Monday, September 30, 2013

Alvaro Mutis / Saudade

Andrew Wyeth_Wind from the Sea

by Álvaro Mutis
Translated from the Spanish by C. D. Hernández

I have a recurring dream that has not been here in some time. It is something that gives me both joy and sadness at the same time. I dream that my father returns. He sits in the studio and begins to speak of my books, while I wonder where he has been all these years. But I realize that he is here, and it makes no sense to ask for an explanation. Instead, I tell him that I continue to read Chateaubriand, Sait-Beuve, and Michelet, whom he admired. After a while, I start believing that my father is going to stay home, but when I awaken I see that he has only come to visit.

Fernando Quiroz
The kingdom that was meant for me
Conversations with Alvaro Mutis

Sunday, September 29, 2013

The 100 best novels / No 2 / Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe (1719)

The 100 best novels

writtein English

No 2

 Robinson Crusoe 

by Daniel Defoe (1719)

Daniel Defoe's Robinson Crusoe comes second in our list of the best novels written in English. Robert McCrum explains the genius of this complex, irresistible novel

Robert McCrum
Sunday 29 September 2013 

Robinson Crusoe

A 1719 illustration of Robinson Crusoe and Man Friday on the desert island. Photograph: Mpi/Getty Images
English fiction began with The Pilgrim's Progress, but nearly 50 turbulent years, including the Glorious Revolution, passed before it made its great leap forward. The author of this literary milestone is a strangely appealing literary hustler of nearly 60 years old originally named Daniel Foe (he added "De" to improve his social standing), a one-time journalist, pamphleteer, jack of all trades and spy. Like Bunyan, he had suffered at the hands of the state (the pillory, followed by prison in 1703). Unlike Bunyan, he was not religious.
His world-famous novel is a complex literary confection. It purports to be a history, written by Crusoe himself, and edited by Daniel Defoe who, in the preface, teasingly writes that he "believes the thing to be a just History of Fact; neither is there any Appearance of Fiction in it".

So what do we find in this "History" ? Robinson Crusoe has three elements that make it irresistible. First, the narrative voice of the castaway is Defoe's stroke of genius. It's exciting, unhurried, conversational and capable of high and low sentiments. It's also often quasi-journalistic, which suits Defoe's style. This harmonious mix of tone puts the reader deep into the mind of the castaway and his predicament. His adventures become our adventures and we experience them inside out, viscerally, for ourselves. Readers often become especially entranced by Crusoe's great journal, the central passage of his enforced sequestration.
And here is Defoe's second great inspiration. He comes up with a tale, often said to be modelled on the story of the castaway Alexander Selkirk, that, like Bunyan's, follows an almost biblical pattern of trangression (youthful rebellion), retribution (successive shipwrecks), repentance (the painful lessons of isolation) and finally redemption (Crusoe's return home). In storytelling terms, this is pure gold.

And third, how can we forget Defoe's characters? The pioneer novelist understood the importance of attaching memorably concrete images to his narrative and its characters. Friday and his famous footstep in the sand, one of the four great moments in English fiction, according to Robert Louis Stevenson; Crusoe with his parrot and his umbrella: these have become part of English myth. Defoe, like Cervantes, also opts to give his protagonist a sidekick. Friday is to Crusoe what Sancho Panza is to Quixote. Doubles in English literature will regularly recur in this list: Jekyll and Hyde, Holmes and Watson, Jeeves and Wooster.
Which brings me to Defoe's final quality as a writer. He was the complete professional, dipped in ink. Throughout his life, he produced pamphlets, squibs, narrative verse and ghosted ephemera (he is said to have used almost 200 pen names). He was a man who liked to be paid for what he wrote, lived well and was almost always in debt. He was not a "literary novelist", and would not have understood the term, but his classic novel is English literature at its finest, and he hit the jackpot with Robinson Crusoe.
By the end of the 19th century, no book in English literary history had enjoyed more editions, spin-offs and translations than Robinson Crusoe, with more than 700 alternative versions, including illustrated children's versions. The now-forgotten term "Robinsonade" was coined to describe the Crusoe genre, which still flourishes and was recently revived by Hollywood in the Tom Hanks film, Castaway (2000).
Note on the text:
The text was first published in London by W Taylor on 25 April 1719. This first edition credited the work's fictional protagonist Robinson Crusoe as its author, and its title was The Life and Strange Surprizing Adventures of Robinson Crusoe of York, Mariner: Written by Himself. It sold well; four months later, it was followed by The Further Adventures of Robinson Crusoe. A year later, riding high on the market, came Serious Reflections During the Life and Surprizing Adventures of Robinson Crusoe. Most readers will only encounter the first edition.

007 Emma by Jane Austen (1816)
014 Fair by William Thackeray (1848)  
031 Dracula by Bram Stoker  (1897)
035 The Call of the Wild by Jack London (1903)
036 The Golden Bowl by Henry James (1904)
039 The History of Mr Polly by HG Wells (1910)
040 Zuleika Dobson by Max Beerbohm (1915)
041 The Good Soldier by Ford Madox Ford (1915)
042 The Thirty-Nine Steps by John Buchan (1915)
043 The Rainbow by DH Lawrence (1915)
044 Of Human Bondage by W Somerset Waugham (1915)
045 The Age of Innocence by Edith Warthon (1920)
046 Ulysses by James Joyce (1922)
047 Babbitt by Sinclair Lewis (1922)
048 A Pasage to India by EM Forster (1922)
049 Gentlemen Prefer Blondes by Anita Loss ( 1925)
050 Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf (1925)

Alison MacLeod's top 10 short stories

Alexis Lago

Alison MacLeod's top 10 short stories

Alison MacLeod is the author of two novels, The Changeling and The Wave Theory of Angels. Her short stories have been published by Prospect, London Magazine, Pulp.Net and Virago, and her first collection, Fifteen Modern Tales of Attraction, was published by Penguin last month. She lives in Brighton and teaches creative writing at the University of Chichester.
Writing a short story is a high-wire act, sentence by sentence, foot by foot. Very few story writers work with the safety net of a plot conceived in advance. They trust in the humming tension of a single opening line or in an image that rises in their mind, or in a fragment of a character's voice. They might have a sense of where they want their characters to go; they rarely know how they'll get them there. At times it's unnerving work. Lose your concentration or the line of tension in the story and both you and it fall. The best short stories have a breathless, in-motion quality to them, a quality that makes them ideal for adaptation into film, as directors are increasingly realising. A great story ending resonates far beyond its final word. It's a hit to the brain. I read stories and love them for that hit. As the writer Elizabeth Taylor commented, the short story gives the reader the feeling of "being lifted into another world, instead of sinking into it, as one does with longer fiction". The best stories leave you exhilarated.

1. The Nose by Nikolai Gogol

On March 25 the barber Ivan wakes to find a nose in his morning bread roll. He is alarmed and confounded. He tries to abandon it in a gutter, then tries to throw it from a bridge but his plans are scuppered. Meanwhile, Kovalev has woken without his nose. Is it a terrible dream? No. The absence grows into an outrage. Then "a door of the carriage opened, and there leapt thence, huddling himself up, a uniformed gentleman... And oh, Kovalev's horror and astonishment to perceive that the gentleman before him was none other than - his own nose!" This story is delicious. It always makes me smile even though I now know well the exploits of said Nose, the eponymous hero. Gogol's story says the imagination, like the Nose, can go absolutely anywhere. He shows us that dream-realities have their own kind of logic. I love Hanif Kureishi's homage, Rhe Penis. Lord knows it was crying out to be done. After all, isn't the Nose sometimes referred to by Gogol as the member? I also love the fact that a statue erected in St Petersburg to honour Gogol and the story of The Nose disappeared from the face of the city in 2002 - another fitting tribute.

2. The Dead by James Joyce

As fate thankfully had it, Joyce added this story to the Dubliners manuscript as a sudden afterthought while his publishers prevaricated. The most powerful in the collection, The Dead is not about death. It's about life force. Gabriel and Gretta have enjoyed a jolly New Year's do at the home of his aunts in Dublin. Later in their hotel room, Gabriel is filled with tenderness and desire for his wife. But a song from the evening has filled her with memories of a boy long dead, Michael Furey, who once stood outside her window, ill and shivering in the rain just for a glimpse of her. Gabriel is firstly jealous, then disquieted by "how poor a part he, her husband, had played in her life", then moved finally by a sudden insight into the strength of the life that Michael Furey gave up for love. The last three paragraphs are among the most beautiful ever written.

3. The Rocking-Horse Winner by DH Lawrence

This story is inexplicable, uncanny - a testimony to Lawrence's interest in alternative states of mind, whether accessed by love, sex, dream or artistic creation. A mother needs money. Her young son loves her and worries. (Another intense mother-son relationship for Lawrence.) Astride his rocking horse high up in the nursery, Paul rocks himself into a trance through which he becomes strangely prescient. The dialogue is a bit wooden, the plot a tad tortuous, yet the ending is compelling and completely unforgettable. VS Pritchett once said that a good short story captures a character "at bursting point". Lawrence doesn't let you down.

4. Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams by Sylvia Plath

"Every day from nine to five I sit at my desk facing the door of the office and typing up other people's dreams." So begins the story of the Out Patients typist whose "real calling" is to collect the dreams of the frightened, lost and despairing, and to dedicate herself privately to the service of "Johnny Panic", her own low god of fear. The story is hilarious (she has to share her office space with the Foot Clinic), giddy and breathtakingly stark. It's alive with the bravura of Plath's dark and shining mind.

5. What We Talk About When We Talk About Love by Raymond Carver

Story writers are naturally drawn to life's undersides - to the bits we perhaps shouldn't see. They're often private worlds, stolen glimpses, and we, the readers, are licensed voyeurs. Here, two couples, Mel, a cardiologist, his second wife Terri, and young Nick and Laura in their first flush of love, sit around a kitchen table sharing a drink. They talk, the sun goes down, the gin bottle drains. That's it. Or it would be, except inhibitions slip. An argument starts, emotions burst like blisters; they're covered over and burst again. As Nick and Laura struggle to hold onto their clichés of romantic love, Terri claims that the ex-husband who used to drag her around the living room by her ankles really did love her. Carver had to have been influenced by Edward Albee's Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? Things get that ugly. But it's also profoundly moving as Mel struggles through the blur of the gin and the shadows of the setting sun to believe in the strength of the human heart.

6. Meneseteung by Alice Munro

While novels are arguably about life's big moments, stories, Munro says, are about "the moments within moments". This is the story of Almeda Roth, a little known Victorian poetess-spinster who lives in a small Canadian town. She resides on the respectable Dufferin Street but her back gate opens onto the edge of a boghole, an area known locally as the Pearl Street Swamp. "Bushy and luxuriant weeds grow there, makeshift shacks have been out up ... " and a woman cries out: 'Kill me! Kill me!' ...Yet there is something taunting and triumphant about her cry." It makes Almeda uncomfortably aware of the narrowness of her own life, one in which she waits to see if Jarvis Poulter will finally deem her to be suitable wife material. The woman of the Pearl Street Swamp is to Almeda what Bertha is to Jane Eyre: her alter ego, her nemesis, but also the agent for Almeda's new, painful insight. The detail of Almeda's home and her inner world are tenderly and sharply observed. Munro's prose is, as usual, translucent - so breathtakingly clear there is nothing between you and the world she creates.

7. Love is not a Pie by Amy Bloom

This is one of the most poignant coming-of-age stories I know. Ellen's mother's funeral brings back fond memories of idyllic summers spent long ago at a cabin in Maine. It was in these days she first began to understand how vital, lovely and flawed a person her mother was. Ellen's family shares the cabin with their old friends, Mr. DeCuervo and his daughter. Everything is close, warm and comfortable for Ellen until the night she pushes open the creaky door and sees her mother "spooned up" against her father - and Mr DeCuervo "spooned up against her, his arm over the covers, his other hand resting on the top of her head". Three middle-aged bodies in a bed. Stories aren't plots so much as the unfolding of characters. Bloom knows this. Ellen's mother, father, Mr Decuervo and their shared lives are drawn by Bloom with sharp realism as well as great tenderness. She yokes the two together without contradiction - because she's that good.

8. Lilac by Helen Dunmore

In story after story, Dunmore's prose is lucid, sensual and beautifully understated. It just doesn't get much better. Here, Christie spends a spring holiday in Sweden with her cousins Agnes and Tommy, and Tommy's best friend Henrik. Christie tell us a story that, in the context of the world she has known so far, is shocking, even taboo - in the final pages, she sees something. I'll keep her secret so I don't spoil the story, which is also unbelievably lovely. Exquisite even. I admire the last few paragraphs so much, I want to eat them.

9. Vanilla Bright like Eminem by Michel Faber

The opening line is quirky, involving. It offers the reader an enticing prospect: "Don, son of people no longer living, husband of Alice, father of Drew and Aleesha is very, very close to experiencing the happiest moment of his life." How can you not read on? This story breaks all the rules. Nothing happens for a long time. An American family are on holiday, en route to Inverness by train. That's it. Then suddenly the story abandons the usual unity of time and space, zooming forward through many years and vast changes in the characters' lives. Usually such a narrative spree would leave anyone bored. But not here. It makes us, along with Don, return to that train journey when life was simple and whole. On the train Don observes the mundane details of his wife and children with a credibly odd mixture of honesty and deep affection. It's moving, if a bit of a narrative cheat. As one writer-friend said to me, "Would we find it so moving if a mother were observing her children so lovingly?" Probably not. We take it for granted that mothers do. But we feel moved when fathers take note. That is admittedly part of what makes this story the success it is. But that said, an unexpected epiphany - a moment of radiant insight worthy even of Joyce - is what makes and sustains this story. It is an apparently ordinary vision: Don's daughter combs her sleeping brother's hair. Don watches. But he watches mesmerised, filled with a sense of a present moment that is bigger than him, bigger than any of them. As in the best of stories, the moment can't be paraphrased. It can only be experienced. You'll have to read it yourself.

10. Weddings and Beheadings' by Hanif Kureishi

This story is dark, deadpan and knocks you sideways. A quiet bomb, to use a phrase coined by writer Joseph O'Connor. A film-maker in a present-day "war-broken city" is forced at gunpoint to film the beheadings of kidnapped prisoners. But he is also paid for the work. It becomes his living. "You don't know me personally," he says. "My existence has never crossed your mind." But Kureishi makes us look. The story is less than five pages long, told as the narrator awaits the knock at his door. Less is more. The details are matter-of-fact - what isn't said boomerangs back at you and hits you between the eyes. I admire Kureishi's daring and his willingness to explore the turbulence of the here and now. I suspect this story won't leave me, and that's a good, awful thing.

Saturday, September 28, 2013

Antonia Saxon / She's going to write a short short story

by Mercedes Debellard

She's going to write a short short story

by Antonia Saxon

Tuesday 20 July 2004

She's going to write a short short story and enter it in Dave Egger's contest, which she will win and which will make her famous. She works on her story in between bowls of Raisin Bran and many stolid looks at the paint peeling in the window well, which she knows is a source of lead dust and which will certainly poison her eight-year-old unless she coats it with some of that stuff in the can downstairs. She starts off writing the story about herself but then changes it, because in the stories he has included as examples for contestants to read Dave Eggers never uses the first person or uses the word 'I' anywhere. Even where he could say 'I' he says 'we,' like EB White, or 'the writer,' which the editor at the only newspaper job she ever had told her he didn't want her to do anymore, but which she still thinks sounds good. She loves Dave Eggers, even though she has never read anything by him except these short stories he has put in the Guardian, because he never says 'I,' and this means he's doing his best to do something about his ego. She's changed all the I's in her story to Barbara. Barbara is a good name. No, it's not. It should be Gretel, then she can work in something about gingerbread houses, which would be ironic if the character were someone from the twentieth century, because there are no gingerbread houses anymore. She changes a lot more of the words. She wants to say something about the sexual revolution and how terrible it was, and also something about the falseness of suburban culture. Dave Eggers says he can write one of these short short stories in a single sitting, but this is her 26th sitting and she isn't getting anywhere. She might be fussing with it too much. It might be better just to let it go. What will it be like to tell people she has won this contest? What will Dave Eggers say on the telephone when he calls her? No, he won't call. You only get a subscription to McSweeney's, which is a journal Dave Eggers started, and a first edition of one of Dave Eggers' novels. Three hundred and eighty-three, she says, three hundred and eighty-four.

Friday, September 27, 2013

Dave Eggers / How Do The Koreans Feel About The Germans

Short Short Stories

How Do The Koreans Feel About The Germans?
You are sitting in a movie theatre, waiting for the previews to start, exploring a scratchiness at the back of your throat that makes you feel both feline and distressed. You're plumbing your throat as best you can with the heel of your tongue and, while doing so, you are wondering how the Germans feel about the Koreans, and vice versa. You know generally how Americans feel about Germans (it's complicated) and how Americans feel about Koreans (we don't have such pronounced views), but you don't have any idea how the Germans feel about the Koreans and how the Koreans feel about the Germans.
You first surmise that they probably don't think too much of each other either way. Then you remind yourself that everyone has opinions about Germany, so you deduce that the Koreans probably have more distinct ideas about the Germans than the other way around. But do the Germans think much about the Koreans? You want to ask a German, but you don't really know any Germans. Not well enough to call on the phone, for sure.
In college there was Sabine, who was from Frankfurt, in the US on a tennis scholarship. She was beautiful and broad-shouldered and didn't, even distantly, think of you in a romantic way. After a few weeks of friendship, in the way you have assumed thereafter is common to all Germans, she told you of her complete lack of interest, in clear and unvarnished language.
But, beyond Sabine, do you have any Germans you could ask about the Koreans? Perhaps you could call an embassy. But it's after 9pm, and you need to know now. You need to know now how the Germans feel about the Koreans before the previews start.
You turn to the older couple behind you, he with a beard and she with a small goitre, and ask them about this, about how the Germans feel about the Koreans. The man says, "That's an odd question", and goes back to eating a sandwich he has brought with him. The woman, however, gives the question some thought and says, "I'd imagine the Germans would feel the same way we all feel about all of the so-called foreign peoples of the world: we wish them freedom and safety and hope. And besides, are we all that different? Aren't we all getting more alike? Aren't the people of the world heading toward some kind of giant amalgam, a human Pangea, if you will? Wouldn't that be interesting: the continents drift apart, the universe expands, but at the same time, people become ever-more the same all whirled together by th . . ." And at that point you lose track of what the goitre woman is saying, because the previews have begun. Man, that Garry Marshall seems to have done it again!

Thursday, September 26, 2013

Alvaro Mutis dies in Mexico at 90

Alvaro Mutis
(1923 - 2013)

Alvaro Mutis, celebrated Colombian-born poet and novelist, dies in Mexico at 90

Alvaro Mutis, a celebrated Colombian-born writer who drew on his lifelong wanderings to create the character of Maqroll the Lookout, a modern-day philosophizing, seafaring adventurer, died Sept. 22 in Mexico City. He was 90.
His wife, Carmen Miracle, told the Mexican media that the cause was a cardiorespiratory ailment. An expatriate not unlike his fictional hero, Mr. Mutis had lived for more than five decades in Mexico.

In the Spanish-speaking world, he was considered a towering figure of Latin American letters. Gabriel García Márquez, the Nobel Prize-winning Colombian author, once described his friend Mr. Mutis as “one of the greatest writers of our time.”
Mr. Mutis was credited with imbuing his poetry and fiction with the evocative sensuality, mysticism and imagination that characterized many of the most lauded works in Spanish-language literature.
By the end of his life, Mr. Mutis had received prestigious literary honors including the Prince of Asturias Award and the Miguel de Cervantes Prize. But for years he had gone undernoticed in Latin America — and almost entirely unnoticed elsewhere — as he pursued a workaday, if successful, business career.
He worked in Colombia as a public relations manager for Standard Oil and later in Mexico as a sales manager with 20th Century Fox and Columbia Pictures. Among other curiosities, he provided the voice-over for the Spanish-language version of the TV crime drama “The Untouchables.”
Mr. Mutis sold re-run broadcast rights in Latin America to programs such as “Punky Brewster,” “The Mary Tyler Moore Show,” “Diff’rent Strokes” and “Fantasy Island.”
He once remarked that he wrote his early works “under the most absurd circumstances — hotels, airports, bars” — until he retired from Columbia Pictures at 60.
“Without this rambling career,” the novelist John Updike wrote in the New Yorker magazine, “how could he have supplied the eerie wealth of maritime and dockside details, the delirious abundance of geographic and culinary specifics, that give fascination and global resonance to his novella-length tales of Maqroll?”
Maqroll — whose name was intended to reveal no particular nationality — was born in one of Mr. Mutis’s early poems. The character grew into a full-fledged literary hero through his appearances in novellas: tales that included such escapades as a jaunt through a Peruvian gold mine, management of a brothel and an encounter with a tramp steamer.
His works were known to English-language readers mainly through the translations of Edith Grossman and most notably “The Adventures and Misadventures of Maqroll,” which was published by the New York Review of Books in 2002.
That volume contained seven novellas, translated as “The Snow of the Admiral,” “Ilona Comes With the Rain,” “Un Bel Morir,” “The Tramp Steamer’s Last Port of Call,” “Amirbar,” “Abdul Bashur, Dreamer of Ships” and “Triptych on Sea and Land.”
Writing in the publication World Literature Today, Grossman described Maqroll as “a knight errant with a duffel bag over his shoulder and a watch cap on his head, whose only home is the road he travels.

Álvaro Mutis and García Márquez
Guadalajara, México, 2007

Álvaro Mutis Jaramillo, Colombian writer and poet, 

dies aged 90

Tributes paid to man considered one of the most outstanding poets and storytellers of his generation
Alvaro Mutis Jaramillo
Álvaro Mutis Jaramillo: son of a Colombian diplomat, he spent his early years in Brussels, where his father served as ambassador. Photograph: Omar Torres/AFP
Prolific Colombian writer and poet Álvaro Mutis Jaramillo has died in Mexico City. He was 90 years old.
The cause of death could not immediately be confirmed, though Mexican media quoted his wife, Carmen Miracle, saying he died in hospital from a cardio-respiratory problem.
Mutis enjoyed wide popularity outside Colombia and was considered by critics as one of the most outstanding poets and storytellers of his generation, after his good friend, Nobel laureate Gabriel Garcia Márquez.
Despite the difficulties he faced, including spending time in a Mexican prison, Mutis produced an extensive collection of novels and poetry that earned major international honours such as the Xavier Villaurrutia, Prince of Asturias and Cervantes prizes.
Mexico's national commission for culture and the arts paid tribute to Mutis via its Twitter account.
The Colombian president, Juan Manuel Santos, sent his condolences after Mutis's death was confirmed by the cultural commission on Sunday night.
"The millions of friends and admirers of Álvaro Mutis profoundly lament his death," Santos wrote. "All of Colombia honours him."
Colombian writer Gustavo Álvarez Gardeazábal called him "a remarkable narrator, remarkable poet and remarkable friend".
Mutis was a witty man with a great sense of humour, Mexican poet Hugo Gutiérrez Vega said in a recent interview with the cultural commission commemorating Mutis's 90th birthday.
"He describes a lost world, the old Colombia of rural ownership, like the family Mutis," Gutiérrez said, noting that he spent part of his childhood at the family coffee and sugar cane farm in Coello.
From that experience, he developed a fascination with the sea, the tropics and the smell of coffee that marked his literary works, according to the commission.
Born on 25 August 1923, in Bogotá, Mutis was the son of Colombian diplomat Santiago Mutis and Carolina Jaramillo. He spent part of his early years in Brussels, Belgium, where his father served as Colombia's ambassador.
His literary career began in 1948 with the publication of his first volume of poetry, The Balance, followed in 1953 with Elements of the Disaster.
Before winning fame as a writer, Mutis traveled to Mexico in 1956 with letters of recommendation from prominent Spanish filmmaker Luis Buñuel and Mexican television producer Luis de Llano Palmer and never left.
Three years after his arrival, he spent 15 months in Lecumberri prison in Mexico City, accused of embezzlement by the US multinational Standard Oil Co of New Jersey, where he worked as head of public relations.
He wrote Diary of Lecumberri, published in 1959, about his experience in the infamous lockup, which he called "a lesson I will never forget in the most intense and deep layers of pain and failure".
Mutis's work, according to critics, is distinguished by a rich and interesting mix of lyrical and narrative.
He started gaining popularity in 1986 with the publication of his first instalment of his most famous work, The Adventures and Misadventures of Maqroll, a collection of seven novellas about a wayward and quixotic sailor, considered one of the most memorable characters in fiction of recent decades. Many say Maqroll mirrored the writer, who travelled extensively in many jobs that included broadcaster, film executive, radio actor and newspaper columnist.
After retiring in 1988, Mutis devoted himself to reading and writing.
His novels include The Manor of Araucaima and The True Story of the Pied Piper of Hamelin.

Read also