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Washing Dishes at Mikines By Alan Edward Fish
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“Washing Dishes at Mikines” consists of two novellas. The title story tells of a young, disaffected American man who in 1972 finds himself stranded in a rather odd Greek village, and... More > what he learns of life there. “Sarah Leaving” is the story of a love affair on an idyllic Greek island and of its failure. Alan Fish has lived in many places in North America and in Europe, and spent many years in Greece. He now lives in a small city in Northern New England. He drinks whiskey in the winter because he finds beer chills him in the cold, and beer in the summer because whiskey affects him badly in the heat.< Less
The Yeshivah Buchor By Alan Edward Fish
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Dear Alan, You described yourself as the least successful writer in the Western World. Going through the box of material you left here I have to say you sure as hell ain't that. You have... More > a real body of work written and rejection hasn't stopped you from doing what you love. What you say about your reasons for writing sound pretty right to me. I'm so glad you've kept writing and hope you never stop. Who knows. Neither one of us is dead yet. Anything is possible. Yours, Paul< Less
The Winter in Egypt By Alan Edward Fish
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I first wrote this novel under the title, “Dover Beach”, when I was nineteen years old. I certainly at that age was not capable of writing it, and much had not yet occurred. I wrote it... More > again in my early forties, “The Bracelet”, and it shows how misbegotten was that effort that the incident of the bracelet does not even occur in later versions. I wrote “The Winter in Egypt” at the age of sixty. It took me forty years to learn what I wanted to say. A somewhat different and shorter version, again entitled “Dover Beach”, appears in my volume, “The Yeshivah Buchor”.< Less
You Charge Different People Different Things By Alan Edward Fish
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The ferry glided across the flat water of the harbor. Outside the glare of the lights of the big ship, the only stars were the broken strands close above the hilltops of the island the ferry ran... More > beside, and the hilltops were only deeper shadows in the dark. Standing at the stern rail watching the ferry approach the docking he was barefoot on the wooden deck and cold, there was a wind coming down from the hills onto water that was as still as oil and glimmered black with starlight.< Less