by Lori Lebow
Sincerely,
Shirley Keene
Marcel glanced at the neatly printed story, and placed it in a pile of other narratives as he tossed Shirley Keene’s letter into the bin.
The eight-day clock in the living room struck one a.m. Marcel sipped his port and flipped open the paper to the classified ads. The personal column carried his advertisement:
Marcel checked that all of the details were correct. Sometimes the paper printed the wrong address or made other mistakes. He didn’t know why, for he had been running that ad for years. He also searched for his ROOMS TO LET advertisement to confirm it had been run correctly.
He closed the paper and looked at the spare key. He often met travelling sales representatives or other travellers who needed a place to stay in the city during the working week. There were a couple of empty bedrooms in suitable repair to offer as accommodation for temporary guests. The nominal rent gave Marcel a bit of income, and the company was sometimes interesting. Dudley Moraine had been staying with Marcel from Monday through Thursday for almost a month. He went back to his own home on the weekends, but while he had business in the city, it was convenient to stay in town during the week. Dudley would return in two days. Marcel enjoyed having his home entirely to himself. He opened the note under the key. It said:
Marcel,
The story I read last night, “Critical Mess” was just that. The characters were unbelievable, the plot contrived and fairly predictable, and the writing was about average for a primary school student who would be better playing hockey. Definitely not up to your usual standard. In fact, maybe you should consider giving up writing and taking up hockey, too. Just kidding. I hope what you have for me next week is better. See you Monday night.
Cheers. Dud.
Although Marcel cultivated a benign, easy-going appearance when he was out on the streets soliciting responses to his book, every censure cut him to the heart. Flippant jokes or genuine expressions of uncertainty that suggested negative reactions were like electric jolts. Criticism wounded him deeply, even though he had written none of the stories in the collection. If he had been told his dress sense or social relations were strange; if his tastes were attacked or even his philosophies and values questioned, he would not have felt the affront he experienced when people were reacting without praise to his book. In public he concealed his anger and desire to defend his literary sensibility. He exercised enormous self-control to prevent himself from attacking his critics. But at home, alone, in his dimly lit kitchen, he could vent his fury. He did so now, as he booted up his computer while he finished the port in a single gulp.
“So, Dudley Moraine, you think you are a literary connoisseur. You want something more to your taste? How about this?” Marcel Dante watched the file fill with letters as he typed:
Last Story
Dudley Moraine started reading his last story without at first realising why it was his last story. As he commenced the narrative, appropriately called “Last Story”, Dudley received a premonition that when he completed reading it, he too would be finished — literally. It became imperative, therefore, for him to continue reading. When the story ended, so would he. But the tale was only a short story. In order to keep himself alive he realised he would have to enlarge and embellish it. However, Dudley found to his deep distress that he was no writer. The whole process of creation was so difficult and demanding he couldn’t even imagine how anyone went about writing a narrative. Yet, he blithely criticised with alacrity what others had slaved to produce. Now he discovered himself in the position of the writer, and a dangerous position it was. He felt he had to read for his life a narrative he would have to write himself unless he could find another way. He cast his eyes around the room for inspiration. Lying before him he spotted the novel Read for Your Life. He realised that his salvation was at hand: he had only to re-read the novel to guarantee his survival. So he lifted the slender volume, opened to Chapter One and began reading from the start.
THANK YOU FOR READING
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About the Author
Lori Lebow’s lifetime commitment to studying and teaching literature has resulted in many published academic articles, book chapters, lectures, conference papers, and essays. However, her even greater passion for writing short narrative fiction has resulted in two volumes of stories. When not wrestling with the cat for access to the keyboard, Lori is either trying to protect wildlife (except parasites), eating anything containing dark chocolate, or both.
