Dino Buzzati is one of the great literary practitioners of the dark marvelous. To my mind, he constitutes one corner in the triangle of indispensable 20th century Italian fantasists, a status he shares with his contemporaries Italo Calvino and Tommaso Landolfi.
While the word counts of Alex Epstein's "microfictions" may rarely reach triple digits, the stories from his new collection, For My Next Illusion I Will Use Wings, occupy the space of something much larger.
Why does history remember some novels, and forget others? Okay, because most novels are forgettable. But there are some, a handful or two, that brush up against greatness itself, and yet don't seem to get a ticket on the literature train.