'Never mind,' I told myself, 'it's only a nightmare.' But then I remembered that I'd never gone to bed that night, and so it couldn't possibly be a ni'Never mind,' I told myself, 'it's only a nightmare.' But then I remembered that I'd never gone to bed that night, and so it couldn't possibly be a nightmare.
Knowing nothing at all about Leonora Carrington’s writing, I came to this with no preconceptions. I found a set of playful and weird folk tales that often made me smile at some strange mental image.
'White Rabbits' is a vivid and bloody piece of horror that makes a perfect opening. The narrator is drawn into the weird world of her opposite neighbour, who keeps a pack of carnivorous rabbits.
In 'Uncle Sam Carrington', a little girl sets off in search of an unconventional way to solve the problem of her embarrassing aunt and uncle. On her journey she meets fighting vegetables, a talking horse and a pair of witches.
'The Debutante' is the memorable tale of a spoiled debutante who, tired of attending balls thrown in her honour, sends a hyena in her place. You can probably guess how well that turns out.
'The Oval Lady' is like a bizarre dream – or, indeed, one of Carrington's paintings come to life. The same might be said of 'The Seventh Horse', and these two stories come the closest to feeling like Carrington is writing nonsense for the sake of it. There are still striking images and lines to be found in them, however.
'My Flannel Knickers' has a brilliant beginning: 'Thousands of people know my flannel knickers, and though I know this may seem flirtatious, it is not. I am a saint.' It's a dark fable about vanity and social ambition.
'The Skeleton's Holiday' was originally published as part of a collaborative novel, The Man Who Lost His Skeleton, with a group of other surrealist artists. Written in 1939, it is considerably older than the other stories collected here, all of which were first published in 1988. It doesn't make an awful lot of sense in isolation (though I'm willing to bet it doesn't make much more sense in context).
'Why Do You Wear a Cheap Watch?' (1931) starts with the narrator reporting acquaintances' surprise that he wears 'a nickel watch that cost two eighty-'Why Do You Wear a Cheap Watch?' (1931) starts with the narrator reporting acquaintances' surprise that he wears 'a nickel watch that cost two eighty-five, chain included, with a one-year guarantee', despite the fact that his father is a watchmaker. But, as it turns out, there's a good reason for this. Or rather a series of reasons – the narrator's story isn't quite what it seems.
'War Monument or Urinal?' (1932) is an amusing tale of petty bureaucracy in a small town. The trouble starts when a journalist proposes building a new petrol station to attract the custom of the many drivers who pass through. But this will necessitate the demolition of either a war memorial or the town's only public convenience. So begins a back-and-forth between various local figures and political representatives, with predictably inconclusive results.
'Fifty Marks and a Merry Christmas' (1932) is about a couple who write long lists of what they each want for Christmas, anticipating a bonus that will make some of these dreams a reality. But, as Christmas grows closer, it increasingly seems the longed-for bonus is unlikely to materialise. For me, this one outstayed its welcome – it takes far too long to reach a pleasant but saccharine conclusion.
I enjoyed these stories, but wouldn't rush to read more. I was expecting something different (for some reason I think I assumed, when I bought this, that it was non-fiction).
(Review originally published on my blog, October 2015)
First published in 1930, I Am Jonathan Scrivener concerns the unlikely adventures of James Wrexh(Review originally published on my blog, October 2015)
First published in 1930, I Am Jonathan Scrivener concerns the unlikely adventures of James Wrexham, a disillusioned clerk of almost forty who has achieved little in his uneventful life. Wrexham considers himself not only to be a lonely man but to be defined by loneliness, yet - unlike many lonely people - he feels this has enriched his understanding of others.
I have known years of loneliness and there is a type of experience which is revealed only to the lonely. During those years I was forced to learn a good deal about myself and that knowledge taught me what to look for in others. If you have been behind the scenes, you never regain the illusion which belongs to a person who has always been simply a member of the audience.
Fearing stagnation, Wrexham impulsively decides to apply for the job of secretary to Jonathan Scrivener, a 'gentleman of independent means', via an advertisement in the Times. Much to his surprise, Scrivener employs him without the two of them meeting or even speaking. He's even more baffled when Scrivener, who is abroad, issues instructions that Wrexham should move into his flat immediately, make himself comfortable and fully enjoy the advantages of living in London.
This turns out to involve meeting and socialising with Scrivener's many friends, who turn up at his doorstep (and in some cases inside the flat itself) expecting Scrivener to be there. They are: Pauline, a young, beautiful woman with great innocence and an inquisitive nature; Middleton, an alcoholic troubled by his experiences in the war and the loss of his fiancée; Mrs. Bellamy (Francesca), a woman made famous by the suicide of her extremely wealthy husband; and Rivers, a flighty young man and something of a social butterfly. These characters, Pauline and Francesca in particular, are each richly imagined in their own right. What binds them all together, Wrexham included, is a desire for something more than the conventional life they have been offered, and rejection of the options they have before them. But each of them is uncommonly obsessed with Scrivener, something made to seem all the more unusual because they are so different in character, age, class, and experience.
I Am Jonathan Scrivener is very much a book of its time, and it's one of a very, very small number of books (Mrs Dalloway being another) that really made me think about what life and society were actually like during this period. The contrast between the prudish austerity of the Victorian era, so recent in the memories of many, and what is depicted here as the flippancy and flamboyance of 1920s/30s youth; the aftermath of war and the feeling that society was a new, reshaped thing. Wrexham's narrative often involves commentary on London and on society in general, as he observes life in a city much changed from the London of twenty years before. These observations are compelling as a snapshot of this particular period, a world which had seen cataclysmic change and would be upturned again within a decade. They are sometimes amusing because they're still relevant now - and sometimes because they're very much the opposite.
Wherever I went, whatever the time, there were hordes of people—restless, irritable, or apathetic people—staring into shops, herding into 'buses, or waiting impatiently to cross streets which were congested with every type of vehicle, capable of every variety of speed. The gloom, particularly in the faces of the men, was remarkably apparent. In a thousand unsuspected places he results of ordeal by battle were unmistakably clear. These people were weary, sceptical, disillusioned. They sought for pleasure with all the feverish activity of the unhappy.
I discovered that modern people never smile. They either shriek with laughter or look as if funerals were the order of the day. The dignity of which we English used to boast had vanished; everyone was slightly hysterical and seemed to be waiting for something to happen—half hoping that it would, yet half terrified that it might. The conversations I heard were always about money... a car of any sort was regarded as the highest pinnacle of human felicity. The garage has become our spiritual home.
... Everyone was exceedingly class conscious when the plain fact of the matter was that classes had ceased to exist and everyone now belonged to one vast undifferentiated mass. Democracy had triumphed at the precise moment when everyone had ceased to believe in it. Politics had become a longer word for chaos. At the time of which I am writing the Conservatives were in power... The Labour Party was far too busy preparing its programme, or dealing with revolution in its own ranks, or explaining that it had not stolen its panaceas from the Liberals, to spare any time for effective criticisms of the Government's proposals. Meanwhile, as ever, the country was run by the Civil Service.
At one point, someone makes the remark 'something will turn up - another war or something' - a comment that would have made me roll my eyes had I encountered it in a contemporary novel set in 1930, yet it seems fascinating to find it here.
This is also a very funny book, albeit one with a rather dry sense of humour. One of the most amusing scenes occurs when Rivers takes Wrexham to a Japanese restaurant, a place he clearly finds confounding in the extreme.
It was at this point that the first course appeared. It consisted of odds and ends of dry, very dead-looking things. I tried one which looked like a mushroom of great antiquity, but it turned out to be raw fish.
Although it resembled spaghetti, recent experience had proved that in this restaurant things were not what they seemed. Nor did the fact that one solitary prawn crowned the writhing pyramid inspire me with any confidence. "Looks like spaghetti," said Rivers, "but it isn't." I waited, hoping he would say what it was, but he began to eat in the manner of one performing a rite.
As tactfully as possible I inquired whether coffee in this restaurant in any way resembled the beverage usually associated with the word. On being assured that it did, I accepted a cup. It was coffee. I drank it quickly, fearful that its surroundings might pervert it.
Other highlights include a soup containing 'long weeds' which resemble 'serpents who had died in youth', and desserts that look like 'small, petrified bats'. In fact, many of the book's funniest moments involve Wrexham's interactions with Rivers. He is the 'light relief' character, the least obvious fit for Scrivener's group of friends, seeming to lack the others' yearning for a unique sense of being, and his cheerful volatility appears to bring out the best of Wrexham's dry wit:
Rivers was an entirely new experience for me. Not only had I never met anyone remotely like him, but I had never imagined such a person as a possibility.
... He paused, studied me with the eyes of a superman, then asked if I could lend him a tenner. The atmosphere was so charged with the philosophy of "live dangerously" that I said "yes".
Naturally, given the strange circumstances surrounding Scrivener's character, the plot progresses as a mystery, as Wrexham tries to piece together the reasons for his employer's patronage of such a mismatched group of individuals - not to mention his own mysterious installation in the role of secretary. If this was a modern novel, it would no doubt build to some revelation about Scrivener - he doesn't really exist, or he's several people, or Wrexham himself turns out to be Scrivener, or something. But while the ending holds a small twist, the story is less about this conundrum than the fact that it brings Wrexham into the others' orbit and transforms not only his day-to-day existence, but his whole belief system. Similarly, while it becomes apparent towards the end that Wrexham is an unreliable narrator - something particularly evident when he speaks of a hitherto unmentioned love for Pauline and also alludes to having been affected by an unknown event, years ago, 'which made me content to become a spectator of life' - we never get to know anything more about him than he has disclosed. That event, whatever it was, remains concealed.
In the final few chapters, Wrexham's grip on reality loosens; he becomes both paranoid and intensely philosophical, puzzles out the connections between Scrivener's friends, and at the same time imagines they might really have been Scrivener's accomplices, acting out parts, and that Scrivener's servant is spying on him. I Am Jonathan Scrivener is a sort of mystery, making it a compulsive read, but more than that it is simply a story about people, their psychology, their differences and depths of character, what they might be driven to accept or reject given a wealth of opportunities. Through his characters, especially his brilliantly drawn women, Claude Houghton explores the questions any person might ask about their own life, and depicts a search for meaning and purpose that is timeless - but the fact that this is so clearly positioned in the time it was written gives it an extra layer of interest for the modern reader, since it shows how social turbulence and the after-effects of conflict might contribute to such existential interrogation....more
A really delightful, beautifully written, evocative novella with a number of truly unexpected twists. In a formula apparently typical of Zweig, the naA really delightful, beautifully written, evocative novella with a number of truly unexpected twists. In a formula apparently typical of Zweig, the narrator introduces himself and the circumstances of his tale - he is staying in a hotel where the guests are gossiping about a married female guest who has seemingly run away with a younger man - before the real story, told by another character to the narrator, unfolds. In this case, the subject of the main narrative is an older woman who relates an incident from her past which she has never before confessed to anyone, and still feels a great deal of guilt about; the events she describes all took place within a period of 24 hours. The setup of this story struck me as quite similar to Balzac's The Wild Ass's Skin, which I read recently - in both books the story begins with a young man gambling away the last of his money in a casino, after which he determines to commit suicide. In Zweig's book, this is observed by the woman, who follows him and attempts to dissuade him from this course of action. The narrative creates a vivid, emotional picture of the events that unfold and the effect they have on those involved, and I was surprised by how things turned out in the end. Another short book that is more than worth the time it takes to read....more
As usual, I find myself with nothing to say about a classic novel except that it deserves its status as a classic; I wish I'd read it sooner, though IAs usual, I find myself with nothing to say about a classic novel except that it deserves its status as a classic; I wish I'd read it sooner, though I can't decide whether I'd have appreciated it more or less when I was younger; and it will stick with me for a long time. Very simply written but it often feels profound in a quite startling way. I didn't love it when I was reading it, maybe because I found parts of it a bit close to the bone, but I now find that I want to read more Rhys.
A room is a place where you hide from the wolves outside and that's all any room is.
My life, which seems simple and monotonous, is really a complicated affair of cafés where they like me and cafés where they don't, streets that are friendly, streets that aren't, rooms where I might be happy, rooms where I never shall be, looking glasses I look nice in, looking glasses I don't, dresses that will be lucky, dresses that won't, and so on.
I have an irresistible longing for a long, strong drink to make me forget that once again I have given damnable human beings the right to pity me and laugh at me....more
A charming collection of short stories themed around the subject of love, most of which feel light and flippant on the surface, with an element of humA charming collection of short stories themed around the subject of love, most of which feel light and flippant on the surface, with an element of humour; many of which, however, contain a certain darkness. The title story contains a pair of seventeen-year-olds who meet and fall for each other on a train journey, but their relationship is scuppered by their youth, inexperience and naivety. In 'Feuille d'Album', a painter who rejects the advances of numerous women becomes obsessed with a neighbour he watches from afar. 'Mr and Mrs Dove' is about a man whose feelings for the object of his affection are not returned as ardently as he might hope. 'Marriage à la Mode' is a funny and poignant tale in which a husband desperately tries to recapture the attention of his wife, who is more interested in having fun with a group of their friends. 'Bliss', which was my favourite of the stories in the book, also concerns a marriage; at a dinner party, the protagonist is overwhelmed first by what seems to be desire for a female guest, then by lust for her own husband, before the ending throws in a startling, sad twist. 'Honeymoon' illustrates the differing attitudes and dreams of a young couple on honeymoon - it reminded me of a few of the relationship-focused stories in Daphne du Maurier's The Doll. In 'A Dill Pickle', two former lovers meet in a café and reflect on their regrets, and the changes in their lives since they last met. Finally, in the very short scene depicted in 'Widowed', a woman remembers the moment she heard of her late husband's death.
The stories I enjoyed most were those that seemed the most fully realised: some felt like scenes torn from a longer piece, and several of the endings were too abrupt (as is often the case with stories of this length). As a whole, they provide a view of romantic relationships that is somewhat bleak, with the strength of one party's feelings rarely being returned in quite the same way. I liked this collection and it was interesting to analyse the stories' meanings, but I felt they were lacking in the depth and complexity I had been hoping for, having not read Mansfield before. I suppose I was anticipating more overt darkness and sadness rather than the subtle implication of it displayed here. I would read more by Mansfield, but having completed this I wouldn't say I am chomping at the bit to do so.
This is one of those books that's so famous, so frequently talked about, I feel there's very little point in writing anything much about it at all, buThis is one of those books that's so famous, so frequently talked about, I feel there's very little point in writing anything much about it at all, but for the sake of recording something, here are some notes.
I've said the 'admired it rather than liked it' thing about so many books now, it's starting to sound tired: still, it's a useful distinction. I'm certainly glad I've read this. I was instantly able to see its influence on other things I've read - an example that instantly sprung to mind was the memorably fluid party scene in Alan Hollinghurst's The Stranger's Child - and I generally enjoy stream-of-consciousness narratives, so at the beginning I found it quite joyful to read. That wore thin, though, after a while. I felt continually outside the narrative, observing the style rather than enjoying the story.
Similarly, 'I didn't relate to the characters' has become so widely mocked as a reason for not loving a book, it seems pointless to say it. But it was a problem for me here, and another thing that contributed to the fact that I felt a coldness towards the story, a detachedness.
I think part of the problem stemmed (no pun intended) from the well-known opening line: 'Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself.' With that as the starting point, plus the bits and pieces I know about Woolf herself, I'd imagined a completely different sort of story, and I'd been carrying this (albeit vague) image around in my head for years. Stupidly, I had no idea Mrs Dalloway was a snapshot of (mainly) upper-class society - a subgenre I've encountered many times before, even if this one is written in a very different fashion to others I've read.
See? Not much point in writing any of this down, and I'm finding it very difficult to come up with anything more, which makes it sound as if I hated it - and I definitely didn't, but the pleasure of reading it lay more in observing the story than inhabiting it. I found it impressive rather than engaging and discernibly 'significant' rather than memorable for its own sake....more
I rarely read classics these days, always feel I should be reading more, and always approach them with a certain amount of trepidation: will I enjoy tI rarely read classics these days, always feel I should be reading more, and always approach them with a certain amount of trepidation: will I enjoy them? Will I 'get' them? Does it mean I'm stupid, or just plain wrong, if I don't? These concerns evaporated as soon as I started reading The Great Gatsby: it's so seductive and atmospheric that I was instantly swept away and didn't want to put it aside or stop thinking about it. A luminous and haunting story with memorable characters, elegant prose and many very striking scenes. Wish I'd read it sooner!...more
As a lover of ghostly and supernatural fiction in general, I've been meaning to get acquainted with the stories of M.R. James for quite some time. I'mAs a lover of ghostly and supernatural fiction in general, I've been meaning to get acquainted with the stories of M.R. James for quite some time. I'm well aware of the inspiration these classic tales have provided to the writers of many of my favourites, and I'm glad to have read them as I know how seminal they were/are in terms of this particular genre. Having familiarised myself with James' style, I can certainly recognise its influence in many other spooky tales I've enjoyed, though I do wish I could have read these at the time of their publication, when, I imagine, the creepy happenings they detail would have seemed far more terrifying.
The problem for a modern reader is that these stories have been used as inspiration, reworked and expanded so many times by other authors. If you're a regular reader of ghost stories, it's likely you will have come across rehashed versions of these tales many times over. This doesn't make them any less accomplished, but it does dent their power to inspire shock and fear, and their brevity sometimes makes them feel unfinished. As with any compilation - for example Edgar Allan Poe's Selected Tales - some of the themes become noticeably repetitive over this many short stories. They're nearly all told from a point of view that's one or even two degrees removed from the person experiencing the events described, which is a good device as it makes you feel as if you're being told something that might just be true by a friend of a friend; the disadvantage is that, over 19 separate stories, this becomes a bit frustrating and you long to hear one of these accounts straight from the horse's mouth.
My favourites of the stories were: 'Lost Hearts' - creepy and effective; the involvement of children intensifies this, notably in the case of Stephen's dream and his sighting of the two ghosts. 'The Mezzotint' - very simple, but there's something particularly eerie about the idea of a picture that moves/changes. 'Oh Whistle, and I'll Come To You, My Lad' - this was adapted for television last Christmas, and while I've got to say I prefer the version of the tale told by the TV version (I know some fans of James complained about the changes, but it HAD to be properly fleshed out otherwise it wouldn't have been substantial enough for an adaptation), the original story is very enjoyable too. The idea of the cloth figure sitting bolt upright in bed during the dead of night is especially frightening! 'Number 13' - again, a very simple but effective idea; a hotel room that appears and disappears between its neighbours, with a devilish occupant. Plays very cleverly on the sense of displacement and confusion many of us experience when staying in an unfamiliar place. 'The Tractate Middoth' - this has the most developed and involving plot of the collection, with the terrifying figure appearing in the library, followed by Garrett's race to stop the parcel containing the mysterious book reaching its destination. 'Casting the Runes' - this also seems one of the most developed, and creates a rather dastardly villain in the shape of Mr Karswell (I loved the detail of his horrifying 'slide show' for the town's children!) Harrington and Dunning conspiring to return the paper to Karswell provides a further intriguing note of drama towards the end.
Altogether, while this collection may not actually 'keep you up at night' as the title promises, I would thoroughly recommend it as essential reading for any lover of ghost stories.
***
Complete list of stories: 1. Canon Alberic's Scrap-Book 2. Lost Hearts 3. The Mezzotint 4. The Ash-Tree 5. Number 13 6. Count Magnus (Oh Whistle, and I'll Come To You, My Lad - in the book but not listed in the contents) 7. The Treasure of Abbot Thomas 8. A School Story 9. The Rose Garden 10. The Tractate Middoth 11. Casting the Runes 12. The Stalls of Barchester Cathedral 13. Martin's Close 14. Mr. Humphreys and His Inheritance 15. The Residence at Whitminster 16. The Diary of Mr. Poynter 17. An Episode of Cathedral History 18. The Story of a Disappearance and an Appearance 19. Two Doctors...more
I loved this collection of short stories. The writing is absolutely excellent - the perfect balance of intrigue, satire and subtlety, with a hint of hI loved this collection of short stories. The writing is absolutely excellent - the perfect balance of intrigue, satire and subtlety, with a hint of humour. The tales are just macabre enough to hold your attention without being too obvious or sensational, and they're all the perfect length. My favourite thing about many of these stories was that they are very open-ended, open to all kinds of interpretation - the ghostly, the metaphorical, the satirical. 'The Eyes' was genuinely frightening, aside from being brilliantly original, and I thought 'Kerfol', with its (literally) haunting dogs, was fantastic. I took this out from the library but will probably buy it at some point as I know I will want to read these stories again....more
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