James Thurber: The Wood Duck (read by Jonathan Lethem)

I have said unkind things about short stories before, so as I listened to the New Yorker audio of Jonathan Lethem reading (very well indeed) and discussing James Thurber’s The Wood Duck while cycling to work (I was doing the cycling), I tried once again to find out just what bothers me about short stories. Actually, I was hoping for Jonathan Lethem to enlighten me. And in a way, he did.

Celebrity Guest Poster: Mr Tulgey Wood on Short Stories

I’m very honoured to present today’s Celebrity Guest Poster: Mr Peter Ringeisen, a charming fellow, fellow teacher and author of the Tulgey Wood blog. He has kindly agreed to answer my desperate questions on short stories:

Banksy’s Rat

The second entry by J.

Banksy’s Rat

Thank you, Banksy

The first of the Rat challenge essays, by F.

Thank you, Banksy

We have a winner!

It’s rather unforgiveable of me to have taken this long to make up my mind about the winner of the recent challenge, isn’t it? Especially when there wasn’t much choice to begin with. It appears that all of you were too busy studying for the test to take part in the challenge. Anyway, here’s the winning story from the Mistress of Spook, Ch. , who has once more managed to sneak up on the poor unsuspecting reader from behind with a horrific revelation.

Click for : The Football Match

How to Date a Browngirl (Blackgirl, Whitegirl, or Halfie)

I listened to this wondrous story by New Jersey* writer Junot Diaz on the New Yorker Podcast today. It is short and tells of the bewildering jungle that is adolescence, ethnic mix-ups, attempts to impress and seduce girls, keeping cool all the while, trying to guess how far you can go, the supportive role of the boys – and how, sometimes, things may not quite turn out as you expected

.

I laughed. I chuckled. I cringed.

I decided it would make a great story for class some day.

* Having been very impressed myself with the industrial-strength sunsets over Jersey City, I just loved the story narrator’s suggestion to show such a sunset (“one of the wonders of the world”) off to his brown/black/white/halfie date with the words:

“That’s nice, right?”

Aaaaand the winner is…..

Oh, this is really tough. I got some completely different entries for the seagull challenge and they were all a lot of fun to read. What am I to do? How can I not award the first prize to  C., who wrote a quasi-Dostoyevskian story about the inner turmoil of a Dorito-addicted seagull? Or how is a story a passage like this to not to be considered the best?

… On Monday I was taken out of my warm bed, but a friendly woman took me in her hands and washed all the dirt off my skin. I was peeled and cut into thin slices. (It wasn’t as uncomfortable as it sounds.) Treated like this, I took a refreshing bath in boiling oil. I don’t know what happened to the rest of me, but I think I am all right.

I don’t know what happened to the rest of me, but I think I am all right? Isn’t that how you feel after the final night of the Oktoberfest? This is from Ch.’s story, who wrote it from the point of view of the Dorito. Let me just say that I am very impressed with Ch.’s penchant for horror stories. Honorable mention for the inadvertent flight of the Dorito!

I still haven’t mentioned the winner, though. Click for more…. (drumroll!!!)