Welcome to the Learning English Through Literature Blog!

This is a space for you to exchange ideas, opinions and feelings about the books we are looking at and the ones you have chosen to present, perhaps even recommend some new ones.

As we only have bi-weekly classes this is an ideal place to meet and to relate your reading experiences between classes. Hopefully the posts here will also add to the richness of the discussions in class and provide a jumping off point for areas of discussion we might otherwise have overlooked.

Basically, the more you post, the more useful the blog.

So get writing!

Oliver

Monday, 24 January 2011

Short Stories

Hi all,

Here I post the links to some short stories from three authors that I really like.

- Josip Novakovich. Night Guess.

- Karen Russell. Haunting Olivia.

- David Foster Wallace. Good People.

I'll wait for yours and your comments on this ones. By the way, if you only have time for one, I suggest Haunting Olivia.

Aniol

2 comments:

  1. Hello all,
    I read all of your stories and the best one was Haunting Olivia! Amazingly poetic! Foster Wallace is too depressing for me! Thanks a lot, Aniol.
    Here I post a story that I liked very much.

    Raymond Carver. No Heroics,Please


    Poseidon and Company
    He saw nothing only suddenly the wind stiffened and blew mist up
    off the sea and over his face, taking him by surprise. He'd been
    dreaming again. Using his elbows, he worked a little closer to
    the edge that overlooked the beach and raised his face out toward
    the sea. The wind struck his eyes, bringing tears. Down below the
    other boys were playing war but their voices sounded watery and
    far away, and he tried not to listen. Over the voices carne the
    squeak ofthe gulls, out where the sea thundered on the rocks below
    the temple. Poseidon's temple. He lay again on his stomach and
    turned his face a little to one side, waiting.
    On his back the sun slipped away and a chill broke over his legs
    and shoulders. Tonight he would lie wrapped in his cover and
    remember these few minutes of felt time, day fading. It was
    different than standing in Naiad's cave up in the hills, someone
    holding his hand under the water that trickled steadily out of the
    crack in the rock. It had been dripping for no one knows how long,
    they said. Different too than wading in the surf up to his knees,
    feeling the strange pullo That was time too, but not the same.
    They'd told him about that, about when to wade and when to stay
    off the beach. But this was something of his own and every
    afternoon he lay on his stomach up over the sea and waited for the
    change, the prickly passage of time across his back.
    Out loud, tasting the sea salt on his lips as he did so, he said a few
    verses into the wind, new ones that he'd heard last night. Some of
    the words he liked, he rolled over again in his mouth. Below, he
    heard Aias curse another boy and invoke one of the gods. Was it
    true, what men told ofthe gods? He remembered every song he'd
    heard, every story handed down and recited at night around the
    fire, as well as all the eyewitness accounts. Still, he had heard some
    men speak of the gods with disrespect, even disbelief, so that it was
    hard to know what to believe anymore. Some day he'd leave here
    and find out for himself. He'd walk over the hills to Eritrea where
    the trading ships carne in. Maybe he'd even be able to board one of
    them and go wherever it was they go, the places men talked about.
    Below, the voices were louder and one of the boys was crying
    jerkily against the datter of their sticks on the shields. He raised up
    onto his knees te Iisten and swayed blindly, dizzy with memory
    and idea as the evening wind carried up the angry voices. He could
    hear Achilles yelling loudest of all as the two groups ran back and
    forth over the beach. Then his own name was called, and he lay
    down quickly to keep out of sight. Nearer, his sister called again.
    Now the steps behind him and he sat up all at once, discovered.
    "There you are!" she said. "1 had to walk all this way for you!
    Why didn't you come home? You never do anything you're
    supposed to." She carne doser. "Give me your hand!"
    He felt her hands take his and begin to pull him. "No!" he said,
    shaking. He jerked free and with the stick he sometimes called
    Spear began to feel his way down the trail.
    "Well, you'll see, little man who thinks he's so big," she said.
    "Your time's coming, Mama said."

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  2. Well done, both of you. I love every single one - particularly the Foster Wallace and Julia´s Carver. Excellent. I shall look forward to debating them in class. Speaking of which, if you could please, please print out a few copies for those of us who haven´t read them...(I have a feeling there will be a few) it would be greatly appreciated.

    But once again, in conclusion- excellent.

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