50 x 50: The mini-sagas
Bite-sized stories from one of the masters of contemporary fiction.Thanks to social media, the world is getting ever more adept at writing concisely. However, Brian Aldiss was writing in this style long before twitter. In this collection of stories, Aldiss returns to the mini-saga tradition that ran for 6 years in The Telegraph, offering 50 brand-new 50-word narratives that will delight readers of any genre.
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50 x 50
THE MINI-SAGAS
BRIAN ALDISS
Contents
COUNTABLE INTRODUCTION BY BRIAN ALDISS
19. THE SHORT LIFE OF ROSETTA STONE
20. THE CALL OF THE WILD: in verse
24. THE SUBJECT UNDER DISCUSSION
36. RETURN OF DEAR OLD GRANNIE
44. THE LENIENCY OF THE LORD ALMIGHTY
45. GLAMOROUS SMILE, BRAVE GOLDFISH
EPILOGUE: CAN YOU FEEL ANYTHING?
About the Publisher
COUNTABLE INTRODUCTION BY BRIAN ALDISS
A fifty-word story? Isn’t that magical? The creation of all fictions is part magic. For a fifty-worder, you must be numerate as well as literate. The Daily Telegraph took to my idea; ‘Mini-sagas’ ran there for six years! Here are my own interpretations.
With an Introduction of... how many words?
On a remote landing in Grandfather’s castle hangs a certain portrait. It dominates my life. Two heavy-breasted women, one nursing a fox, dance to an unseen musician. Does my wife hear that obscure music? Do I? Life itself is an obscure music. But how can I describe in only fifty—
Our wine arrives. She says, ‘The hemispheres of my brain are unusually developed.’
I study my glass. ‘It’s Venetian. 1900 or 1910.’
‘My lover adores Venice.’
‘Have you ever read Ruskin?”
‘Dreadful decor they display here.’
‘Love your dres…’
‘God, is that the time?’
Ours was a meeting of minds.
A great naughty shapeless thing flew in from space. I rushed to the mighty Gloewer, Swordsman Unparalleled. He was eating a leisurely breakfast.
‘We need you, Gloewer! Kill! Kill!’
‘I’m eating, okay?’
‘But your mighty sword...’
‘The Spoon is mightier than the Sword,’ he said.
I awoke – another SF dream!
‘I can peck very hard,’ boasted the hen.
‘I’m a complex character,’ the fox whispered back.
‘But you’re kind – aren’t you?’ the hen asked nervously.
‘From Monday to Saturday, certainly – wouldn’t hurt a fly,’ the fox rolled on his back.
‘Oh, but today is—’
‘Sunday!’ the fox shrieked, pouncing.
A terrific explosion ripped the Louvre apart. Smoke covered half of Paris. Many masterpieces were destroyed in that act of terrorism.
WHO COULD PROFIT FROM THIS OBSCENE ATTACK? the editorials demanded.
A small boy ran off, trophy in hand. Above his bed now hangs the smile of the Mona Lisa.
Here in this remote monastery live men of God. The monks squat over their prayer sheets on the balcony overlooking the valley. Their prayers are heard Above. Occasionally, a monk will rise, lift his robe, and piss into the valley. The yellow stream falls, falls... faint cries are heard Below.
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