The Door by Magda Szabo, translated by Len Rix
I seldom dream. When I do, I wake with a start, bathed in sweat. Then I lie back, waiting for my frantic heart to slow, and reflect on the overwhelming power of night's spell.
reco: one of the best i've read in years - haunting, beautiful & true
One Day in The Life Of Ivan Denisovich by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, translated by H.T. Willetts
THE HAMMER BANGED reveille on the rail outside camp HQ at five o’clock as always. Time to get up. The ragged noise was muffled by ice two fingers thick on the windows and soon died away.
The Man Who Was Thursday by GK Chesterton
THE suburb of Saffron Park lay on the sunset side of London, as red and ragged as a cloud of sunset. It was built of a bright
brick throughout; its sky-line was fantastic, and even its ground plan was wild.
reco: It's brief, but beautiful.