Short Story – The Art, and An Artist
‘It is natural for men to tell tales, and I suppose the short story was created in the night of time when the hunter, to beguile the leisure of his fellows when they had eaten and drunk their full, narrated by the cavern fire some fantastic incident he had heard of’. Thus speculates Somerset Maugham on the origin of short story in his eponymous essay. This was the story he wrote and he wrote a many. Maugham was immensely popular as a writer of short stories in the first half of the twentieth century, notwithstanding the turn of cold-shoulder – doubtlessly spurred by his huge commercial success – of the literary high-brows. His stories stand out by their bewitchingly singular simplicity, a plain, conversational prose that is effortless to read, and a plot that binds your attention from the first word to the last. Many of his tales are constructed around a quirky human behaviour, one that most men will find immoral. In a score of them he juxtaposes good and dishonourable in the sam