As I mentioned last Friday, the idea of finishing The Man Who Would be King: Selected Stories of Rudyard Kipling ahead of Ramadhan was at one time in my mind. But it's now highly unlikely I will do so. And I must say, this is of no great concern as my enjoyment of reading the tales is so intense I'll be happy to get back to them in the later part of May.
The last six I've read have all been really top notch: The Maltese Cat, 'The Finest Story in the World', The Ship That Found Herself, Mrs Bathurst, 'They' and 'Wireless'. How astonishingly varied is that list. How wonderfully inventive is the writer. No wonder so many of his contemporaries admired the 'genius' of the man - Henry James and James Joyce to name but two (and what big names they are.)
But I've also felt something of the limitations of that genius, even when its fruits are so impressive. There's a sense in which the brevity of the tales works to RK's advantage. For all his brilliance there's nothing that points in the direction of matching, say, Dickens, in terms of delivering something that sustains the moments of brilliance. I don't think he was capable of maintaining coherent thought on the big questions; but on a small canvas there's no matching the magic of his skewed vision and its attendant insights.
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