Oysters

Greetings fellow Wordies. That’s like Foodies but for those folks like Erasmus who like books more than they like food. Your kind editor has graciously allowed this Notes Blogger Tuesday’s guest spot.

I read a short story yesterday. I don't read much fiction. There's far too much non-fiction that interests me. I just don’t have time for fiction. Besides the fact that I usually read on the slow side, ruminating on each sentence, luxuriating in each word, trying to get a clear picture in my mind of exactly what is being said.

For me to have anything remotely resembling understanding, I need to read something at least twice, if not thrice. I've read Chekhov's "Oysters" twice now, and I am liking it more and more and less and less. Having experienced firsthand some of the things that can go through a person's mind when they are unemployed I felt a strong empathy with the father.

Having a young son, I felt an extreme empathy well up within me for the young boy in the story. I found myself amazed at Chekhov's ability to evoke such strong feelings in me by using the perspective of the young child. And I was equally enthralled with how he was able to recreate the naive wonderment of the worldview of an eight year old and how a child's worldview is so malleable and so quickly able to change with the tides.

Without any real sense of closure, the story left me feeling sad,
uneasy, and did nothing to alleviate continuing apprehension about my own employment woes.

I like the genre of the short story. I like that I can dash one off to
my Blackberry and read the story while waiting for an appointment.

And I like the Russians. I like their sense of the inevitable and their
empathy for suffering.

And I really like Gutenberg.
http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/13417

And I really, really like oysters. Preferably raw, with a grating of fresh horseradished cocktail and a squirt of lemon.