Ann Beattie’s stories appeared in The New Yorker for 32 years, and most of the characters in them are people who would probably read The New Yorker. They are tin-toy yuppies, wound up by the countercultural revolution of the late ’60s and now shuffling about aimlessly, having picked up a few marriages and a summer house in Vermont over the decades. In The New Yorker Stories, Beattie captures the milieu perfectly through a vast cast of Sams and Davids and Karens, each afflicted with a nagging sense of loss even if they can’t articulate what, if anything, they have lost. The stories are in chronological order, tracking thee author’s evolution from a Raymond Carver-like minimalism to something more humanistic but no less subtle. Taken as a whole, they amount to an in-depth study of a subculture and a staggering almanac of emotions. A

