Five short stories chosen by our CEO Marc Lambert

'If it were easy to explain what Helen Simpson can do with a story, more writers would be fashioning such jewels,' says the New York Times. There is in fact a kind of magic here, even if Simpson's output is relatively small. But she says, story-wise: 'Quality not quantity! They're all in print and they're built to last.' Constitutional shows why. Tracing a science teacher's lunchtime walk around Hampstead Heath, it seems to be about nothing. Yet it turns out that time, memory, and the circle of life have all been casually but deftly dealt with by the end. Simpson’s easy tone is a misdirection that masks very considerable artistry. Structurally Constitutional is a nest of dolls, where each image fits into and amplifies the whole.

Russian emigre Berberova (1901–1993) first moved to France in the 1920s, then settled in the U.S. in the 1950s, where she taught at Princeton University. She lived a remarkable life, among remarkable people, producing novellas, biographies and short stories. Her autobiography, The Italics Are Mine, is a key source for the period, and a classic of the genre. Even if The Death of Valkovsky is a kind of period melodrama, Berberova makes something searing out of the material, right from the outset: 'She knew that the man sitting opposite her was a scoundrel. . .' There follows, in this tale of adultery, the psychological depiction of a heedless and destructive desire that is brilliantly uncompromising and terrifyingly convincing.

'Don't talk to me about London. Plenty people there have heart like stone. . .' Rhys led a hard life marred by racism, loneliness, poverty and alcoholism. But she was also a very great artist. After many decades of total obscurity she was re-discovered in the 1960s, and published by another formidable figure, Diana Athill. Wide Sargasso Sea was the result. Let Them Call It Jazz draws on Rhys' experience of arriving in England from Dominica, and stands as a powerful representation of the myriad injustices faced by Windrush immigrants. Told in Caribbean English – itself a bold linguistic move for the time – Let Them Call It Jazz brilliantly captures the heartless ostracism endured by the narrator Selina, yet ends on a defiant note of resilience.

Toni Morrison called her one of the greatest writers of her time. She was also a pioneering ethnographer and folklorist of black culture. Yet Hurston was working as a cleaning lady in Florida when she died. Despite some early recognition, her standing was unjustly diminished by being at odds with her peers in the Harlem Renaissance, and she fell into relative obscurity. Now however, Hurston is recognised as a major figure in American letters. The Gilded Six-Bits is a wonderful trickster tale, enlivened by Hurston's unerring ability to capture the rhythms and expressions of black speech. And even if it is a story of betrayal, it is never less than exuberantly human and life-affirming.

Given she has published only four short books in over 20 years, Keegan is a bit of a hidden diamond, despite being shortlisted for the Booker. But as Ali Smith says, Keegan is truly great and quietly radical. In Small Things like These, (perhaps more of a novella than a short story), she deals with the scandals of the Irish Church and its historical grip on Irish society, through the gradual awakening to his own childhood of Bill Furlong, a coal and timber merchant. This is done with great economy and compassion. And while there is horror, there is no anger. The result is a deeply moving gem of a story which acquires great force through Keegan's restrained, Chekhovian skill.