Rita Kelly’s Research Seminar, ‘Revisiting thus the glimpses of the moon’, focused on a literary genre that had been greatly overlooked during my undergrad back in Spain: the short story. Perhaps it was so because of the necessity and hunger to cram every longer-length classic into the syllabus, leaving no space for the shorter (but not simpler) art. Or maybe it was because Spain did not really nurture the short story tradition, thus leaving it behind for other cultures to study.
The reasons for my lack of knowledge in short stories will remain unknown, but I do know one thing now: Cork, as a city and a community, does not look down on short stories, and may have to thank the oral tradition for that (Orel 12). The oral tradition in Spain did not give birth to that; not in any of the co-official languages.
The entire seminar, though, left me wondering ‘why’. Why did I not study short stories at length? The pun was not intended, but it may stay there. Why not dedicate a few lectures to breaking down and stitching together any short story that fit my university’s academic agenda? There certainly is enough material and enough history behind the genre for it to be studied in any English degree, anywhere in the world. And if the content of these short stories does not a professor please, perhaps it is the skills one should focus on; on what it takes to write one and do it—almost—flawlessly. After all, authors of this length-limited genre “did great things with potentially restrictive structural “laws”’(Goyet 7), thus giving “swift pleasure to readers accustomed to more demanding writing” (Goyet 7). From a student’s point of view, that has as much merit as the story of an English orphan that grows up to be a governess under the employment of a broody master, or the bitter retelling of the effects of industrialization on working communities during mid-19th century England—both pieces of literature I, myself, adore.
Not to mention how crucial short stories are in the teaching of English as a foreign language. A native English speaker might not consider that, but those learning the language do, without a doubt. So why not employ the tools these great authors have given us? According to Saka, “the short story provides the teacher with a rather convenient vehicle for examining literary elements in a limited context” (279). The 2-hour lectures we had back in the Spanish city of Valencia were not remotely enough to cover a whole novel, so I am fairly sure many aspects of the creative process were not touched upon. That would have been solved by selecting short stories and reading them in full. But as it has been mentioned before, Spain lacks that kind of literary culture, even if it is in the context of an English literature lecture.
One would think the syllabus would adapt itself to the target culture it is intending to teach. And yet. And yet.
I must say I did read several short stories during my four years of undergrad (mostly my last year there), but I can count them with the fingers of one hand. The southern Gothic ‘A Rose for Emily’ by William Faulkner was one of them, and if the uncanniness of it all was not enough to dedicate it an entire lecture, I, with all honesty, do not know what else is needed. ‘A Good Man is Hard to Find’ is also on the list, and that one also left me with a lingering, uncomfortable feeling slithering up my body by the end. But that is the key: it made me feel something, and with much more intensity than most 300-pages-long novels. I certainly was not fidgeting with discomfort while reading The Scarlet Letter, even if the language was so hard to decipher it gave me several migraine episodes.
Kelly’s words echoed what I felt while reading those Gothic stories mere months ago. It was pleasing to be able to read them in one sitting. It was stimulating to witness how an author resolved intricate plots in the span of, say, 32 pages. It was engaging. It was fun. It takes skill, as every creative process does. Those reads are, arguably, the ones that have stuck with me the most out of the (probably) hundreds I had to devour during my entire degree—apart from my Victorian favourites, that is. Be it because of the format or the story, that I do not know. It could very well be both.
And somehow, despite the impact, we did not dive deeper into them.
All I can say now, after having Rita Kelly stand in front of me reading her own words and retelling her own experiences, is that I wish I had more to say about the art of the short story, but that I am glad I am in Cork right now to experience it in blooming force.
Bibliography
Goyet, Florence. The classic short story, 1870-1925: Theory of a genre. Open Book Publishers, 2014.
Orel, Harold. The Victorian short story: Development and triumph of a literary genre. Cambridge University Press, 1986.
Saka, Ö. “Short stories in English language teaching.” International Online Journal of Education and Teaching (IOJET) 1.4 (2014): 278-288.
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