Karma Smiles With Sharp Teeth
John Collier might be one of the most successful writers you have never heard of. Perhaps because of his ordinary name? His reluctance to pursue the spotlight? Collier avoided interviews and drew upon a well of British reserve. Nonetheless, whether you read one of his many pieces in the New Yorker, or saw a movie or play written or rewritten by him, or perhaps remember a Twilight Zone episode that remains rooted in your mind, there is a right good chance that Collier was the author.
Collier’s most effective metier may be the short story and an exquisite collection of his works in found in Fancies and Goodnights. First published in 1951, the book has been reprinted many, many times. It is classic, a delicious assortment and every offering comes with a bite. The latest reissue hails from the NYRB and it features a glowing introduction from Ray Bradbury, who writes “I can name no other writer in the twentieth century whose work has given me such consistent pleasure.” Collier’s prose is elegant, sophisticated, and very smart, with nary a wasted word.
Fancies and Goodnights is eminently enjoyable. It is as strong as any collection of short stories you might find, from O. Henry to de Maupassant to Chekhov. In reflection, I realized something unexpected from these many tales with a twist. Collier’s stories are consistently moral. They are far from didactic – no bland parables here – yet each, in its own way, carries a powerful message. Hubris receives a comeuppance, villainy is betrayed, and excess is justly trimmed. And in each of these, the end arrives without warning. They are simply great fun and very much “just desserts.”
Were you ever to be tasked with teaching ethics, as you debate this philosopher or that jurist, please consider Collier. His stories and their lessons would stick, delightfully so.
David Potash