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Anton Grasso: Ġenn fl-Aqwa Tiegħu. Horizons, 2013. 197 pp.

I declare I am a typically normal person. I like to sleep on both sides of the bed, especially when I am alone. I like to have an English breakfast, especially when I am in a hotel. I read the papers over somebody’s shoulder, provided I have the right glasses. I hear Mass on Sunday, when I remember it is Sunday.

I like to believe I cannot be humble enough, because I am not that great and, occasionally, I find myself on the verge of a breakdown, thinking I am not understood, especially when nobody asks for my opinion. And I like to have a drink with my friends – provided I have any. And enough money, or at least my wallet in my pocket.

And occasionally, I like to read one of the many books written and published by Anton Grasso. Too many to count; maths was never my forte, even if he occasionally reminds me of the exact number, but my amnesia is spreading faster, lately.

And thank God, lately, before my glaucoma demands more territory in my ocular kingdom, I have read his latest collection of short stories, Ġenn fl-Aqwa Tiegħu.

Poignant and intriguing, with a fast tempo, this collection depicts madness and abnormalities and at times perversity

I must admit – with a slight of envy, too, although my jealousy does not carry a halo – that I have found it ghoulishly amusing. My initial, pragmatic intention was to browse through some of them, searching for a suitable one to read on my programme, Qari bil-Malti, on Radio Malta.

Then, I was gripped by the usual (and very often, the unusual) ability of Grasso to tell a story, even the most incredible and absurd. In this collection, Grasso manages to build a lean – I would say, cadaverously lean – story line for most of his stories.

The concise and immediate way he chooses to unfold most of his stories in this anthology is certainly a good vehicle to render this book another popular one.

And another feather in his cap, although he never wears one, but I know he likes feathers, especially when they are on their proper bearers, namely birds.

Poignant and intriguing, with a fast tempo, this collection depicts madness and abnormalities and at times perversity without any hint of psychological and existential innuendos, which of late we have been accustomed to by Grasso.

Grasso does not want to convince his readers. He simply wants to entertain them. And attract them in his unique way. And this time he has an added bonus. Most of his stories are laced with humour (dark humour, I prefer to call it, instead of the usual black humour terminology) and his penchant for irony and sarcasm gives the stories that bitter-sweet flavour, turning even the most revolting one into a mock re-enactment of life. In fact, his stories revive and enhance the visual effect so adamantly important in mystery stories.

However, Grasso has not discarded the common tricks of the trade, shuffling his stories like a pack of cards with different aspects of this genre. Corpses, coffins, cemeteries, tempests, blood, knives, perversity, torture and nightmares abound.

And an occasional vulgar word and linear, sensuous descriptions; yet these fit in the stories like a made-to-measure suit.

As usual, the production of this book is a little masterpiece.

Grasso claims this is to be his last publication, but I tend to disbelieve this assertion. All authors are liars. Thank God.