On short stories and their magnetic properties

Two days back, after replenishing all sorts of entertainment, viz. Netflix (finished Heist, Never have I ever), XBOX (AC4 Black flag), getting bored of all the Zuckerberg’s digital toys, I ended up with a book, Fifty short stories.

50 Greatest Short Stories by Terry O'Brien

 

Now having been studying ICSE boards in India, I was exposed to a myriad of good literature since class 7th. We had the English literature book called Figments of imagination, and which had all the best short stories. The last leaf, Maupassant’s the Diamond Necklace, Chekhov’s The bet, Wilde’s the model millionaire. As one friend recently tweeted me about the rocking horse winner, these short stories take us back into descriptive prose, where one drowns in the surroundings, painting that vivid imagery as if under hypnotism of words.
I remember feverishly finishing all of the short stories from Arthur Conan Doyle, and O’Henry. I purchased Guy De Maupassant’s :” The Dark Side: Tales of Terror and the Supernatural. It was a collection of 31 supernatural short stories and quite intriguing to a teenage mind.

I finished one called “The Blind Man” yesterday, and another called the Fly. Both were pretty intense and now I am looking forward to other ones. Probably as a tribute to these authors, I will paste their pictures here or not.

But do tell me about your favourite short stories ?

Links

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The last song of Dusk

It remained incomplete even though Author gave an acknowledgement. It was like as a child, me and my sister, waited for “the end” sprawled across screen, which denoted end of movie.

I was reeling in logical, technical world for too long, and needed a break, and yes “the last song of dusk” provided just that. (and for the record lets just say ,I stumbled upon it providently.) Dabbed in emotions and love, it was the missing piece of jigsaw. Like I was discussing with a friend, no one captures emotions and moods better than Indian artists, be it bollywood, art ot novel writing, last s.o.d. is perfect example. Siddharth Sanghvi does that again on behalf of India. (may be it my roots have to blamed, whereby I can correlate much better with a good Indian writer, not someone like Mr. Chetan,please !) Although yes there were few moments which were over dramatic like some Indian SOAP, and some equally improbable, but writer is writer. Sab maaf.

It captures the imagination vividly, with flowing words and alphabets. Set in pre independence era of India, it captures life of Anuradha. I would not say it is a tragedy, but rather an averted tragedy. And with poetry of Yeats coming in time after time, who would mind not delving in this.  Which means I am onto the next novel of Snaghvi, which is…umm… ek min…last flamingoes o.B.  Thanks to google , and not so much thanks to my university library portal which says “No catalog results found. Did you mean: the ferns of bombay? ” Dafuq !!Anyways it is someone opportunity for a b’day gift.

I should reiterate that am still not fit to write reviews, I always get careen away. One day, until some starts paying me off for writing reviews. May be. Until that day I will try to find/give words to feelings after finishing a masterpiece.

And last words to the Irishman

When you are old and grey and full of sleep, 
And nodding by the fire, take down this book, 
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look 
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

– from “When You Are Old” by WB Yeats

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