He got up and sat on the edge of the bedstead with his back to the window. “It’s better not to sleep at all,” he decided. There was a cold damp draught from the window, however; without getting up he drew the blanket over him and wrapped himself in it. He was not thinking of anything and did not want to think. But one image rose after another, incoherent scraps of thought without beginning or end passed through his mind. He sank into drowsiness. Perhaps the cold, or the dampness, or the dark, or the wind that howled under the window and tossed the trees roused a sort of persistent craving for the fantastic. He kept dwelling on images of flowers, he fancied a charming flower garden, a bright, warm, almost hot day, a holiday—Trinity day. A fine, sumptuous country cottage in the English taste overgrown with fragrant flowers, with flower beds going round the house; the porch, wreathed in climbers, was surrounded with beds of roses. A light, cool staircase, carpeted with rich rugs, was decorated with rare plants in china pots. He noticed particularly in the windows nosegays of tender, white, heavily fragrant narcissus bending over their bright, green, thick long stalks. He was reluctant to move away from them, but he went up the stairs and came into a large, high drawing-room and again everywhere—at the windows, the doors on to the balcony, and on the balcony itself—were flowers. The floors were strewn with freshly-cut fragrant hay, the windows were open, a fresh, cool, light air came into the room. The birds were chirruping under the window, and in the middle of the room, on a table covered with a white satin shroud, stood a coffin. The coffin was covered with white silk and edged with a thick white frill; wreaths of flowers surrounded it on all sides. Among the flowers lay a girl in a white muslin dress, with her arms crossed and pressed on her bosom, as though carved out of marble. But her loose fair hair was wet; there was a wreath of roses on her head. The stern and already rigid profile of her face looked as though chiselled of marble too, and the smile on her pale lips was full of an immense unchildish misery and sorrowful appeal. Svidrigaïlov knew that girl; there was no holy image, no burning candle beside the coffin; no sound of prayers: the girl had drowned herself. She was only fourteen, but her heart was broken. And she had destroyed herself, crushed by an insult that had appalled and amazed that childish soul, had smirched that angel purity with unmerited disgrace and torn from her a last scream of despair, unheeded and brutally disregarded, on a dark night in the cold and wet while the wind howled

Category: short story

  • Jim Shepard Wins Short Story Prize image of tag icon

    Jim Shepard won the Short Story Prize last night for his collection “Like You’d Understand, Anyway.” First prize was $20,000, and both runners-up took home $5,000. I just finished the book and understand (Yes, I do understand, really) why it won. It has a zest for exploration and a penchant for far-flung corners of the […]

    February 28, 2008

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  • Back on the Short Story Train image of tag icon

    The only time I’ll probably link to Entertainment Weekly — but this article on McSweeneyism is great for exposing the jealousy and idiocy of McSweeney bashers. Over at The Millions, it’s short story week, and so far they have one post on Deborah Eisenberg — as regular readers know, one of my favorite short story […]

    February 21, 2008

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  • Writing advice from 1908, Writing Slowly, and Terrible Query Letters image of tag icon

    Writing advice given in 1908 to short story writers. And good points made about how they were getting 3 to 5 cents a word back in the day when 3 to 5 cents could buy, say, about 100 times more than it could today. Advice on Short Story Publishers: But I wasn’t ready to give […]

    February 17, 2008

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  • For Valentine’s Day: Love Never Dies image of tag icon

    In honor of Valentine’s Day, I’ll mention The Christian Science Monitor has a review of a love anthology edited by Jeffrey Eugenides, the proceeds of which help out the Chicago 826 writing center of Dave Eggers. The title? My Mistress’s Sparrow Is Dead. No comment on that. As a huge fan of Jose Saramago, the […]

    February 14, 2008

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  • The Short Roundup image of tag icon

    One-of-a-kind stories inserted into bottles. Speaking of stories in unique formats, check out this story by Gregory Norminton told in footnotes. As mentioned on Critical Mass, when the nominees for Oscars were announced, nothing was mentioned about the original source of the films. Nothing about “The Bear Came Over the Mountain” by Alice Munro which […]

    February 3, 2008

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  • Salmonella, Sex, and Short Stories image of tag icon

    And the best title for a short story collection since the Read This! nomination of Skinny Dipping in the Lake of the Dead goes to . . . . Salmonella Men on Planet Porno. Yes, that’s right. Tsutsui Yasutaka, a Japanese author, published this in 2005, and it came out here in April, 2007. What’s […]

    January 28, 2008

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  • Short Review of Reviews image of tag icon

    Bookforum reviews Donald Barthelme’s new collection of short stories, Flying to America: 45 More Stories. But only three of the stories are brand new. Over at A Work In Progress, there’s a post about John Cheever’s short stories and their adaptations into theater pieces. The Village Voice reviews Wanda Coleman’s new collection, Jazz and Twelve […]

    January 27, 2008

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  • Make Your Own Short Story Anthology image of tag icon

    Apparently there is a website that will allow you to pick a number of short stories that will be bound in a one-of-a-kind anthology. Hence the name of the site, Anthologybuilder.com. This is so beautiful – imagine the gifting potential! Instead of burning a friend a mix tape, you select and buy them a mix […]

    January 24, 2008

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  • Rejections, Raymond Carver, and Kelly Link image of tag icon

    Over at The Millions, there is a great post on what to do with your rejection slips. There is a suggestion about a dress. There is also one about a tux. And there is the famous reminder that Steven King impales his on a nail. Me, I just keep them in a big stack, but […]

    January 22, 2008

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  • Review of the Short Story Reviews image of tag icon

    It’s lovely that the NYTBR reviewed Max Apple’s collection of stories, A Jew in Home Depot, the first collection he’s published in twenty years, but just strange that the review is coming out now, nearly four months after the book was released (The LA Times review, written by Tod Goldberg, came out in late November). […]

    January 20, 2008

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