White Moon is a collection of avant-garde short stories, micro and flash fiction.
Together
they bring a stronger message than they do individually. The incidents
in this book depict imaginary characters and events underpinned by
dreamlike, strong surrealistic, even esoteric connections. The
narratives bring together a unique blend of absorbing, entertaining and
otherworldly experience.
As ever Mehreen Ahmed brings
a strong and convincing voice to all of the texts. Enjoy the surreal
and dreamlike quality of these stories.
RRP Paperback £9.00, Kindle £2.30
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The tales are timeless treasures
to read!
Once again, Mehreen Ahmed’s prowess in
weaving proficient, literary narratives to convey her distinctive creativity and
imagination, is affirmed in this anthology of short tales.
The core-theme of the stories revolves
around the intriguing intricacies of love as expressed in various phases of love
found, love lost and love found again.
What makes it very interesting to read
is Mehreen's exceptional creativity in storytelling is expressed in boundless,
symbolic and timeless ways. The tales of love are expressed in mythical,
legendary, periodical, spatial and even how love unfolds and forms in the
current times of online, cyber age.
No wonder some of the tales included in
this anthology won awards and recognition. The author I am sure put a lot of
time polishing the tales, thus
the become timeless treasures to read!
An extract from the book
Sensible Shoes
I sat here, like a loyal
friend, by her floor bed. Waiting for my owner, Samira Khan, to wake up. She
did in a while. I saw her frowning and looking groggy. Laying on her pillow,
she reached out for a wooden box which held her medication. Last night, like
every other night, she’d filled up her small pitcher and placed it beside her
bed. She took out a pill blister pack, pinched one out, and popped it into her
mouth. She swallowed hard with some water from the pitcher. With a sigh of
relief, she lay back on the pillow. She looked vaguely at a pair of pants
hanging from a hook on the bedroom door—not hers. The morning was dull and
dreary with deep, hanging clouds. She pushed and rolled herself out.
A vegetable vendor was
shouting on the street. Just as well, I also heard his croaky voice and readied
myself. Samira was going to run downstairs. He always came along with his cart at
this time of the day. My owner slid her feet and rested them roughly upon my
tongue. She checked her vegetable basket, and decided to buy some potatoes and
green papaya from him. She craned her neck through the window and told him to
pack her one kilo of potatoes and one medium sized papaya. Quickly, she picked
up her purse and climbed down the stairs. On the street, the vendor had wrapped
her potatoes and green papaya in an old, crumpled newspaper sheet. Samira
opened her purse and gave him the money for a kilo of potato and a green
papaya. The vendor took the notes with a polite smile, but said that the price
had gone up because of inflation.
“Since when?” Samira asked.
I listened.
