{"product_id":"the-bed-moved-isbn-9781101910856","title":"The Bed Moved","description":"\u003cb\u003e*A \u003ci\u003eLOS ANGELES TIMES\u003c\/i\u003e BOOK PRIZE FINALIST* \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA razor-sharp, devastatingly witty debut collection of stories on adolescence, sex, death, being Jewish-ish, and finding one’s way as a young woman in the world.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA New Yorker endures a romantic getaway with a cash-strapped pot grower to a “clothing optional resort” in California; a nerdy high-schooler has her first sexual experience at Geology Camp; an unemployed college grad returns to her childhood home after her father’s funeral and encounters a surprise in his browser history. With bone-dry humor and unexpected tenderness, Rebecca Schiff’s stories offer a singular view of growing up (or not) and finding love (or not) in today’s ever-uncertain landscape. \u003ci\u003eThe Bed Moved\u003c\/i\u003e is a wry and irreverent take on the human connections—no matter how fleeting—that make us who we are.\u003cp\u003ePraise for Rebecca Schiff’s \u003ci\u003eThe Bed Moved\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e, Best Fiction of 2016\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Huffington Post\u003c\/i\u003e, 18 Best Fiction Books of 2016\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eElectric Literature\u003c\/i\u003e, 25 Best Short Story Collections of 2016\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[A] stellar collection. . . . Schiff writes slim, ice-pick stories about sex and death and nighttime cab rides, sharpened by humor and extreme candor.” —\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times Book Review\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I’d like to watch the faces of people reading [\u003ci\u003eThe Bed Moved\u003c\/i\u003e] as they shift between awe and admiration and shock. This writer is freaking good.” —Ben Marcus, \u003ci\u003eThe New Yorker\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Acerbic. . . . Darkly comic. . . . [Schiff] is funny and wise beyond her years.” —\u003ci\u003eLos Angeles Review of Books\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Wry and ambitious. . . . [Schiff’s] sparse, poetic paragraphs are packed with forceful wit.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Atlantic\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Riveting. . . . Magic. . . . In [Schiff’s] work, you see the grace in human frailty.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Nation\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[Schiff’s] dark wit gives her stories genuine tensile strength. . . . She dips into her own braininess as if it were a bottomless trust fund.” —Dwight Garner, \u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Riveting. . . . Magic. . . . In [Schiff’s] work, you see the grace in human frailty.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Nation\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Schiff’s stories are simultaneously universal and totally original. . . . You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll cringe from red-faced embarrassment. Schiff gets at the relentlessness of being a young woman dealing with (or, hell, even being ambivalent about) love, dating, and grief, all while finding deep, sometimes dark, laughter in it.” —\u003ci\u003eMarie Claire\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“A wildly assured debut short-story collection featuring tales of bat mitzvahs, high school ennui, nudist hot springs, and women much smarter than the men they’re sleeping with.” —\u003ci\u003eO Magazine\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Reads like watching a mashup of Mark Morris and Twyla Tharp choreography. . . . Painfully funny. . . . A mournful vapour trails Schiff’s acrobatic wit.” —\u003ci\u003eSan Francisco Chronicle\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cb\u003eREBECCA SCHIFF \u003c\/b\u003egraduated from Columbia University’s MFA program, where she received a Henfield Prize. Her stories have appeared in \u003ci\u003en+1\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eElectric Literature\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe American Reader\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eGuernica\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe Guardian\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eLenny Letter\u003c\/i\u003e. She lives in Brooklyn.The Bed Moved\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e There were film majors in my bed—they talked about film. There were poets, coxswains, guys trying to grow beards.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Kids get really scared when their dad grows a beard,” I said.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Finally, I had an audience. I helped a pitcher understand the implications of his team’s hazing ritual. I encouraged indecisive dancer-anthropologists to double major. When a guy apologized for being sweaty, I got him a small towel. I made people feel good.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Then I took a break. Then I forgot that I was taking a break. Spring was here. Jake was here. Also Josh. One dancer-anthropologist dropped anthropology, just did dance. He danced with honors.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “Mazel tov,” I said.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e The bed moved. Movers moved it. Movers asked what my dad did, why he wasn’t moving the bed.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e New guys came to the bed. New guys had been in the Gulf War, had been bisexual, had taken out teeth, had taken out ads. Musical types left CDs with their names markered on—I kept a pile. I was careful not to smudge them, scratch them. (Scratch that, I wasn’t careful.)\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e “So many musicians in this city,” I observed, topless.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Boxer shorts were like laundry even on their bodies. Guys burrowed down for not long enough, popped up, smiled.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Did I have something? Did I have anything?\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e I did.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Something, anything, went in the trash, except one, which didn’t. One hadn’t gone on in the first place.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e After, cell phones jingled: Be Bop, Mariachi Medley, Chicken Dance, Die Alone.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e Nervous, I felt nervous. There was mariachi in the trains, or else it was just one guy playing “La Bamba.” I slow-danced into clinic waiting rooms. Receptionists told me to relax and try to enjoy the weekend, since we wouldn’t know anything till Monday. Sunday I lost it, banged my face against the bed. Be easy, girl, I thought. Be bop. Something was definitely wrong with me—I never called myself “girl.” I played CDs, but CDs by artists who had already succeeded. They had succeeded for a reason. They weren’t wasting time in my bed. One did pass through the bed, to brag. He had been divorced, had met Madonna.\u003cbr\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e He asked, “Is this what women are like now?”","brand":"Vintage","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46305338294501,"sku":"NP9781101910856","price":20.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781101910856.jpg?v=1767738297","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-bed-moved-isbn-9781101910856","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}