The Appropriation of Cultures by Percival Everett

White power!

I can’t believe it took me this long to finally read something by the great Percival Everett. He’s been on my radar for years and after just a handful of short stories, consider me a fan. The Appropriation of Cultures is a perfect example of Everett’s razor-sharp satire, irony, and  irreverent sense of humor.

The story instantly reminded me of Dave Chappelle’s classic Clayton Bigsby sketch about the blind Black man who grows up to become a white supremacist. Everett is playing in a similar comedic and parody space. His protagonist, Daniel, is a Black musician who suddenly buys a pickup truck plastered with Confederate flag decals. That choice isn’t random or ironic for irony’s sake. It grows out of an ugly moment when Daniel is performing at a bar and a group of rowdy white guys insist that he play “Dixie.” The song, of course, is deeply tied to Confederate ideology, minstrel traditions, and the promotion of slavery. Everett doesn’t sugarcoat this history or soften the implications; rather, he puts the ugliness right out in the open.

What makes the caustic satire so effective is how Everett flips the usual script. Rather than another tale about white people appropriating Black culture, he turns the concept inside out. Daniel begins appropriating the symbols of white supremacist culture instead, exposing how hollow and absurd they really are. By the end of the story, this inversion snowballs into something even more outrageous: Black people across the country start driving around with Confederate flags, draining the symbol of its supposed power. Daniel even takes “Dixie” itself and breaks it down, rebuilding it through R&B and Black musical traditions. In other words, reclaiming it, reshaping it, and stripping it of its racist intent.

Everett is humorously mocking racism while dismantling it through exaggeration, irony, and subversion. By forcing these symbols into contexts they were never meant to survive, he reveals the fragility of these ridiculous racist ideologies. The result is provocative, defiant, and genuinely funny. There are some really hilarious moments in this story that caused me to burst out laughing. This is satire doing exactly what it’s supposed to do: unsettling, exposing, and laughing racism right out of the room. Percival Everett clearly knows how to wield that blade, and he does it brilliantly here.

You can read this story HERE.

Paycheck by Philip K. Dick

Another terrible PKD adaptation.

Paycheck by Philip K. Dick starts off with a ton of promise and then, unfortunately, drives itself straight into a brick wall at 100km/hr. As a sci-fi mystery thriller with time-travel elements, the opening is genuinely gripping. There’s intrigue, suspense, and that classic Philip K. Dick sense that something very strange and very clever is unfolding. For a while there, I was completely hooked.

Then the momentum collapses. Hard. What begins as a tight, fascinating setup gradually unravels into something convoluted, silly, and increasingly absurd. This feels like a textbook example of Philip K. Dick at his most frustrating: bursting with bold, imaginative ideas, but struggling to shape them into a fully cohesive, satisfying story. 

It makes me wonder what might have been salvaged with a firmer editorial hand. The story desperately needed a tighter focus. Cutting the word count by at least half and ditching the pointless plot detours would have gone a long way. Instead, it drags on far longer than it needs to, turning what should have been a brisk, punchy sci-fi tale into a bit of a slog.

The premise itself is great though. A mechanical engineer named Jennings has his memory wiped for the last two years of his life after finishing a secret job for his employer, a construction company. Rather than walking away with a hefty payout, he’s handed a small envelope filled with random junk. At first, it seems like a slap in the face. However, once the police show up and he miraculously escapes using one of those worthless items, it becomes clear that someone (possibly future-Jennings) knew exactly what was coming and planned accordingly. That’s a great hook.

From there, Jennings is on the run, trying to uncover what special project he worked on and why his past self set this elaborate breadcrumb trail. Again, there is so much potential for a great story here. Unfortunately, it spirals into confusion, plot holes, and increasingly goofy twists. There’s also some rushed, half-baked social commentary about capitalism and revolution that feels tacked on rather than meaningful, adding more noise instead of depth. Paycheck is a reminder of why Philip K. Dick is such a fascinating but wildly uneven writer. His ideas are endlessly compelling, but the execution often can’t keep up. 

Such a disappointment.

Tom Edison's Shaggy Dog by Kurt Vonnegut

Tommy E, mixologist.

There’s no denying that dogs are intelligent and emotionally perceptive creatures. But what if they were actually the smartest beings on Earth and have been deliberately hiding that fact from humans for centuries? After all, free lodging, regular meals, grooming services, and someone else cleaning up your poop is a pretty sweet arrangement. Why mess that up?

That’s the wonderful premise behind Tom Edison’s Shaggy Dog by Kurt Vonnegut, a short story that’s lighthearted, fast-paced, and a lot of fun. This isn’t Vonnegut at his most caustic or overtly satirical. Instead, he showcases a more playful, eccentric kind of humor that proves very entertaining.

The story opens with two elderly men sitting on a park bench. They are total strangers, but that doesn’t stop one of them from talking nonstop while the other man just wants some peace and quiet. Eventually, the reluctant listener fires back with a story of his own, recounting a strange childhood encounter with none other than the famous inventor himself, Thomas Edison! He lived next to him as a boy and while playing with his dog, ends up crashing into Edison's laboratory. 

As it turns out, Edison had a secret invention he never shared with the world called the “Intelligence Analyzer.” When he tests it on the boy’s dog, the results go completely off the charts. Vonnegut plays this revelation as slightly ridiculous and runs with it. Despite the silliness, the ending takes a surprisingly dark turn, especially when it comes to the consequences faced by the dog for letting this canine secret slip to the humans. This may not rank among Vonnegut’s most memorable short stories, but it doesn’t need to. It’s quick, clever, and built around a great premise, with his understated comedic style on full display. Sometimes being entertaining from start to finish is more than enough for me and there’s nothing wrong with that at all.

Cloak and Dagger Reading Challenge

Not going to lie, putting together a list of ten novels for the Cloak and Dagger Reading Challenge (hosted by Carol’s Notebook) was a bit of a stretch for me. For starters, I’m not especially well-versed in the mystery/thriller/crime genre and secondly (perhaps more importantly), these are novels, not short stories!

For the select few people that follow my blog, you already know I’ve been living almost exclusively in short-story land for the past several years. So yes, there’s a very real chance this challenge could go off the rails before it even properly begins. If I somehow manage to read even five novels from this list by the end of the year, that would be a huge a win. 

I have focused mainly on Black authors and this list is definitely not set in stone. If I stumble across other books that catch my eye, they will be added or replace other titles. Here’s to mixing it up for a change, pushing my reading comfort zone just a little and seeing what happens. 

Level: Amateur Sleuth (5 - 15 books) 

1. Razorblade Tears by S.A. Cosby
2. A Rage in Harlem by Chester Himes
3. Devil in a Blue Dress by Walter Mosley
4. My Sister the Serial Killer by Oyinkan Braithwaite 
5. Honey by Imani Thompson
6. Harlem Shuffle by Colson Whitehead
7. When No One is Watching by Alyssa Cole
8. Bluebird, Bluebird by Attica Locke
9. Jackal by Erin E. Adams
10. The Bone Readers by Jacob Ross
11. Blacktop Wasteland by S.A. Cosby 
12. All the Sinners Bleed by S.A. Cosby
13. Day Dreams by Michael Smith

Happy reading everyone!

The Patriot by A. A. Milne

Pianola.

A. A. Milne is, of course, forever linked to Winnie-the-Pooh. Much like Roald Dahl, another author often boxed into “children’s writer” territory, I didn’t realize he also tried his hand at short stories for adults. That alone felt like a fun little discovery. While browsing free short-story websites (which has somehow become my latest obsession), I stumbled across The Patriot. It checked all the right impulse read boxes: a well-known author, a tiny page count, and zero commitment.

The verdict? Pleasant enough, but nothing that really had any lasting impression.

The narrator is a musically gifted man who reminisces about the time he owned an elegant pianola. Not a piano. This is the one that can play music by itself.  It was a purchase that not only brought him joy but also helped win over his future wife, Celia. Music, love, life. Everything’s ticking along nicely. Then the war arrives and ruins everything. Piano playing all but disappears, and when peace returns, the joy never quite does. Both the narrator and Celia come out the other side more jaded, which feels honest enough. The pianola, once a symbol of beauty and romance, is now just a bulky reminder of a different life. It has now become an expensive eyesore taking up valuable space. Eventually, they decide it has to go.

It’s a very simple story, told with Milne’s trademark wit and brisk pacing that knows when to bow out. The tonal shift from light, almost glib humor to something more cynical works smoothly and feels intentional. Still, for all its polish, the story itself never quite rises above “pleasant diversion.” Nice to read, easy to forget, and ultimately more interesting as a curiosity in Milne’s career than as a must-read in its own right.

You can read this story HERE.

Miracles by Lucy Corin

The deadly black widow spider.

This will sound a little contradictory, because I am very much in favor of brevity and tight, economical writing in short stories. However, flash fiction often leaves me cold. Too often it feels like a literary experiment that’s over before it really begins, and as a result, it rarely has a lasting impression. Unless your name is Ernest Hemingway, extreme minimalism is hard to pull off effectively. That being said, Miracles by Lucy Corin is decent and works better than most. The narrator reflects on a formative childhood memory: she and her brother spending time on their father’s farm, transfixed by a jar filled with newly hatched baby black widow spiders. 

Personally, that would be an immediate hard pass. 

Near the end, the story takes an abrupt turn. The final sentences shift the tone from whimsical childhood wonder to something much heavier after a certain event, which I won’t spoil here. It's mentioned once without any further explanation. The story then closes with a series of questions from the brother, years later, as he revisits the same memory from his own perspective and adds a layer of context the narrator might not have considered at the time. Because Corin is working within such a compressed space, the story embraces ambiguity and trusts the reader to fill in the gaps. Surprisingly, it works. The result is an emotional resonance I didn’t expect from something this short.

You can read this story HERE.

The Gorge by Umberto Eco

Italy's Civita di Bagnoregio.

Umberto Eco was a prolific writer and he produced a staggering  amount of work over his lifetime. Much to my embarrassment, I have never quite managed to finish one of his novels. His short fiction has been far more approachable to me. That’s not to say it’s simpler or lacks complexity. If anything, the opposite is true. Eco is relentlessly erudite and intellectually demanding, and in the end, my preference really just comes down to scale and stamina. 

The Gorge has a distinctly semi-autobiographical feel, and I couldn’t help wondering how much of it draws directly from Eco’s own childhood growing up in fascist Italy during World War II. As a coming-of-age story, there’s plenty to admire here: a strong and convincing narrative voice, deep characterization, evocative language, rich detail, and thoughtful political discourse, all wrapped up in a surprisingly compact package.

The story unfolds in two distinct parts. The first half centers on Yambo’s childhood in a small town where the war hums in the background. Distant enough to be ignored at times, but always creeping closer. Yambo is a normal kid: he plays with friends, gets into trouble, and takes risks that would absolutely infuriate his mother. One of those risks turns into an obsession when he discovers he’s good at climbing the dangerous gorge that separates his town from a neighboring village. From there, he begins plotting surprise raids against rival boys on the other side. Along the way, he meets Gragnolia, an Italian resistance fighter who becomes somewhat of a mentor and surrogate father figure. Gragnolia’s provocative monologue on how the Ten Commandments reflect fascist principles is enough to make this story worth reading. He’s a fascinating, morally complex character who steals the spotlight whenever he appears.

Yambo’s climbing skills and intimate knowledge of the gorge become crucial in the second half of the story, which unfolds like a tense military rescue mission. A group of Cossacks is trapped inside a church in the village above the gorge, with German soldiers closing in. Yambo must lead Gragnolia and his comrades up through the fog to reach them. However, the real danger lies in making it back down without plunging into the ravine below and the German's blinding firing at them. Eco ramps up the suspense during this final act, which feels very cinematic.

There’s a lot to unpack in The Gorge. You can read it as a meditation on the inherent paradoxes of historical fiction, an exploration of forgiveness, or a pointed piece of anti-war commentary. It skillfully retains a mini-epic feel without compromising the emotional depth along the way.

The Big Space Fuck by Kurt Vonnegut

800 pounds of freeze-dried jizzum.

Life on earth sucks. The planet is dying, pollution and overpopulation are completely out of control. Volcanoes are literally coughing up garbage. People are banned form having kids and children can sue their parents for long-forgotten slights. Oh, don't forget the giant lampreys that have slithered onto land and can swallow you whole in a single chomp. So yeah, things aren’t great.

In response, humanity’s best and brightest respond in the most sensible way possible: they launch a rocket ship called the Arthur C. Clarke toward the Andromeda galaxy, stocked not with people, supplies, or culture, but with semen (referred to throughout as “jizzum”), in the vague hope that human life might somehow reboot itself elsewhere in the universe. It’s a ridiculous premise and completely hilarious. The Big Space Fuck by Kurt Vonnegut is pure comedy gold! It fires on all cylinders and is easily one of the funniest sci-fi short-stories I have ever read.

Science-fiction comedy is an underrated and often overlooked corner of the genre. Sci-fi already gets unfairly dismissed as not being “serious” literature, and once you add jokes into the mix, it becomes even more niche. A few names usually come up like Douglas Adams, Terry Bisson, John Scalzi, Andy Weir and of course, Kurt Vonnegut. It’s a surprisingly small pool, or maybe I just haven’t gone deep enough yet. Either way, Vonnegut stands out as one of the absolute best to ever blend speculative fiction with razor-sharp humor.

We all know that Vonnegut has a reputation as a very very funny writer but it’s how he’s funny that is worth exploring a bit more. His satire takes classic science-fiction ideas (space travel, humanity’s future, technological salvation) and twists them until they expose how ridiculous, selfish, and shortsighted people can be. The sci-fi trappings are really just a delivery system for his trademark dark humor and moral bite. He uses exaggerated scenarios, deadpan narration, and deliberately juvenile elements to highlight how little humanity seems to learn, even at the end of the world. The result is comedy that’s playful on the surface but also scathingly critical underneath.

The story never takes itself too seriously though, which is part of its charm. It’s goofy and gleefully irreverent, all at once. I found myself chuckling throughout and even laughing out loud a few times, which doesn’t happen often. The hilarious ending was totally unexpected in a good way, chef's kiss. Vonnegut remains one of the great 20th-century satirists, and The Big Space Fuck is a compact and thoroughly delightful reminder of why his voice still feels so fresh. From start to finish, it’s absurdly entertaining.

The Handsomest Drowned Man in the World by Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Esteban.

When Gabriel Garcia Marquez is on his game, he's simply one the best short-story writers out there. The Handsomest Drowned Man in the World is written in the folklore tradition, steeped in magical realism. The language and imagery is powerfully evocative, making for an enchanting reading experience. Right from the jump, the reader will find themselves in the hands of a master storyteller. His lush, winding sentences move effortlessly, pulling you along and creating an atmosphere that feels both dreamlike and deeply human.

The drowned man himself becomes the spark that ignites the imagination of an entire coastal village. What begins as curiosity slowly turns into reverence, as the villagers project their hopes, desires, and longings onto this silent, mysterious figure. His “story” is entirely invented through collective imagination and mythmaking. He grows larger than life, transforming from a random body washed ashore into a tragic, mythic presence. By the end, his story has become legend. 

On the surface, you can enjoy this story as a beautifully strange and imaginative piece of magical realism. But dig a little deeper and Márquez is clearly saying something more profound about the power of art and storytelling itself. Stories have the magical ability to reflect reality but also reshape it. Through mythmaking, the villagers reimagine their world, their village and even their future. In that sense, Márquez suggests that storytelling is an act of creation: a way to give meaning, beauty, and possibility to ordinary lives. It’s a powerful reminder that art doesn’t need facts to be “true” and sometimes imagination is what leaves the deepest, most lasting mark.