The Short Story Reconsidered

     First of all, let me say that this is not a book blog, nor am I in any shape or form a literary critic. Everyone who knows me knows that I love reading as an educational activity and as sheer entertainment as well as companionship, and also that I love the physical book, period. Most of all, I read for love of language.

     However, since this is a blog about my different perspectives on life, and since reading has formed and continues to form many of those perspectives, I do feel obliged to write about books from time to time, including my personal opinions of, and reactions to, same.

     The novel has always been my favorite literary form. Years ago, I bought a volume of short stories by Laurie Colwin, a writer whose novels I rather liked at the time, in an attempt to widen my horizons; however, I didn't really "take" to the form, so naturally assumed afterward that I never would. I should have known that tasting only one writer's stories does not form a good basis for judgment, but in my defense, I felt there were certainly enough novels to keep me happily occupied for the rest of my life, so who needs short stories, anyway?

     I have loved the novels of Elizabeth Taylor for many years now, ever since Virago first began reissuing them, so when Nicola Beauman's biography of Taylor came out a few years ago, I immediately bought and read it. Beauman praises Taylor's short stories highly, as do many other critics and authors, proclaiming her a master of the form. According to Beauman, Taylor likened the short story to the lyric poem in arc and movement. Since I am a poet, this comparison struck a loud chord in me and prompted me to give short stories another chance—and whose stories but Taylor's would serve me better in that capacity?

     I recently finished reading her collection The Blush and absolutely loved all the stories in it. I now have a genuine appreciation for the difficulty of writing what are essentially, to me anyway, novels in miniature, of cramming so much information and impact in so few pages. And to do so with as much grace, humor, perception, and seeming ease as did Elizabeth Taylor is nothing short of astonishing; that she is able, with just one little tale, to elicit so many varying reactions from me—amusement, sympathy, indignation, surprise—is enough to erase forever my former indifference toward the form. I feel I am now ready to sample another author—another Elizabeth, perhaps? Elizabeth Bowen?