A novel by Ha Jin and short stories by Alice Munro, Ethan Canin, and Laura van den Berg

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The solution to my life occurred to me one evening while I was ironing a shirt.  It was simple but audacious.  I went into the living room where my husband was watching television and I said, "I think I ought to have an office. . . ."

--From "The Office," a short story by Alice Munro, first published in The Montrealer and reprinted in Dance of the Happy Shades (The Ryerson Press (Canada), 1968; McGraw-Hill Book Company (United States), 1973), pp. 59-74.

Now that Mary McQuade had come, I pretended not to remember her.  It seemed the wisest thing to do.  She herself said, "If you don't remember me you don't remember much," but let the matter drop, just once adding, "I bet you never went to your Grandma's house last summer.  I bet you don't remember that either. . . ."  

 --From "Images," a short story by Alice Munro, published in Dance of the Happy Shades (The Ryerson Press (Canada), 1968; McGraw-Hill Book Company (United States), 1973), pp. 30-43. 

Everybody was surprised when Professor Yang suffered a stroke in the spring of 1989. . . .  His stroke unsettled me, because I was engaged to his daughter, Meimei, and under his guidance I had been studying for the Ph.D. entrance exams for the classical literature program at Beijing University.  I hoped to enroll there so that I could join my fiancée in the capital, where we planned to build our nest.  Mr. Yang's hospitalization disrupted my work, and for a whole week I hadn't sat down to my books, having to go see him every day. . . .   

--From The Crazed, a novel by Ha Jin (Pantheon/Random House, 2002). 

I tell this story not for my own honor, for there is little of that here, and not as a warning, for a man of my calling learns quickly that all warnings are in vain.  Nor do I tell it in apology for St. Benedict's School, for St. Benedict's School needs no apologies.  I tell it only to record certain foretellable incidents in the life of a well-known man, in the event that the brief candle of his days may sometime come under scrutiny of another student of history.  That is all.  This is a story without surprises. . . .  

--From "The Palace Thief," a short story by Ethan Canin, first published in The Paris Review, Number 128 (Fall 1993), and reprinted in The Palace Thief (Random House, 1994), pp. 155-205.

 

...It was my daughter's job to assemble the game board, my husband's to shuffle the cards, and mine to make drinks in the kitchen: Sprite in a highball glass for my daughter, whiskey with no ice for my husband and me.  Every other Friday night, my husband had been the Banker, handling the money, buildings, and title deed cards, but for this game, I had decided to change things up.  Before leaving the kitchen, I plucked an ice cube from the freezer with a little pair of silver tongs and dropped it into his drink. . . . 

--From "The Golden Dragon Express," a short story by Laura van den Berg, first published in Storyglossia, Issue 27 (March 2008), and reprinted in There Will Be No More Good Nights Without Good Nights (Origami Zoo Press, 2012), pp. 27-29.