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James Franco

Palo Alto: Stories Paperback – June 7, 2011

by James Franco (Author)

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A fiercely vivid collection of stories about troubled California teenagers and misfits--violent and harrowing, from the astonishingly talented actor and artist James Franco.

Palo Alto is the debut of a surprising and powerful new literary voice. Written with an immediate sense of place--claustrophobic and ominous--James Franco's collection traces the lives of an extended group of teenagers as they experiment with vices of all kinds, struggle with their families and one another, and succumb to self-destructive, often heartless nihilism. In "Lockheed" a young woman's summer--spent working a dull internship--is suddenly upended by a spectacular incident of violence at a house party. In "American History" a high school freshman attempts to impress a girl during a classroom skit with a realistic portrayal of a slave owner—only to have his feigned bigotry avenged. In "I Could Kill Someone," a lonely teenager buys a gun with the aim of killing his high school tormentor, but begins to wonder about his bully's own inner life.
These linked stories, stark, vivid, and disturbing, are a compelling portrait of lives on the rough fringes of youth.

Print length

224 pages
Language

English
Publisher

Scribner
Publication date

June 7, 2011
Dimensions

5.25 x 0.6 x 8 inches
ISBN-10

1439163154
ISBN-13

978-1439163153
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Editorial Reviews

Review

“Startling and original.”—The Economist

“[Franco] ends up perfectly mirroring the undulations of a teenage mind.”—The New York Times Book Review

About the Author

James Franco is an acclaimed actor, director, artist, and writer. His film appearances include 127 Hours, Milk, Pineapple Express, Oz the Great and Powerful, Spring Breakers, and the Spider-Man trilogy. Franco has written and directed several films, and his visual art has been featured in solo shows in Los Angeles and New York. His writing has appeared in Esquire, The Wall Street Journal, McSweeney’s, and other publications. Franco has an MFA in creative writing from Brooklyn College.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Palo Alto

Halloween

Ten years ago, my sophomore year in high school, I killed a woman on Halloween.

I had been drinking at Ed Sales’s house all afternoon, which I wasn’t supposed to be doing because I was on probation. The probation rules said I was only allowed to drive to school and then right back home after school was out. But it was six months since I’d been arrested for being a minor under the influence, and my parents had become lax about the driving rules. On that Halloween Tuesday, instead of going home, I took some friends over to Ed’s and we all got drunk.

His father was a mathematics professor at Stanford and his mother was a nurse, and neither of them came home until at least six but usually seven. His professor father had a great liquor cabinet. I had my first drink there when I was thirteen, and in the three years since then we had been taking from his cupboard and putting water back into the bottles. We could never get much from any one bottle because it would be too obvious; so we would take a little from all the bottles and mix everything into a punch like the bums did in Cannery Row. I like that we did that, I liked thinking that we were like Mack and the boys, even though the punch tasted horrible. We’d usually mix it with grape juice, but it wouldn’t help much.

We were all sitting in the backyard on a little picnic table that you might find at a park. His dad probably took it from the dump. He was always doing weird stuff like that to save money. Ed did it too, like scraping the mold off old bread and then eating it. His dad was a mathematics professor who smoked a pipe, every night. His teeth were yellow and crooked and horrible. Ed had a little pipe and he smoked tobacco with his dad at night. Ed was half Korean and half white because his mother was Korean and his dad was white from Gary, Indiana.

Outside, we were smoking weed in Ed’s little tobacco pipe. We were all planning on going to Alice Wolfe’s house later for the Halloween party, and we were getting ourselves revved up. I picked a fight with Nick Dobbs. I had seen him hanging around my girlfriend, Susan, and I didn’t like it. I spotted them a couple times laughing in the corner of the library at school. I probably wouldn’t have cared if he had been just one of those theater dorks that she was always planning events with, but he wasn’t. He was a handsome skateboarder, and I had enough of the alcohol punch in me to start something.

“I heard you and Susan did acid. Why did you give my girlfriend acid?”

“She wanted it.”

His eyes actually looked worried. It was not the reaction I was expecting. I suddenly felt powerful and a little bad for him at the same time. I probably couldn’t have asked for a better reaction because I really wasn’t a fighter, and this way, because he looked scared, I had beat him without having to fight him. I didn’t like to see people intimidated, but this guilt made me turn meaner because I told him to apologize, and when he did, I demanded that he say it louder so that everyone could hear. I was pushing it a little and I could see him consider just taking a swing at me, but he apologized again slightly louder. Jack spoke up.

“What the fuck do you care, Ryan? She does acid and other drugs all the time, with all of us.”

Well, I didn’t like that. Funny how new facts pop up and make you doubt that there’s any goodness in life. Everyone pretends to be normal and be your friend, but underneath, everyone is living some other life you don’t know about, and if only we had a camera on us at all times, we could go and watch each other’s tapes and find out what each of us was really like. But then you’d have to watch girls go poo and boys trying to go down on themselves.

Then Ed’s Korean mom came home. She was only about four foot ten, but we all got scared anyway. We heard the front door close inside the house, and Ed said, “My mom’s home!” And we grabbed most of the cups and someone grabbed the punch and Ed grabbed his pipe and we all scrambled over the fence and jumped into my car. It was a Honda Accord I’d inherited from my father when things were better between us, and it was pretty small for eight people. There were two others in the front besides me and five in the back. Jack’s elbow was in my face, and when I looked in the rearview, the backseat was a jumble of arms and torsos and heads up against the ceiling. Nick wasn’t in the car. He ran off somewhere to go and cry, I guess.

I raced out of there. It wasn’t time for Alice’s party so we had to find a place to go. The sun was going down, and there were already trick-or-treaters out with their parents. Everyone started getting rambunctious. It made it hard to drive with all the yelling and Jack’s elbow in my face.

“Get that thing out of my face!”

Jack just laughed because there wasn’t much he could do with his elbow. Everyone was talking very loudly, and the people that had saved their cups were trying to drink their punch and were spilling it all over the car. Then for some reason everyone started chanting, “Fuck Alice Wolfe, fuck Alice Wolfe, fuck the Wolfe!” We didn’t know why we were saying it, at least I didn’t, but it was really funny, and some of the guys were howling and everyone was feeling good from the drinks and about the escape and about the night ahead.

For some reason I was still driving fast. As if we were racing somewhere. I guess I just wanted to get this octopus of bodies out of the car as soon as possible, but it was also more fun to drive faster, as if we were really having a crazy adventure. I used to think of these escapades around the neighborhood as good life experience.

We decided to go to Eleanor Park to lie low before the party. There was a little community garden in the back of the park where people could grow their own vegetables, and there were some picnic tables there just like the one in Ed’s backyard. We all sat down and continued what we had been doing at Ed’s house. Ed went over and started picking baby tomatoes and carrots from the garden. They were small but tasted really good, and the carrots were soft and buttery tasting. Ivan went over and started kicking a trellis down, and everyone laughed because his foot went through it.

It was a simple existence, when I look back on it now. I have friends who grew up in New York City, and the stories they have from their childhoods are amazing. Full of color and culture and danger. I envy them.

At about eight we went to Alice Wolfe’s party. We had finished the punch in the park, and everyone was feeling even happier. The Wolfe chant started up again, but this time it was slurred. Now that we were close to the house, the chant began to take on meaning for me. It meant that we had little respect for Alice Wolfe and her friends. Yes, they were the prettiest, most popular girls in our class, but they weren’t that pretty. And our chant meant that we were going to dominate them. We were going to go over there and do our best to get them alone and fuck them.

We had decided to go as monkeys. We had identical monkey masks that we’d stashed in the trunk. All eight of us wore one so no one could tell us apart. At Alice’s it worked out great. It broke the ice because we could act as stupidly as we liked, and we ended up making the girls laugh a lot more than they usually did. I had a few more beers, and then I found myself talking on the back porch with Sandy Cooper.

“I know it’s you, Ryan.”

“Nooooo it’s naaaaht.” I was using a deep, doofusy kind of voice like Baloo from the Jungle Book movie.

“I’ll pretend it’s not you so if I get caught I won’t get beat up by Susan.”

“Whoooooo’s Suuusaaan?”

“Shut up, Ryan.”

I took the monkey mask off, and we made out for a bit in the backyard. Then I figured that I had better call Susan because I said I was going to. She was going to a different, less cool party with her girlfriends because they weren’t invited to Alice’s. I needed to come up with an excuse not to meet her. I told Sandy to wait, and I went inside to use the phone.

I called Susan at her house.

“Took you long enough,” she said.

“What?”

“You were supposed to call me two hours ago.”

“Sorry, we were just over at the park and there wasn’t a phone around.”

“Good excuse.”

“It’s true. So you’re still at home?”

“Yeah, we’re just getting our costumes on.”

“Who?”

“Me and Elizabeth and Jenny and Hart and Nick.”

“Nick Dobbs? What’s he doing there?”

“Putting his costume on. He and Hart are going to be the guys from A Clockwork Orange with Terry and Pete.”

“Why the fuck are you hanging out with Nick?”

“He’s my friend.”

“Yeah, getting real friendly in the library.”

I hung up the phone. I told Jack and Ed that I was leaving, and I ran out to my car. The driveway and bushes were blurry as I ran. I got the car handle in my grip and opened the door. I got in and took off toward Susan’s.

I was racing on my anger. On the righteousness of catching Nick with her. I had no clear plan for what I would do when I arrived, but I could see my fist going toward Nick’s face. I had glimpses of Hart’s angry face; I’d probably have to deal with him too. He was bigger than me. I’d probably have to reason with him after I kicked the shit out of Nick. I saw Susan’s horrified reaction, and I felt buffeted on a hot wave of self-righteousness. The streets were fairly empty, and I accepted them as my personal roadway. My ordinary submission to traffic laws evaporated. I raced around corners without looking and shot through the phantom walls of the stoplights. The more recklessly I drove, the easier it was.

The Main Library passed on my left. I went through the red light at Embarcadero and Newell and passed Candice Brown’s house on the right. Bitch, she cheated on her boyfriend too. I shot down Newell, busting through neighborhood stop signs toward Jordan Middle School. At the school I screeched through the stop sign and around the corner to the right.

There was no time to do anything about the dark figure standing in the road. The car went right at it. There was a bump and the figure disappeared underneath the car. I realized I was already pressing the brakes when the car stopped ten yards away. I put the car in Park and pressed the button for the automatic window and stuck my body out the window to look back. The figure was lying facedown on the road. There was no one else around. Just the empty school on one side of the street and on the other some sycamores in shadow. Whoever the figure was couldn’t have seen what kind of car raced into her. I took the moment and drove off before she started moving.

I was driving fast again, but I obeyed the street signs now. I didn’t know where to go. My rage had dissipated into a little boy’s fear for his safety. I couldn’t go to Susan’s, and I didn’t want to go home because my father would see how drunk I was; but I wanted to get the car off the street. Ed’s house was close, and I drove in that direction. The flaccid monkey mask in the passenger seat looked like it was grinning. It was an object from a different time. Alice Wolfe’s house and Sandy Cooper were far away. The accident had drained the life from everything that had happened earlier.

Near Ed’s, I parked the car very carefully under the shadow of a large tree. I got out and forced myself to look at the front of the car. There was only a small dent on the front of the hood where the head must have hit. I didn’t see any blood. I realized I was only wearing a T-shirt, and I was shivering.

I knocked on Ed’s door. Inside, someone grumbled, and then, finally, there were footsteps. Ed’s professor father opened the door. At first only a little, and then he saw it was me and stuck his bald lightbulb head out and smiled, showing his bad teeth.

“Why, hello, Ryan. I thought you were some late trick-or-treaters, and I was about to tell them to go screw.”

“Can I come in?”

“Uhh, sure. Is everything all right?”

I was still shivering.

“Yeah, I’m just drunk and I don’t want to drive right now. I don’t think it would be safe.”

I thought he would understand about being drunk better than my own father. My father was tired of my shit.

“Sure, come in,” he said. He sat in his chair and I sat on the couch. Ed’s mom wasn’t there. The TV was on to the news, something about the Gulf War. Ed’s dad took up his meerschaum pipe and lit it.

“Would you like to smoke? Ed usually keeps his pipe here on the bookshelf, but I don’t see it. Here, I have an extra.”

He picked up another old pipe and loaded it with tobacco.

“Just suck a bit while you get it started or it will go out.”

I did, and inhaled sweet-tasting tobacco.

“Where’s Ed?” he said.

“Oh, out with the guys, I guess.”

“Chasing tail, no doubt.”

This was funny because Ed wasn’t the best guy with the ladies.

“Hope it works out for him,” he said. “He’s gone through all the tissues in the house.” He laughed a high-pitched, too-big laugh. The longer I sat there, the more I calmed down. It meant no one was coming after me. My father would hardly notice the dent on the already beat-up car. I might get in a little trouble because I had kept the car and not gone home after school, but that would blow over. I would tell Susan that I got upset over Nick and went home.

After about an hour there was something on the news about the actor River Phoenix overdosing outside a club in LA. Then I decided to go.

“You sure you’ll be all right?”

“Yeah, I feel okay now. Thanks, Mr. Sales.”

I never told anyone about the accident. The San Jose Mercury ran a story about the woman the day after and so did the Palo Alto Weekly. She was a librarian and had been walking home from work. She lived alone.

My last couple of years of high school, I passed that corner a few times, and the little-boy terror came back. But eventually the feeling left. When I went back home from college to visit my parents, I’d drive past the corner, and it seemed like the accident only happened in a movie.

After my father died, I’d visit my mother at Christmas. One December, I passed the corner while driving my mother to the library. At first the corner didn’t register. My mother was talking about the new children’s book she was working on, and I was just listening to her when, halfway down the block, I remembered, “Oh yeah, that’s where the accident happened.”

Publisher ‏ : ‎ Scribner (June 7, 2011)
Language ‏ : ‎ English
Paperback ‏ : ‎ 224 pages
ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 1439163154
ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-1439163153
Item Weight ‏ : ‎ 6.4 ounces
Dimensions ‏ : ‎ 5.25 x 0.6 x 8 inches

Best Sellers Rank: #2,374,255 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #21,808 in Coming of Age Fiction (Books)
- #35,456 in Short Stories (Books)
- #107,453 in Literary Fiction (Books)

Customer Reviews:
447 ratings

About the author

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James Franco

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James Franco is an actor, director, screenwriter, and artist. His film appearances include "Milk," "Pineapple Express," the "Spider-Man" trilogy, and upcoming appearances in "Eat, Pray, Love," and "Howl," in which he portrays beat poet Allen Ginsberg. On television, he starred in the critically acclaimed series "Freaks and Geeks." Franco has also written, directed and starred in several short plays, two of which -- "Fool's Gold" and "The Ape" -- he adapted into feature-length films. He also wrote and directed the film "Good Time Max." Franco will be participating in an upcoming gallery show at Deitch Projects in New York, and his writing has appeared in the Wall Street Journal, McSweeney's, and other publications

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2 star		6%
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Bacchus

Fast Read, Good Character Studies

Reviewed in the United States on April 12, 2019

Verified Purchase

These stories are written in a very direct, simple sentence structure, told in the first person POV of the various teen characters. A very readable style devoid of literary pretension.

The characters are mostly bored spoiled rich kids who do the sort of things teens have been doing since the drug and sexual revolutions of the 60s and 70s. While some of the stories deal with those subjects in a way that might shock conservative readers, there's a moral edge to them that makes them a bit more palatable.

If you were a fast lane teen you'll no doubt recognize these characters, whatever your generational era. Their only singular characteristic is that they grew up in Palo Alto, where the adults are liberal academics and parental figures are whatever the opposite of helicopter parents is. Undercurrents of racism pop up here and there, most often subliminal, but they do occasionally color the narrative which might trigger snowflake reactions.

4 people found this helpful

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Dhamilton

A solid read about poor decisions made by teens

Reviewed in the United States on December 25, 2018

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This book is what you can expect from James Franco. An insightful look at growing up rich in the northern California city of Palo Alto. Franco does not sugar coat the decisions and actions that young teens make when their parent's eyes are turned away. I will say that this book is not for everyone. But if you are interested in the secret life of teens it’s a must-read. I completely enjoyed reading this book and never wanted to set it down. What I really liked is that I had watched Gia Coppola's movie 'Palo Alto' based on this book and she did such a good job making that movie her own that both pieces stand strong alone.

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Kindle Customer

Hard to see the point...

Reviewed in the United States on January 6, 2011

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James Franco is, by all accounts, a busy guy. According to his biography, he's an actor, director, artist, and writer; according to a recent magazine article, he is attending classes at three separate graduate schools and has recently been selected to co-host the upcoming Academy Award ceremony. That's all quite astonishing and worthy of attention, to be sure. And any artist willing to stretch himself and try something new deserves some acclaim. Unfortunately, the very best thing that can be said about his debut collection of short stories, "Palo Alto," is that it constitutes an admirable attempt. The execution is shambling, stunted, fumbling for faux-profundity that eludes even its clumsy grasp, an exercise in pointlessness that serves as a fairly damning indictment of whatever graduate writing program Franco used as a training ground for this book, as well as whatever agent and publisher found this material worthy of mass presentation.

It's not as though Franco is utterly without talent and can't pull off the occasional interesting image; take the story "Tar Baby," and his description of the lonely and empty night: "Outside, it was a little cold, and the sound vacuumed out to quiet, nothing but a few cars passing in the distance along Middlefield Road." There are occasional nuggets like this throughout "Palo Alto," but the problem is that they add up to nothing. The predominant theme is disaffected youth, and every story is told from the first person perspective, demonstrating little to no range; Franco's narrators skip from one incident to the next with next to no insight or reflection.

Each story is also anticlimactic, choosing simply to end abruptly without resolution. In a book of fifteen stories, the anti-climax approach can work as an arresting sort of change-up pitch a handful of times, but in every story, it simply becomes tiresome. Eventually, some of your stories need a payoff, lest they stand as only meaningless sketches, doodles of disaffected youth. If you're going to go with abrupt endings, the material leading up to them needs to be very compelling, enough to let the reader complete the story in their minds; but in Franco's pages, even the most shocking material - a teenager who has a sexual affair with her much-older soccer coach, underage drinking and driving, vehicular homicide, or animal abuse - is all rendered in such a casual, dull, shallow manner that it provokes no profound emotions. Like a damp matchbook, it's all essentially meaningless.

Perhaps that is Franco's point here -- everything is meaningless -- but if so, why bother to capture it? The more logical conclusion is that Franco, at this point in his writing career, lacks either the interest or the ability to push his writing further. Maybe in the future he'll write something that matters; "Palo Alto" does not.

10 people found this helpful

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Alia Tarek Tawfik

the other side

Reviewed in the United States on November 12, 2013

Verified Purchase

captures the dark, hidden corners of the mind that most people would rather not face. instead of sweeping facts of life under the table, reality in put in plain view. in a world as abundant as america it is shocking to read about the conflict that arises out of being a teenager or young adult. the stories tell of the restrictions and set backs that confronts the protagonists and how they deal with the situations they find themselves in. it tells of traumas experienced at a young age with no adults around to caution, console or supervise. in that way it tells tales that have universal appeal. every country has a world of shadows that is scary to explore. everyone will be able to relate and if not, then the book serves as a warning of what is really out there for the majority who dont lead sheltered lives.

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Joanne I. Brown

Poignant, Moving, Real

Reviewed in the United States on April 10, 2014

Verified Purchase

If you didn't know who wrote this, you'd still love it. If people only buy it because of who wrote it - they will be surprised. Franco is a talented writer and these stories ring true and remind me of Raymond Carver in that they don't steer away from the common ugliness that people are made of. Not everything a person does is special and beautiful - even and especially young people. There is no romanticism of youth in this. You will remember incidents you tried to forget from your own ugly youth. It's all ok - it gives you insight into yourself and confirms the commonality of all our emotions and initial growing up experiences. This book of stories haunts me. I look forward to the film and to more work from Franco.

One person found this helpful

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Top reviews from other countries

Alex Anderson

... a debut novelist this piece of work is really good. The book is about several middle class teenagers ...

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on September 8, 2016

Verified Purchase

For a debut novelist this piece of work is really good. The book is about several middle class teenagers who are going through the pain of puberty and trying to figure out who they are while dealing with the lack of parental guidance and assurance. Franco really captures the complex, diverse and seemingly disconnected nature of emotions in the characters. Its a great snapshot into their lives and minds.

Ellen:D

I really liked this book

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on May 27, 2015

Verified Purchase

I really liked this book, most of the stories do have quite a dark feel to them and the book is very sombre. However I did really enjoy the book and the style of short stories without resolution, because of this style though you don't really get that character development that makes you deeply invest in the characters. That style keeps it from being 5 stars but for what it is, it's a beautiful yet harrowing book. I would recommend the book and the film also!

Felicia

Palo Alto

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on May 27, 2014

Verified Purchase

James Franco successfully creates the setting, atmosphere, and also creates interesting stories. However these short stories never have an ending and I feel that the stories would be more effective if there was a cliffhanger at the end of each narration rather than a random stop. These stories are also very similar so they tell the reader what type of place Palo Alto is like. The stories revolve a lot around drugs, death, and sex, and reflect the lives and thoughts of young people.
The way Franco uses imagery was effective, but I think that the stories themselves lack a bit of substance.

Aldridge

My kind of book 😊

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on October 19, 2016

Verified Purchase

I hesitated for a long time thinking about whether to buy this based on previous reviews and maybe it's just my kind of book but I loved it, the only problem with it? It was over too soon.

One person found this helpful

Lidia

Fab

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on July 8, 2017

Verified Purchase

Brilliant book! Lots of deep and interesting short stories, I have read this more than once and I love it, even better than the film!

One person found this helpful

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