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Anton Grasso: Mejt, Horizons, 2014. pp138

Anton Grasso’s latest publication is a reissue of collected short stories originally published in 1988.

But the author insists it is more than that. It is a minute and attentive rewriting of the same stories, with the experience of a seasoned author all set to achieve a perfect rendition of the stories written 26 years back.

It is a literary struggle between the author and the impulsive writing of the first edition to transform it and distil it into a work in which stylistic and functional language are more in constant and dynamic relationship.

In simpler words, the achievement of perfect (or nearly perfect) writing.

It happens that I am allergic to perfection, perfectionism and all those hallmarks of excellence. Perfection makes me sick and wicked (with apology to Jane Austin).

Although I firmly believe that things have to take their time to complete and perfection is a tool of time, yet perfect-ion is an unattainable and frustrating goal.

Grasso, who published his first book back in 1974, in the peak of his years has made perfectionism in style, content and writing and rewriting, his main obsession with 52 books and 13 reissues to his credit.

The intriguing factor is that in Mejt he manages to achieve that objective.

The five-odd and rather longish short stories that make Mejt are horrifyingly well-written, verging on the unpardonable line of perfectionism.

Paradoxically, Grasso along the years, has turned into an incorrigible perfectionist.

The usual ingredients which Grasso uses to instil that sense of horror and shock, now an imbued part of his literary DNA, are found in each story.

He adopts a concise, telegraphic, disconnected, albeit effective way to build his sentences

In the omonimous short story Mejt, it is that sense of odd emptiness of dizziness, a new malaise of this modern society, while the warm blood from a dripping knife depicts the contrasting juxtapositioned elements of death and life.

In Dehra tal-Pont love is turned into a macabre scenario, rendered more horrifying with descriptions which we usually find in love stories of romanticism.

The bridge, the full moon, the tempest, the wind, the distant sound of bells... these are all utilised by Grasso in a new context to add horror to what, at first, seems a romantic and sensuous story.

Elements of sarcasm and absurdity pervade his third short story, Id-Dar fejn tieħu gost Tmut. In Il-Ġar, the contrast features of monstrosities and apparent kindness, verging on innocence, build up to uncover the hidden depths of the various dramatis personae of this human tragedy.

In his last short story, Ir-Raġel ta’ Novembru, Grasso creates a character in search of women who bear that name of beauty and treachery, Helen.

He amuses himself and his readers with one of his favourite themes, that of transformation; of two characters into one, of love into hatred, of beauty into horror, of innocence into vengeance. A leitmotif, apparent or less apparent, in this collection.

All this will pass as the usual fodder for those who prefer these kind of stories.

There is enough horror to make them shiver to their trembling heart’s content. But Grasso’s stories, in this re-written edition, are more than that.

They are a master’s lesson in story writing, whatever the genre. He adopts a concise, telegraphic, disconnected, albeit effective, way to build his sentences, sometimes even in paragraphs .

Often, there is an impound-ing rhythm building up a sentence: Kienu jiem ta’ tensjoni, biża’, misteru.

Each of his short stories affects and grasps you abruptly, with-out disclosing anything which surrounds the mystery to be unfolded.

Often, inconclusive scenes are sewn together to form a narrative structure.

The shifting between the functional context-governed register of language and the more arbitarary, contrived structures of literary style is so pleasantly effective that at times it smacks of anachronism in horror stories.

The subtle interplay of the structure and syntax as a stylistic vehicle seems to generate that mood and feeling of per-fection which Grasso has set as prime objective for these rewritten stories.

The whole and final effect is likely to appeal to a group of iconoclastic readers who do not have the time to ponder the formal technical way to perfect (or nearly perfect) story-writing. But they feel it. Perhaps in a dizzy way that usually enhances the reading and amazes the readers.