The Short Stories of Saki

The World Cup is a big event in my household, and it’s particularly exciting to see it unfold on our home turf. Besides watching a lot of soccer these last few weeks, I’ve also spent far too much time scrolling through Instagram videos from tourists, Europeans mostly, who have come to support their teams and fallen in love with America along the way.

These visitors have been documenting their delight and astonishment over many things Americans take for granted: central air conditioning, yellow school buses (something they've only seen in movies) and Costco. My favorite video stars a traveler who has just sampled the fare at Popeye’s, where he can’t get over the next-level crispiness of the fried chicken and the radical concept of free drink refills. The cherry on top? The low cost of it all.

European sensibilities have been on my mind as I’ve skipped through the Penguin Complete Saki, a nearly 1,000-page collection of the writings of a master of Edwardian satire. I'd been wanting to learn about Saki's work and turned to it because I was searching for something short to read. Many of his stories are only a few pages – perfect for a summer afternoon.

Saki was the pen name of H.H. Munro, who lived from 1870 to 1916. Born in Burma and raised in England, he worked as a foreign correspondent before turning to fiction. He died in action in France during World War I. His style is marked by irony, sardonic humor and glee in upending the mores of British society.

Saki’s plots are slight and the characters two-dimensional – Leo Tolstoy he is not. With few exceptions to what I’ve read so far, his stories come across more like vignettes or sketches than fully realized works. But the set-ups and punchlines are sly and original, heightened by an economy of words.

I’ve read a handful of stories in the book and have found a few winners. The first is “The Open Window,” a story about preconceptions, gullibility and how that famous English composure can quickly disintegrate. The story focuses on an anxious man named Framton Nuttel, who has gone to the English countryside for a rest cure. Just as some European soccer fans were primed to find America scary or inhospitable, Framton is apprehensive about what he’ll encounter when he steps out of his element.

Armed with letters of introduction (what could be more British?), Framton is instantly identified as an easy mark by Vera, the 15-year-old niece of the rest home’s proprietress. She spins a wild tale about how her aunt keeps the French window in the living room open in the futile hope that her husband and his two brothers, who went missing on a hunting trip three years ago, will one day return. When the men reappear at twilight after an ordinary day of hunting, the petrified Framton bolts, thinking he’s seen ghosts. The family then remarks about his rudeness before forgetting all about him.

I wasn't quite sure what to make of this story. It's clever and shows how people can be easily duped, especially when they think they are keeping proper company (Framton came prepared with letters of introduction, after all). But Vera also seems like a chillingly heartless girl who takes advantage of a vulnerable man.

“The Schartz-Metterklume Method” also focuses on a hoax. In this story, the young Lady Carlotta is mistaken for a governess while she is waiting on a train platform. She plays along and finds herself in the home of the wealthy Quabarl family. The mother instructs Carlotta that she must teach the children history in a way that will keep them “interested.” While Carlotta obliges, she does so in a way that the family could not anticipate. Her "method" involves re-enacting historical events in an alarmingly literal way. In this case, it's hard to feel sorry for the Quabarls, who are silly and pretentious. It's also telling that Lady Carlotta, an aristocrat, has little more to do with her time than play jokes on people.

My final recommendation is “The Disappearance of Crispina Umberleigh,” an absurd tale about a woman who rules her home with an iron fist and then one day inexplicably vanishes. Instead of feeling panicked or bereaved, her family enjoys liberation. Her daughters take up cycling – a fad Mrs. Umberleigh had disapproved of – while her sons conduct a halfhearted search for her in bohemian Montmartre. When her husband gets word that she has been kidnapped – but is safe and sound – he agrees to pay a ransom to the kidnappers so that they'll keep her. There’s a final twist after that, which you’ll discover if you read the story.

Reading Saki while watching our European friends explore America has been unexpectedly enlightening. These stories touch on the hypocrisies and foibles of a society that is much more tradition-bound and where social encounters can be perilous. Perhaps our lack of ceremony is what visitors find appealing about us. That, and the free refills.