Amalia Gkavea
‘'A sweet, spring darkness and the cherry blossom smelling in all the pleasant gardens. The blossom whitened in the April evening. In some rooms in the decorous streets lights were coming on. In some - really rather prettily, she thought, ‘I don't know why I ever despised them ‘ - the lights of television sets flickered blue. Dark as it was someone was giving his patch of grass the first mowing of the year in St Agnes Road and the wet, summer, heartbreaking smell of the sap hit her as she stepped from the cab at the door of the church. It seemed the smell of all her life - the essence of the best of all her life - a new moon, she thought, suburban grass and summer coming. She thought how happy she had been in this place.''
I am ashamed to admit that I had never explored Jane Gardam's work before this collection attracted my attention. Its cover spoke to me. It felt so contradictory, yet genuinely ‘English', not to mention that short stories melt my reading heart. It was one of the wisest reading choices I've ever made because this collection is pure gold and Jane Gardam is one of the genre's queens.
‘'She had left London with the grass on Barnes Common brightening and long and all the candles shining on the avenue of chestnuts that crosses the pretty railway line. London had had the smell of summer - airy and fresh. Here there was grit in the air and rubbish blew about the streets like rags.''
In the extraordinary, heart-breaking Hetty Sleeping, a young mother meets the man she has never forgotten while on vacation with her children and in the deliciously British Gothic story A Spot of Gothic a newcomer to a picturesque village has to come to terms with the suspicious friendliness of its inhabitants and its ghosts. The Pig Boy makes poignant remarks on the way a wife has to put up with loneliness and cultural shock while waiting for her husband to ‘come and rescue her', in a land where the ‘foreign' city, its ugliness and the isolation within the crows come in stark contrast to the familiar warmth of London. But is she really unhappy or has she found the means to fight the feeling of Otherness? At first glance, Rode by All With Pride is about the dreams and aspirations parents project on their children and their disappointment when their offspring stick to their own choice but this story delves deeper and deeper until its dubious ending.
‘'Perhaps, thought Veronica, if you live so closely, so densely together, you have to develop this isolation. Nobody noticed her, walking, walking, marching, marching. And, she turned off into a side street for no real reason and marched on she realised that she had stopped being unhappy.''
The Easter Lilies contains some of the most beautiful, moving descriptions of calm, spring evenings while The Pangs of Love is a spirited, subversive retelling/continuation of Andersen's The Little Mermaid through the eyes of the youngest mermaid who didn't have the chance to meet her legendary sister and tell her what a fool she was to sacrifice everything for the sake of a mere man. Stone Trees is a moving study of bereavement, set on the Isle of Wight and An Unknown Child is a heartfelt account of a miscarriage that threatens to tear a couple apart, set in the mysterious land of Northern Italy.
‘'We are the elect. By many we suppose we are considered dreadful. We are all true blue, even if we are radicals, or the odd eccentric socialist. We are staunch, we are loyal, we are innocent in a way, bless us. We are rather happy people and when bad times come we comfort one another.''
Swan deals with the unique cruelty of children and Damage is a confession of family issues, language and regrets. Groundlings is an elegy for a bygone era of British Theatre in a country where the greatest of visual arts is a universe on its own. In Light, Gardam narrates a legend from the Himalayas, vastly different to the subtle sarcasm and sadness communicated in the quintessentially British Miss Mistletoe. From London to Cremona, Telegony is an acute apology for the well-known, criticised Englishness that can drive you mad.
‘'It was January. The park was cold and dead. The grass was thin and muddy and full of puddly places and nobody in the world could feel the better for seeing a blade of it. Plants were sticks. There were no birds yet about the trees, and the water in the lake and all round the little island was heavy and dark and still, like forgotten soup.''
Gardam uses Magical Realism at its finest in The Boy Who Turned Into a Bike, a story of young love and regrets, while family issues become prominent once again in Missing the Midnight but with a rather hopeful outcome. The Green Man pays homage to one of the longest-standing British traditions, the Green Man, the protector of Nature, the one who watches all, the misunderstood. It is a true masterpiece of a story. Tragic and moving and poignant as is Soul Mates, a tale of mystery, eerie and complex.
‘'In winter all the lights are out along the river - only the occasional window shining high up in the Shell building and the odd street-lamp on the bridge. As the dawn comes up somebody, somewhere switches on long necklaces of light-bulbs, pink and gold, all along the riverside terraces. They come on as it gets light.''
This is only a handful of the beautiful stories included in the collection. Jane Gardam writes about everyday people, people like you and me, caught in the risks of what we have come to call ‘'our daily life'', situations that are potentially trickier and more sinister than the uncunniest of tales. In ‘ordinary' tales that are odes to human emotions, set in a plethora of places from London to Tibet, from Italy to Hong Kong, The Stories has earned its place in my most treasured short stories collections.
‘'He will watch in secret. You can see carvings of him in churches like this. Watching you. It has always been so. He has always been there. Sometimes he is a leaf-mask on a frieze. Sometimes he looks like leaves only.''
‘'Human beings, it seems to me, are dependent on story - stories - painted on cave walls, sung on jangling instruments, chanted or spoken in lullaby from their beginnings. Children deprived of stories grow up bewildered by their own boredom.'' Jane Gardam
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
I won't waste your time with a synopsis. The blurb is there for all to see and it's quite accurate. One Day is one of my favourite novels and I was beyond excited to read You Are Here. When I was approved for an ARC, I began to read immediately, literally devouring the short chapters. Unfortunately, it was a thundering disappointment.
Marnie initially came across as a character of my heart. Bookish, stuck in a job which gives her little satisfaction of late, cherishing her independence, with a deep love for London. I mean come on, she carries her much-loved Wuthering Heights paperback everywhere. This alone should have been enough to make me adore her. And I did, I swear to God I did, until she started to make an utter fool of herself. She became insufferable. The way she throws herself into a heinous secondary character is embarrassing. Her bimbo-girly giggles at the most inappropriate of times. I am sorry to say that she acted like the exact type of woman I loathe and she ruined the entire novel for me. After all, when you have a weak main character in a story of 300+ pages and a cast of two characters (almost exclusively...), the odds are not in the reader's favour. I actually felt sorry for Michael for having to deal with three banshees. Marnie, Nat and Cleo. Their characters were sex-starved hyenas.
No, thank you. I am a scholar, not an idiot.
Now Michael seemed to me as the driving force of the novel. A man in love with his loneliness, insecure but true to his principles, condemned to meet women who want to change him because THEY ARE WOMEN AND THEY ARE ALWAYS RIGHT, DAMN IT! I am so tired of this bloody trope in Contemporary Literature. Just stop.
In fact, I felt that poor Michael put up with Marnie's idiotic irony for far too long. But then again, we teachers are blessed with endless patience when dealing with all kinds of idiots. In any case, these two are important contestants in the competition for the most boring, lifeless, irritating couple in literary history. Characterization in combination with dialogue that seemed straight off the cheesiest Hollywood rom-coms made for illiterate zombies turned this novel into a nightmare.
It's a pity. It truly is because Nicholls excels in creating atmosphere and in communicating the sense of place through vivid descriptions. I could ‘'see'' London, the moors and the rugged beauty of the British coast. Even the various hotels and B & Bs. And then, you have a short scene describing an unnecessary, shocking death and Marnie's response was so inappropriate I would have slapped her right there and then had she been an actual person crossing my path. Girl, you want to open your legs, we get it. Have some decency, for God's sake! Find a bush or something.
So, 300 + pages of two cardboard boxes walking and walking. And talking and talking. Do I need pages after pages after pages of interactions that make me vomit and a female protagonist who embarrasses herself every time she opens her stupid mouth? I certainly don't. For me, this novel is easily included in the disasters of this reading year.
Many thanks to Hodder & Stoughton and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
‘'There was nothing more likely to convince me that being married was not for me than this business of women calling themselves by their husband's name. Mrs Green's name was Charlotte but here she was, signing herself ‘T.H.' because those were her husband's initials. As if she was just a female reflection of him.''
Oxford 1880s. Jesus College has recently (and rather reluctantly...) decided to accept ‘female' students due to the untiring efforts of pioneers. Rhiannon, a young woman who is every bit the feisty, no-nonsense Welsh, is a brilliant example of the true scholar. Her mind is as sharp as her tongue and the academic circus (because that's what it is, actually...) isn't ready to accept that such a creature exists. When a mysterious death takes place, she joins forces with Basil, a professor who is a bright example of a kind educator. So, what do we get when two bright examples meet? A fascinating mystery.
‘'Social conventions aren't there to keep society civilised, they're there to keep society as men want it. And I refuse to abide by them in my own home.''
Yes, we have a plethora of murder mysteries set in the Victorian Era with a woman and a man trying to figure out the solution to the puzzle and Dark Academia has been all the rage lately. However, Alis Hawkins's novel isn't just another book falling into the genre. First and foremost, Rhiannon is one hell of a character. You'll adore her to pieces (unless you are a brainless being in which case you are NOT allowed to have an opinion). Her intelligence, her courage, her affinity for learning, her stubbornness, her refusal to conform or act against her principles. She is bold as brass and to Hell with it. Sure, some actions of hers may seem irrational and spontaneous but every strong personality rushes to action. The rest of the characters are well drawn and although Basil cannot be compared to the force of Nature that is Rhiannon, his struggles, doubts and insecurities are depicted with clarity and sensitivity.
‘'-Is that not what all women aspire to? Their own household, husband, children?''‘'- No. Some women - far more of us than you might imagine - would prefer to see a world where women can also live full and fulfilling lives while remaining unmarried.''
The atmosphere is impeccable. Dark Academia is particularly fascinating and the scope is focused on the academic community with an emphasis on the manipulation of Medicine to lure the weak-minded. Also, Rhiannon's love and longing for her homeland is tangible and touching.
And it's about time to realise that some of us do NOT want to become mothers and we do NOT want to get married. Period. DEAL WITH IT!
Many thanks to Canelo Crime and The Pigeonhole for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
‘'They couldn't see for miles and miles the hills in the far distance, so they weren't encouraged to wonder what lay beyond. There was just land, then trees. But with the horizon invisible, there wasn't much of that. Just dead grass and mud under my feet and mist greying out any bits of colour. In the sun, the haws and rosehips would've been bright as jewels in the hedges, but now you couldn't see them unless you went right up close.''
Many thanks to Canelo Crime and The Pigeonhole for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
''It was amazing how quiet London could be. Not only in the big parks, but in great walled enclosures like the Temple or in the old churches like St Bartholomew's, there was a silence that seemed to take one back for centuries. Even here in the City the office buildings rising high over the narrow streets provided a screen so that the sounds of London's busy traffic could scarcely be heard. She glanced up at the sky. Still blue.''
''After the rain, the last of the daylight came riding over Mynydd Mawr with the crows. The mountain choked on torrents of white water and the bracken smelled of its colour. From the shadows of the sycamore tree, the old horse emerged and nibbled at the edges of the puddles. The world had awakened again just in time for dusk.''
One of the best volumes of the series. These are my favourite stories in the collection.
General Impression of Size and Shape (Rosalind Brown: An adultery leading to break - up, narrated within the context of birds and their symbolism. A story written in haunting language.
When the Nightjar Sleeps (Andrew Michael Hurley): A young boy is haunted by the death of his father and the mysteries of the moors.
The Sea In Me (Krishan Coupland): The whimsical, bittersweet story of a young girl who tries to survive her mother's fixation on her future career. A tender tale, told in the distinctive, gloomy British style I adore.
Safe (Vesna Main): A violent, yet extremely poignant story of abuse and revenge
Never Thought He'd Go: Four youths must face the consequences of the tragic mess they've created.
Later he heard of men seeking him by the fields and the canal, all the way to the river. It was lugged up with leaves, rotting pieces of wood from old boats, heads of elderflower glowing their clouds of white, cartons, dust, shadows and leaves, floating downstream.''
The Wind Calling (Deirdre Shanahan): An atmospheric tale with a Romani touch of first love, summer freedom and the dreams of youth that are seldom fulfilled.
Is-and (Claire Dean): The best story in the collection. A modern twist to the legend of the Changeling. What a terrific short film this would make!
This Skin Doesn't Fit Me Any More (Eliot North): A mysterious story of a family that hides more than meets the eye and a deeply disturbed boy.
Language (Daisy Johnson): Daisy Johnson creates one more masterpiece in a story of infatuation, motherly love, selfishness and the denial to move on.
Matt and Julia have more in common than meets the eye. Both use their careers as an anchor to the reality around them, both have been facing family issues all their lives and both have grandmothers in an assisted living home. There is one more problem, though. They have never met each other. When the intertwined fates of their relatives bring them together through cardboard boxes and a few agitated phone calls, a tender story of love and grief unfolds.
To say this is a beautiful love story is an understatement. Matt and Julia's stories evoke routes through difficult paths. Love, loss, grief, despair. The ever-problematic question of the family that should have been a shelter instead of a prison. The daily nightmare that is Alzheimer's when you witness your loved one wasting away, all memories lost. And this accidental meeting (or phone call...) that might - just might- change your life.
With traces of Magical Realism used to perfection without being a cheap, fashionable gimmick and a poignant approach towards sensitive subjects like Alzheimer's and suicide, Kerry Lonsdale creates a story to be remembered.
Many thanks to Lake Union Publishing and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
This journey in the folklore of Britain and Ireland will bring us to Lothian, one of the ancient kingdoms of Scotland that took its name from Loth, King Arthur's brother-in-law, and more specifically in the district of Midlothian whose heart beats in Edinburgh.
We meet an elderly lady whose passion for her apple tree leads to a visit from Death and a clever trick, we uncover four mysterious small coffins whose origin and purpose remain unknown to this day and did you know that in Edinburgh's Grassmarket, an ass of a man once sold his wife by public auction? In Newhaven, a young woman and her baby become the tree to protect and bless their village while the fights between Catholics and Protestants are never far away.
In another outstanding legend, a young woman named Maggie was hanged and lived twice because everything can happen in Scotland... Another girl discovers that her father takes part in dark rituals in a tale that will freeze your blood. Speaking for myself, I had my answer as to what is that small statue of a Moor near Canongate. We are given a lovely, spirited version of Grimm's tale The Elves and the Shoemaker, and we meet a brilliant girl who refused to marry a brutish idiot, tricking him into marrying a horse. And, naturally, we have highwaymen, Grey Ladies, Hell Hounds and Selkies.
Lea Taylor is an extraordinary storyteller. She creates wonders by mixing the past and the present, the legends and the details of daily life, and breathes life into tales that echo the spirit of one of the most beautiful regions of our world.
This is my favourite volume in the series, and reading it was a true privilege.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.co
If you read only ONE book on the Troubles, one of the worst moments Europe has ever witnessed in its History, let it be THIS one. It's impossible to put into words the impact Campbell's chronicle had on me, even though I have read several books on the subject and have visited Belfast and Derry numerous times.
I have nothing more to say. Let me leave these quotes here, showcasing the ‘‘justice'' of the British Government...
From a press conference held by seven Derry priests on 31 January 1972:''We accuse the Colonel of the Parachute Regiment of wilful murder. We accuse the Commander of Land Forces of being an accessory before the fact. We accuse the soldiers of shooting indiscriminately into a fleeing crowd, of gloating over casualties, of preventing medical and spiritual aid reaching some of the dying. It is untrue that shots were fired at the troops in Rossville Street before they attacked. It is untrue that any of the dead or wounded that we attended were armed.We make this statement in view of the distorted and indeed conflicting reports put out by army officers. We deplore the action of the army and government in employing a unit such as the paratroopers who were in Derry yesterday. These men are trained criminals. They differ from terrorists only in the veneer of respectability that a uniform gives them.''
Many thanks to Octopus Publishing and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
‘'God?' The voice was shaky, close to tears. ‘Are you there? Can I talk to you?' There was a pause while God and the other child both held their breath, then nothing. God had lost him. God jumped up and stood on his chair, putting his face close to the planet as it hung there. Even in the darkness he could see the white of the poles, some jet-streams, clouds. He could not, of course, see the boy who had whispered to him. ‘Hello,' he whispered back, his lips touching the exosphere. ‘It's me. I'm right here.'
Some Rain Must Fall: As a teacher whose students primarily belong to the ages of 6 and 12, this story struck a particular chord. Frances is called to substitute a teacher who left her position due to mysterious (for us readers) circumstances. Her calm manner and kindness for the children provide the shelter the little ones desperately need. And all the while, the rain falls and falls...A tender and shocking story.
Fish: A mother and a daughter try to survive in a post-apocalyptic world that puts their lives and their relationship at risk. Faber turns a world where fish float in the air into a masterpiece of psychological horror.
In Case of Vertigo: A nun living alone in absolute isolation shows us the beauty of Life and the merciless presence of Death.
Toy Story: In a moving, bittersweet story, God-child discovers the Earth in the discarded junk of an abandoned universe.
Miss Fatt and Miss Thinne: Miss Fatt is a voluptuous aspiring actress and Miss Thinne is a slender, polite nurse. Best friends for years, they excel in their respective fields. Until one day, Miss Fatt decides to eat more and more and Miss Thinne decides to stop eating altogether. And their world crumbles...
Half a Million Pounds and a Miracle: A quirky duo is in charge of the renovations in St Hilda's church in Scotland. But what happens when the statue of the Virgin Mary is smashed beyond repair?
The Red Cement Truck: In a brilliant story that will make you extremely uncomfortable, a woman haunts her murderer in the most unusual of ways. Somewhere Warm and Comfortable: An eleven-year-old, who is too eager to become a man, is initiated into the world of teens and their irresponsibility the hard way...
Nina's Hand: In a touching story, Nina's right hand chronicles her emotional demise.
The Crust of Hell: What happens to a raindrop after it hits the soil of the desert? This is the beginning of Ivan's research in Africa as we witness the dynamics in his family, in a place forgotten and - potentially - hostile.
The Gossip Cell: This story was disappointing. I have no time to care about the hysterics and sexual frustration of a family of utter idiots.
Accountability: A thirteen-year-old girl tries to save herself and her grandmother from the abuse of her stepfather. Set in a city close to Melbourne, this story will make your blood run cold.
Pidgin American: In a poignant story full of wit and bittersweet nostalgia, we follow a young Polish woman's observations of London, Poland, and questions of cultural identity. A marvellous example of remarking without ‘preaching'.
The Tunnel of Love: Two people with troubled troubled pasts and troubling presents try to make ends meet in the toxic field of the sex industry.
Sheep: Five artists are practically imprisoned in a remote estate in the Scottish Highlands by an ‘'Art Lover''. It pains me to say that this story felt incomprehensible and devoid of any meaning whatsoever. Not the best way to end an, otherwise, memorable collection...
Recently, Ralph Fiennes, one of the greatest actors to ever grace this miserable planet, received the venom of woke fiends, pseudo-feministic Meanads and the rest of the illiterate TikTok mob who have the notion they belong in the human race. Why? Because he claimed that having trigger warnings in Theatre is completely pointless, that the audience of today has gone all soft, naive, and frankly, unable to think straight.
Same goes for the readers of today. Short stories are meant to make you uncomfortable, to question everything. Don't like it? Don't read it! Don't watch it! Leave the rest of us (who are the VAST majority) to enjoy it. And have a bath. Or two. You stink stupid.
In other news, Faber's debut collection showcases his unique talent.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com
‘'Tuppence for a bag of salt, tuppence for a bag of pins. Tuppence for a dead man's hand, tuppence and I'll eat thy sins.''
Well, I thought I would finish this collection within three days but work and life in general got in the way. This was for the better since I had the chance to truly savour each story, to fully experience the darkness and the eerie silence of each tale. As February ends and the nights get shorter and shorter, this beautiful volume seems only appropriate for me to bid goodbye to an excellent winter (reading-wise, mind you...)
Mainly set during the days leading to Christmas, in a variety of places and eras, these stories will transport you to haunted mansions and theatres, to wuthering moors and threatening marshes, to foreboding churches and graveyards. Spirits that seek justice and mortals that seek wealth or validation will lead you to a wintery world where the holly and the ivy bear blood and not white blossoms...
Host (Kiran Millwood Hargrave): An affluent couple wants to communicate with the spirit of their daughter. They obey the medium's wishes, but their despair will cause all Hell to break loose. There's been a plethora of medium stories lately, but this one is quite unusual, and atmospheric.
Inferno (Laura Shepherd-Robinson): A man who tries to escape from the sins he has committed, finds refuge in a strange villa in Lake Garda, inhabited by an enchanting young woman and an elderly servant. The end will shock you and the story itself is a masterpiece of twists and psychological terror.
‘'All the children in town knew the story of the Old Play, even if they'd never seen it. Parents would tell it to them at bedtime. Everyone knew the plot - how the beautiful Maiden Queen was bewitched by the Tuppenny Hag and put to sleep in the faraway world. How the Tuppenny Hag tempted the Beggar to take the Maiden Queen's golden locker, which he did so as to feed his starving family. How the Greenwood Folk offered to guide him out of the forest but led him to the Magistrate instead, who pronounced him a sentence of death.''
The Old Play (Andrew Michael Hurley): Oh, my God, what a story! An actor, who has a few demons to fight, prepares for the annual performance of a strange Christmas play. However, tonight's show is special...I've always thought there is something eerie when it comes to the backstage energy and the preparation of a play and here this aura of uneasiness and nervousness is communicated to perfection. One of the most unique stories I've ever read.
‘'Nobody should be in the attic. Nobody should be sewing on the machine. It simply cannot be. And yet it rumbles on. Outside the wind is blundering about the house, and the sea on my horizon is roaring, but still the rattle of the sewing machine penetrates it all, persistent, accusatory, until I press the pillow over my head to block it out, and still the noise comes and comes. Even when I take the laudanum I keep at my bedside the rhythm penetrates its fog: ‘It's me,' it seems to purr. ‘It's me, it's me, it's me.''
A Double Thread (Imogen Hermes Gowar): A selfish woman has moved to Penzance, haunted by a family scandal. Her one concern is the outstanding silk gown she wants to prepare for Christmas. Her new seamstress is impeccable but even that is not enough for such an entitled, spoiled human being. Even though the ending may seem predictable, Imogen Hermes Gowar creates an eerie story and a protagonist that is insufferable, yet fascinating.
The Salt Miracles (Natasha Pulley): A priest travels to the remote island of St Hilda in Scotland to investigate a series of strange occurrences, characterised as ‘miracles'. This story had so much potential. Had a truly talented writer written this tale, it would have been a masterpiece. But now? I feel that Natasha Pulley needs to stop treating every theme as material for readers who only read idiotic YA ‘books'. How she teaches Creative Writing is utterly beyond me. The story is supposedly set in the era of Arthur Conan Doyle and the language is like a composition of a 10-year-old pupil. Or perhaps, even worse. Her incompetence turned an eerie folk tale into a pitiful comedy...
Banished (Elizabeth Macneal): A healer is summoned by a powerful man to exorcize the troubling ghost of his wife. The woman doesn't know that she has stepped into the heart of a terrible case of injustice, cruelty and revenge. A remarkable story set in Edinburgh during the 1700s based on a true incident.
The Gargoyle (Bridget Collins): Jesus, what a story! Do you know the feeling when you watch a really good horror film and you just know there is something worrying even though the frame only shows thick darkness and nothing else? That's how effective this story is. You'll walk through the eerie graveyard, and you'll listen to the rain on the window and you'll smell old house decay, while you're sympathizing with the writer who tries to exorcize her demons through her work.
The Master of the House (Stuart Turton): I'm sorry but if I were Thomas, I'd choose to flee with the Devil too! Set in 1901, this rather unusual, yet no less terrifying story, is a mad mix of A Christmas Carol and The Omen, forming a hallucinatory Gothic fantasy.
‘'She dances with it out across the lawn, down the slope, loving the cold air on her face and the crunch underfoot. Only her footprints in this bright frozen world. She misses a catch and the ball rolls down the path and under the gate. The girl gives chase. Ignoring the calls of the nanny, the gardener, she bolts through the gate and out into the wide-open space of the marshland, benign under the sun-dazzled sky. A place of wading birds, waving reeds, low hillocks, rushes rustling, greedy pools, sucking earth, the closing of the day, hot panic, missed footing, the winter moon, dead calm.''
Ada Lark (Jess Kidd): Written in Jess Kidd's signature present tense style, this is the haunting story of a gifted child and a trap in the form of a seance. But spirits and children have a mind of their own...
‘'But I get stronger with each of your deceptions. And you get thinner and thinner. Soon there will be nothing of you left.''
Jenkin (Catriona Ward): How would you like to be haunted by a strange cat-like creature which would appear when you behave in a ‘dishonest' way? An outstanding story, full of twists and true pain that you simply HAVE TO read.
‘'Widow's Walk. The townsfolk called it this on account of the churchyard on the other side of the hedge, where, buried in a line spanning the length of it, were the graves of unfortunate women who had lost their lives in some unhappy way, each and every one of them a widow.''
Widow's Walk (Susan Stokes-Chapman): A French woman, who has followed her husband to England, is now alone. Struggling with the aftermath of this loss, her only consolation is her art, her beautiful fans, beloved by the high society of the city. But when she comes home every night, a dark presence is lurking in the shadows of her chamber, and someone is following her, night after night, as she passes through Widow's Walk. Although I was able to suspect the route the story would take, the closure was no less shocking. A darkly beautiful, haunting Christmas tale.
Carol of the Bells and Chains (Laura Purcell): It's no wonder that in a collection full of excellent stories, Laura Purcell's tale is the jewel in the crown. She takes a governess (whose life seems to be filled with secrets), troublesome children and the terrifying legend of Krampus and creates a quintessentially British masterpiece.
I was amazed to read a reviewer's opinion that stated how ‘'similar these stories felt'. Are we even serious? Excuse me. Having read most novels by the writers whose stories grace this collection, I can assure you that their distinctive voices can be heard loud and clear. Unless you read smut and YA in which case this volume is not for your little minds.
Keep these exceptional collections coming, please. They are Christmas presents in print.
‘'It was a blessed sight that greeted me: fires blazing in the hearts, a plate of steaming mince pies, so hot that I scalded my mouth. Garlands were slung from the picture rails, in great big bushels - holy and ivy for eternal life, the berries for Jesus' shed blood - and the air was thick with the scent of ground cloves and ginger.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
''I read somewhere once that grief is like weather. As in: constantly changing, impossible to predict. You might be expecting clear skies but instead you get storm clouds. That seems about right. But I'm not sure how much longer I can go on, never knowing exactly when I'm going to get caught in the pouring rain.''
Will and Annie have found themselves at a crossroads. Which way are they going to follow?
Will wanted to become a rock star. That's all gone now. Now, he works in a shop that is barely functional and volunteers at a crisis line where he gives hope to those who need it most. If only he could see it...Instead, he has chosen to live in the past, fighting the same terrible demons day in, day out. Annie works in a job that doesn't meet her wishes and talents and has to put up with an insufferable boyfriend as she struggles to overcome her grief for her father's death and her anger towards her family. One day, Annie decides to call Green Shoots. And everything will change as two strangers open themselves to each other in the blink of an eye?
But are they strangers?
Without further ado, this book is perfect. The writing is impeccable. Modern but not cliched, vivid but not cringe-inducing as most contemporary novels have become. The characters of Will and Annie are outstanding. Tangible, sincere, acting as actual human beings would act when hopelessness, exhaustion and apathy take over. Their concerns and fears can be found in every single one of us and their voices are distinct, kind and memorable. Tom Ellen manages to turn London and Paris into characters and the descriptions of each city are so lively that you feel yourself walking (and recognizing) the streets, the alleys, the parks, the buildings.
Excellent characters aside, the real strength of the novel lies within the use of its main themes. Loss, disappointment, grief, misunderstandings. How do we cope with the loss of the most important person in our life? How do we manage to get up and walk when we feel that this bereavement came to be through the inertia of others? How do we forgive? And how do we forgive ourselves when we feel that we are the cause of our pain?
Tom Ellen's novel is a breath of fresh air. It is a contemporary masterpiece. Some have mentioned that it is the British You've Got Mail. As much as I love this film, The Lifeline is a gazillion times better.
Many thanks to HQ and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
‘'On a winter's evening, with mist moving like a cold breath between the stones, it's easy to imagine that the old spirits still walk here. Even in relatively recent times, children tiptoed up to the chamber and listened for the clink of a smith's hammer; so did their ancestors, stretching back in an unbroken line for a thousand years, to the time of the Anglo-Saxons. King Alfred himself knew the tale and versions of it were told in feasting halls across Northern Europe.''
Be on your guard and tread silently for King Arthur and his knights sleep beneath St Michael's Mount, awaiting the day when the realm will need them once more. Look for the traces of the Arthurian saga in Tintagel and Lyonesse. In West Devon, where Saint Michael crushed the Devil, a formidable church protects the land. At the same time, in Dartmoor druids, ghosts and hounds from Hell add to the mysticism and eerieness of the landscape that inspired the finest Sherlock Holmes mystery The Hound of the Baskervilles.
Who hasn't marvelled at the sight of Cerne Giant in Dorset? Who hasn't felt the aura of spirituality, and tranquillity in Glastonbury? Who hasn't heard the whispers of the past while gazing at Glastonbury Tor? As the sun rises over Stonehenge, the stones sing the silent song of ages lost in the mist of time along with their distant cousins in Avebury. The trees of Chanctonbury Ring hide dark secrets, screams and wails and rituals of the Devil and the White Cliffs of Dover murmur their British lullaby of pride and everlasting might.
The Wild Hunt, the legend of Robin Hood and his Merry Men in the Sherwood Forest, Gogmagog, the Sutton Hoo helmet, the Great Stone of Lyng that bleeds echoing the bloodshed of sacrifices and battles, the Green Men, the secrets of Alderley Edge, Mayburgh Henge and King Arthur's Round Table, Blencathra and the tale of Excalibur.
‘'The King is gone from Bambrough castle:Long may the Princess mourn, Long may she stand on the castle wall,Looking for his return.'' (Trad. ballad credited to Robert Lambe, from William Hutchinson's A View of Northumberland, 1778)
Bamburgh Castle holds the keys to a mythic past from Lancelot's Joyous Guard to battles of freedom and conquest. Bran's head secures the safety of the realm, Deirdre and Naoise find refuge in Alba before the tragic end of their story, Diarmuid and Grainne's legend begins in Ben Gulabin. The terrifying Cailleach brings cold and sadness into people's hearts, while Ben Macdui is haunted by a dark presence that makes brave men flee in terror. In Calanais, in the Hebrides, a mysterious figure walks down the path towards the stones on the summer solstice, visiting the giants that refused to build a church and were turned to stone.
This is only a mere handful of the legends that can be found in this extraordinary book. Jo Woolf invites us on a journey to the myths of England, Scotland and Wales, a haunting dance within the recesses of a past so distant, yet ever-present in European culture. Embellished with illustrations by Claire Harrup, this gem should definitely find a place in your bookcase.
‘'But remember that, when England is in peril, King Arthur and his knights will wake and ride out valiantly across the plain.''
Many thanks to National Trust Books and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
‘'Be sure your sins shall find you out.''
I discovered this little gem on one of my numerous pre-Christmas online wandering in Kennys and what can I say? We were meant to be! Contemporary stories of omens, premonitions, vengeful spirits, spectres that seek retribution and justice, and some genuine, very tangible monsters...
A Christmas Gift: A woman finds comfort in an unlikely source while visiting a church on Christmas Eve. A touching story, rich in Christmas spirit and hope.
Matchmaker: A gentle ghost becomes the matchmaker in a village in Cumbria.
Jojo: A group of girls holds a seance and reveals the truth about a justified killing.
Brotherly Love: In a story that will break your heart, two brothers pay the price of a harsh life and their father's brutality.
The Missing Patient: A young doctor comes face-to-face with the strangest patients possible.
Retribution: No matter how hard we try to hide, the sins of the past will come back to haunt our steps...
At the Foot of the Stairs: In an outstanding, atmospheric tale, the spirit of a deity comes to avenge a theft. It reminded me of the finest Victorian writers of the genre. Exquisite!
The House at the Top of the Cliff: This story is rather surprising in the sense that it lacks ghosts. What it contains, however, is much more frightening. It gave me heart palpitations and scared me to death!
The Rocking Chair: The peaceful presence of a loyal ghost warms our hearts in this tender story.
Good News: A family tries to cope with loss and new beginnings.
Premonition: Angels on our shoulders...
Red Ribbons: Callie inherits an old cottage in Hampshire and uncovers a horrifying secret...
Lily: The bond between sisters is one of the strongest in nature and this story depicts a love not even death can disrupt.
I was delighted to find out that a second volume of ghost stories by Lesley Anne Wright will soon be upon us. Keep them coming! Definitely a new writer to watch.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
‘'At the winter solstice the clouds were heavy, chalk grey, the air still with snow that never seemed to fall. Without the generous canopy and riotous undergrowth of summer, my tiny home felt exposed. No leaves on the hawthorn hedge to offer protection from the wind, or dispel curious glances; in daylight, all my movements could be seen, and in the darkness any light cast from my van window betrayed my presence in the woods. Constellations turned above the thin roof and the long nights and short days sped past.''
Instead of a boring introduction from yours truly, read the following extract by Nancy Campbell. It is heartbreakingly beautiful.
‘'Candles were lit in the sconces. In this soft light, kindness and kinship hovered at the corners of the rooms as we spoke of books we loved in various languages, recommended other writers in and out of translation, read shyly from the first drafts of poems, and somehow, at some point, I stopped seeing time as something urgently demarcated by the lines in my diary, and began to feel the space open up between them.''
A haunting mixture of Fiction and Non-Fiction. It is a book that breathes and lives Winter in all its dark, harsh, poetically sad glory. A treasure for the long evenings when time stands still in the finest way possible. In its pages, you will meet Anne Frank, Charles Darwin, Kenneth Grahame, Walt Whitman, Vincent Van Gogh, Charlotte Bronte, to name a few.
the wind24 December 1943‘'Whenever someone comes in from outside, with the wind in their clothes and the cold on their cheeks, I feel like burying my head under the blanket to keep from thinking. ‘When will we be allowed to breathe fresh air again?'' Anne Frank
A snow mountain must be kept safe at all costs in Kyoto and it is simply extraordinary to think that such a vivid, marvellous text was written during the 11th century. Daisy Hildyard pays homage to the holly, the most beautiful symbol of winter, and Damian Le Bas writes about mistletoe, Cornwall and the New Travellers while Virginia Woolf describes London during winter in a haunting passage during one of the most important scenes in Orlando.
‘'It was an evening of astonishing beauty. As the sun sank, all the domes, spires, turrets, and pinnacles of London rose in inky blackness against the furious red sunset clouds. Here was the fretted cross at Charing; there like a grove of trees stripped of all leaves save a knob at the end were the heads on the pikes at Temple Bar.'' Virginia Woolf
In Varlam Tikhonovich Shalamov's extract from The Kolyma Tales, a prisoner in a gulag in the Arctic region outsmarts a brutish guard and Marchelle Farrell writes a haunting piece about Yule and exhaustion.
‘'I am tired. What a dream it would be to rest until the first signs of spring. I take my cue from the garden, die back where I can, keep growing where I must. I love my dreams of the garden - it grows within the now, shows itself even when I am not in it. There is such comfort in being so rooted. I wonder if the garden dreams now of me.'' Marchelle Farrell
Vincent Van Gogh takes an evening walk across the heath, during a storm and Dorothy Pilley writes about the treacherous mountains of Spain and resilient guides. Tim Dee's words paint a beautiful image of the moor during dusk, while Charlotte Du Cann transports from the scorching heat of Greece to the northern winter through a profound encounter with a figure from times unknown.
‘'Dusk on the winter solstice: the shortest day and longest night of the year. I was cold andalone on a track on the Somerset Levels, looking towards the dying light in the west. Moving across the sky in front of me, like the breath of the earth, were thousands of birds - starlings arriving to roost, to put away their day, and so too, on this day, the year.'' Tim Dee
Elizabeth - Jane Burnett narrates a meteor shower in Devon in a mesmerizing voice and Sarah Thomas brings this beautiful collection to an end with her hymn to cold nights in the Arctic.
‘'I stand out in the wide night. An owl hoots from further down the field. The grey cloud moves under the moon like smoke from a fire. When it clears, the brilliance is intense. It is like nothing else. As I gaze up, I see three stars in a row on a diagonal under it: Orion's Belt. I wonder if I'm seeing any planets.'' Elizabeth - Jane Burnett
I could have underlined every page of this gem. Nancy Campbell is an outstanding writer and a phenomenal editor. This volume must find a place in your collection.
‘'The heartbeat slows, the chimney smokes, the stars fall. The enchanted month in the castle came to a close, and I tidied my desk and climbed the library ladder to return books to their places on the shelves. As I gathered up my sheaf of papers, I looked forward to returning home. The remaining nights of winter might be dark and cold and damp, but now I was listening for the call of the blackbird. I awaited the first snowdrops, with hope.'' Nancy Campbell
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
‘'It was, Jan Sol suddenly realised, a very eerie sort of night. The trees whispered and snickered and snapped in the wind. Shadows flited back and forth before his eyes. One shadow had long fingers, like an oversized hand. The fingers seemed to beckon to him, moving slowly in a nightmarish rhythm. A short shriek came from the woods. Jan Sol shivered and grabbed his blunderbuss before he realised it was only an owl.''
Spooky USA is one of my favourite folklore/ghost stories series. This one is more folklore than true haunting stories, but no less entertaining. Moreover, every story echoes the state's extraordinary, enchanting, and bloody history.
Watch the Central Park Skaters glide gracefully on the frozen lake in the iconic park in Manhattan, and witness the sorrow of the Gray Lady in Staten Island over the tragic death of two young men. Seek the buried treasure in Liberty Island and look on the horizon for the Fire Ship in Long Island Sound. A young woman can be seen weeping for her lost fiance in the Observatory of the Empire State Building and a brave man returns from the Beyond to protect his young family. A kind ghost wants to go fishing and a man addicted to gambling is dissuaded from playing by the spectre of his wife. A galloping Hessian can be seen in Tarrytown, echoing Irving's Headless Horseman and a dress brings extreme bad luck to a young girl from Queens.
Rival fiddlers can be heard in Brooklyn and a baker in Albany understands the meaning of the phrase ‘'a baker's dozen''. The legend of the Maid of the Mist sings in Niagara Falls, in Rockland County a salamander becomes an omen death, following the repercussions of a tragic tale. Hard to believe the legend of Jan Sol and the monster in Wall Street once you stand in the one place of the Earth where nowadays empires rise and fall, and in Allegheny region, a mysterious figure in a high hat causes terror.
The most fascinating tale is the Night Riders of Copake, a story of a pact between a brilliant girl and an evil warlock. A story straight out of Katherine Arden's pen.
‘'In that lost city of memory, the wind is always blowing hard from the harbor and the snow is packed tightly on the hills of Prospect Park. They are skating on the Big Lake and the hallways of the tenements are wet with melted snow and the downtown stores are glad with blinking lights and the churches smell of pine and awe.''
Pete Hamill's stories transport us to Brooklyn, in a time when everything seemed simple, and much more innocent. From the 50s to the 80s, his stories echo the struggles of people who love, deceive, hate, hope, kill. Bittersweet, harrowing, hopeful, tragic, every page gives us a glimpse into the lives of women and men who faced a reality that had nothing to do with today's world where only cheap mottos, made up by dubious individuals can be heard. Yes, times were hard back then but, at least, people believed. Today, most of us demonstrate our endless idiocy, our empty, superficial ‘minds' and our blabbering, severely overused mouths. I'd rather spend all my life in the poor Brooklyn neighbourhoods of the 50s than our falsely affluent cities, full of illiterate influencers and Youtubers who poison the minds of our children.
These are my favourite stories in the collection.
‘'There were other drawings too; buildings with spirals of black cloud issuing from chimneys; barefoot men with shaved heads and gray pajamas; watchtowers; barbed wire.''
The Christmas Kid: In one of the most moving stories I've ever read, a boy who has survived the nightmare of the German demons, finds warmth and kindness in the city of New York. But demons are always lurking nearby...
The Price of Love: A divorced man tries to decipher his feelings for his ex-wife.
The Love of His Life: A man spends all his life waiting for the girl of his youth.
‘'He always loved this time of the New York day, when the sun faded and the light turned a warm grey, softening the hard edges of the world.''
Good-bye: A married couple has to face the toughest decision.
6/6/44: A story paying tribute to D-Day, the day when Hitler's reign of terror came to an end, the day to which we all owe our freedom.
The Men in Black Raincoats: The crime of a former IRA man comes back to haunt him.
Gone: A man becomes the victim of a peculair crime. Judging by the current state of our cities, full of ‘'citizens'' of a barbaric ‘faith' that dictates them to decapitate babies and rape dead women, I can't say I blame him...
The Second Summer: A Muslim young woman from Syria has to obey her heathen parents and their law of Allah.
The Man With the Blue Guitar: An Italian widow falls in love with a young Greek man but her late husband's brother has other views in mind.
The Waiting Game: In a too-good-to-be-true story, a man waits patiently for the love of his life.
Up the Roof: A woman who has lost her husband in the Korean War finds solace in an unlikely place. But will it last?
The Book Signing: In a shocking story, a successful writer cannot escape the fate that cries for retribution.
This collection is not for today's audience. It seemingly has no place in a ‘culture' of tattoos, unwashed wannabe- Che Guevaras who live in luxury and selfie-takers. However, there is always the blessed minority of the sane who will treasure a world that has disappeared forever.
‘'I must be healing, he thought. I don't fear, I don't love, I don't hate. The wound is closed. I am alone. I am indifferent. I have survived.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
‘'When the sun goes down, it is very cold and then I easily start crying because the winter moon presses my heart. The winter moon is surrounded by an extraordinary darkness, the logical antithesis of the supernal clarity of the day. In this darkness, the dogs in every household howl together at the sight of a star, as if the stars were unnatural things. But from morning until evening, a hallucinatory light floods the shore and a cool, glittering sun transfigures everything so brilliantly that the beach looks like a desert and the ocean like a mirage.''
The Reckoning (Edith Wharton): A woman who used to believe in certain unconventional ideas regarding marriage, finds herself a victim of her ideology due to her scoundrel of a husband. So, before we jump on the bandwagon of dubious motos, we'd better take a step back and think twice. Written in Wharton's unmistakable, haunting, bittersweet voice, a momentary ode to the dark streets of New York.
‘'You think you know what it is to be cold, Frances,'' she said. ‘'You don't. You had better pray that you never may! It is to feel yourself gradually losing all human sensation; to feel that where there should be glowing moving blood there is motionless ice; to feel that the very atmosphere about you is not the atmosphere of every day, warm with the breath of your fellow creatures, but something rarified until its chill is agony.''
My Fellow Travellers (Mary Angela Dickens): Written by Dickens's eldest grandchild, this is the story of a teacher who becomes witness to an uncanny scene on a train. A haunting ghost story told in moving detail.
‘'New York must be full of suffering of one kind or another on a day like this. Just go out and spend it looking for the coldest woman in New York, or the saddest woman, or the most overworked woman, or the most anything woman in New York, and come back and write a story about her.''
The Woman Who Was So Tired (Elizabeth Banks): Some piece of mission, right? In a deeply tender, profound story, a young reporter has to wander in wintery New York to find the woman with the ‘'best'' story.
‘'She was outside on the step, gazing at the winter afternoon. Rain was falling, and with the rain it seemed the dark came too, spinning down like ashes. There was a cold bitter taste in the air, and the new-lighted lamps looked sad. Sad were the lights in the houses opposite. Dimly they burned as if regretting something. And people hurried by, hidden under their hateful umbrellas.''
Doesn't this passage bring tears to your eyes with its beauty?
A Cup of Tea (Katherine Mansfield): A wealthy young woman believes she has stumbled upon a scene out of Dostoevsky's stories. But it is arrogance, not kindness that leads her to an act of empty ‘'mercy'' Written in Mansfield's superbly haunting, acidic tone.
‘'There is a special quality about a December sunset. The ruffles of red-gold gradually untightening, the congested mauve islands on a transparent sea of green, the ultimate luminous primrose dissolving into violet powder and the cold, biting night, lit up by strange patches of colour that have somehow been forgotten in the sky.''
A Motor (Elizabeth Bibesco): Two people enjoying the cold December weather find themselves facing broken love affairs. Two motors become the metaphor for the feelings that haunt our steps.
Ann Lee's (Elizabeth Bowen): A shopping experience turns mysteriously sinister when a man enters a hat shop igniting a strange interaction. One of the finest and most cryptic stories by Bowen.
‘'One has to face most things alone,'' said Elizabeth, ‘'but it's worth it.''
The Snowstorm (Violet M. MacDonald): A snowy day provides the setting for the elopement of a peculiar ‘'illicit'' couple in a haunting, reflective, and eerie story.
November Fair/ Ffair Gaeaf (Kate Roberts, translated from Welsh by Joseph P. Clancy): The aches and joys of a lively group of people within a single day, the day of the November Fair.
My Life With R.H.Macy (Shirley Jackson): An endless sequence of numbers, memos and a protagonist that has six numbers instead of a name. It's her first time as a shop assistant at Macy's, but will she return for her third day?
The Cold (Sylvia Townsend Warner): Mrs Ryder - one of the most exhausting characters you'll ever meet in the pages of a book - manages to turn the annual common cold into an outrageous social criticism, based on her prejudices.
The Prisoner (Elizabeth Berridge): I'm sorry, but am I supposed to be moved by the wet dream of an idiotic middle-aged virgin who decides to fancy a young German POW? Really, girl? Tell your dramatic story about wanting a dick between your fat legs to the ones who were massacred in the concentration camps by the Nazi monsters. And she thinks that the Russians are monsters? Guess again, ‘'lady''...
This story should NOT have been included in this collection. It is disrespectful, out of place, and frankly? Extremely badly written!
‘'But the roads were grey, the houses were grey, the rocks were grey. The wind was grey; and salty grey - like a licked seashore pebble- tasted the cold air in one's mouth. Judith loved everything deeply.
The Cut Finger ( Frances Bellery): Young Judith believes that a trip to the seaside in the heart of winter is going to be an exciting adventure. The truth, though, will break her heart.
The Thames Spread Out (Elizabeth Taylor): A middle-aged woman waits for her lover across a flooded landscape. Father Thames has risen, prompting her to contemplate her failures, leading a life of affairs with married men, living on the expenses provided for her...services. Strangely enough, Taylor manages to create a story of haunting beauty, built on a character that you can't help but like.
The Smile of Winter (Angela Carter): Naturally, the last word belongs to the one and only Angela Carter and her achingly beautiful musings on winter.
A collection marvellously edited and introduced by Simon Thomas. I can assure you a man does know how to compose an anthology of stories written by women. Perhaps if some of you weren't so absorbed by the latest pseudo-feministic cries and dying your hair green, purple or pink, you'd have the chance to sit down and read a proper book...But I guess that would require an immense effort on your part...And if you can't ‘'find'' the connection between these stories and winter, you need to have your brains checked.
‘'Do not think I don't realise what I am doing. I am making composition using the following elements: the winter beach; the winter moon; the ocean; the women; the pine trees; the riders; the driftwood; the shells; the shapes of darkness and the shapes of water; and the refuse. these are all inimical to my loneliness because of their indifference to it. Out of these pieces of inimical indifference, I intend to represent the desolate smile of winter which, as you must have gathered, is the smile I wear.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
‘'The night was cold and frosty with a frozen moon like a bulkhead light set in a bowl of steel. The broken arch of the ruins cast a sharp shadow across the rime-covered grass - a shadow that was lost in the deeper blackness within the curved arch.''
We can't have Christmas without an anthology of Christmas mysteries, superbly introduced and edited by Martin Edwards. This collection is the brand new offering from the archives of the British Library Crime Classics and is every bit as fun, mysterious and Christmassy as ever.
These are my favourite moments:
Τhe Christmas Thief (Frank Howel Evans): A game of espionage and counter-espionage in the heart of London.
The Christmas Spirit (Lucy Malleson writing as Anthony Gilbert): A quintessentially British story, full of Gothic romance, and spectres in a hunted inn. Superb!
Gold, Frankincense, and Murder (Catherine Aird): A case of mysterious food poisoning uncovers dark secrets within a small community.
Secrets in the Snow (J.Jefferson Farjeon): A headstrong young woman becomes witness to a bizarre crime, in an extremely atmospheric, bleak story.
Who Killed Father Christmas? (Patricia Moyes): A Father Christmas is murdered in a story that turns every mystery trope upside-down.
Death at Christmas (Glyn Daniel): A man narrates the horrible accident in which his friend was involved on a dark Christmas day. However, in this outstanding ghost story, nothing is as it seems...
The Christmas Train (Will Scott): A suave con man and his persecutor become allies to uncover a fraud.
Present for Ivo (Ellis Peters): A young teacher and a brilliant boy unwittingly become involved in an inspired theft.
Just keep the Christmas collections coming!
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
‘'H.M.'s room, spacious in decayed finery, is in the most ancient part of the damp old rabbit-warren, once a part of Whitehall Palace: it looks down over a bleak strip of garden, the Victoria Embankment, and the river. A smoky blue twilight - the frost twilight of Christmas week - blurred the window now. Bennett could see reflections from the lamps along the parapet of the Embankment; he could hear the window rattle to the pelting hooting of buses, and the stir of the fire under the battered white-marble mantelpiece.''
A Hollywood starlet, who has been desperately trying to convince Britain that she can actually act, is found murdered in a pavilion surrounded by the traces of a heavy December. With absolutely zero evidence, James Bennett and Sir Henry Merrivale will try to find the culprit of an impossible crime.
This mystery is the epitome of the tradition of the Christmas Murder mystery. The imposing setting, dark and mysterious, the enigmatic victim, the cast of characters, the sympathetic amateur sleuth, the snow, the howling wind, the spectres in the corridors. The atmosphere is superb, and the story is nothing short of remarkable.
BUT. The dialogue is insufferable. Good Lord, who speaks with a dozen ‘'oh ah''s every two sentences? With the bright exception of Bennett, the interactions are atrocious, Kate and Louise's exclamations are absurdly dramatic, there is too much ‘'show, not tell'' and Sir Henry is simply NOT amusing.
If you can distance yourselves from the dialogue, you'll enjoy this Christmas mystery immensely. Unfortunately, I did not.
What do you get when you create a delightful heroine at the head of a lively cast of characters, and add Dartmoor landscapes, Christmas customs created by the mystical marriage of Christian and pagan traditions, astrology and a tasty pinch of good old British writing in the mix?
A cosy mystery, perfect for our treasured Christmas reading list. I will definitely try my luck with the rest of the Devon Mystery Series.
P.S. Juno Browne is a national literary treasure. End of story.
‘'My own curse had been silence. It's common enough, particularly for girls. We're so often encouraged not to speak, and that practiced quiet makes it easy for a curse to steal our voices.''
16 stories of women on the brink of change. 16 myths inspired by fairytales and legends, retold for contemporary readers who KNOW that every civilisation is based on the enticing, enchanting blend of facts and fiction. From Arthurian legends to anecdotes from the Lives of Saints, Kat Howard creates a powerful literary potion that transports us to the centre of mythical worlds that co-exist within our mundane reality. Aspiring writers who wish to retell the myths that shaped our world, THIS is how it's done. Pay attention...
A Life in Fictions: A writer's muse narrates the different roles attributed to her. A poignant, symbolic piece on the danger of losing our personality.
The Saint of the Sidewalks: The musings of an urban, unwilling ‘'saint''. Extremely unique.
Maiden, Hunter, Beast: A moving retelling of the myth of the Maiden and the Unicorn.
‘'The scent of apples is everywhere. Cloying and too sweet. The thick white of their blossoms, the sharp crispness of the fruit. the heady cider of the overripe bodies fallen to the ground. The rot where they lie. It should be impossible for each version of the fruit to exist at once, all together, but really, everything about this should be impossible.''
Once, Future: An astonishing retelling of the Arthurian legend, set in a charismatic university community. A professor assigns roles to her students. Arthur, Mordred, Lancelot, Nimue, but above all, Morgan. She is the heart of the story and she is about to steal your heart. This collection is an A+ from this story alone.
Translatio Corporis: A city lost in translation...
‘'What kind of story do you tell about a garden of dead girls?''
‘'They spoke of a storm, and wind and rain washed over me, soaking my skin. They spoke of betrayal, the death of love, and my mouth ran red with blood, thick and salt. They whispered of vengeance, and my legs ached from the chase, and the howls of the hunted echoed in my ears. They told me of falling beneath the ground and dreaming the graves that covered them. Beloved sisters.''
Dreaming Like a Ghost: A woman keeps on finding traces of the people who inhabited her new apartment, and befriends a ghost residing in a mysterious graveyard. Perfection.
‘'Sleep is dying, and has been for a long time, now through uncounted ticks of clocks and the flickers of thousands of too-brief candles. Sleep is dying, a slow exsanguination of dreams, a storm-tossed suffocation of nightmares. Sleep is dying, and she is not alone in her throes.''
Murdered Sleep: A world made of dreams, masked dancers, dying flames, pagan deities and the choice between staying and leaving.
The Speaking Bone: An island made of bones which speak at dawn, and sing to the pilgrims...
‘'There are rituals. Traditions. A curse, once broken, breaks easier a second time. Death becomes one hundred years of sleep, becomes one thousand and one nights telling stories. We know what our curses are when we see them, and we know their undoing.''
Those Are Pearls: A story created by the finest parts of our beloved fairytales. Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, The Snow Queen, Eliza and the Swans, all dancers in a haunting dance.
All of Our Past Places: A young woman tries to find her best friend through ancient maps. A moving story about friendship and the enchanting science of cartography.
‘'It was growing late, the approaching winter bringing on the darkness sooner and sooner each day. They sky was a cauldron of clouds, slate splotches pushed about by the wind. There were streaks on the sand, patterns left by the wind. the air felt thick and heavy, like a storm coming in.''
Saints' Tide: A haunting tale with a distinctive Celtic atmosphere of a community where the saints can be seen, where each resident can become a saint at the time of their birth. A baby is born, and the two women who are its guardians must contemplate the sacrifice required by their faith. A story about motherhood, tradition and sacrifice.
‘'Even in his bird form, Sweeney recognised New York as a city of the mad. Not that one needed to be crazy to be there, or that extended residency was a contributing factor to lunacy of some sort, but living there - thriving there - took a particular form of madness. Or caused it. Sweeney had not yet decided which.''
Painted Birds and Shivered Bones: Sweeney has been cursed to turn into a bird. Hiding in the parks of New York, he finds his fate changed when an artist unwittingly decides to make him her model. A moving retelling of the Irish myth of Mad Sweeney.
Returned: The musings of Sleeping Beauty in a sensual, dark lullaby.
The Calendar of Saints: Obscure saints, fictional saints. Saints that lived and suffered the human fate.
The Green Knight's Wife: The wife who resides in a castle that has become Death's playground.
‘'Half Sick of ShadowsA boat rests beneath a willow tree. Scattered near the boat are pieces of discarded armour.Among them, the white shield, three bends gules, of Sir Lancelot. A white dress drapes the armour. The lady is in the water, not drowned, but smiling. The light on the water is brilliant, bright glints likescattered diamonds. Like the pieces of a shattered mirror.''
Breaking the Frame: A hypnotic tribute to the women who shaped our tales. Persephone, Delilah, Dafne, Ophelia, Beauty, Euridice, Ariadne, Elaine.
‘'Because silence was one of the traditional curses, there was already a plethora of known ways to break it: I could weave or sew a certain number of shirts out of some material rough enough to cut my hands and stain the fabric with my blood, all without weeping. I could endure a loveless relationship for a year and a day. I could perform some tremendously useless task: find one mis-sorted seed in a barrel of its near-identical cousins and nurse the plant to flowering, my voice to return with it blooming.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
Excuse me, are we reading a what -should-have been informative book on mythical women and legendary goddesses or a ‘‘Down with the patriarchy'' propaganda (and badly written, for that matter?)
Athena is a lesbian, Freja has acquired black nail polish because why not, Ishtar's male manifestation has become non-binary, Atargatis's priests are transgender. Pick your idea of pure idiocy.
There's a thin red line separating the campaign of raising awareness of gender issues from plain, old propaganda, and this ‘book' is the epitome of today's efforts to project every single contemporary narrative into myths and legends created millennia and millennia ago.
You may be suitable for the Twitter mob but not for experienced readers. And you have tired us to hell and back.
Informative, touching on themes of Folklore that are not often discussed or given the attention they deserve. However, the writing felt ‘‘off''. It often read like a textbook and the writer's subtle dismissal of certain beliefs was jarring, to put it mildly. It could have been satisfying. As it stands, it was rather mediocre.
