About Classical Short Reads!!

Read and discuss classic short stories.
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neha+thomas+
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Re: About Classical Short Reads!!

Post by neha+thomas+ » 26 Feb 2014, 23:37

I really like the story, very touching , very real nice one

-- 27 Feb 2014, 00:06 --

the religious story is a good read , and very practical

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PashaRu
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Post by PashaRu » 25 Mar 2014, 09:39

My favorite short story writer, hands down, is O. Henry. Among my favorites: Telemachus, Friend, The Pimienta Pancakes, Cupid a la Carte, The Indian Summer of Dry Valley Johnson, The Ransom of Red Chief, The Brief Debut of Tildy, The Gift of the Magi, An Unfinished Story, A Service of Love. I'm sure I'm leaving out a few. Find a book or ebook with the complete stories of O. Henry and you are guaranteed many hours of wonderful, fun stories and terrific writing.

I also love anything Sherlock Holmes by Doyle. Another short story writer I like is Hortense Calisher. And James Thurber.
[Insert quote here. Read. Raise an eyebrow. Be mildly amused. Rinse & repeat.]

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Post by tennent10 » 26 Mar 2014, 11:10

I love this genre of reading!:D It's amazing.

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Post by jamespoet » 29 Mar 2014, 09:34

This story is actually of novella length, but it's a classic nonetheless. I recommend THE STRANGE CASE OF DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE. It's a great horror story, and Stevenson is a great writer.
The joys of literature transcend the evils of the world. I believe in its miraculious baptism and emotional power of the words trickling down the page. To me, there is no higher artform...

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Post by DEON1 » 28 Apr 2014, 10:49

This is great! kudos to whomever came up with this idea.

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Post by samuyama » 17 May 2014, 09:35

this sounds like a nice topic thread :)

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Post by Nathrad Sheare » 18 May 2014, 03:26

How about Robert Louis Stevenson's A Lodging for the Night? It's a timeless study of choice and circumstance. The story's interesting, though. :D It's about a young criminal who is driven out into the cold (literally) by his murderous and traitorous partners. Every aspect of his personality is brought into the light, and Stevenson makes sure the ending is believable. I think the greatest strength of the piece is the imagery. I just love Stevenson's flair with it. He's one heck of an author.
Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things that escape those who only dream at night.

-Edgar Allan Poe

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Post by David Dawson » 18 May 2014, 12:25

Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton was mentioned on another thread (school books, if I recall, and is a great short read).

Serves me right for posting in haste; I had mis-interpreted the topic as being about short books as opposed to short stories. I've left the post up because the recommendation stands, but short story-wise I would recommend having a look at Richard Yates. They are quite variable in quality and pretty bleak (obviously, it's Richard Yates), but definitely worthwhile.

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Post by Nathrad Sheare » 22 May 2014, 23:52

I really loved this section of Edgar Allan Poe's The Island of the Fay. Tell me what you think:

It was during one of my lonely journeyings, amid a far distant region of mountain locked within mountain, and sad rivers and melancholy tarn writhing or sleeping within all -- that I chanced upon a certain rivulet and island. I came upon them suddenly in the leafy June, and threw myself upon the turf, beneath the branches of an unknown odorous shrub, that I might doze as I contemplated the scene. I felt that thus only should I look upon it -- such was the character of phantasm which it wore.

On all sides -- save to the west, where the sun was about sinking -- arose the verdant walls of the forest. The little river which turned sharply in its course, and was thus immediately lost to sight, seemed to have no exit from its prison, but to be absorbed by the deep green foliage of the trees to the east -- while in the opposite quarter (so it appeared to me as I lay at length and glanced upward) there poured down noiselessly and continuously into the valley, a rich golden and crimson waterfall from the sunset fountains of the sky.

About midway in the short vista which my dreamy vision took in, one small circular island, profusely verdured, reposed upon the bosom of the stream.

So blended bank and shadow there

That each seemed pendulous in air -- so mirror-like was the glassy water, that it was scarcely possible to say at what point upon the slope of the emerald turf its crystal dominion began.

My position enabled me to include in a single view both the eastern and western extremities of the islet; and I observed a singularly-marked difference in their aspects. The latter was all one radiant harem of garden beauties. It glowed and blushed beneath the eyes of the slant sunlight, and fairly laughed with flowers. The grass was short, springy, sweet-scented, and Asphodel-interspersed. The trees were lithe, mirthful, erect -- bright, slender, and graceful, -- of eastern figure and foliage, with bark smooth, glossy, and parti-colored. There seemed a deep sense of life and joy about all; and although no airs blew from out the heavens, yet every thing had motion through the gentle sweepings to and fro of innumerable butterflies, that might have been mistaken for tulips with wings.*

* Florem putares nare per liquidum aethera. -- P. Commire.

The other or eastern end of the isle was whelmed in the blackest shade. A sombre, yet beautiful and peaceful gloom here pervaded all things. The trees were dark in color, and mournful in form and attitude, wreathing themselves into sad, solemn, and spectral shapes that conveyed ideas of mortal sorrow and untimely death. The grass wore the deep tint of the cypress, and the heads of its blades hung droopingly, and hither and thither among it were many small unsightly hillocks, low and narrow, and not very long, that had the aspect of graves, but were not; although over and all about them the rue and the rosemary clambered. The shade of the trees fell heavily upon the water, and seemed to bury itself therein, impregnating the depths of the element with darkness. I fancied that each shadow, as the sun descended lower and lower, separated itself sullenly from the trunk that gave it birth, and thus became absorbed by the stream; while other shadows issued momently from the trees, taking the place of their predecessors thus entombed.

This idea, having once seized upon my fancy, greatly excited it, and I lost myself forthwith in revery. "If ever island were enchanted," said I to myself, "this is it. This is the haunt of the few gentle Fays who remain from the wreck of the race. Are these green tombs theirs? -- or do they yield up their sweet lives as mankind yield up their own? In dying, do they not rather waste away mournfully, rendering unto God, little by little, their existence, as these trees render up shadow after shadow, exhausting their substance unto dissolution? What the wasting tree is to the water that imbibes its shade, growing thus blacker by what it preys upon, may not the life of the Fay be to the death which engulfs it?"

As I thus mused, with half-shut eyes, while the sun sank rapidly to rest, and eddying currents careered round and round the island, bearing upon their bosom large, dazzling, white flakes of the bark of the sycamore-flakes which, in their multiform positions upon the water, a quick imagination might have converted into any thing it pleased, while I thus mused, it appeared to me that the form of one of those very Fays about whom I had been pondering made its way slowly into the darkness from out the light at the western end of the island. She stood erect in a singularly fragile canoe, and urged it with the mere phantom of an oar. While within the influence of the lingering sunbeams, her attitude seemed indicative of joy -- but sorrow deformed it as she passed within the shade. Slowly she glided along, and at length rounded the islet and re-entered the region of light. "The revolution which has just been made by the Fay," continued I, musingly, "is the cycle of the brief year of her life. She has floated through her winter and through her summer. She is a year nearer unto Death; for I did not fail to see that, as she came into the shade, her shadow fell from her, and was swallowed up in the dark water, making its blackness more black."

And again the boat appeared and the Fay, but about the attitude of the latter there was more of care and uncertainty and less of elastic joy. She floated again from out the light and into the gloom (which deepened momently) and again her shadow fell from her into the ebony water, and became absorbed into its blackness. And again and again she made the circuit of the island, (while the sun rushed down to his slumbers), and at each issuing into the light there was more sorrow about her person, while it grew feebler and far fainter and more indistinct, and at each passage into the gloom there fell from her a darker shade, which became whelmed in a shadow more black. But at length when the sun had utterly departed, the Fay, now the mere ghost of her former self, went disconsolately with her boat into the region of the ebony flood, and that she issued thence at all I cannot say, for darkness fell over an things and I beheld her magical figure no more.
Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things that escape those who only dream at night.

-Edgar Allan Poe

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Post by raindropwriter » 24 Jun 2014, 09:42

I have read Aesop's fable in childhood and now too whenever I see an Aesop Fable book I feel like buying it but then my age starts pinging in my head lol.
Panchtantra, Akbar Birble, Vikram Betal, Arabian Nights I miss my childhood. :(

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Post by thsavage2 » 14 Jul 2014, 21:14

One of my favorites is "The Veldt" by Ray Bradbury. It is so delightfully, quietly chilling. If you love sci-fi and haven't read it, I highly recommend to doing so. There are tons of great sci-fi short stories, you can find a lot just by Googling them.

Also, anything by Poe is always good. Same with the Latin American authors in the same tradition, such as Borges and Quiroga.

And Sherlock Holmes stories are also great. Some of my favorites are "The Speckled Band," "The Beryl Coronet," "The Sussex Vampire," and "The Speckled Band." And of course The Hound of the Baskervilles, even though it is technically a novel, it isn't all that long and is worth the read.

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Post by DickDatchery » 14 Jul 2014, 23:06

Does anyone remember an American short story, from the late 1800s I think, about an excursion ship sinking with hundreds of people on board, with a twist at the end and an unreliable narrator? It's often included in anthologies. I've been trying to think of the author or title for days, and googling the clues I have, but no luck. Ring a bell with anyone?

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Post by salberson 10 » 21 Jul 2014, 19:36

Suggestions - can we have a thread for any of these I would love to discuss any of them!!
A Rose for Emily - Faulkner
Metamorphosis - Kafka
My Last Duchess - Robert Browning
Porphyria's Lover - Robert Browning
The Yellow Wallpaper - Charlotte Perkins Gilman
The Gift of the Magi - O.Henry
A Good Man Is Hard to Find - Flannery O’Connor
The Snows of Kilimanjaro - Ernest Hemingway
The Lottery - Shirley Jackso
The Most Dangerous Game - Richard Connell
Harrison Bergeron - Kurt Vonnegut
I hope you will like my suggestions, I know there are alot!

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Nathrad Sheare
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Post by Nathrad Sheare » 22 Jul 2014, 20:30

We have some forums in which I'd be more than happy to discuss these particular stories with you!

About Classical Short Reads
Kurt Vonnegut
Favorite Poetry

There are others, too. I VERY MUCH like your suggestions! I look forward to talking about them with you further.

To start, I read Charlotte Perkins Gilman's "The Yellow Wallpaper" a couple of months ago for the first time. I was amazed at how well Gilman crafted transition and I was floored by her talent with description and disorientation. Truly, this short story is very close to perfect. I most enjoyed the "woman" in the design on the wall. :D
Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things that escape those who only dream at night.

-Edgar Allan Poe

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Post by salberson 10 » 23 Jul 2014, 21:15

Isn't The Yellow Wallpaper amazing! I am always shocked by the number of people have missed out on such a great piece of literature. The imagery is my favorite but purely her writing talents and styles are incredibly.

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