Miranda July’s “Roy Spivey”

From The New Yorker's archive: a short story about a woman who is upgraded to first class during a flight and finds herself seated next to a famous actor.  ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌   View in browser | Update your preferences     Fiction "Roy Spivey" "It was startling to see such a famous face look so vulnerable and empty." By Miranda July The writer and filmmaker Miranda July crafts striking, idiosyncratic narratives that explore themes of unsettling intimacy and hidden desires. Since 2006, July has contributed a dozen pieces to The New Yorker, a mix of short fiction and essays on subjects including the inspiration for her first short film, "Atlanta," and a youthful flirtation with shoplifting. The author of several books, July has directed multiple music videos and movies, including "The Future" and "Me and You and Everyone We Know," which won the Caméra d'Or at the Cannes Film Festival. In 2007, she published "Roy Spivey," a short story about a woman who is upgraded to first class during a flight and finds herself seated next to a famous actor. The premise of the tale is simple, yet, out of a thin postulation, July spins a more intricate cloth. Instead of a meet-cute, she offers us one woman's rumination on her inner life and the complex way that time appears to leap forward when we're not looking. "I quickly shut my own eyes, and then slowly opened them, as if I, too, had been sleeping. Oh, but he hadn't quite opened his yet," she writes. "I shut mine again and right away opened them, slowly, and he opened his, slowly, and our eyes met, and it seemed as if we had woken from a single sleep, from the dream of our entire lives." July's protagonist finds significance in each separate beat of this encounter, yet she discovers that the meeting is also destabilizing. As she returns to her normal, unremarkable routine, there's a sense of loss, accompanied by a quiet, lilting epiphany. July's larger subject is the process by which we search for meaning in life, and the paths taken (or not taken) that lead to our eventual destination. Her tale echoes the searching, incisive nature of her films—drawing us in as she flips the script and offers us a probing look at the tenderness and pathos of our everyday lives.   —Erin Overbey, archive editor More from the Archive     Fiction "The Metal Bowl" From 2017: "It happened in an apartment, on an old couch. I wasn't directed so much as given a series of props to make my way through, like an obstacle course." By Miranda July     Summer Movies Atlanta From 2007: I am superstitious now, and I was even more so at twenty-two, standing in my first apartment for the first time. By Miranda July You're receiving this e-mail because you signed up for the New Yorker Classics newsletter. Was this e-mail forwarded to you? Sign up.   Unsubscribe | Manage your e-mail preferences | Send newsletter feedback | View our privacy policy    The New Yorker may earn a portion of sales from products and services that are purchased through links in our newsletters as part of our affiliate partnerships with retailers.    Copyright © Condé Nast 2021. One World Trade Center, New York, NY 10007. All rights reserved.