His preferred medium, the conte, is ideally suited to a writer whose vision of the world is fragmented, disjointed or partial, and where abiding constants are conspicuous by their absence. Maupassant often frames the stories by placing them in the context of either the beginning or the final stages of some social gathering or other: men telling stories after supper at the club (as in ‘Laid to Rest’ and ‘The Lull-a-Bye’) or, as in ‘Happiness’, a mixed group chatting in crepuscular light before the lamps are brought in. Often the narrator is established from the start as some kind of authority, a doctor, say, as in ‘Train Story’, or a famous faded beauty as in ‘A Woman’s Confession’. Though this device has fallen somewhat out of fashion, it has two distinct advantages, one peculiar to Maupassant’s time and one applicable today.

First, since the stories mostly appeared initially in the newspaper, sometimes in feuilleton or serial form and often on the front page, the frame acted as a means of clearly signalling a piece of fiction, in contrast to the many news times with which it had to compete for attention. Second, it provides a sense of continuity with strong links to the oral tradition of story-telling, a kind of once-upon-a-time which evokes the magic of being read to before bed as a child and sets up a pleasurable sense of anticipation mixed with a willing suspension of disbelief.

Rarely do the stories exceed 2,000–3,000 words in length. Maupassant is working under what Baudelaire describes as ‘les bénéfices éternels de la contrainte’ (‘the infinitely beneficial influence of constraint’) in which less means more. His style is therefore highly economical, with sentences sometimes as brief as two words. The strokes are swift, spare and deliberate in an effort to achieve concentration and distillation. He is often concerned with recording one single, sometimes life-changing instant. Like the best of the Impressionist painters who were his contemporaries, and following Japanese wisdom in the concept of utsuroi, or point of change, he manages to convey the timeless fragility of the moment as well as the flux in which it occurs.

When Maupassant himself takes the stage as narrator, he often appears as a type: Maupassant the sailor (‘At Sea’), the Norman (‘Hautot & Son’), the civil servant (‘The Jewels’), the sportsman (‘Coward’), or the traveller (‘Minor Tragedy’). Looking for the drama concealed beneath the surface of everyday life, he finds undercurrents which go unnoticed by others and concludes that chance rules all. Contrary to popular belief, the trick endings often associated with his stories are comparatively rare, though a sting in the tail is a characteristic feature. No morals are drawn and the irony which informs his work shows him anticipating our own times.