Short Fiction

Name: Short Fiction
Author: E. M. Forster

E. M. Forster

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Albergo Empedocle

The last letter I had from Harold was from Naples.

“We’ve just come back from Pompeii,” he wrote. “On the whole it’s decidedly no go and very tiring. What with the smells and the beggars and the mosquitoes we’re rather off Naples altogether, and we’ve changed our plans and are going to Sicily. The guidebooks say you can run through it in no time; only four places you have to go to, and very little in them. That suits us to a T. Pompeii and the awful Museum here have fairly killed us—except of course Mildred, and perhaps Sir Edwin.

“Now why don’t you come too? I know you’re keen on Sicily, and we all would like it. You would be able to spread yourself no end with your archaeology. For once in my life I should have to listen while you jaw. You’d enjoy discussing temples, gods, etc., with Mildred. She’s taught me a lot, but of course it’s no fun for her, talking to us. Send a wire; I’ll stand the cost. Start at once and we’ll wait for you. The Peaslakes say the same, especially Mildred.

“My not sleeping at night, and my headaches are all right now, thanks very much. As for the blues, I haven’t had any since I’ve been engaged, and don’t intend to. So don’t worry any more. Yours,

“Harold.

“Dear Tommy, if you aren’t an utter fool you’ll let me pay your ticket out.”

I did not go. I could just have managed it, but Sicily was then a very sacred name to me, and the thought of running through it in no time, even with Harold, deterred me. I went afterwards, and as I am well acquainted with all who went then, and have had circumstantial information of all that happened, I think that my account of the affair will be as intelligible as anyone’s.

I am conceited enough to think that if I had gone, the man I love most in the world would not now be in an asylum.

restoring your place…

fetching the rest…

More by E. M. Forster

A Passage to India
You feel the friendship between Dr Aziz and Cyril Fielding strain under the absurd pressures of colonial India, while the Marabar Caves leave everything morally unsettled. It’s thoughtful, occasionally slow and prickly, but rewarding if you like novels that refuse easy judgments about people or cultures.
A Room With a View
Watching Lucy Honeychurch slowly admit what she actually wants, despite her chaperone and the insufferable Cecil, is quietly satisfying, and Forster is funnier than you'd expect. A gentle book, honestly, but the kind that leaves you wanting to say yes to things.
Aspects of the Novel non-fiction
Forster basically chats you through how novels work, coining flat versus round characters and grumbling that story ("and then, and then") is the novel's most primitive part. If you like fiction but want to see the machinery, his lecture-hall wit makes criticism feel like gossip.

Albergo Empedocle

The last letter I had from Harold was from Naples.

“We’ve just come back from Pompeii,” he wrote. “On the whole it’s decidedly no go and very tiring. What with the smells and the beggars and the mosquitoes we’re rather off Naples altogether, and we’ve changed our plans and are going to Sicily. The guidebooks say you can run through it in no time; only four places you have to go to, and very little in them. That suits us to a T. Pompeii and the awful Museum here have fairly killed us—except of course Mildred, and perhaps Sir Edwin.

“Now why don’t you come too? I know you’re keen on Sicily, and we all would like it. You would be able to spread yourself no end with your archaeology. For once in my life I should have to listen while you jaw. You’d enjoy discussing temples, gods, etc., with Mildred. She’s taught me a lot, but of course it’s no fun for her, talking to us. Send a wire; I’ll stand the cost. Start at once and we’ll wait for you. The Peaslakes say the same, especially Mildred.

“My not sleeping at night, and my headaches are all right now, thanks very much. As for the blues, I haven’t had any since I’ve been engaged, and don’t intend to. So don’t worry any more. Yours,

I am conceited enough to think that if I had gone, the man I love most in the world would not now be in an asylum.

More by E. M. Forster

A Passage to India

You feel the friendship between Dr Aziz and Cyril Fielding strain under the absurd pressures of colonial India, while the Marabar Caves leave everything morally unsettled. It’s thoughtful, occasionally slow and prickly, but rewarding if you like novels that refuse easy judgments about people or cultures.

A Room With a View

Watching Lucy Honeychurch slowly admit what she actually wants, despite her chaperone and the insufferable Cecil, is quietly satisfying, and Forster is funnier than you'd expect. A gentle book, honestly, but the kind that leaves you wanting to say yes to things.

Aspects of the Novel non-fiction

Forster basically chats you through how novels work, coining flat versus round characters and grumbling that story ("and then, and then") is the novel's most primitive part. If you like fiction but want to see the machinery, his lecture-hall wit makes criticism feel like gossip.