“The Storm” is a short story by Kate Chopin that takes place in the 19th-century American South. It’s a sequel to “At the ‘Cadian Ball” and explores themes of desire, passion, and the transformative power of nature. Though not published in Chopin’s lifetime, it was included in “The Complete Works of Kate Chopin” in 1969.

As a sequel, it is far superior to the original story, “At the ‘Cadian Ball.” But reading “‘Cadian Ball” is probably necessary to get the full power of this wonderful short story.

I have noticed in the past few years that I have been reading more Women Writers than I ever used to. Part of it I suspect is my unconscious need to provide balance to all the Hardboiled, Noir, Western, and Pulp Fiction I love to read and write. Part of it is also to balance the overt misogyny of the Trumpian Madness that permeates our Time.

Here are a few lines from lines from “The Storm.” I think they convey the overall tone of Chopin’s story, which I highly recommend!

She went and stood at the window with a greatly disturbed look on her face. She wiped the frame that was clouded with moisture. It was stiflingly hot. Alce got up and joined her at the window, looking over her shoulder. The rain was coming down in sheets obscuring the view of far-off cabins and enveloping the distant wood in a gray mist. The playing of the lightning was incessant. A bolt struck a tall chinaberry tree at the edge of the field. It filled all visible space with a blinding glare and the crash seemed to invade the very boards they stood upon.

Calixta put her hands to her eyes, and with a cry, staggered backward. Alce’s arm encircled her, and for an instant he drew her close and spasmodically to him. “Bont!” she cried, releasing herself from his encircling arm and retreating from the window, the house’ll go next! If I only knew w’ere Bibi was!” She would not compose herself; she would not be seated.

Alce clasped her shoulders and looked into her face. The contact of her warm, palpitating body when he had unthinkingly drawn her into his arms, had aroused all the old-time infatuation and desire for her flesh.

(cf. “The Storm” by Kate Chopin)