F. Scott Fitzgerald's, "Thank You for the Light," was published in the New Yorker (after being rejected by the New Yorker in 1936). I guess I didn't read it because of the paywall. I received it cut out of the New Yorker and folded up inside a letter from Lawrence, so I read it. It's a short short story--just two pages--and one is a picture.
I like it a lot--it's about Mrs. Hanson, a widow who smokes while selling corsets and girdles in the midwest. I'll tell you a lot about it here, since I can't link you to it (although I'll send you my copy in the mail, if you like). Mrs. Hanson is exhausted from a busy day full of meetings and from being around male clients who don't think that women should smoke. She finally stops in a cathedral for a break: "if so much incense has gone up in the spires to God, a little smoke in the vestibule would make no difference." However, she has no light. So she sits down in a pew and prays for a moment, although she isn't Catholic. She notices an image of the Madonna and has a moment with her before falling asleep for a minute. She wakes up and realizes that her cigarette is lit. "Thank you for the light," she said. "That didn't seem quite enough, so she got down on her knees, the smoke twisting up from the cigarette between her fingers. 'Thank you very much for the light,' she said."
Everything is short--the story, a cigarette, her visit to the cathedral, her little nap, her interaction with the Madonna. It's all just a flicker, but a fragrant and lovely one.
P.S. Best line in the story: "A man told me that nobody who was in the war would ever object to anyone smoking."
2 comments:
Send it to me! Otherwise how will I ever be able to read this post?
(I don't read the spoiler ones on principle, at least until I've read/seen the thing.)
Will do! Don't worry--you aren't missing much--I don't really add anything at all to the story.
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