Which Short Stories Are In The Last Wish Anthology?

There’s a clear split in how people talk about the books versus the games, and it’s why this question pops up so often. The short stories in 'The Last Wish' are absolutely canonical to the literary Witcher universe — they’re part of Andrzej Sapkowski’s original timeline and they introduce key moments (like the fateful wish that ties Geralt and Yennefer together). Those scenes, characters, and the tone of Sapkowski’s writing are the foundation CD Projekt Red drew on when building the games. You’ll spot direct lifts, references, and inspiration from specific stories in the games: some quest names and plot beats nod to tales from the short story collection, and the portrayal of monsters, politics, and moral ambiguity owes a lot to the books. That said, the games are their own continuity. CDPR extended Geralt’s life past where the novels leave off and invented new plotlines, characters, and relationships that aren’t in Sapkowski’s canon. Sapkowski himself has treated the games as a separate use of his world rather than a seamless part of his written continuity. Practically speaking, that means if you care about “what actually happened” in the books, read 'The Last Wish' (and the novels) — the games won’t overwrite the source material. But if you enjoy seeing elements from the stories reimagined and expanded in a new medium, the games are a delicious alternate path. For me, I like both: I read the short stories on late-night subway rides and then boot up 'The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt' to see familiar threads woven into something much bigger, and I treat them as complementary rather than strictly one being canon over the other.

On a rainy night with a mug cooling beside me, I dove back into 'The Last Wish' and got tangled up in themes that feel messy and human rather than neat moral lessons. The most obvious thread is moral ambiguity — Geralt keeps talking about the 'lesser evil,' but the stories show that sometimes the lesser evil is still ugly, and choosing it changes you. That idea bleeds into the nature-of-monsters theme: people who look like monsters can be humane, and people who look human can be monstrous. Stories like 'A Grain of Truth' and 'The Lesser Evil' make that point in ways that stick to your ribs. Another big theme is fate versus free will. Wishes, curses, and prophecies keep nudging characters toward destiny, but Sapkowski delights in showing how personal choices, love, and stubbornness complicate destiny's neat lines. There's also a strong current of storytelling about stories — the frame narrative 'The Voice of Reason' and the fairytale subversions remind you that myths shape behavior and that tales themselves are a kind of power. Throw in prejudice, political maneuvering, and the cost of love (looking at you, Geralt and Yennefer), and you get a collection that feels like folk tales for adults. Reading it late at night, I always end up thinking about how those themes reflect small choices in my own life, and I can't help recommending rereads for the little details you missed the first time.

I still get a little giddy when I think about the point right after 'The Last Wish'—it feels like stepping off a ledge into Geralt's wider world. If you're following the story smoothly, the most natural next book is 'Sword of Destiny'. It continues with short stories that directly set up Ciri's role and the emotional threads the saga will pull on, so I always tell friends to read it right away. The shorts in 'Sword of Destiny' add a lot of context for the relationships and politics that explode in the novels, and they're stitched to the saga in ways that make later scenes hit harder. After 'Sword of Destiny', move into the novels in publication order: 'Blood of Elves', 'Time of Contempt', 'Baptism of Fire', 'The Tower of Swallows', and 'The Lady of the Lake'. That flow keeps character development and plot reveals paced the way Sapkowski intended. One thing people debate is 'Season of Storms'—it was published much later but is mostly set around the short story era. My preference is to read it after the main saga, because even though it fits chronologically near the beginning, reading it later gives it extra bittersweet resonance and doesn't risk disrupting the arc momentum. If you're the type who loves chronology over publication order, you can slot 'Season of Storms' between the short stories, but for first-time readers I recommend the short-then-saga route: 'The Last Wish' → 'Sword of Destiny' → the five novels, then 'Season of Storms' as a little epilogue detour. Also, try different translations if you can—some lines hit differently depending on the translator, and that can make the whole experience richer.

If you're just dipping your toes into short stories, anthologies are like sampler platters—you get a little taste of everything! One of my all-time favorites is 'The Best American Short Stories' series. Each year’s edition is curated by a different guest editor, so the vibe shifts wildly. The 2022 collection edited by Andrew Sean Greer was especially fun—quirky, heartfelt, and packed with voices you won’t forget. Another gem is 'Sudden Fiction International', which specializes in super-short stories (perfect for short attention spans). It’s got work from Gabriel García Márquez to Margaret Atwood, all bite-sized. For something darker, 'Electric Literature’s Recommended Reading' delivers—their online picks are stellar, but the print anthologies are like a curated mixtape of modern genius. Honestly, half my bookshelf is just anthologies now—they’re gateway drugs to new authors!

I stumbled upon this amazing anthology called 'All Out: The No-Longer-Secret Stories of Queer Teens Throughout the Ages' a while back, and it absolutely blew me away. It's a collection of historical fiction short stories featuring LGBTQ+ teens from different time periods, each written by a different author. What I love is how it blends queer joy with the struggles of the past—like a medieval girl disguising herself as a boy to join a monastery, or two boys in 1950s New York sneaking kisses at Coney Island. The variety of voices and settings keeps it fresh, and it’s one of those books where you can flip to any story and instantly get lost in it. Another gem is 'The Collection: Short Fiction from the Transgender Vanguard,' which isn’t exclusively gay but has some standout stories about queer men and transmasculine experiences. The raw, unfiltered emotions in these tales hit hard—especially the one about a drag king navigating love and identity in a small town. Anthologies like these remind me why short stories are so powerful: they pack a punch in just a few pages, leaving you thinking for days.

Collected short stories are like little treasure chests—each one holds something unique, and picking favorites feels almost unfair! But if I had to choose, I'd rave about 'The Lottery' by Shirley Jackson. It starts so innocently, like a quaint village gathering, but that twist? Chills. Absolute chills. Then there's 'The Yellow Wallpaper' by Charlotte Perkins Gilman—a masterclass in creeping dread. The way it unravels the protagonist's mind through something as mundane as wallpaper patterns is genius. For something lighter, O. Henry's 'The Gift of the Magi' never fails to warm my heart. That bittersweet irony gets me every time. And Hemingway's 'Hills Like White Elephants'—so sparse, yet every line crackles with tension. It's amazing how much he says without saying it. Honestly, I could gush about short stories all day; they pack such a punch in so few pages!

Flipping through any decent short-fiction anthology, certain Hemingway pieces seem to show up so often they feel like old friends — not because he had a huge catalog to choose from, but because a handful of stories perfectly showcase his style and the themes teachers and editors love. For me, the most anthologized are usually 'Hills Like White Elephants', 'A Clean, Well-Lighted Place', 'The Killers', 'The Snows of Kilimanjaro', 'The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber', 'Indian Camp', and the 'Nick Adams' pieces like 'Big Two-Hearted River' (often Part I). These crop up in college readers, high-school collections, and broad anthologies that aim to teach voice, iceberg technique, and economy of language. Editors favor 'Hills Like White Elephants' because it’s a masterclass in subtext; 'A Clean, Well-Lighted Place' for tone and existential silence; 'The Killers' for cliff-hanger tension; and 'The Snows of Kilimanjaro' for its layered flashbacks and moral reckoning. Beyond simple listing, I notice why these stories travel so well: they’re teachable (themes, technique, symbolism), adaptable (film and stage versions have made some more famous), and short enough to fit classroom time. If I’m picking the very safest bets to include in a survey, those are the titles I reach for — they still sting in the chest after all these years, which is why I keep coming back to them.

I just finished re-reading 'Three Wishes' last week, and it’s one of those stories that lingers in your mind like a half-remembered dream. The way it unfolds feels novel-like in depth—each character’s desires and regrets are explored with such care, and the interwoven timelines give it this rich, layered texture. But then, the pacing is so tight, and the focus so precise, that it could easily fit into a short story anthology. Honestly, I’ve seen debates about this in book clubs, and it’s fascinating how divisive it is. Some argue the emotional scope leans novel, while others swear its brevity makes it a powerhouse short story. For me, it’s the ambiguity that makes it special—like it exists in this liminal space between forms, defying easy categorization. What’s wild is how the author plays with structure. There’s a section where time loops back on itself, and that’s where the novel-esque worldbuilding shines. But then, the final act is so condensed, so visceral, that it hits like a short story’s knockout punch. Maybe that’s the point—it’s a hybrid creature, and trying to label it feels like missing the magic. Either way, I’d kill for more stories that blur lines this beautifully.

It's hard to pick just a few must-read short stories because there are so many gems out there, but if I had to narrow it down, I'd start with Shirley Jackson's 'The Lottery.' This one sticks with you—it’s chilling in the way it builds tension so subtly, then hits you with that gut-punch ending. Another favorite is Ray Bradbury’s 'There Will Come Soft Rains,' which paints such a haunting picture of a post-human world where technology keeps humming along, oblivious to the fact that no one’s left to use it. The imagery is unforgettable. For something completely different, Jorge Luis Borges’ 'The Library of Babel' is a mind-bending exploration of infinity and the search for meaning. It’s the kind of story that makes you stare at the ceiling for hours afterward, just thinking. And of course, you can’t skip Hemingway’s 'Hills Like White Elephants.' It’s a masterclass in subtext—so much is said in what’s not spoken. These stories aren’t just great; they’re the kind that change how you see storytelling itself.