‘Oysters’ by Anton Chekhov, variously translated

I first read this online at Bibliomania, a terrific resource, which also has dozens more of Chekhov’s great short stories, though no translator is credited. They are most likely all Constance Garnett’s translations. Here we are in a freezing street in St Petersburg with a father and his small son. The father is ashamed and has been reduced to asking passers-by for some money to buy food. They are standing outside a restaurant that serves oysters. The boy doesn’t know what oysters are and imagines the strange creatures and what it would be like to eat them. He thinks they are like frogs. The desperate poverty in this story hits home with the force of an arrow through the heart. The restaurant owner takes pity on them and invites them in and they get oysters. Then the turn, the owner is amazed, “The child is eating the shell.” The boy wakes up in a hospital bed. His father is pacing back and forth in the room. The concision in this story would leave not one comma even for a Gordon Lish to remove. It is perfect in every way. It might be called flash fiction these days. Apart from the most famous stories, Chekhov wrote hundreds of short pieces like this, often in a humorous vein

First published in Russian in Budilnik #486, 1884. First published in English in The Kiss and Other Stories, Duckworth, 1908. Available to read online here

‘Misery’ by Anton Chekhov

The thoughts and conversations of a cab driver as he works with his horse-drawn sleigh on a dreadfully cold evening. It happens that his son died just the week before. Amid the small talk he has with surly passengers, he tries to tell them about his sad news. But each time they cut him off, they don’t want to know, they will talk about their journey and destination. So by the end of his working day, he has not managed to tell anyone. But in one of the greatest endings ever, while he is unharnessing and putting things away in the stable, he tells his news to the horse. It makes me tearful just to think about it now.

First published in Russian in Peterburgskaya Gazeta, 1886, Variously collected, including in The Essential Tales of Chekhov, transl. Constance Garnett, ed, Richard Ford, Granta Books, 1999. Available to read online here

‘Guests of the Nation’ by Frank O’Connor

This is another story we had on our high school curriculum in Ireland, if I remember correctly. I re-read it recently and it hit home with much more force. I had in mind that it was a great story about hostages being held during the revolutionary era in Ireland but I had forgotten the ending. Each of the two British captives, their rebel guards, the woman whose farmhouse they occupy and the occasionally visiting rebel commandant are vividly brought to life. The people in the safe house form somewhat friendly relationships over their long stay. The visiting commandant takes a cold view of all this and doesn’t say much. The men play cards and smoke tobacco by the fireside and the hostages hope to be released in due course. But the commandant turns up one night and orders the captors to take the prisoners down a lane on the farm to some bogland. The guard whose point of view we share objects to this turn of events, but the British had just executed several Irish prisoners, “six of our lads”. The taciturn one of the captives is resigned and asks only for his wristwatch and a note to be forwarded to his family. The other, an extrovert working class lad says he supports the rebel cause and offers to switch sides and fight for them. But nothing can save them. The ending is terrible in the true sense of the word.

First published in The Atlantic, 1931. Collected in Guests of the Nation, Macmillan, 1931, also in Modern Irish Short Stories, Oxford University Press, 1957 and My Oedipus Complex and Other Stories, Penguin Modern Classics, 2005

‘Lying Under the Apple Tree’ by Alice Munro

The social layers of a small town are revealed to us through the eyes of an adolescent girl whose parents consider themselves a cut above some others in the town, though they are not very much so, really. She is kind of a loner, doesn’t like people to classify her or say anything about her. To get a feeling of freedom her pastime is to go cycling out through the countryside. She admires the blossoming trees in an orchard and has an irresistible urge to lie down under one of the magnificent apple trees and look up towards the sky. The owner appears, a woman who has stables alongside for keeping and training horses, and chases her away. Our girl admires a lad who plays in a Salvation Army band in the town with other members of his family. She stands and listens to them and later the boy gets talking to her. They start going cycling together out in the country. The same lad works with horses for the owner of the stables and the orchard. This is a story in which so much happens, a dramatic encounter, and the subsequent lives of the characters are summarised. And that’s fine. Short stories do not have to be confined to one time or very few events. Some of Alice Monro’s stories if they appeared today might be marketed like novels, as Claire Keegan’s are, for example.

First published in The New Yorker, 2002, and available to subscribers to read here. Collected in The View from Castle Rock, 2006 and New Selected Stories, Chatto & Windus, 2011

‘Foster’ by Claire Keegan

Here we see a family considered the poor relations with many children, and their better off relatives who are childless. In the depths of poverty, our poor young girl who has a hard life at home, ill-used by her elder sisters. She is sent away to be fostered for a time by the better off relatives. We gather that the father is a louche individual as he drives her there thinking about another woman and being generally unpleasant in the way he talks to his daughter. The girl’s mother and family are Irish-speaking but the father ignores that and speaks English with them. The uncle and aunt are wonderful in the way they greet and look after the girl when she arrives. They get her washed and dressed and when something about her home life comes up, the girl says it’s a secret. Well, the mother tells her gently there are no secrets in this house. The uncle seems quite harsh with the girl when they’re out in the farmyard, shouting at her not to go near a certain place. It’s only when we learn that they lost their only child who fell into the slurry pit and drowned that we understand the father’s concern. The girl loves her new caring uncle and aunt and her life with them. When eventually the father returns to collect his daughter, we are presented with the most enigmatic and heart-rending ending ever. It’s a long story of about 10,000 words and is being marketed like a novel, as is another great long story by the same author, ‘Small Things Like These’, which I could as easily have chosen, also concerning the treatment of children. ‘Foster was made into an Oscar-nominated film, An Cailín Ciúin (The Quiet Girl) and ‘Small Things Like These’ is also in production in a film starring 2024 Oscar winner Cillian Murphy.  

First published in The New Yorker, 2010, and available to subscribers to read here. Also published in book form by Faber, 2010

‘Pretty Mouth and Green My Eyes’ by J. D. Salinger

If ever a spoiler alert was needed, it is now. Because I am going to tell you about this absolutely supreme dialogue story and the unbeatable premise and twist. So avert your eyes now if you don’t want to know. The whole story is about a phone call. On one end, when the phone rings our guy leans across a woman in bed to pick it up. On the other end, it’s his good friend looking for his wife, whom he was expecting home from an event she went to earlier. It’s the same woman who is in the bed. The friends talk and talk and the other guy reminisces about how it was when he courted his wife and recites a short poem he gave her, written in her voice, containing the immortal line, “Pretty mouth and green my eyes”. Anyway, he’s a bit emotional but by the end so he wraps the call up and says something like “You know what, she just walked in.” [From memory.] I don’t think even Chekhov could beat that ending.

First published in The New Yorker, 1951. Collected in Nine Stories, Little, Brown & Co, 1953

‘Shovel Kings’ by Edna O’Brien

Well-known for her novels, Edna O’Brien has also written many wonderful short stories, several of which can be found online in the New Yorker magazine archives, and any would be an excellent choice here. In this story we’re in Kilburn, one of the districts of London where a lot of Irish immigrants settled. Shovel Kings is the story of Rafferty, an exile to whom neither Ireland nor England is home anymore, a not uncommon theme. The story is told by a visitor who is killing time prior to an appointment and goes into the pub the old building labourer frequents. We are immersed in the life and characters of the pub. She gets into conversation with Rafferty when he says something while picking up a newspaper lying nearby. They talk and a life story unfolds, in its fascinating and moving details. Over a series of visits by the narrator to the same pub prior to recurrent appointments, we learn all about Rafferty. Then we learn that he’s gone, returned to his old town in Ireland. But by the end he comes back to Kilburn. It wasn’t the same home he remembered from all those decades ago. The story gives us an insight into the pub culture of Irish labourers on building sites and the loneliness of an exile in old age.

Collected in Saints and Sinners, Faber, 2011. Available on the New York Times website for subscribers to read, here

‘Egg Meat’ by Ivor Cutler

My beloved adopted country of Scotland tends to grow bad poets and ‘storytellers’ like a particularly noxious fungus. When I feel disheartened, I turn to the best Scottish storyteller of all, Ivor Cutler. This strange little story about the mysterious “egg meat” you buy from the ironmonger is heightened by Cutler’s wonderful intonations and Glaswegian accent. Ivor Cutler is a much lesser-known figure than he ought to be.

From the album An Elpee and Two Epees for Free, Decca, 2005

‘God in the Billiard Room’ by Barbara Comyns

This is an excerpt from Barbara Comyns’ Sisters by a River, a novel whose chapters were serialised in Lilliput magazine under the title “the novel nobody will publish”. It’s gloriously plotless, highly descriptive, and with the surrealism every child experiences. In this one God appears as a sort of floating brown paper bag. It is done in a deadpan, factual way and such a wonderful little chapter and it’s taught me to be more fearless and more surreal in my fiction.

First published in Lilliput Magazine, and then included in Sisters by a River, Eyre and Spottiswoode, 1947, republished by Virago Press in 2013

‘Who Will Greet you at Home’ by Lesley Nneka Arimah

This beautiful story reminds me of the strange dreams I have while ovulating, the sense of something coming into being or falling apart. In the story, women must choose what material to make their children out of with whatever materials are within their means. When the protagonist Ogechi brings various babies of cotton and paper to her mother, her mother destroys them, saying they are not durable. When I first read it in my twenties, it was so exciting in its originality, and while it still is to me now, recent readings are tinged with sadness as I think of how my own desire to have children has been thwarted by my economic situation and my means.

First published in The New Yorker, October 2015, and available to read here; collected in What It Means When a Man Falls From the Sky, Riverhead/Tinder, 2017

‘Garden Magic’ by Diane Williams

I am very fortunate that a couple weeks after a horrendous breakup, a friend read this story aloud to me, a reminder of how ridiculous romantic relationships often are. The object of affection is a man named Horace whose “place was tidy and a bit surprising. He showed me his sword cane and his living room features an owl that’s made of poultry feathers.”

First published in The Paris Review 230, Fall 2019, and available for subscribers to read here; collected in How High? – That High, Soho Press, 2022

‘The Springs of Affection’ by Maeve Brennan

The title story of a recent rerelease of Brennan’s work is a beautiful and sad description of one family, and the children who make fun of their illiterate, sentimental father who becomes attached to the pigs he raises for butcher. Maeve Brennan died impoverished in New York in 1993, despite having worked for the New Yorker for many years.

First published in The New Yorker, March 1972, and available to subscribers to read here. Collected in Christmas Eve, Scribner, 1974; also in The Springs of Affection, Houghton Mifflin, 1997, republished by Peninsula Press, 2023