The Electric Ant by Philip K. Dick

I'll be back.

After a terrible accident in his squib (that's a fancy futuristic car), Garson Poole wakes up in a hospital missing a hand and quickly realizes that he is well, not human. Turns out he’s what people in this world call an Electric Ant, which is basically slang for robot. Dun, dun, duuun. Don't worry, this is not a major spoiler since it is revealed right at the beginning of the story. 

The premise is interesting enough and has plenty of potential, but unfortuantely doesnt really go anywhere. As Poole becomes more self-aware, so does his drive to elevate his consciousness to a higher reality, but at a terrible cost. PKD sprinkles in his trademark weird sci-fi involving "reality tapes" that alters perception of time and space but it's also kind of confusing...though, maybe that's the point?

Like many of the author's short-fiction, ideas take precedence over effective storytelling. It also probably would have been more memorable or emotionally resonant if it were a bit shorter, since it often drags on without any real purpose. Still, if you’re already a fan of his work, you are likely find something to enjoy here.

You can read this story HERE.

Leave it to Jeeves by P.G. Wodehouse

Right ho, Jeeves!

I’m fashionably late to the P.G. Wodehouse party, but absolutely delighted to have finally made the acquaintance of the famous duo: Bertie Wooster and his ever-clever valet, Jeeves. These stories have all the makings of ideal comfort reads. They are light as a soufflé, endlessly witty, and packed with the kind of charming comedic flair that keeps a smile permanently plastered on my face. 

It's no wonder Wodehouse has built such a glowing reputation. Great comedic writing is rare and he absolutely nails it. The actual plot in Leave it Jeeves isn't that important, mainly serving as a launch-pad for the author to display his sophisticated wit and comedic chops. It's the razor-sharp dialogue and pitch-perfect humor that Wodehouse serves up on a silver platter. Bertie, with all his foppish charm and knack for landing in ridiculous predicaments, is the ideal foil for the ever-unflappable Jeeves, who always has just the right solution tucked away in his encyclopedic brain. Their hilarious witty banter and the wonderfully lopsided dynamic between master and servant is what makes the story memorable. If you're looking for a few good laughs and characters who feel like old friends, this is pure comedic gold.

You can read this story HERE.

The Snow Child by Angela Carter

Ice Queen.

Maybe it's just me, but The Bloody Chamber by Angela Carter feels seriously overhyped and The Snow Child does nothing to convince me otherwise. She certainly has gift for poetic, richly layered prose and an imaginative way of reworking folklore and fairy tales. But so far, none of the stories in the collection have really left a major impression on me. This story, in particular, might have completely turned me off her work for good. 

Frankly, I found it vile, disturbing, and ultimately pointless. Whether the title character is meant to be an apparition or a magical being doesn’t matter to me. She’s still presented as a little girl. The inclusion of sexual assault and necrophilia in such a brief, surreal piece doesn't take away from the gratuitous nature of this scene. I get that Carter is tackling themes like the objectification of women, patriarchal control, and male fantasy but for me, any message or moral lesson is lost in the shock value. 

You can read this story HERE.

The Gun by Philip K. Dick

Boom.

I wasn't planning for a Philip K. Dick double feature today, but sometimes that's just how it works out. The Gun is classic pulp sci-fi through and through. It grabs hold of a well-worn genre trope and still manages to keep it fresh and fun: an expedition crew touching down on a post-nuclear wasteland.

Before they can properly land, the crew’s ship is blasted out of the sky by a surprise anti-aircraft gun. So much for a friendly welcoming party. Stranded and shipwrecked, a team heads off to explore the ruins, hoping to find a way to take down this mysterious weapon before they all become permanent residents.

The story moves at a good clip, delivers some cool mystery vibes, wrapping up with a twist ending that I won’t spoil here because it’s part of the fun. Is this mind-blowing, philosophical, reality-bending PKD? Not quite. This one’s more popcorn entertainment than paradigm shift. But if you’re in the mood for a quick and entertaining sci-fi romp, The Gun is right on target. 

Bullseye.

The Short Happy Life of the Brown Oxford by Philip K. Dick

 

That's two step, two step, one step / That's one step, two step, dance step.

After trudging through the letdown that was If There Were No Benny Cemoli, I was hoping to stumble upon a Philip K. Dick story that might rekindle my affection for this wildly inconsistent author. As one of the big names to come out of the Science -Fiction New Wave during the 1960's and 1970's, he has penned some truly brilliant short stories. Unfortunately, those gems are often buried among some real head-scratchers. The Short Happy Life of the Brown Oxford isn't great but hey, it’s a step in the right direction (pun absolutely intended). While it’s unlikely to be remembered as a standout in his extensive catalog, it’s still a light and entertaining read that doesn’t outstay its welcome.

Enter Doc Labyrinth (A+ name, by the way), who invents a machine called The Animator. It's basically a cross between a microwave and an Easy-Bake Oven that runs on what he dubs the "principle of sufficient irritation": the idea that, eons ago, some inanimate matter got so annoyed it just... started moving. Honestly, same.

Dick takes this wonderfully absurd premise and just has fun with it. He’s not exactly known for his comedy chops, but you can tell he’s having a blast here. I mean, an anthropomorphic oxford shoe that comes to life in search of its soul mate? That’s peak weird sci-fi right there. Admittedly, the final scene where the shoe wanders off into the bushes for some alone time with its new companion had me chuckling with amusement. All in all, it's a quirky and charming detour into PKD's lighter side. 

The Bath by Raymond Carver

Beam me up, Scotty!

The Bath is probably one of the weaker Raymond Carver stories I’ve come across. Granted, it's not terrible by any means, just kind of forgettable. Carver’s signature minimalism is definitely present: clipped sentences, bare dialogue, and plenty left unsaid. He’s clearly channeling his inner Hemingway here, leaning hard into omission and elliptical storytelling.

That being said, it comes off more like an exercise in style with a type of minimalism where the characters feel more like outlines than people. The story is simple with a mother buying a cake for her son's birthday when a terrible accident befalls the young boy. However, everything is pared down so much, creating an ambiguity that detracts from the emotional resonance. Or at least, that was my impression. 

Still, Carver’s use of omission is doing something intentional here. By withholding key details and refusing to tie things up neatly, he mirrors the emotional numbness of the characters. The mother’s fractured thoughts and distracted actions reflect her unprocessed grief. That restraint can be powerful, even haunting. Yet, it all feels more like a preview of the more nuanced work Carver would go on to do in stories like “A Small, Good Thing,” which actually expands and revisits this very narrative with greater depth.

So yeah, The Bath isn’t without merit, but it’s more of a minimalist draft, a sketch rather than a finished portrait. Worth reading as part of Carver’s evolution, but not the story I would recommend to someone as a shining example of his short-story talents. 

The Idol House of Astarte by Agatha Christie

 

Enter the Silent Grove. If you dare.

Agatha Christie dabbling in gothic horror? Sign me up! 

In the second meeting of the Tuesday Night Club, it’s Dr. Pender the clergyman’s turn to spin a mysterious yarn for the group. Miss Marple, ever the quiet observer, listens as he recounts a strange incident from years ago involving a dinner party thrown by his old friend Richard Haydon.

After dinner at his Richard's fancy estate, the guests decide to take a moonlit stroll through “Silent Grove”, a patch of woods complete with crumbling relics, a reputation for cult activity and whispers of demonic rituals. You know, the usual post-dinner entertainment. Things take a darker turn when one of the female guests vanishes. She’s later found in the grove, seemingly entranced or maybe even possessed by something not quite of this world. Richard reaches out to help her, only to suddenly drop dead on the spot. And just like that, a chilling evening becomes an unsolved mystery. Was it a heart attack? An encounter with the supernatural? Or is someone in the group hiding something far more sinister?

The Tuesday Night Club can’t agree on what actually happened and in typical Christie fashion, Miss Marple is already stitching together the clues with her trademark comparisons to village life. And wouldn’t you know it, Dr. Pender secretly does know the truth but he’s holding back, just to see if anyone else can figure it out. While the ending is somewhat underwhelming, the gothic atmosphere make this a fun and spooky little tale.

If There Were No Benny Cemoli by Philip K. Dick

Cemoli Cannoli.

Talk about a total letdown. Philip K. Dick has written his fair share of excellent sci-fi short stories but If There Were No Benny Cemoli is definitely not one of them. Save yourself the trouble unless you want to get duped like me. 

The premise actually sounds pretty great: Earth is a post-apocalyptic mess and a group of interstellar bureaucrats called Centurians suddenly show up, ready to rebuild it whether the few remaining humans like it or not. There’s even a buried sentient newspaper machine (a "homeopape"!) under the ruins of the New York Times building that somehow knows what’s really going on. Toss in a mysterious rebel leader named Benny Cemoli, and you’d think this would be a recipe for some mind-bending PKD goodness.

Nope. Instead of delivering on any of that potential, the story just meanders around aimlessly before abruptly hitting the brakes and calling it a day. It’s like Dick had a vague idea, wrote a bunch of pages, hit his word count for the publisher, and said, “Yeah, that’s good enough.” It's an underwhelming story with bland characters, zero payoff and no satisfying arc. Just a bunch of half-baked ideas that don’t go anywhere. It’s the kind of filler story that makes you double-check if several pages are missing. 

The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar by Roald Dahl

Dr. Strange at the Casino.

We are wrapping up this Roald Dahl short story weekend with The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar, which veers pretty close to novella territory. It’s consists of two parts that kicks off with a sharp introduction to our main character, Henry Sugar, a man who seemingly has everything money can buy. He is a bachelor, drifting through life with the motto: "It is better to incur a mild rebuke than to perform an onerous task." In other words, he's so rich and has never lifted a finger in his entre life. 

Henry is the epitome of old money: wealthy, self-centered, and obsessed with growing his fortune simply because he can. Dahl doesn’t mince words here, offering a cheeky but cutting critique of the ultra-rich: “All of them, all wealthy people of this type, have one peculiarity in common: they have a terrific urge to make themselves still wealthier than they already are.” It's a zinger that sets the tone for some of the bigger themes throughout the story such as capitalism, class inequality, and the hollowness of wealth without purpose.

At a party hosted by one of his rich friends, Henry grows bored and wanders into the expansive library. There, tucked away on a shelf, he finds a slim, curious volume titled “A Report on an Interview with Imhrat Khan, the Man Who Could See Without His Eyes,” written by a Dr. John F. Cartwright. Cue the Inception-style layers of storytelling: it's a story within a story within a story.

This inner tale follows Imhrat Khan, a yogi from India who has trained himself to harness incredible mental powers. It’s here that the story starts to shimmer with fairy-tale qualities: mystical abilities, exotic locales, and the promise of transformation through discipline and self-mastery. Think of it as a blend of spiritual fable and magical realism, all tied together by Dahl’s signature dry wit.

Inspired by this newfound knowledge, Henry decides to try learning the technique for himself. Yet, this is not out of spiritual curiosity, but because he sees its potential as a shortcut to gambling riches. This is where the fairy-tale magic really kicks in and his journey doesn't unfold the way he expects. Like all the best fables, there's a moral lesson: the more he trains, the more his priorities begin to shift. He starts to view capitalism and his role in it very differently. It's a compelling moral transformation wrapped in a cloak of mystical spectacle.

Ultimately, The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar is more concerned with what we choose to do with the knowledge, skills, gifts and tools we gain. It's about how even the most unlikely people can change for the better and how sometimes the greatest riches aren’t found in accumulating a vast amount of wealth, but in helping those less fortunate. I haven’t watched the Wes Anderson adaptation yet and Benedict Cumberbatch in the leading role seems like perfect casting. I can already picture it: symmetrical and pastel colored sets pieces, whimsical narration, and that distinct Anderson quirky flair should be a perfect match for the layered storytelling and magical oddity of the original source material.