These are all mostly short short stories—even in this very small Penguin edition, they average no more than about five or six pages each—but they are bitingly, blackly funny. All very Edwardian now, but still rather like an unholy union of Wodehouse and Wilde. ( )

There may not be a greater master of the English short story. Saki (H.H. Munro) writes from a period that is recent enough to be somewhat familiar, but remote enough to provide a bit of an exotic feel to the settings. These short short stories (typically 5 or 6 pages) are an uninterrupted series of gems. In a storytelling style full of grace, charm, and wit, Saki is unstinting in his criticism of the selfish, the self-centered, and the self-absorbed. About the only humans who are spared his sharp utensil are children, who frequently consort with Saki in piercing his victims. Delicious fun.

I read this entire collection over about two weeks. I would not recommend reading Saki's short stories this way. Before reaching the midpoint, one is so familiar with his style, approach, and aim that the element of surprise is somewhat dulled. These should be dipped into perhaps two or three at a time and then set aside for a month or two. Don't worry...they'll keep.

Os. ( )

A collection of short stories for and about the rich Edwardian British classes, filled with dark humor and unbearably thin and trivial characters. Like Wilde without the genius. However, a few of the stories do bite beautifully and painfully. ( )

Saki is the best! This is a fantastic collection of (very) short stories, all with a wicked edge and sharp wit. Saki is like Wodehouse, Wilde and Dorothy Parker rolled into one, but worse ... or better, depending on your view of cruelty and viciousness. I'm pro. Clovis Sangrail is a character who features in a about half of the stories contained here; he's like Jeeves only cruel - which, in my opinion, is a great improvement.

I'm sure you've read some of Saki's best-known words before:

He is one of those people who would be enormously improved by death.

You needn’t tell me that a man who doesn’t love oysters and asparagus and good wines has got a soul...

All decent people live beyond their incomes nowadays, and those who aren't respectable live beyond other peoples. A few gifted individuals manage to do both.

My favourite story in this collection is Esme, the story of a hungry hyena who meets up with a baroness on a walk in the country. The hyena proceeds to catch and eat a small gypsy child:

Constance shuddered. "Do you think the poor little thing suffered much?" came another of her futile questions. "The indications were all that way,' I said; 'on the other hand, of course, it may have been crying from sheer temper. Children sometimes do."

I recommend this brilliant collection to anyone with an appreciation for satire and black humour. ( )

How to describe the stories of H.H. Munro? An unholy union of PG Wodehouse and David Lynch–? No, that doesn't really come close. Bloodthirsty ferret-gods, werewolves in the drawing-room, and a wickedly satirical eye for the mores of polite society: there has been nothing like these stories, anywhere, ever. See for yourself. ( )