I absorbed this book of short stories by Richard Russo, during breakfast this week.
I really began to read short stories of all sorts when I was introduced to them formally in high school and college. D.H. Lawrence, Saki, O. Henry, the masters. I continued because the length was so much more manageable when I got too busy to read longer works. Actually my love of short works goes back to high school. Magazines before the 70s seemed to have a lot of great short fiction. I have strong memories of short stories from American Girl (a Girl Scout publication) and Seventeen magazine in the 60s.
Anyway, I recognize what a difficult form it can be. And Russo does it so well. Generally I do not like to analyze work, I don't try to anticipate what the author is trying to do. I just like to shut up and go along for the ride.
But the stories are so elegantly formed, something to hold up to the light and admire. The sounds, sights, thoughts all resonate with me. And, they seem so intensely personal, so much about himself. Granted a writer, professor, are often characters, but it goes beyond that. The experiences, emotions, are not ones he has imagined but ones he knows firsthand.
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