Just an Ordinary Day: Stories - Softcover

Jackson, Shirley

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0553378333 ISBN 13: 9780553378337

Verlag: Random House Publishing Group, 1997

Inhaltsangabe

“Jackson at her best: plumbing the extraordinary from the depths of mid-twentieth-century common. [Just an Ordinary Day] is a gift to a new generation.”—San Francisco Chronicle

Acclaimed in her own time for her short story “The Lottery” and her novel The Haunting of Hill House—classics ranking with the work of Edgar Allan Poe—Shirley Jackson blazed a path for contemporary writers with her explorations of evil, madness, and cruelty. Soon after her untimely death in 1965, Jackson’s children discovered a treasure trove of previously unpublished and uncollected stories, many of which are brought together in this remarkable collection. Here are tales of torment, psychological aberration, and the macabre, as well as those that display her lighter touch with humorous scenes of domestic life. Reflecting the range and complexity of Jackson’s talent, Just an Ordinary Day reaffirms her enduring influence and celebrates her singular voice, rich with magic and resonance.
  
Praise for Shirley Jackson
 
“[Jackson’s] work exerts an enduring spell.”—Joyce Carol Oates
 
“Shirley Jackson’s stories are among the most terrifying ever written.”—Donna Tartt
 
“An amazing writer . . . If you haven’t read [Jackson] you have missed out on something marvelous.”—Neil Gaiman
 
“Shirley Jackson is unparalleled as a leader in the field of beautifully written, quiet, cumulative shudders.”—Dorothy Parker
 
“An author who not only writes beautifully but who knows what there is, in this world, to be scared of.”—Francine Prose
 
“The world of Shirley Jackson is eerie and unforgettable.”—A. M. Homes
 
“Jackson enjoyed notoriety and commercial success within her lifetime, and yet it still hardly seems like enough for a writer so singular. When I meet readers and other writers of my generation, I find that mentioning her is like uttering a holy name.”—Victor LaValle

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Shirley Jackson was born in San Francisco on December 14, 1916. She first received wide critical acclaim for “The Lottery,” which was published in The New Yorker in 1948 and went on to become one of the most anthologized stories in American literature. She is the author of six novels, including The Haunting of Hill House and We Have Always Lived in the Castle; four collections of short stories and essays, including Let Me Tell You; and two family memoirs, Life Among the Savages and Raising Demons. For many years she lived in North Bennington, Vermont, with her husband, the renowned literary critic Stanley Edgar Hyman, and their four children. She died on August 8, 1965.
 
Laurence Jackson Hyman, the eldest child of Shirley Jackson and Stanley Edgar Hyman, is the author, editor, or co-editor of dozens of books and monographs.
 
Sarah Hyman DeWitt is the third child of Shirley Jackson and Stanley Edgar Hyman. She is a performer, folksinger, and artist.

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in this edition represent the great diversity of her work, from humor to her shocking explorations of the human psyche. The tales range, chronologically, from the writings of her college days and residence in Greenwich Village in the early 1940s, to the unforgettably chilling stories from the period just before her death. They provide an exciting overview of the evolution of her craft through a progression of forms and styles, and add significantly to the body of her published work.



Just an Ordinary Day is a testament to how large a talent Shirley Jackson had and to the depth, breadth, and complexity of her writing. Though this remarkable literary life was cut short, Jackson clearly established a unique voice that has won a permanent place in the canon of outstanding American literature, and remains a powerful influence on generations of readers and writers.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

THE SMOKING ROOM
 
HE WAS TALLER THAN I had imagined him. And noisier. Here I was, all by myself, downstairs in the dormitory smoking room with my typewriter, and all of a sudden there was this terrific crash and sort of sizzle, and I turned around and there he was.
 
“Can’t you be a little quieter?” I said. “I’m trying to work.”
 
He just stood there, with smoke rolling off his head. “This is as quietly as I can do it,” he said apologetically. “It takes a lot of explosive power, you know.”
 
“Well, explode somewhere else,” I said. “Men aren’t allowed in here.”
 
“I know,” he said.
 
I turned around to get a good look at him. He was still smoking a little, but otherwise he seemed quite a charming young man. The horns were barely noticeable, and he was wearing pointed patent leather shoes that covered his cloven hoofs. He seemed to be waiting for me to make conversation.
 
“You must be the devil,” I said politely, and added: “I presume.”
 
“Yes,” he said, pleased. “I am the devil.”
 
“Where’s your tail?” I demanded. He blushed and made a vague gesture with his hand.
 
“Circumstances…” he murmured. He came over to the table where I was working. “What’re you doing?” he asked.
 
“I’m writing a paper,” I said.
 
“Let’s see.” He reached over to the typewriter and I shoved his hand away, getting quite a nasty burn from it, too.
 
“Mind your own business,” I told him.
 
He sat down meekly. “Look,” he said, “do you have an extra cigarette?”
 
I threw the pack over to him and watched him light one with the tip of his finger. My hand was all inflamed where I had touched him, and it hurt.
 
I held out my hand to him. “You oughtn’t to treat people like that,” I said. “It makes enemies.”
 
He looked at my hand sympathetically, then murmured over it, and the burn vanished. “That’s better,” I said.
 
We sat back and smoked for a minute, looking at each other. He was a good-looking guy.
 
“By the way,” I said finally, “do you mind telling me what you’re here for?”
 
“This is a college, isn’t it?”
 
I looked at him for a minute, but he didn’t seem to mean anything nasty, so I said: “You are at present in the smoking room of the largest girls’ dormitory on the campus of State University, and the housemother will raise hell if she finds you here.”
 
He began to laugh, and I realized that my choice of words had been a little silly, to say the least.
 
“I’d like to meet this housemother,” he said.
 
I tried to imagine what that would be like, and gave up. “She’s the closest thing to you you’ll find on earth,” I said earnestly.
 
He raised his eyebrows, and then suddenly seemed to think of something, because he reached into a pocket and pulled out a piece of paper.
 
“I wonder if you’d mind signing this?” he asked casually.
 
I picked up the paper. “May I read it first?”
 
He shrugged. “It isn’t important, but go ahead.”
 
I read: “‘This gives the devil my soul,’” and a space was left blank for my name. “This isn’t awfully legal,” I said.
 
He looked anxiously over my shoulder. “Isn’t it?” he said. “What’s wrong with it?”
 
“Well, obviously!” I threw the paper down on the table and pointed at it scornfully. “Who’s ever going to think that holds in a court of law? No witnesses, a thousand loopholes for a smart lawyer…”
 
He had picked up the paper and was frowning over it miserably. “It’s always been perfectly all right before,” he said.
 
“Well, I’m just surprised at your methods of doing business, that’s all. No court would even look at it.”
 
“Look,” he said. “We’ll make out another contract… one you think is all right. I don’t want to do this thing wrong, after all.”
 
I thought. “All right,” I said. “I’ll make one up. Mind you, I’m not awfully sure of the legal terminology, but I think I can manage.”
 
“Go ahead,” he said. “If it suits you, it suits me.”
 
I pulled the paper out of the typewriter and found a carbon and two new sheets.
 
He looked at the carbon suspiciously.
 
“What’s that?”
 
“I’m making two copies,” I told him. “I’ve got to keep one myself. That makes it binding.”
 
He continued to regard me suspiciously while I worked over the contract.
 
“How long is this contract good for?” I asked at once.
 
“Oh, eternity,” he said easily.
 
I finally finished and took the sheets out of the typewriter. Due to the fact that my knowledge of legal documents is restricted to the notices the dean sends out about poor grades, the contract was just a little confused. It read:
 
I (here a space was left blank for a name), hereinafter to be known as the party of the first part, do hereby sell and consign my soul, hereinafter to be known as the party of the second part, to the custody and careful watchfulness of (here another space was left blank), hereinafter to be known as the party of the third part, who does hereby swear and promise the sum of one dollar in return, also other unnamed considerations, admitting and conceding that it is a fair and just bargain, and no complaints afterward; this agreement to be binding, by mutual consent of the parties concerned, in any court of law, wherever conducted, (signed) (witnessed)
 
The devil read it twice. “I don’t understand it,” he said.
 
“It says the same thing as yours did,” I told him, “except that it’s more binding.” I pointed over his shoulder. “You see all those things about the parties of the first and second parts? And about the court of law? That all makes it legal.”
 
“Well, sign it, then,” he said.
 
I thought. “We need a witness,” I said. “I’ll go upstairs and get my roommate.”
 
I left before he could say anything. My roommate was asleep.
 
“Look, Bobbie,” I said. I shook her. She turned over and said, “Go away.”
 
“Bobbie,” I said, “you’ve got to come and witness a contract.”
 
“What the hell,” Bobbie said.
 
“I’ve got the devil waiting downstairs.”
 
“Let him wait,” Bobbie said. She had both eyes open but she wouldn’t move. I rolled her out of bed and stood her up. “Come on,” I said. “He’ll get impatient.”
 
“Signing contracts with the devil,” Bobbie said in disgust. “At three in the morning. How’s a person ever going to get any sleep.”
 
“Come on!” I said.
 
Bobbie sat down on the edge...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Random House Publishing Group
• Erscheinungsdatum: 1997
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0553378333
• ISBN 13: 9780553378337
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Auflage: 1
• Anzahl der Seiten: 417
• Herausgeber: Hyman Laurence Jackson, DeWitt Sarah Hyman
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: GPSR Kontakt; gpsr@libri.de; ; Friedensallee 273; Hamburg; 22763; Deutschland