I would like to write critically about the state of the short story as it is now, but I would also like to write emotionally, ecstatically, about what the form means, and has meant, to me.
I can remember when I first fell in love with short stories. I was at Lancaster University, studying English literature and creative writing. The campus is composed of grey, concrete blocks that mirror the sky; I was not necessarily happy or very comfortable with myself there, but it had the biggest library I’d ever been in. Aside from Shakespeare, my literature course was mostly about novels, but the creative writing course was almost entirely short stories. Something about the form immediately appealed. They were bright flashes, suddenly illuminating everything, while also throwing everything into shadow. I loved how solidly they enveloped me, how intensely the people within them were discontented, lonely, isolated, confused, undone, grieving, overcome – just as I was at the time. I was hooked, and have remained so.
Short stories show us the world at an angle, through their own tilted lens. I have always loved horror fiction, and short stories often fearlessly occupy a space of weirdness, smudging the line between horror and literariness with far less trepidation than novels. Short-story writers such as Kelly Link, Karen Russell, Helen Oyeyemi, Ramona Ausubel, Nalo Hopkinson and Carmen Maria Machado all infiltrate realism with science fiction, horror and myth. And writers including Stuart Dybek, Lauren Groff, Joy Williams and Sarah Hall show us the weird through structure, and innovation in voice and language.
Source (Continued @): The world at an angle: reasons to love short stories | Short stories | The Guardian