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Translated from the Swedish by Thomas Teal

The Listener was Tove Jansson’s first collection of stories for adults. A recent read for #witmonth it proved a good choice for a period when I was in a very strange reading mood. Jansson’s clear, crisp prose, clear vision and her delicate philosophy was a delight to dip in and out of.

I came to Tove Jansson quite late – the Moomins completely passed me by as a child – and I only ever heard of Tove Jansson as an adult. I adored The Summer Book and A Winter Book, and I fully intend to explore more of her work – and while I enjoyed The Listener a lot I didn’t think it was quite at the standard of those other two. One story in this collection – The Squirrel is also in A Winter Book – as it was one of my favourites from that collection, it was lovely to encounter it again.

There are eighteen pieces in this collection – which only runs to 157 pages, so some of these stories really are very, very short indeed, and so rather difficult to write about. I shall attempt therefore to just give a slight flavour of the collection – but I certainly feel as if there is a limit to what I can write about this one.

Jansson’s stories portray a city ravaged by storms, the beauty of the start of spring, childhood, old age and love. There is some quite lovely imagery here – and as ever her prose is a simple joy. Characters are introspective, thoughtful, and philosophical. A couple of stories veer towards the supernatural, but with a delicacy that never strays too far from reality. Artists feature prominently, as does light and scenery – Jansson’s descriptions are always spot on.

“In this naked light, all of winter’s traces are visible not least in a face. Everything becomes distinct and turns outwards, exposed, penetrated by the light. People come out of their holes. Perhaps they’ve survived the winter in flocks or maybe alone, willy-nilly, but now they appear and make their way to the harbour, the way they always do.”

(In Spring)

The Collection opens with the title story. Aunt Gerda is a good listener, but old age is impacting on her memory, she fears what this might mean for her. Her solution to her forgetfulness is to create a unique artwork that will record the secrets that have been confided in her, but while it preserves these secrets it will also betray them.

“It seemed to her the window was a great eye looking out over the city and the harbour and a strip of the gulf under ice. The new silence and emptiness was not entirely a loss; it was something of a relief. Aunt Gerda felt like a balloon, untied, soaring off its own way. But, she thought, it’s a balloon that’s bouncing against the ceiling and can’t get free.
She understood that this was no way to live; human beings are not built to float. She needed an earthly anchor of meaning and care so she didn’t get lost in the confusion.”

(The Listener)

In The Birthday Party – two sisters throw a birthday party for their young niece – inviting a number of local children to their home. The niece herself doesn’t arrive – and the bemused aunts, clearly unused to children – or how to behave around them – try desperately to keep the party going. The way Jansson portrays these clueless women, so out of their depth is just brilliant.

“‘Come in,” said Miss Häger. “Please, go right on into the sitting room, where there’s room for everyone. Don’t stand in the doorway, go right on in …” The children went into the sitting room. She clapped her hands and cried, “Now you can start to play! What game would you like to play?” They stared at her without answering. Vera Häger went out into the kitchen and said, “You’ve got to come, right now, right away. It’s not working.”
        Her sister lifted the platter with the decorated ice cream and said, “What do you mean? What’s not working?”
         “The party. They’re just standing around. I don’t think they like me. And Daniela hasn’t come.’”

(The Birthday Party)

Black-White – is one of the longest pieces – and one of those I liked the most. It is a homage to the artist Edward Gorey. The artist in the story is an illustrator – married to Stella, they live in the house she designed. The artist is working on a collection of fifteen black and white illustrations for a book – he is inspired to use darkness in the illustrations – yet all around him in the house where they live there is just too much light. Stella suggests that he use her aunt’s old house which is standing empty in which to work. The artist packs up this things and goes to the house, where he will be alone.

In Letters To An Idol a woman writes often to an author who she admires. In time, he actually writes back – and soon after that they meet. A story which demonstrates perfectly that meeting those we admire can be problematic.

In The Wolf an elderly woman meets a Japanese man Mr Shimomura who is an illustrator for children – he specialises in drawing animals. He has asked to see some dangerous animals; he draws a wolf to demonstrate what he would like to see. So, despite the cold, and her advancing years, the woman accompanies him to a zoo – to show him a real wolf.

I mentioned The Squirrel above – the story I read before – it is still a thoroughly beautiful piece of writing, so delicately observed. An old woman living in a small house on an island, looks out of her window one day and sees a squirrel. She muses about how it came to be on the island, probably drifting over on the driftwood that washes up on the shore. Her life becomes oddly caught up with that of this little creature – her fascination in it increases. The squirrel affecting her quiet, ordered little existence on the island in unexpected ways.

The Listener is beautiful little collection of stories, Jansson’s prose is the star of the show – and I am reminded once more how I really must explore more of her work.

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Fiction that reflects the times in which it was written is so much more interesting for me than historical fiction – there is a resonance which is hard to recreate after the fact. So, this collection of Second World War stories was a perfect read for me. Wave me Goodbye is a superb collection of women’s voices portraying a period that continues to fascinate.

In these stories we see clearly women’s lives and participation in the war. It’s a different role to the male role – often more domestic, those daily struggles to keep everything together. There is humour and pathos in these stories, and together they depict a world of gas masks and shelters, the drama and devastation of being bombed out, the agony of watching a loved one go off to war. With such a range of writers collected together we see a variety of viewpoints too; it is a collection that is a must for any reader interested in women’s writing of this period.

It can be hard to accurately review an anthology of stories, especially with such a range of fascinating writers in one volume. A few of the stories I had read before in other collections, stories like Goodbye Balkan Capital by Barbara Pym, Miss Anstruther’s Letters by Rose Macaulay and Goodbye My Love by Mollie Panter Downes and a few others but it was no struggle to read those again. Alongisde these we have some of the greatest women writers of the period, Olivia Manning, Elizabeth Taylor, Elizabeth Bowen, Margery Sharp, Jean Rhys and Sylvia Townsend Warner among others, a veritable who’s who of women writers. However, I can naturally only really give a flavour of this collection.

The Collection opens with When the Waters came by Rosamond Lehmann. A woman and her children spending the war in the country are shocked when a great thaw comes suddenly in February and floods the village. I couldn’t help but think that this might have been something of how it felt to suddenly find yourself living in a country at war.

“The thaw came in February, not gradually but with violence, overnight. Torrents of brown snow-water poured down from the hills into the valley. By the afternoon, the village street was gone, and in its stead a turbulent flood raced between the cottages.”

At once the familiar landscape altered, disorienting and potentially dangerous.

In The lovely leave by Dorothy Parker a wife anticipates the upcoming leave of her husband. He is due to have twenty-four hours, and she remembers how she had allowed her husband’s previous leave to be spoilt – and is determined to not make the same mistakes.

I really enjoyed The Mysterious Kor by Elizabeth Bowen – which starts in an almost dreamlike fashion, Arthur and his girlfriend Pepita walking together in a London street. Pepita muses about the mysterious Kor – quoting some lines of poetry about a magical seeming place that is far and away from the reality of their lives.

“This war shows we’ve by no means come to the end. If you can blow whole places out of existence, you can blow whole places into it.”

Arthur is on leave and he and Pepita walk back to the flat she shares with Callie – Callie has agreed that Arthur can stay on the sofa while he is in London. Callie welcomes them eagerly with cocoa – happy to experience something of their lives vicariously.

In Night Engagement by Margery Sharp a mother sees the nightly escape into the air raid shelter as the perfect opportunity for her daughter Doris to meet a nice young man. Each day they decide which shelter would be best – later discussing the merits of anyone Doris met the night before. When Doris is trapped under a collapsed building with a young railway worker, Doris’s mother wastes no time in going round to introduce herself to the young man’s mother and the two women begin to make plans as they await the re-emergence of their offspring.

Yet another side to the many domestic difficulties is highlighted in The Sailor’s Wife by Ann Chadwick. A naval wife is desperate to find lodgings for herself her baby and for her husband when he is on leave. She has come to a coastal town where her husband’s ship will dock and leaving her child at the hotel – she walks despondently from house to house around the town practically begging for a place to stay.

As we progress further into the collection, we begin the aspects of the end of the war, and its immediate aftermath.

“A new road, which ran a lane’s length from the farm, was being built by German prisoners, still retained though the war was long over, and from eight in the morning until dusk there was a sound of continuous noisy activity about the moorland farm, as they grey-green figures broke up the stones which were brought in by lorries from the neighbouring stone quarries. The old people, who were called William and Mary Illingworth, had but often seen the prisoners, but had not yet spoken to one of them.”

In The Mandoline by Malachi Whitaker a German prisoner of war is brought to the home of an elderly couple by his guard. The prisoner wants to borrow the couple’s mandoline to play at the camp’s concert. Now, I was mightily confused by a mandoline (not mandolin) and google couldn’t help. Still, the story is a tenderly observed piece and beautifully written.

Altogether this was a quite marvellous collection, and clearly right up my street. Highly recommended for likeminded readers.

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Today is the first day of #DDMreadingweek, for those of you joining in I have started a new page for this year’s reading event, and I will be updating it over the week with links to other reviews and posts. You can find it here.

Like last year, I decided to start with a collection of stories. The Birds and other stories is probably best known for its title story, which was adapted for film, by Alfred Hitchcock in 1963. It is the opening story in the collection, and it captivates immediately. There are six long short stories in the collection, each of them fully immersive and of a satisfying length. Du Maurier’s settings are varied, her sense of place so good that her stories – whether full length novel or short story – are immediately visual. In these stories, we find ourselves on the English coast, in a remote European mountain village, a sun soaked holiday resort for the wealthy and a rural English landscape.

In The Birds human beings come suddenly and unexpectedly under attack, when the wind changes on December 3rd and birds of every kind take to the skies. In their thousands the birds acting against their normal instincts, turn on the human population. We see the unfolding horror through the eyes of Nat Hocken, a husband and father living near on the coast. To begin with Nat merely thinks the changes to the weather have somehow affected the birds in some strange way, he has no sense that civilisation could be in any way threatened. Birds of all kinds and sizes flock together, sparrows, finches, and gulls fill the skies, then they break into the house at night, filling the children’s bedroom attacking, terrifying. Similar reports begin coming in from across the country – the radio goes off air – Nat struggles to protect his family. It is a brilliant, chilling story – and in an age when we are concerned with things like climate change and its affect on animal species, there is something quite salutary about it.

“…as the slow sea sucked at the shore and then withdrew, leaving the strip of seaweed bare and the shingle churned, the sea birds raced and ran upon the beaches. Then that same impulse to flight seized upon them too. Crying, whistling, calling, they skimmed the placid sea and left the shore. Make haste, make speed, hurry and begone; yet where, and to what purpose? The restless urge of autumn, unsatisfying, sad, had put a spell upon them and they must flock, and wheel, and cry; they must spill themselves of motion before winter came.”

Monte Verita is a story that takes place over a number of years. It is the longest story in the collection, and it drags a little, things get increasingly odd as the narrative progresses, I found it oddly compelling nevertheless, and it is certainly memorable. Here we have another male narrator; a man who in his younger days with his good friend Victor enjoyed mountain climbing all over Europe. When Victor marries Anna, the three are frequently together. Anna declares her desire to join her husband on the mountains, but it is the mountain paradise of Monte Verita that seems to be calling her. A place that promises immortality – it comes at a terrible price.

Du Maurier’sdark irony is in evidence in The Apple Tree. The narrator is a man recently widowed. Flashbacks to his marriage show his wife to have been an unhappy, grumbling woman, martyring herself to the housework. However, how reliable this narrator is we can’t really know. Following his wife’s death, the man revels in his new freedom, not mourning his wife at all – he even remembers with some nostalgia the pretty land girl he once kissed some years earlier. One thing spoils his new happiness, the apple tree in his garden long thought to be barren begins to show signs of new life. When the tree starts to produce apples, the fruit taste fine to everyone but the widower for whom it tastes disgusting. The man starts to hate the tree with an all consuming bitterness, he sees it overshadowing the smaller, younger prettier trees next to it, stealing the very life from them. It’s as if it is possessed of an angry or malign spirit.

“The moon shone full upon the little apple tree, the young one. There was a radiance about it in this light that gave it a fairy-tale quality. Small and lithe and slim, the young tree might have been a dancer arms upheld, poised ready on her toes for flight. Such a careless, happy grace about it. Brave young tree. Away to the left stood the other one, half of it in shadow still. Even the moonlight could not give it beauty. What in heaven’s name was the matter with the thing that it had to stand there, humped and stooping, instead of looking upwards to the light? It marred the still quiet night, it spoilt the setting.”

The Little Photographer concerns a beautiful, lonely marquise on holiday with her two children and their governess. Her husband has remained at home to attend to business. She is bored and restless, many of her friends have had passing liaisons which they tell her about and make sound so exciting. On a visit to the village she meets a young photographer and hires him to take photos of her and the children. They start meeting up in the hot afternoons, while everyone else rests, however soon he starting to get too attached – speaking of following her home. The Marquise is desperate to save herself and her marriage, realising too late how foolish she has been.

In Kiss me again, stranger a young mechanic meets the girl of his dreams at the cinema.  She is an enigmatic beauty, and the reader senses right away something is going on that we don’t yet understand. This isn’t a ghost story, yet there is something slightly spooky about the story – especially when the girl takes the young man into a graveyard on a late evening walk.

I really can’t say too much about the final story; The Old Man, without giving away important spoilers. It has the most brilliant twist though. Our narrator has been watching a family down by the river, he assigns each member a name, the patriarch is the old man. Silently, he watches the turbulent relationships between the family develop over time. I shall say no more.

This fascinating, compelling set of stories really got my Daphne du Maurier reading off to a great start.

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I found this little collection of short stories by Edna O’Brien in a charity shop several months ago. Read Ireland month gave me the perfect excuse to read it. I enjoy short stories, and not having read O’Brien’s short stories before I was interested to see what they were like. Mrs Reinhardt and other stories is one of nine story collections published by this hugely prolific writer, whose latest novel has just been longlisted for this year’s women’s prize. Based on this collection, I would definitely be up for reading more story collections by Edna O’Brien.

In these stories, as elsewhere in her fiction, Edna O’Brien writes with honesty and great perception. Her settings vary, although Ireland appears in several of them. Edna O’Brien successfully portrays the emotion surrounding loves and longings, sexual repression and betrayal. Twelve beautifully written stories, I didn’t think there was a dud among them.

The Mrs Reinhardt of the title is a memorable character who appears in two stories, Number Ten, which is the first story in the collection and Mrs Reinhardt which is the final story. In that opening story, Mrs Reinhardt is plagued by a series of dreams/sleepwalking events, that take her to a particular house – that she has no previous knowledge of. The house contains within it, everything she has ever dreamed of having.

“She sat on the edge of the bed, marvelling, and saw the other things that she had always wanted. She saw, for instance, the photo of a little girl in First Communion attire; she saw the paperweight that when shaken yielded a miniature snowstorm; she saw the mother-of-pearl tray with the two champagne glasses – and all of a sudden she began to cry because her happiness was so immense. Perhaps, she thought, he will come to me here, he will visit, and it will be like the old days and he won’t be irritable and he won’t be tapping with his fingers or fiddling with the lever of his fountain pen. He will smother me with hugs and kisses and we will tumble about on the big foamy bed.”

She imagines it will only be a matter of time before Mr Reinhardt follows, and finds her there. However, she is soon to discover, in her waking life, the real connection she and her husband have to this house. It is a revelation that will rock her marriage, as we see in the later story. In this second story Mrs Reinhardt and her husband have clearly separated following the events in the earlier story. Mrs Reinhardt has brought her hurt to Brittany where she has a chalet rented in the grounds of a hotel. She dines in the hotel and enjoys the local countryside. In her possession is a valuable necklace which belongs by right to her husband, as it had come to him from his mother, she took in a fit of pique, seeing it as a talisman of their time together. She meets a younger man, from Iowa, and their passionate encounter yields perhaps predictable results, and Mrs Reinhardt is forced to contact her husband and admit her folly. These were definitely among my favourite in the collection, and Mrs Reinhardt would, I decided, have been an excellent subject for a full length novel.

In The Small Town Lovers, an odd couple; the Donnellys are remembered by the daughter of a woman who once befriended the wife Hilda. The setting is rural Ireland, and Jack and Hilda who met in America while working in an asylum, came home to Ireland and opened a little grocery shop. They are viewed with some derision, but on a visit to their home the narrator makes a chilling discovery, that she finds impossible to forget in the wake some years later of Hilda’s death.

Another memorable character is Miss Hawkins in Christmas Roses. Miss Hawkins is that dread thing a middle-aged spinster (laughs) – who in her younger years toured Europe leading a cabaret life, then lived in Baghdad the favourite of a wealthy man. It was in Baghdad she had learned to love gardening. Now in London she takes it upon herself to care for the communal garden in the square where she lives, seeing it as a kind of civic responsibility. One day Miss Hawkins finds a young man camping in the middle of the garden. After the initial surprise, the two strike up a friendship and the young man begins to help Miss Hawkins in the garden, he later invites her to accompany him to a concert. Miss Hawkins starts to wonder if she shouldn’t invite him to share her flat.

“At the supper afterwards they discussed jealousy, and Miss Hawkins was able to assure him that she no longer suffered from that ghastly complaint. He did. He was a positive pickle of jealously. ‘Teach me not to be,’ he said. He almost touched her when she drew back alarmed and offended, apparently, by the indiscretion. He retrieved things by offering to pick up her plastic lighter and light her cigarette. Miss Hawkins was enjoying herself. She ate a lot, smoked a lot, drank a lot, but at no time did she lose her composure. In fact she was mirth personified, and after he had dropped her at her front door she sauntered down the steps to her basement, then waved her beaded purse at him and said as English workmen say. ‘Mind how you go.’”

Ways is set in a snowy Vermont. Two women; Jane and Nell meet for just a day, Nell a visiting speaker arranged by Jane. From the moment Nell sees a photograph of Jane’s husband she is drawn to him with a passionate longing. Then Jane invites Nell to stay for one more night so she can get to know them all a bit better.

There are a few stories that appear to be set in Ireland, although we don’t always get place names, A Rose in the Heart – portrays the lifelong relationship between a mother and daughter. In A Woman by the Seaside, a woman has persuaded her doctor husband to come to rural Ireland on holiday. Here she plans to encounter her lost love of years earlier, who she guesses will also be visiting for the summer. Clara is set in what appears to be a small town in Ireland, where a visiting foreign engineer Jan, becomes involved and then obsessed with the fate of a local young woman, Clara. Clara has been in a local asylum type of hospital – but Jan quickly realises that innocent though she is, she should not be there. He learns that Clara’s brother and his wife have their own reason for wanting Clara to stay where she is.

Goodness, this has ended up much longer than I intended, but this was a really excellent collection of stories, and while I couldn’t write about all the stories, several have really stayed with me since I finished.

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Translated from the German by Katy Derbyshire

My second read for #Fitzcarraldofortnight was Dark Satellites – a collection of short stories by contemporary German writer Clemens Meyer whose novel Bricks and Mortar has received a lot of praise. I highly recommend it to anyone who enjoys contemporary short stories.

This is modern Germany, busy, multi-cultural – Meyer’s settings are the satellite towns away from the shiny heart of the modern city landscape. We have tower blocks, fast food restaurants, stations and industrial units. The people in these stories are wonderfully real, they too are rather out on the edge of things, marginalised people, the unseen and forgotten. These are people with memories of Germany before unification, their pasts are tied up with the coming down of the Berlin wall.

“Sometimes you lose yourself in time, you know, and it takes a few seconds to work out where you are.”

Meyer’s writing is brilliant, past and present are fairly fluid, always connected the minds of his characters moving between now and then. There are nine longish stories, each prefaced by a shorter opening piece.

Broken Glass in Unit 95 A guard spends his shift recalling the affair he had with a refugee woman several years earlier.

In Late Arrival, which was one of my favourite stories, two women meet and strike up a friendship. One is a cleaner on trains, she works through the night and one day she meets a hairdresser in a bar, sharing a few drinks. Two lonely people, connect.

“It was just after six in the morning, the end of the night shift on the trains, the start of the early shift in the salon. She’d swept and wiped all night, her workmates taciturn in the morning hours and everything difficult, and it seemed as though the trains they worked on got longer and longer, a new carriage waiting after every one they’d cleaned.”

A middle aged man in – The Beach Railway’s Last Runtakes some time away from his normal life when he visits the western breakwater. Here he meets an elderly man whose memories of wartime when he was a teenager remain ever present. The old man, recounts his story of those times, haunted by his actions and the split minute decision he was forced to make.

In the title story, Dark Satellites, we meet a young man who runs a burger bar. His business partner Mario has recently left – gone up the coast to run a floating fast food restaurant. It is in his burger bar, that he first meets Hamad who lives on the fourteenth floor of a nearby high rise with his girlfriend. The burger bar owner and Hamad’s girlfriend have become friendly, meeting up to smoke in the hallways – looking out the windows at the lights in the other high rise flicking on and off through the dark.

A train driver in The Distance has his life completely devastated when, while driving his night train he hits a laughing man on the railway tracks.

This is a collection of stories that perfectly illustrate the odd romanticism that comes with urban nights – perhaps that’s just me. One of my favourite things about my city is travelling in a taxi at night – looking through windows and glimpsing tiny bits of other lives. The part of the city I live in is old, industrial, very urban, others don’t look at it closely I don’t suppose, but I do, it’s like people watching, a little addictive. Meyer highlights chance, fleeting encounters between strangers – loneliness and memory.

“The nights were dull and endless, started at six and ended at six, they were like dark days that touched in the middle, and when they stopped being dull they got even darker and more endless and we wished we were bored again, hours half-asleep between our inspection rounds, our heads never allowed to touch the table top, we’d doze sitting up…”

Katy Derbyshire’s translation is superb (incidentally I discovered her Twitter the other day, and on it are photos of some of the places Mayer writes about/was inspired by).

I am so glad that I was prompted by Karen and Lizzie’s reading event to take this off the shelf, it was an excellent, deeply atmospheric reading experience.

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Olivia Manning is definitely one of those writers whose books I always feel confident of enjoying. I don’t think I had known that she had published short stories, until I came across this collection in a charity shop. There are fourteen stories in A Romantic Hero – also the title of the penultimate story.

In these stories Olivia Manning explores lonely childhoods and complex adult relationships. Her stories, just like her wonderful novels are shot through with her precise understanding of people, their domestic dramas, their sadness and their humour. Arranged chronologically (I like that way of putting story collections together) these stories represent a period of almost thirty years of Manning’s creative life, with the first two stories dating from 1938 and the final story from 1966.

Rather than try and talk about all fourteen stories in this collection, I will give just a flavour of some of them. One thing I really liked was how Olivia Manning takes to so many different locations, from coastal Ireland to Cairo, to Jerusalem and a snowy wartime Romania. Many of the locations I have encountered in her novels.

“There, clutching the tufts of hard grass, they could look down into the crevices where they believed the strong-smelling weed hid giant octopi and other secret, colourless monsters.

They came to the leap.

Mrs Clandavy, on the other side of the wall, started calling them again.

‘We’re coming,’ Joseph answered as he took the leap without pausing to measure it or glance down. He went over with this bone-thin legs bent. His knickers, his ragged jersey and his socks were all too short, and his limbs stuck out from them like sticks. His neck, like a thin stalk, held precariously the weight of his large head with its thick, untidy, fawn-coloured hair. Van, a year older, taller and even thinner, followed him easily.”  

(Childhood – 1938)

The collection opens with Childhood a story paired with the one that comes after it, The Two Birthdays. Both stories are about the Clandavy children and their difficult emotional mother. In the first story Van and her younger brother Joseph are exploring the beach near their Irish home. Picking up bits of debris from the beach, checking on Mr Congo the crab they have adopted and been finding food for. Hearing their mother calling, they are forced to leave the beach and return to the house, and the difficult, confusing atmosphere, where their parents are frequently waging war, and playing the children off on one another. In the second of these, time has moved on a little, and Mrs Clandavy has separated from her husband. There is a day out with neighbours planned on the river, which Joseph has been looking forward to. These stories are slow and meandering, and I love that kind of storytelling and there is a deliciously strong sense of time and place too.

Other Irish families appear in this collection, like in The Visit, in which the narrator remembers a visit to a Lady Moxton when she was a child. She hadn’t really wanted to go and had been relying on her brother to be with her, but at the last minute he was ill in bed with a cold. She travels by tram with her bossy, ambitious mother and must face the strange old woman without her brother.

I was reminded strongly of The Balkan Trilogy in In A Winter Landscape in which we follow a British couple as they travel across Romania by train. They meet a Polish soldier and get into conversation, spending a couple of days in one another’s company on the train and overnight at a hotel. Manning’s descriptions of the landscape are lovely, her eye for detail as good as ever.

“The damp in the air had covered the carriage windows with long ferns of frost. One could scrape off the frost and see through the glass the white landscape going past. This was wheat-growing country, treeless, the fields repeating themselves in hills and hollows that looked barren, as though made of salt.”

(In a Winter Landscape – 1941)

In The Man who Stole a Tiger, we meet Tandy, a survivor of a lost troopship, he was brought back to health in a Jerusalem sanatorium. The story is narrated by a Padre who spends time with Tandy before and after the events related in the story, the Padre never really liked Tandy, who he describes as an ex-borstal boy. While recovering in Jerusalem, Tandy found himself visiting the zoo – and it was there he decided to free the tiger who he seemed to connect with and feel needed rescuing. Tandy steals the tiger and then embarks on an absurdly long journey by road. I won’t spoil the ending – which most readers will see coming – but it’s wonderfully subtle and desperately poignant.

In Twilight of the Gods Elizabeth goes on holiday to Ireland just after the war. Here she meets again a woman she knew years earlier and had once thought rather glamourous. She finds a woman greatly changed and living in the middle of an uncomfortable domestic situation which Elizabeth is keen not to get drawn into.

In the title story; A Romantic Hero, we meet Harold, living (kind of) with Angela – who he doesn’t love. One day he meets a good looking young man called David, and Harold is smitten – and imagines David feels as he does. He arranges to meet the young man the following day, and of course nothing goes quite as Harold imagines.

All in all this was a lovely collection, reminding me – had I needed it, what a great writer Olivia Manning is. When I finished the Levant trilogy around Christmas, I felt quite bereft, so I was in need of another Olivia Manning book I think.

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I generally really like short stories, and while my preference is usually for collections from backlisted women writers, I am perfectly happy to sometimes read more modern collections. Your Duck is My Duck is a collection of six stories by American writer Deborah Eisenberg, who has written several other collections. I first read about the collection on Susan’s blog A Life in Books, and bought it immediately, it sounded right up my street. Overall, I did like this collection, though a couple of the stories fell a little short of my initial expectations. It is well written, and though a couple of stories left me a little cold, the others I liked. These stories are all a bit longer than some short stories, and Eisenberg uses their length the fully flesh out her characters.

The stories are by turns, dark, funny and mysterious. Eisenberg explores the strangeness in the lives and emotions of her characters with astuteness, characters are well defined. In these pieces she explores aspects of money, sex and power.

The opening story in the collection is Your Duck is My Duck from which the collection takes its title. This was I thought a very good opening to the collection. An artist is taken up by a wealthy couple who she meets at a party. It becomes clear that she has been struggling with her work, and the couple invite her to their retreat. Their retreat is on the edge of a coastal village which the couple have spoiled with their schemes. On arrival, she finds her hosts engaged in an awkward domestic conflict. There is a wonderful sense of place in this story – as there is in other pieces, I particularly enjoyed Eisenberg’s descriptions.

“I was looking out at cliffs and the sea, all sluiced in delicate pinks and yellows and greens and blues, as if the sun were imparting to the sleeping rock and water dreams of their youth, dreams of the rock’s birth in the earth’s molten core, the water’s ecstatic purity before it was sullied by life—as if the play of soft colors were the sun’s lullaby to the cliffs and the sea, of endurance and transformation.”

(Your Duck is My Duck)

Taj Mahal was definitely my favourite story in the collection, and the one I remember best. The story very cleverly moves across time periods and there are shifting perspectives, as a group of ageing movie stars react to the newly published biography of a film director, written by his grandson, based on his childhood memories of visits made to his famous grandfather. A story about the reliability of memory – as the former stars rage and dispute the facts laid out in the biography. Can their memories of the past really be trusted?

“What to do about all this horseshit? Nothing, really, nothing. But still, the ones who are left, those who happen to be in New York – Duncan, Coral, Roman and Luther – have collected, on this glassily brilliant autumn day, in the noisy bar of a restaurant that Roman likes. Emma has been included, too, although if it weren’t for this so-called memoir, these old friends of her mother’s would no doubt have forgotten all about her. Even in the book her existence is confined to pages 48, 49 and 316.”

(Taj Mahal)

In Cross off and Moves on the death notice of a cousin in the newspaper, leads a woman to remember how her difficult mother loathed her father’s sisters. She realises how many things were hidden from her, her memory of her aunts is positive, she recalls their kindness. She spends time trying to piece together the past.

Merge Is the longest story in the collection, and it started out really well, but the ending fell flat for me – and left me a bit confused. It tells the story of Keith, the son of a wealthy man, he has fallen out of favour at home, and is need of employment. He meets Celeste, a young woman a little older than himself, and she finds him work, helping an elderly neighbour of hers and giving him a place to stay while she is away. Keith helps out Mrs Cordis, one particular duty being to walk her dog Moppet. Meanwhile, somewhere a long way from home, Celeste appears to be in trouble of some kind.

The Third Tower was the story that worked least well for me, I found it all rather confusing. The confusion might well be deliberate as it portrays a young woman undergoing some neurological tests. She finds herself refusing to trust the things that are really in her mind but instead allows herself to be influenced by her doctor.

Recalculating is another excellent story; in which Adam a young man from a traditional American community, travels to England to attend the funeral of an uncle he never knew. Adam had often wondered about this uncle, had grown up asking questions which were never satisfactorily answered. Here he meets his Uncle Phillip’s circle of fairly bohemian friends; they all instantly accept Adam and he is drawn into their world.

On the basis of this collection I would definitely be interested in reading more by Deborah Eisenberg, I really liked her writing and her ability at exploring character and place.

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With thanks to the publishers for this review copy.

Laid up still and in pain, this pleasingly chunky collection of short stories by a host of Golden Age Crime writers was just what I needed. I have always loved the sea, I love the sea more than I love boats, though I am quite partial to those little trips they do around the bay at the seaside in summer. All the stories in Deep Waters, concern water of some kind – not always the sea, and many of them concern boats or ships, though we have rivers, canals, garden lakes and a swimming pool too and I was delighted to have a story set in a lighthouse. Edited by Martin Edwards this is a fantastic collection, so completely engrossing, I fairly gulped these stories down.

The collection of sixteen stories opens with The Adventure of the Gloria Scott by Arthur Conan Doyle in which Sherlock Holmes relates one of the stories from his past to Watson. Holmes recalls his old friend; Victor Trevor from his student days, and his father, and a man from the past who turns up and upsets everything – and a letter which seems to bring about Trevor senior’s death.

One of my favourite stories was The Echo of a Mutiny by R. Austen Freeman,it’s a satisfying length too at something like forty pages. Set in a lighthouse – which I found especially pleasing, there s a fantastic tension throughout the story which makes it very compelling. It concerns two old enemies, a terrible secret from the past, and a seemingly perfect murder. In part two we discover how Freeman’s medical detective Thorndyke is able to solve the mystery using meticulous detective work and forensic science.

“It was shortly after passing the buoy that the gaunt shape of a screw-pile lighthouse began to loom up ahead, its dull-eyed paint turned to vermillion by the early afternoon sun. As we drew nearer, the name Girdler, painted in huge, white letters, became visible, and two men could be seen in the gallery around the lantern, inspecting us through a telescope.”

(The Echo of a Mutiny)

The Gift of the Emperor by E W Hornung, is another compelling adventure. Hornung’s famous gentleman thief Raffles is on the trail of a pearl of great price. He and accomplice Bunny end up on board ship, sailing toward the Mediterranean. However, Raffles’ old enemy is on their tail.  

In The Turning of the Tide by C S Forsterwe see everything from the perspective of the potential murderer. Middle aged solicitor Slade has thought of everything, particularly the difficulty of disposing of a body. He feels he has no alternative than to kill the man who knows about his misappropriation of client’s money, if his colleague lives, he will be ruined. There is a marvellously chilling twist in the conclusion of this story.

“Slade thought of other defaulting solicitors he had heard of, even one or two with whom he had come into contact professionally. He remembered his brother-solicitors’ remarks about them, pitying or contemptuous. He thought of having to beg his bread in the streets on his release from prison, of cold and misery and starvation. The shudder which shook him was succeeded by a hot wave of resentment. Never, never would he endure it.”

(The Turning of the Tide)

The Pool of Secrets by Gwyn Evansconcerns a lake in the grounds of a country house. The house has recently passed to the Canadian nephew of Sir Charles; the former owner. Sir Charles’s cousin had reason to be very upset when this new heir was discovered, and the goings on up at the hall has been the subject of local and press speculation. One story that won’t go away is that of the ‘Silver Bride’ that said to haunt the lake at the hall. As Quentin Drex; former secret service man buys a drink in the village pub, a local man stumbles in, telling a terrible tale of the silver bride, who he says has claimed the life of his dog. Drex determines to find out the truth behind the story of the silver bride – and it is rather surprising.

In other stories we find criminals planning their ingenious escapes from their floating crime scenes, victims succumbing to dastardly plans and murderers being caught out by very clever men (I wish they weren’t always men – but oh well). There is poison in a glass of cognac, the ingenious theft of gold bullion, the hard to explain death of a man on his river boat, among other things, plenty of the usual Golden Age ingredients that readers so enjoy. All in all, this was a marvellous anthology of watery stories, each of which is prefaced with a page of biographical information about their authors.

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I do love a book of Persephone short stories, I have now read all the volumes they publish. Whether it be an anthology like this one, or one of the twelve collections by Dorothy Whipple, Margaret Bonham, Katherine Mansfield, Frances Towers and others, I have loved them all. Alongside these writers of other Persephone short story collections, happily sit many other noteworthy writers including; Winifred Holtby, Colette, Lettice Cooper, Rose Macaulay and Carol Shields. In fact, this volume – along with the First book of Persephone Short stories is pretty much my perfect reading material.   

The Second Persephone Book of Short Stories span very nearly a century of women’s writing. Thirty stories arranged chronologically, the first story first appearing in 1896 the final story by Rosamunde Pilcher dating from 1984. Now this volume features one story from each of those other twelve collections, nine stories previously published in the quarterly/biannually magazine, with nine more stories selected especially for this publication. Now here is where I make what might seem a surprising admission. I have loved the quarterly/biannually ever since I began collecting Persephone books, and I eagerly read the reviews and other bits and pieces, however I rarely get around to reading the short stories. For someone who loves short stories that is odd I suppose – but it did mean that there were more stories in this volume I was reading for the first time.

Quite frankly though, those stories that I was reading for the second time were just as good – or even better – second time around. For instance, I was able to anticipate the ending of After Tea (1941) by Dorothy Whipple quite eagerly, knowing what was coming didn’t spoil it at all, I cheered for Christine, trapped in a dull, household with no freedom – all over again. Similarly encountering Katherine Mansfield’s Her First Ball (1921) was a delight, I could read and re-read Mansfield’s stories at any time.  

“She quite forgot to be shy; she forgot how in the middle of dressing she had sat down on the bed with one shoe off and one shoe on and begged her mother to ring up her cousins and say she couldn’t go after all. And the rush of longing she had had to be sitting on the verandah of their forsaken up-country home, listening to the baby owls crying ‘More pork’ in the moonlight, was changing to a rush of joy so sweet that it was hard to bear alone.”

(Her First Ball (1921) Katherine Mansfield)

A few stories, I’ll admit I had forgotten anyway, the Mollie Panter-Downes stories I read so long ago it was almost like reading them for the first time. A Year of Decision (1944) in which a husband; Mark Goring, with ‘a safe’ though important desk job during the war, longs for service, and rather envies the former school friend whose death he sees announced in the newspaper. His wife, in the country with two young children, is naturally grateful that her husband comes home each weekend. Then Mark is called into to see his boss with unexpected results.

“Mark thought of Janet briefly before he nodded and said ‘fine’, and they settled down to details. When he finally got back to his own office, he still couldn’t believe it. After four years of sitting in one place with his nose to the grindstone, the idea of getting on a plane and going somewhere made him feel like a child let out of school.”

(A Year of Decision (1944) by Mollie Panter-Downes)

It’s always hard to review a large volume of stories, all I ever try to do is give something of a flavour. The collection opens with a lovely bittersweet little story; In Dull Brown (1896) by Evelyn Sharp in which a young woman; Jean, who goes out to teach three children each day in their home, meets a young man; Tom Unwin by chance on the omnibus, they exchange a few words. They bump into one another again, then lose sight of each other, each of them clearly remembering the other in the meantime, before meeting again in the park weeks later. Jean thinks young men prefer women who don’t work, who like her pretty younger sister Nancy, stay home by the fire, ready for any gentleman that should call. She is hugely excited therefore when their friendship develops to the point when she can invite Tom home.

“‘Oh, here you are,’ cried Nancy, gliding off the sofa and putting her arms round her in her pretty affectionate manner. ‘Poor Mr Unwin has been waiting quite an hour for you. Whatever made you so late?’

Jean disengaged herself a little roughly, and held out her hand to Tom.

‘Have you been very bored? She asked him with a slight curl of her lip.

‘That could hardly be the case in Miss Nancy’s company,’ he replied in his best manner.”

(In Dull Brown 1896 by Evelyn Sharp)

The final story is Gilbert (1984) by Rosamunde Pilcher in which we meet Bill Rawlins, recently married to Clodagh – making him step-father to two little girls. The children have three pets, Gilbert is a goldfish. One Sunday morning Bill finds himself tested in his new role when, while his wife sleeps, Emily; one of his step-daughters discovers Gilbert floating in the fish tank.

In between these two stories are stories from both Britain and North America, collectively they reflect those changing decades. Several stories are about war in some form. In The Casualty List (1932) by Winifred Holtby – on Armistice Day, an elderly woman looks back to the time of WW1 when she had read the casualty lists in the paper, rolled bandages and knitted socks. Monsieur Rose (1941) by Irène Némirovskytells the story of a wealthy man’s flight from Paris as the Germans arrive.   In Miss Anstruther’s Letters (1942) by Rose Macaulay we find the titular character searching desperately through the rumble of her home for something irreplaceable.

There are also, as I mentioned some wonderful stories from North America including The Bedquilt (1906) by Dorothy Canfield Fisher which tells of the one great moment of joy in a small, forgotten life. Going Home (1942) by Sally Benson in which a servant in New York sets out on a trip home to Washington. Accidents (1983) by Carol Shields in which a man on holiday with his wife is hospitalised following an accident. His wife takes a motherly interest in the young Englishman in the next bed, alone and far from home, very badly injured.

Well I could go on, there are so many stories I haven’t talked about – but this post is already far too long. Suffice to say I can’t recommend this collection highly enough – especially to readers of Twentieth Century women writers.

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With thanks to Virago for providing me with this beautiful designer edition.

I love Edith Wharton and The Ghost Stories of Edith Wharton had been on my wish list for ages – so I was very excited to receive this collection from Virago.

There is a long tradition of the telling of ghost stories, an oral tradition that saw people telling and re-telling the stories known in their own families. People have long delighted in the sharing of such stories. It seems we continue to love to scare ourselves. These stories are very much in the best tradition of ghost stories – they give one a little shiver down the spine, they are deliciously creepy – but they never descend into absolute horror – I can’t really see them as nightmare inducing. They are understated, more Gothic than frightening, beautifully written of course with well-drawn characters.

Edith Wharton’s stories are set in both America and England stories which appeared over a period of more than thirty years, in the first half of the last century. They bear witness to Wharton’s own fascination with hauntings, bewitchments and spirits. From childhood Edith Wharton had been terrified of ghost stories, and in these stories, she has channelled her fears in tales which expose the faults in us mere mortals; betrayal, grief, greed and the misuse of power. They are all endlessly readable.

There are eleven stories in this collection – none of them too short – they are to my mind the perfect length, perfect to settle down with over a cuppa when you get in from work – or at night before bed. I don’t feel I can talk about each story, so as I generally do with story collections, I shall instead just give a flavour of the whole collection and talk about a few favourites.

The collection opens with The Lady Maid’s Bell narrated by the lady maid of the title. Having recently recovered from typhoid, Hartley is in search of a new position. She is told about a Mrs Brympton, a young woman though something of an invalid, she lives all year round at her country home on the Hudson river. Hartley is warned that the house is large and gloomy, and that the lady’s husband is often away. Hartley feels that a quiet place in the country will suit her well having so recently been ill. On arrival at Brympton Place, she is greeted by Mrs Blinder the cook and a friendly housemaid Agnes. Some things feel strange, she hears about her predecessor so long devoted to Mrs Brympton who died the year before. It is explained that should Mrs Brympton want her, Agnes will fetch Hartley, that there will be no summons by bell – as is usual. So, why does Hartley wake suddenly to the sound of a bell? and who was the woman she saw in the corridor outside her room?

In Afterward an American couple seek to buy a house in England, Mary Boyne and her husband settle on Lyng in Dorsetshire. Mary asks about the presence of ghosts and is told: ‘oh, there is one, of course, but you’ll never know it.’ It is further explained that she will never know it till long afterward. Settling happily at Lyng Mary and her husband Ned laughingly look out for their ghost that they will not know about till afterward – not really feeling too worried. However, when Mary sees a figure walking toward the house as she and Ned watch from the roof – she starts to get a feeling for the trouble that will follow.

“Distinctly, yes she now recalled that she had seen, as she glanced, a shadow of anxiety, of perplexity rather, fall across his face; and, following his eyes, had beheld a figure of a man in loose greyish clothes, as it appeared to her – who was sauntering down the lime avenue to the court with the doubtful gait of a stranger who seeks his way.”

For me one of the most enthralling and memorable stories is Kerfol, set in Brittany, where the narrator has been urged by friends to buy a property going – they say – for a song. Deciding to go and view the property the young man is shocked to find his entry to the house is prevented by a pack of vicious, though silent dogs. The reason for the presence of these spectral dogs is told in the story of Anne de Cornault who lived in the house with her husband in the seventeenth century.

In Bewitched we are back in America, and in wintry rural New England landscape three local men, a farmer and two cutters, call at the house of Saul Rutledge another cutter. There they encounter Saul’s wife – beside herself with a tale of witchcraft – she claims that the dead daughter of one man has bewitched her husband over the previous year – leaving him a shadow of his former self. The men, shocked and horrified at such a tale – set out to uncover the validity of her strange claim.  

“As he came in he faced the light from the north window, and Bosworth’s first thought was that he looked like a drowned man fished out from under the ice – ‘self-drowned’ he added. But the snow light plays cruel tricks with a man’s colour, and even with the shape of his features; it must have been partly that, Bosworth reflected, which transformed Saul Rutledge from the straight muscular fellow he had been a year before into the haggard wretch now before them.”

Mr Jones tells the story of another English haunted house. When Lady Jane Lynke inherits the beautiful country house of Bells, she swears she will never leave it. She hasn’t reckoned on Mr Jones however – for everything that she wants to do in her new home she is told by the old servant that Mr Jones won’t like it. Whether it is lighting a fire in the parlour or unlocking the door to the muniment room Mr Jones is apparently consulted and his disapproval communicated to her ladyship. However, Lady Jane has never seen Mr Jones – and when she and her friend begin to investigate, they discover a Mr Jones had been an important servant many decades earlier.

In Pomegranate seed a young woman who is quite newly married to a man who had been previously widowed, is alarmed at the sight of a letter lying on the table addressed to her husband. The letter is one of a series of identical letters, to which her husband reacts very oddly. She becomes fixated on the letters, which her husband won’t talk to her about – and the idea that the writer, who she guesses is a woman – has some terrible hold over him, that the wife is desperate to free him of.

All in all, a pretty perfect collection of stories for the time of year. Ghost stories read well throughout the winter though, so I think this would make a great gift for any Edith Wharton fan come Christmas.

I am currently away on holiday, and there is no Wi-Fi where I am staying (this post uploaded courtesy of a café with sea view.) So, this post will have to suffice until I get home next weekend.

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