You are a tough grader. — Bitter Crank
Well, I should try to justify my criticism. I read it through again and I'll try to be more nuanced while still contending that it fails both in terms of form and content, aesthetically and narratively, in composition and in content. And, yes, I am holding it to high standards, at least partly because it was published in The New Yorker. You mentioned Cheever. The New Yorker published "The Swimmer". Enough said.
It fails aesthetically because it's poorly—if competently—written. It would be impressive as an actual diary scribbled down by a relatively well-educated young person similar in age and experience to the main character herself. But artistic renditions of the real thing are supposed to be aesthetic distillations not faithful copies. And I haven't heard a lot of argument in support of the writing anyway, so I'll take it as not particularly controversial at least that we're not dealing with the top-level here.
It fails narratively because there's a general lack of tension in the story:
1) It has a very stale and unengaging opening.
"Margot met Robert on a Wednesday night toward the end of her fall semester. She was working behind the concession stand at the artsy movie theatre downtown when he came in and bought a large popcorn and a box of Red Vines."
Nothing at all happens then until the mild sexual (mis)adventure and even that is not much of a something. We finish with Robert in loser mode writing a rude text to the woman who rejected him. And that's it. Again, I'm sure it resonates with young women who have had similar experiences, but there doesn't seem to be any attempt to go beyond that. Soap operas do the same thing. They resonate with experience. But at least they tend to have a variety of characters to appeal to a wider audience. The audience for this story seems not to extend much beyond millenial women.
2) The ending commits the cardinal sin of descending into kitsch, of providing an excess that detracts rather than adds to its value. We are told at the end who the villain is almost just in case we try to figure it out for ourselves.
Again, there seems to be a reasonable level of consensus on the bad ending, so I won't go on about it too much. Just to note though that if it were just that it copped out on the ending or went into excess mode somewhere in advance but before was authentically engaging, it might still pass in my book. The narrative of Breaking Bad, for example, had tension from the beginning but became unbearably kitschy with the religious metaphorical excess of the exploding plane and falling doll. And the first season of True Detective had a lot going for it until it descended into absolute kitsch with the happy/sad ending. Both were still reasonably good examples of narrative overall. This though never got going, so I suppose the ending was less of a disappointment in that respect.
2) The characters are poorly drawn (even for a short story where character development is necessarily limited by the nature of the genre).
One is a cardboard cutout "modern" villain where "modern" means emasculated and somewhat pathetic. The second is a pastiche of a typical young western woman, presumingly to appeal to as many millennial western women as possible (a bit like a horoscope is designed to say at least something somewhere that resonates with everyone who reads it). And in so far as we are defined by what we want, and the main characters' desires are the driving force of a narrative, what have we got here? Robert wants sex, and he got some, but apparently not enough. And Margot wants what? Love? excitement? better sex? more self-respect? better judgment? to be free of cognitive dissonance? confidence? all of the above? Who knows? She's confused; we're confused; and though we might more or less resonate with her experiences (depending on who we are), we're not deeply engaged with her desires (or fears) because they're not well-drawn. We don't know who she is any more than she does and we don't care all that much. Or I didn't anyway.
3) Ideology/message. So what's the underlying message here? What does the story bring to the table in terms of cultural criticism etc?
Hard to say. It seems you've got the usual normalizing discourse surrounding the empty lives of these two that revolve around consumerism and entertainment. They go to the cinema; they buy stuff at 7-11; they drink at bars; they text each other. That's it. That's life folks, and as long as you don't meet a villain like Robert, you'll be fine.
But then others like
@csalisbury see value at a more meta level, which is fine if it was intended but I don't really see that, so far anyway, though I'm open to being wrong here. I mean, the movie "Plan 9 from Outer Space" arguably has meta value too. In this case, it was bad to the point of genius, a great, if perverse, example of the Hollywood dream. (And spawned a decent biography narrative / Johnny Depp vehicle about the director.) Point being, if you go meta enough you can probably find value in just about anything. But it may be that you're putting it there much more than retrieving it.
I think that the New Yorker story is passed along because it resonates with people's experience. — Moliere
Agreed. But that's pretty much all there is to it in my view.
I see some similarities between the two, but I felt the New Yorker short story was something that could happen, where the Oates story has this quasi-magical feel to it. — Moliere
The Oates story is engaging from the start; it doesn't try to be ambiguous and then tell you what to feel at the end in case you didn't feel the right thing. It has a simple goal, which is to paint the fear of an adolescent girl, embodied in Arnold Friend, in a way that anyone (though maybe especially adolescent girls) can relate to. The desire is strong on both sides; his desire to take her, and her desire to escape him, and that keeps the engine of the story running on high octane throughout. Plus, it's brilliantly written. So, I'd say in terms of villainy, Oates gives you the best of homemade meat and potatoes, whereas Roupenian gives you a Starbucks Decaf Mochalatte.
But I'll continue to read other contributors here with an open mind. It's always possible I'm missing something.