique the societal expectations that confine both women and men. And, of course, there’s the ever-present disillusionment with society itself—a deep-seated sense that the systems around them are failing, leaving their characters adrift.
This is all well and good, but do you have any actual opinions you’d like to share?
Once again, a resounding yes. Although I’m going to rank them all together, I do not like them all the same. So in keeping with the Pulitzer Schmuliitzer theme, I’ll give them to you in reverse order of how much I like them.
My least favorite is the collection of Jean Stafford’s stories. Her stories, while critically acclaimed in their time, are less accessible to today’s readers (like me). While her psychological acuity and precise prose were once highly regarded, modern tastes have leaned toward more visceral or stylistically innovative writing. Stafford’s stories feel dated, and I found them hard to read. Her deep character studies may appeal to readers interested in a more classical, realist tradition, but that isn’t me. And I don’t think I’m alone. Of the three authors, she has faded more than the others from public view and is arguably the least well-known today.
Although I’m putting Katherine Anne Porter’s collection next, I will admit that she likely garners the most literary respect in academic circles for her precision, historical depth, and explorations of morality and human frailty. Her work remains a staple of college syllabi, and she’s often cited as a key figure in American literary modernism. Her stories like “Pale Horse, Pale Rider,” resonate with modern readers as a tale of illness, survival, and the fragility of life—a theme made even more poignant in today’s post-pandemic world. That said, her layered, often poetic prose and historical insight make her work feel timeless, though her sometimes dense, introspective style might not appeal to all readers. In other words, after a while I found a lot of her stories, well, boring.
Which leads me to my favorite, the stories of John Cheever. While Porter might be more respected in academic circles, Cheever is probably the most widely read today. His stories tap into a timeless sense of suburban discontent that remains relevant. His lyrical, sometimes surreal style (as in “The Swimmer”) has left a lasting imprint on contemporary American fiction. He’s often seen as a precursor to writers like Jonathan Franzen or Richard Ford, who continue to explore the contradictions of American middle-class life. For me, his stories about American suburban life are the most fun, and still resonate deeply, and the mix of humor, melancholy, and magical realism makes his work appealing across generations.
So, when it comes to short story collections, we’ve established that pulling a ‘Greatest Hits’ album from decades of work doesn’t quite compare to an album—or in this case, a novel—crafted with a single artistic vision. Sure, they’re classics. But should they really compete with fresh new narratives? In my opinion—and in the immortal words of Kendrick Lamar.—’Sit down. Be humble.’
[Editor’s Note: Pulitzer Schmulitzer! is where we count down our favorite Pulitzer Prize winning novels for fiction according to the unpredictable and arbitrary whims of yours truly. To learn how Pulitzer Schmulitzer! started and read about the methodology or complete lack thereof behind the rankings, look no further than right here. If you want to see what we’ve covered so far, here you go. Now, on to the countdown.]
Note to Readers: I originally posted this article last year with the intention of refreshing the list every year as needed. Lucky for me, Rhianna’s performance didn’t crack the Top 13 so the countdown remains in tact. At least for now.
I love football in general, but the Super Bowl is something else entirely. It is more than football. It is football plus. Football plus crazy expensive commercials. Football plus a million prop bets. Football plus gatherings with friends and five layer bean dip. And maybe most importantly, the Super Bowl is football plus a halftime show extravaganza.
It wasn’t always an extravaganza. During halftime of the first Super Bowl in 1967, the University of Arizona Symphonic Marching band performed “The Sound of Music” and “When the Saints Go Marching In” in the shape of the Liberty Bell. To be fair, the show, titled “Super Sounds from the Super Bowl,” also involved two guys flying around with jetpacks (how do we not all have these by now?) and a weirdly large number of pigeons. In subsequent years the halftime shows expanded, but were more quirky than star studded. One year, for example, had an Elvis Presley-impersonating magician named — obviously — Elvis Presto.
But it really wasn’t until 1993 when Michael Jackson made the halftime show the must-watch event that it is today. It was a match made in pigskin heaven; one of the world’s biggest stars on football’s biggest stage and the modern halftime show was born. How did we not think about this before? The halftime show was no longer filler. It was now a thing unto itself. And playing in the show became one of the greatest achievements you could have as a musician.
This year we get a semi-comeback of sorts from Rhianna. The 34-year-old “Umbrella” singer has been keeping a relatively low profile while parenting (she had a baby in May with boyfriend A$AP Rocky) and working on her clothing line. So not only am I excited for Rihanna’s return to the music stage, but I’m also excited about the aforementioned prop bets which have been extended to the halftime show. (“Diamonds” is currently the odds-on favorite for first song, but I’m betting on “Don’t Stop the Music.”)
Before we get there, however, it’s worthwhile to do a quick look back at the 13 greatest halftime performances. So without further ado…
It’s hard to believe that when Jennifer Lopez and Shakira took the stage in February 2020, we were mostly unaware (or uncaring) that a virus was quickly spreading around the world and that within a month would turn our lives upside down. We were relatively carefree, and this show was all about fun. Shakira played the guitar and J.Lo rode in on a stripper pole. There was dancing, crowd surfing, a nod to bondage, a lot of horns, a Led Zeppelin sample, and Bad Bunny. The main critique of the show was that it was “too sexual” even though Adam Levine from Maroon 5 pretty much took off all of his clothes the year before. Given the pandemic years we have now endured, it is nostalgic to think back to times when our biggest worry was whether Shakira and J-Lo were too sexy for national television.
Without a doubt, Janet Jackson and Justin Timberlake’s performance at Super Bowl XXXVIII remains one of the most memorable, although less for the performance itself and more for the “wardrobe malfunction” at the very end. But the show itself was pretty awesome. Janet and Justin were great, but what people don’t remember is that this show was full of guest appearances. Diddy appeared out of a haze of smoke, Nelly showed up in a small red car to sing “Hot in Here,” and most randomly of all, Kid Rock absolutely ripped through versions of “Bawitdaba” and “Cowboy.” In fact, I think if you look at time on stage, Kid Rock might have the longest set.
But all we remember now is that Timberlake “accidentally” ripped off Janet’s chest covering (I’m not sure what else to call it) as they wrapped the set. The debate of whether it truly was “accidental” continued for years since that show in Houston. There were FCC fines assessed that have been litigated forever, but maybe the most important discussion has centered around why Janet bore the brunt of the backlash while Justin’s reputation seemed unfazed. Regardless, it was an amazing show and it’s a shame that what most people remember is just the last two seconds.
Paul McCartney’s set the year following Janet and Justin’s performance was equally amazing but almost the polar opposite in terms of presentation. Supposedly, McCartney was considered a “safe choice” following the “nipplegate” controversy, and although his show was less of a spectacle, it included a set list that may remain unmatched to this day. On an X-shaped stage, the ex-Beatle kicked off his set with “Drive My Car.” He then followed up with “Get Back,” before trading his guitar for a piano during a fireworks-laden rendition of Wings’ James Bond theme, “Live and Let Die.” Saving his best for last, McCartney signed off with “Hey Jude,” during which the 84,000 in attendance at Jacksonville’s Alltel Stadium all joined in for the iconic coda. The performance was both nostalgic and energetic and signaled the transition from contemporary pop acts to classic rock legends performing at halftime.
SoFi Stadium in Inglewood, California, hosted Super Bowl LVI and if you’re going to be in Inglewood, then there is no better choice for halftime entertainment than Dr. Dre and friends. And the friends list was extensive. In addition to pre-announced performances from Snoop Dogg, Mary J. Blige, Kendrick Lamar and Eminem, we were also treated to surprise appearances from 50 Cent (who rapped “In Da Club” upside down) and Anderson.Paak on the drums for Eminem’s “Lose Yourself.” From the opening when Dre appeared to play “Still D.R.E.” to Mary J. singing “Family Affair” to Kendrick’s modern classic “Alright,” the performance was not only the best seen in years, but also went on to win an Emmy for Outstanding Variety Special (Live), marking a historic first win for the halftime show in the category.
I feel like the 1999 halftime show may be my most controversial pick because it looks so dated when compared to, for example, the Janet Jackson/Justin Timberlake show that was only 5 years later. Even the television production seems closer to the 1970s than the 2000s. But I love this one specifically because it is so 1999. I mean, what is more 1999 than starting the show with a ska and swing dancing set from Big Bad Voodoo Daddy? But that’s just the beginning. Then we also got a medley of Stevie Wonder hits, and an extreme tap dance from Savion Glover, which Stevie joined. And if that wasn’t enough, you can’t have a Super Bowl in Miami and not invite Gloria Estefan who came out singing in Spanish. This was one of those epic shows that reflected the time. The US in 1999 wasn’t in a war, and couldn’t foresee 9/11, weapons of mass destruction, social media, or a global pandemic. You could really have fun in 1999, and this show reflected that.
The best thing about The Boss is that no matter how many concerts he has done over his storied career, he always looks like he is having the most fun right now. So the 2009 halftime show was basically a regular Springsteen concert. Which, to be clear, is a very good thing. With Bruce, there isn’t a lot of spectacle, but this show did have some notable moments beginning with his admonition at the beginning to “step away from the guac” and “put the chicken fingers down.” He then tore through “Born to Run” and “Glory Days,” but the most iconic moment came when New Jersey’s favorite son slid crotch first into a TV camera during “10th Avenue Freeze Out.” And watch the end where Springsteen aggressively flings his guitar over his shoulder multiple times, does a back and forth comedy routine with a fake referee, and then closes by shouting, “I’m going to Disneyland.” Epic.
Honestly, I have a hard time ranking Michael Jackson’s performance at the Super Bowl in 1993. From a historical perspective, you probably can’t beat it (pun intended). This was the year the NFL decided they needed to up their game to keep people watching at halftime. Since the NFL doesn’t tend to go small, they tapped the King of Pop to put an end to the marching band era and set the bar for all future halftime shows.
That said, if you watch it, it is a weird performance. First off, like most Super Bowl sets, it’s only about 12 minutes long, but it takes MJ at least 3 minutes to get into the songs. In fact, when Jackson first shows up on stage, he stands there completely still for at least 45 seconds. Then, for someone with a catalog like Jackson’s, his song choices were odd. “Billie Jean” is great, but he kicked it off with “Jam,” and then played “Black and White,” part of “We Are the World” and then ended with “Heal the World” while a giant globe inflated in the middle of the field. And I’m pretty sure he lip-synched the whole thing. In the end, this one needs to be included because of the impact it had, but it just feels like it could have been so much more.
If you like spectacle in your halftime show, Katy Perry’s 2015 performance is hard to beat. Perry enters on the back of a giant Tiger (or Lion) and yells, “Super Bowl, are you ready to roar!” Unlike Michael Jackson’s song selection, Perry hit all the highlights with a set list that included “Roar,” “Dark Horse,” “I Kissed a Girl” with Lenny Kravitz, “Teenage Dream,” “California Girls,” “Get Your Freak On” and “Work It” with Missy Elliot. If that wasn’t enough, she ended the show strapped to a mechanical shooting star for “Firework.” And of course, there was Left Shark, whose interesting dance moves immediately went viral. This was 12 minutes of lights, color, special effects, and a lot of dancing in high heels. What more could you ask for?
I think you could make a reasonable argument that Beyoncé should just do all the Super Bowl halftime shows. Beyonce in 2013 was at the top of her game (arguably still is), and the production value of this show was off the charts. (At one point there was a guitar with fireworks shooting out of it.) And there were the songs. She went through some of her biggest hits like “Crazy in Love,” “Love on Top,” and “Baby Boy.”
And that was all beforeKelly Rowland and Michelle Williams shot out from underneath the stage for a long awaited Destiny’s Child reunion. Together, the trio performed “Bootylicious,” “Single Ladies” and “Independent Women.” The 2013 production was so extravagant that half the lights at the Superdome went out, creating a 33-minute, 55-second blackout shortly after. Mic drop.
Once the Super Bowl started tapping A-list artists, you knew it was only a matter of time before Madonna made an appearance. If you’re the type who wants your halftime show to be a little over the top, then this one was for you. Madonna arrived at Indianapolis dressed as a Greek goddess on a throne carried by Spartan soldiers. From there, we were treated to a graphic stage, slackline stunts, a Roman theme, Nicki Minaj, M.I.A., and Cee Lo Green. At one point, Madonna climbed on one of LMFAO’s shoulders.
Madonna’s song choice was on point. After her entrance, she launched into longtime favorite “Vogue” before being joined by LMFAO for a “Party Rock Anthem”/”Sexy And I Know It” infused take on her 2000 hit “Music.” We even got a little controversy when M.I.A. and Nicki Minaj joined her onstage for “Give Me All Your Luvin’” and M.I.A. gave the crowd the middle finger. However, Madonna’s epic “Like a Prayer” finale, aided by Cee Lo and a huge robed choir, ensured that the 12-minute spectacle ended with the focus right back on the music.
If anyone was going to match the anticipation of Madonna’s performance, it would surely be Lady Gaga. Gaga is one of the most eclectic artists in history, and everyone tuned in to see what her halftime performance would unveil. Truth be told, she played it relatively safe, but that didn’t take away from the fact that this was one of the most visually stunning and vocally impressive halftime shows in Super Bowl history.
She opened with a medley of “God Bless America” and “This Land Is Your Land” from the roof of the Super Bowl stadium, and then launched herself from the heavens down onto the stage, singing dance-pop favorites “Poker Face,” “Born This Way,” “Just Dance,” “Telephone,” and “Bad Romance.” And to close, her stage exit is probably the best the show has ever seen: She mic dropped, caught a football toss and hopped off a staircase into nothingness. No bowing, no waving. That’s how you end a show.
U2’s Super Bowl XXXVI show deserves a high ranking not only because the performance was great, but also because of what the performance meant. Less than five months after 9/11, U2 brought the heart-shaped stage from their Elevation tour to the gridiron, and the Irish rock band found a way to make this performance both strong and emotional.
Janet Jackson was originally scheduled to perform, but after that World Trade Center attacks, the NFL decided that U2 would be a more appropriate choice. They did not disappoint. The band only played three songs: “Beautiful Day,” “MLK,” and “Where the Streets Have No Name.” During the latter two songs, the names of those who were killed in the attack were projected on a giant screen across the Superdome. At the end of the performance, Bono opened his jacket to reveal an American flag in the lining.
Although “best of” lists like this are inherently subjective, you’d be hard pressed to not acknowledge Prince’s 2007 as the best we’ve ever seen. It had it all. He powered through his own classics like “1999,” “Let’s Go Crazy,” and “Baby I’m a Star.” He did mashups of Bob Dylan’s “All Along the Watchtower,” Queen’s “We Will Rock You” and Foo Fighters’ “Best of You.” He was backed by a brass marching band, and wielded a purple guitar in ways only Prince could wield a guitar. He closed the performance with the most perfect rendition of Purple Rain that included an epic guitar solo in the rain while the stadium sang along in falsetto.
Prince didn’t need to enter on a tiger like Katy Perry or fall from the sky like Gaga. The story goes that in the 40 previous years of the Super Bowl, it had never rained. Whether it was divine intervention or dumb luck, Prince created his own spectacular.
PULITZER SCHMULITZER! 