Mission 2026: Binge reviewing (and rereading on occasion) all previous Reads, I was too slothful to review, back when I read them.
Greatest Short Stories
What is it all about (spoiler free)
A man, a marriage, and an attachment that exists largely in thought rather than action. The story unfolds in a space of hesitation and interior conflict, where longing is intense but expression remains restrained. What matters most is not what happens, but what is imagined, withheld, and quietly endured.
This is not a story about adultery. It is a story about ‘‘emotional displacement’’.
Why is it among the greatest?
Because Sherwood Anderson understood that modern alienation often expresses itself not through excess, but through ‘‘inarticulation’’.Let us analyze point by point:
1) ‘The Other Woman’ belongs to Anderson’s great project—later perfected in ‘Winesburg, Ohio’—of exploring people who cannot fully say what they want, even to themselves. The protagonist’s crisis is not moral in the conventional sense. He is not wrestling with temptation so much as with a vague, persistent sense that his emotional life has been misaligned from the beginning.
2) What makes the story powerful is its refusal to dramatise the affair. There is no melodrama, no fevered passion, no decisive rupture. Instead, Anderson lingers in the fog of indecision: the small encounters, the charged silences, the internal rehearsals that never become action. Desire here is not liberating; it is ‘‘paralysing’’.
3) Anderson’s prose is deliberately simple, almost bare. Sentences move slowly, circling the same emotional territory from slightly different angles. This repetition is not a flaw—it is the point. The character’s inability to move forward is mirrored in the narrative’s gentle stasis. Thought loops replace action.
4) The story also offers a quietly radical view of marriage for its time. The wife is not cruel, nor is the marriage overtly miserable. And that is precisely the problem. Anderson suggests that emotional starvation can occur even in the absence of abuse, that social respectability can coexist with profound inner emptiness. The “other woman” becomes less a person than a ‘‘symbolic alternative life’’—a projection of everything the protagonist feels he has missed.
5) Crucially, Anderson does not romanticise this projection. The imagined life is no more fully formed than the real one. The story exposes how longing itself can become a substitute for living, how dissatisfaction feeds on vagueness rather than clarity.
6) This moral ambiguity is what lifts the story above simple psychological sketch. No one is villainised. No one is redeemed. The reader is left with a sense of quiet waste—the waste of emotional potential, of unrealised selfhood, of conversations never risked.
Why read it in the present time and thereafter?
Because the condition Anderson diagnoses has only intensified.
In an age of endless choice, curated desire, and perpetual comparison, ‘The Other Woman’ feels eerily current. Many people today live not in scandalous affairs but in ‘‘parallel emotional lives’’—imagined versions of themselves that exist in text messages never sent, relationships never pursued, decisions perpetually postponed.
The story also speaks powerfully to the modern fear of disruption. The protagonist’s restraint mirrors contemporary anxieties about risk: better to endure dissatisfaction than to cause damage, better to fantasise than to act. Anderson shows the cost of that logic with painful clarity. The tragedy here is not what the character does, but what he ‘‘never allows himself to attempt’’.
Rereading the story later in life changes its emotional centre. Early readings may judge the protagonist harshly for his weakness or indecision. Later readings tend to recognise the deeper trap: a life structured around avoidance, where desire becomes something to be managed rather than understood.
In 2026 and beyond, ‘The Other Woman’ remains essential because it refuses easy moral binaries. It does not tell you what the right choice would have been. It shows you what happens when no choice is fully made at all.
This is not a story about passion. It is a story about ‘‘emotional timidity’’—and its quiet, cumulative consequences.
Read it now to see how restraint can wound. Read it later to see how often restraint masquerades as virtue.
Sherwood Anderson doesn’t shout. He listens.
And in that listening, he reveals how many lives are diminished not by catastrophe, but by the slow habit of settling.
Most recommended.