A Good Short Story Should be like: Fish and Chips!

 

Not being the brightest button in the box I know the fault is mine. But I do try to listen, and I do concentrate, and I do try to understand.

I’m talking about the BBC Short Story Competition that’s running this week.

I’m thinking they must be so fine these stories, so erudite, so well written that they will be like spun glass, or the finest wine or the most amazing orchestral symphony. That was what I was thinking as I waited in anticipation to hear them.

I’ve listened to three so far. I missed Tuesdays, so I don’t know if that one was any different to the rest.

I’ve already forgotten Monday’s story.

I can only remember Wednesday’s as it was on yesterday and it was about sugar beet. Though I can only remember that because I’m a dull thick button. I didn’t know what a sugar beet looked like, and instead of imagining a round turnip/swede-shaped thing when I listened to the story I imagined a stalk of sugar cane instead.

I only realised my mental image was all wrong when I listened to the interview with the author. I had taken the trouble to listen to this particular interview because of course being made of dull plastic I didn’t understand the story’s ending. I was hoping for some explanation, some hint that would allow a dawning revelation, but I didn’t get any. So I’m still as confused as ever about what actually happened at the end.

Thursday’s story was about an astronaut trying to readjust to daily rhythms back on Earth. And whatever finer points there were in that story passed me by completely.

I don’t understand these short stories.

The judges obviously think they are excellent like chilled sorbet, and simply delicious, but I find them bland, rather like blanched cabbage and over-boiled at that!

They end, and I think, okay… so what was the point of that?

I’m not enlightened, thrilled, amazed or moved. There is no imagery that inspires me, no plot that makes me smile, and no heart to these stories at all.

But then though, it’s probably just me. They are probably so brilliant that someone like me obviously wouldn’t be able to understand them at all. Couldn’t understand them.

And the tone of these stories is  so flat and empty like a wasteland. A wasteland populated by characters who don’t communicate with others properly and have loneliness written through them like a stick of Blackpool rock.

I guess I don’t get these stories in the same way I don’t get orchestral works or red wine. I guess I prefer candyfloss to spun glass because I’m just the wrong kind of button in the box.

This dull button would prefer a story that makes her say, ‘Wow!

Rather like when you eat really good fish and chips when you’re really, really hungry, and you can’t help but exclaim, “Wow! Delicious! Yum!”

That’s what a good short story should be like: Fish and chips!