Short Story Selections

By Asa Montreaux, pen name Andrew James By the time winter came, more people had come to the community from all over the world. Six months had gone by, and there was much more for us to concern ourselves with. The city was much more busy. Maisie and I were at dinner in the hotel. ‘You’re face is still flushed.’ She said. ‘We were walking for a long time.’ ‘I didn’t think you noticed.’ ‘I did have some knowledge of just how far we walked.’ ‘And briskly.’ ‘My face is not flushed.’ ‘No. Not really.’ ‘Unless it is the wine. Then I could be flushed.’ ‘You’re a lightweight.’ ‘Please don’t encourage my alcoholism.’ ‘You’re so sad. If I were to read your novel I am not sure if I could believe anything you say.’ ‘I didn’t tell you I wrote a novel. Have you been going through my things.’ ‘Oh. Well no, of course I haven’t been going through your things.’ ‘Are you sure?’ ‘I don’t know. Maybe I might have come across it looking for some makeup or what have you.’ ‘I’...

By Asa Montreaux, pen name Andrew James The court of Cornwayle runs without Arthur’s interference, and as a result it is an efficacious correlative for Arthur’s court, that of the Round Table. The distance between them allows Marke’s to escape the colonial influence of Arthur’s realm, and mirror the action of the latter court. In particular, Trystram should be considered a correlative of Arthur’s greatest knight, Lancelot. Such a parallel would be difficult for any reader not to espy given the insistence with which Malory draws connections between Tristram and Lancelot, and their respective situations. Malory would have it that Lancelot and Guinevere’s affair “be seen in the sharp, unflattering light of the Round Table as a whole, which makes his affair far from the single most apparent blemish in an otherwise perfect world.” Rather, in addition, and in dialogue with Lancelot’s affair, adultery is a central theme in Malory’s depiction of the dissolution of the Round Table. In contr...

By Asa Montreaux, pen name Andrew James Our transit time was quick. There were very few people there to meet us. After we exited the plane, we were carted over to another area nearby, where the car was waiting. There was no driver; I would be driving. There was only directions inside. And keys. We were halfway to Northern Scotland, slowly nearing Edinburgh, and Maisie said something doesn’t feel right. We have gotten so much responsibility. Are you sure? We are only driving? It feels like an impossible mission to drive across this, it essentially is enemy territory. And the how the hell are we supposed to sort things out from this fort house? You don’t think I can do those kind of things? I don’t know. I don’t see why you would. It’s alright. Most of us don’t believe in destiny. Scotland always scared me. It reminded me of blood battles of the past. The moors, the landscapes, made me think of cold and famine. If someone were to ask me about Scotland, I would complain abo...

By Asa Montreaux, pen name Andrew James Next morning was a whole fresh new plane and we couldn’t be sure what was in front of us and what the greater forces that had so forcefully made themselves known meant for us. We traveled again, and we were not so weary yet. I wondered whether I could detect that spirit again, whether there wasn’t something similar I could find, some smaller resonance of it, that I could seek comfort in. I seemed more so to know where I was going today. The peddle wiggled at my feet. I focused on driving safely, monitoring my speed, despite our anxiety. It was mid-day before we all got the sense that we had come to something important. The air changed and soon the trees changed slightly and the ground felt different. In a few hours, we came to a path, and there were streets and we had found a town. It had the sense of vacation and small-time about it. The streets were empty but they held a strange charm, because people had lived here recently, you could feel....