I must admit that I’m not a big fan of short story anthologies. When reading fiction, I like full-length novels I can really sink my teeth into, because I like the reprieve they provide from the real world.
Sometimes, though, practicality does get in the way. When you don’t have the luxury of time (which is generally how I’ve been ever since 2010 kicked off), it’s difficult to squeeze some reading in. For me, the general problem is that when I start reading I can’t stop, and I end up putting off the work I was supposed to be doing, or worse — forgoing precious sleep. Hence I’m reading thinner books and more anthologies this year.
Dire times call for dire measures. Enter the book Very Short Stories for Harried Readers, edited by Vince Garcia Groyon, published by Milflores Publishing.
I’ve had this book for some years now — back from the days when I did a couple of covers for Milflores Publishing, but because my reading time hasn’t been as curtailed as it is now (waah), I just had the chance to read it.
Very Short Stories for Harried Readers, is actually an anthology of flash fiction — over forty short, short stories, each story no more than four pages long.
It’s an interesting mix — a young couple listening to The Moonlight Sonata; a Palm Sunday spent in Korea; a short film encompassing thirteen stations of the MRT; a father and son bent over a shiny, cold gun; a night where nothing goes right; a post-apocalyptic Manila; the first rain in an Arabian country; rush hour in Shinjuku; a covergirl with a seemingly perfect life; a Gossip Girl-esque love triangle; a girl in a coma; a horror story involving a girl in her lingerie; the att of eating with chopsticks, and many more.
The book does make good on its promise — 2010 has been a year of “harried reading” for me so far, and I realized that short story anthologies do come in handy on short commutes to work, leftover minutes from my lunch hour, en route to a client meeting, and in between painting while I rest my hands.
This book really is a boon for harried readers, who can’t bear the thought of being too busy to read.
***
Very Short Stories for Harried Readers, trade paperback, 4/5 stars
Book #18 for 2010
[amazonify]::omakase::300:250[/amazonify]
This sounds like the perfect short story book for me. Thanks for your review!
I like the sound of this one! And I’ve recommended it to a friend too! Thanks!
I actually love short stories :) Roald Dahl’s are a big favorite.
@Ash and Jeannie- thanks! The book is available outside the Philippines via National Bookstore online, for around $6.44 http://www.nationalbookstore.com/shop/products.asp?merchant_code=NBS&categ=95&product=17934
@Kubi- You won’t get an objection from me — Roald Dahl’s short stories I love!!!
SHOES
My high school years were not the best of times . I was the youngest student in my class and small in stature. I thought I cut a stylish figure my first day, wearing Sears jeans, a flannel shirt, and new, two pair for $5.00, Hill Brothers shoes,. The popular boys wore pressed, tight cut, Levis with thin rolled cuffs, button down Madras shirts and Thread Needle shoes.
I was placed in an accelerated program all four years and rubbed elbows with the smart kids. To compensate for my obvious social and economic shortcomings, I became the class clown despised by teachers and ridiculed by fellow students; most of whom had college plans and parents who could send them. I knew I wasn’t going.
I fell in love with a popular girl. I noticed the curve of her ample breast and her thick sensuous blond hair. She was beautiful. I worshiped her from afar until senior year when we had a brief six month relationship. She was like a narcotic. I couldn’t resist her and when with her, was spineless. I feared making her mad and losing her. What ever she desired, I tried to give but what she wanted was a man and I was still a boy. Eventually, she lost respect for me. I thought everything was wonderful until the summer drew to a close and she went away. I would have done anything to have her stay with me. I knew she would meet someone in college and I would loose her. It was a formula for a broken heart and had a profound affect on the rest of my life.
Thirty five years later we met at a high school reunion. I was a big, strong, two hundred pound man.. and she was still beautiful. I immediately assumed my spineless alter ego and she took control. She looked down on me with pity like a hunter who had accidentally crippled a fawn. We exchanged niceties, and I made a feeble attempt at impressing her. She wasn’t and must have thought how glad she was to have gone away to school years before. I went home that evening with my wife who loves and respects me and I shined a pair of my Thread Needle shoes.
This high school experience changed the way I relate to women. Ihave no trouble interacting with the opposite sex. I am a strong willed man and have a healthy sense of self worth. I have been “successful” with women all my adult life.
Whenever stressed, I still dream of her and awaken with a deep sense of anxiety and loss.
Hi Richard, not sure that this isn’t spam, but thank you for the short short story :)
Confessions of a Dog Lover
My mother didn’t like cats. I grew up in a family that only kept dog pets. Mom said cats were sneaky and killed small birds. As a result, I didn’t like cats. Cats seemed aloof and not particularly friendly. Dogs would jump, run, lick my hand, and wag their tails but cats seemed cold and sinister. I was definitely a dog person and spent my early adulthood as such.
Years later in my forties, I was visiting a friend. He and his wife had two cats. One was a mature tom and the other a five month old female. The female was a five pound, jet black, American short hair queen with big green eyes. I remarked how cute she was and my friend nodded. Later that afternoon as I was leaving, he approached me with the little female in his hands and stuffed her in my jacket. He told me he was going to get rid of her because he didn’t want two cats. If I didn’t take her, she would be destroyed. I looked down at those big frightened eyes thinking I couldn’t let anyone hurt such a beautiful animal. I decided to find her a better situation.
At home, my wife asked what we were going to do with the cat. We decided to find her a home and we named her Samantha. My wife and I had both been married previously and don’t have any children between us. Samantha became our child.
Immediately, Samantha destroyed all my cat stereotypes. She was a loving animal. She would cling to me and hug me with her paws. She was neat and always smelled fresh and clean. The first day I brought her home, I bought some cat litter and put it in the basement. I took her down and put her paws in it. After that, she knew right where to go. This little cat was the runt of her litter but what she lacked in size, she made up for in spunk. She wasn’t afraid of anything. She was curious and even got in the shower with me until the water started flowing. Boy did she get out of there fast.
At the time we got her, our business was failing and I was experiencing a lot of stress. It was a relief to come home to my wife and Samantha. Samantha did all kinds of things to cheer us up. When I lay on the rug watching television, Samantha would walk by and tickle my ear with her tail. She would get her toys out and play and fight with them. She always wanted to be right there with us. She was clever too. She discovered how to turn the television on by stepping on the cable box. It was common for us to return home and find Samantha sitting watching TV. She learned to express her feelings through body language. She couldn’t speak but she made herself understood. She developed an internal clock. She knew when it was time to get up and would wake us by jumping on us if we languished in bed too long. She knew when I was to arrive home from work and would be waiting at the door for me. I always looked forward to seeing her when I got home. She knew when it was time to eat and would sit in the middle of the kitchen floor until one of us fed her. Sometimes Samantha would join us in bed. She liked to lie between my arm and my side. Her little belly was so soft and warm against my arm. She was polite as well. If we were eating something she liked, she would sit patiently and wait for anything we might give her. She was never pushy unless we were eating tuna fish. She loved tuna and would meow for a bite. She also liked popcorn.
Samantha brightened our lives for twenty years before her kidneys failed. She was a sincere pleasure and a gift from God. My wife and I loved Samantha and I think she loved us. God’s message is love. I believe that if one of God’s creatures is capable of love, it has a soul and I believe Samantha will be in Heaven waiting for us.
Richard Provance
@Richard- thank you for the heartfelt story on Samantha. My cat, Tomas, had a kidney failure as well and soon succumbed to a massive heart attack. He was just two years old, though; I wish he could’ve lived as long as Samantha did
FAMILY CHRISTMAS
One afternoon, after making a delivery, I was driving my truck home on Missouri highway 79. I was heading south from Clarksville, the highest point in the state, and the trip home is mostly down hill. It was a cold December day shortly before Christmas and the sun would set a little before 5:00 PM. I passed through Louisiana, Missouri as the sun dropped below the western horizon but it was still light because the sky was still illuminated . Daydreaming, I was thinking of final preparations to be made for our family Christmas. I mentally reviewed what I was buying for each of my kids and I smiled with hopeful anticipation thinking of them opening their gifts under the tree.
I passed through Louisiana, Missouri and was still dropping in elevation when I came upon a long stretch of flat highway. I had reached bottom land and the Mississipi was running parallel to me a half mile to my left. The road, level and straight, seemed to go on to infinity. It was like looking into one of those pictures with a vanishing point. By now it was dark, the road was cold, desolate and there was no other traffic. My headlights bathed everything in an eerie yellow light. I continued south for a mile or so when I noticed something up ahead on the shoulder. I couldn’t make it out at first. It was on the right side, small, and motionless. As I approached I could see it was a child standing there with his arm up and his thumb sticking out.
I stopped the truck next to him and waited. Nothing happened. He continued standing motionless with his thumb out. I blew the air horn; still nothing. I set the air brake, turned my flashers on, and climbed across the cab of the International 4200. I opened the door and yelled down at the little boy. He was wearing a shabby thin cotton windbreaker and it was twenty degrees with a twenty mile per hour wind. I yelled again and he began turning his head towards me in slow motion. I was reminded of the tin man who couldn’t move his head until Dorthy oiled his joints. The heater was blowing hot air out of the vents and I yelled at him again telling him to climb into the warm cab. He was too little to get up the steps so I got out and helped him. At first he wasn’t shivering. As the hot air blew against him from the vents, he started shaking violently. We sat there until his convulsions stopped, he was warm, and composed. He looked to be nine or ten years old, about sixty five pounds, and undernourished.
I waited until he regained control of himself and asked what he was doing out there alone on that empty highway. He told me his step father had stopped the car, put him out, and told him to find somewhere else to live. I asked if he had a place to go. He said he knew people in Moscow Mills and was trying to hitch hike to them. I had to pass through there so I said I would take him. We arrived in a few more minutes and the town was blacked out. There wasn’t a light on anywhere. He told me where to stop and pointed to a white farm house on a side street off the highway. I promised to wait while he ran to the door to see if anyone was home. He knocked and knocked. It seemed a long time but eventually, the door opened a crack and a knife of light cut the darkness. He spoke with the person until the door opened wider and he stepped in. He waved back at me as the door closed.
I released my air brake, put the truck in gear, and turned the radio on. The station was playing Christmas Carols and I resumed planning my family Christmas as I sang along.