Amalia Gkavea
''There once was a man whose wife was dead. She was dead when he fell in love with her, and she was dead for the twelve years they lived together, during which time she bore him three children, all of them dead as well, and at the time of which I am speaking, the time during which her husband began to suspect that she was having an affair, she was still dead.'‘
''You should never burn down a house. You should never set a cat on fire. You should never watch and do nothing while a house is burning. You should never listen to a cat who says to do any of these things. You should listen to your mother when she tells you to come away from watching, to go to bed, to go to sleep. You should listen to your mother's revenge.
You should never poison a witch.'‘
And these are the only extracts that were worth highlighting. Apart from Stone Rabbits, Catskin, and The Great Divorce - stories of sadness, tragedy, bitterness and love that deserved to be part of a much better collection - the rest of the stories are an amalgam of surrealism and absurdism that serve no other purpose but to satisfy the ego of the writer. Confusion veering into paranoia just for the sake of it. There are much better short story collections that belong to the Magical Realism genre. This one was a frightful disappointment.
‘'That night, I walked the streets of East Belfast again in my dreams. Waking, the dream seemed to linger far longer than a mere dream. These streets are ours. I was jittery all day, a restless, nauseous, over-caffeinated feeling. I could email her, I thought, through the website. I wouldn't bother with pleasantries or preliminaries. I'd just say, ‘There we were. Do you remember?''
The poignancy, richness and diversity of Irish Literature within a volume, beautifully selected by Sinead Gleeson. From the haunting to the satirical, the romantic, the tragic. Snippets of the woes and joys of the farmers' lives, the complexities of urban landscapes, the sorrows of the heart, the terrors of the mind, and the irrevocable wounds of the Troubles that shaped the soul of the Northern Irish. A collection to be cherished.
Do you recall the feeling of being alone in your room, reading while the soft light of the sun enters from the window on a late summer afternoon? The silence and the calm? This collection reminded me of those precious moments.
My favourite stories include:
The Quest by Leland Bardwell: A woman travels to England to meet the son she gave up for adoption 40 years ago. Over and Done With by Claire-Louise Bennett: A woman who lives alone tries to cope with the demanding atmosphere of Christmas. Ann Lee's by Elizabeth Bowen: A mysterious visitor creates mischief in the shop of a formidable lady. Here We Are by Lucy Caldwell: A beautifully atmospheric coming-of-age story about love, death and summer holidays, set in East Belfast. The Yew Tree by Oein DeBhairduin: A folk tale of loss and grief, true to the haunting Irish nature. The Pram by Roddy Doyle: A terrifying ghost story that combines the finest features of the Irish legends and Slavic traditions. Brilliant! Virgin Soil by George Egerton: A daughter who had to put up with a violent husband, escapes the nightmare of her wedding and rebels against her naive, oppressive mother. A Love by Neil Jordan: A moving love affair, set in Dublin and Limerick. Antarctica by Claire Keegan: The only story by Keegan that I actually enjoyed. A sensual tale that turns into a nightmare. Hunger by Louise Kennedy: A hymn to Bobby Sands through the eyes of an adolescent girl that has found herself in the wolf's den. Walking the Dog by Brendan MacLaverty: A man finds himself threatened by both sides that claim to ‘'fight'' the absurd war of the Troubles. A Shiver of Hearts by Una Mannion: A statue of the Virgin Mary becomes the heart of a young girl's story. A Journey by Edna O'Brien: As with Keegan this is the only O'Brien story that managed to attract my attention, narrating a doomed love affair. Black Spot by Deidre Sullivan: If you are a teacher you cannot help but adore this tender and moving story.
An indecent joke from a wealthy middle-aged housewife at the expense of a young couple becomes very... educational. A farmer discovers a treasure and the owner attempts to deceive him, only to discover that the joke was on him. A pastor believes he can deceive the ‘naive' villagers, but forgets that their kindness will not work to his benefit. A gentle old man offers his umbrella to a young mother on a rainy day, and her curiosity uncovers a sad story of addiction. A librarian, who is in fact a crook, has the time of his life until he goes after the wrong victim. A man convinces himself to be a great composer and is assisted by a strange young woman in his grand plan for glory. Two friends in New York become revenge -entrepreneurs, and a boy becomes involved in an eerie bet while on holiday. In the best story of the collection, a wronged wife commits THE perfect crime.
Ten stories of deceit, obsession, folly and retaliation from a master of the genre.
''We stop in the middle and look at the wall that flanks the river, and the shadows of pedestrians cast on its surface. They look like skittish ghosts advancing in a row, obedient souls passing from one realm to another. The bridge is flat and yet it's as if the figures - vaporous shapes against the solid wall - are walking uphill, always climbing. They're like inmates who proceed, silently, toward a dreadful end.'‘
A nameless city in Italy. A nameless woman who wanders its streets, observing, remembering, waiting. Its citizens are shadows, their actions a constant disappointment. When companionship offers nothing but an acute feeling of loneliness, being ALONE is the appropriate choice.
One of the most enticing, poignant novels I've ever read.
''My sleep grows lighter and then it abandons me entirely. I wait until someone, anyone, drives by. The thoughts that come to roost in my head in those moments are always the gloomiest, also the most precise. That silence, combined with the black sky, takes hold over me until the first light returns and dispels those thoughts, until I hear the presence of lives passing by along the road below me.'‘
‘'In a few hours I will take you with me on the journey to the other world because I can't leave you, not ever again.''
In a game of Loteria, there is a multitude of paths one must follow faithfully. A game of Loteria is no different than the game of Life. Shadows, fears, nightmares, threats, secrets. Death. Where does each path lead?
‘'Hair as black as ebony.No.Hair as black as a crow's wing.A crow's wing.''
In 54 stories - as many as the cards of the Loteria- Cynthia Pelayo traces the wealth of Spanish, Central and Southern American Folklore. Each tale is woven through a specific card of the game and becomes a haunting song, a lament of the inevitable, a wail at the whims of Fate. El Chupacabra, La Llorona, El Hombre, the Rainbow Crow, the Sayona, El Sombreron, El Lobizon, El Cadejo, El Pombero, bandit saints, shamans, brujas, curanderas, and world legends like the Seventh Son, the Flying Dutchman, the Irish Banhees. Places like the Isla de las Muñecas and the Aokigahara Forest. From Barcelona to Mexico, Puerto Rico to Japan, Portugal to Haiti, Valladolid, Chile, Paraguay, Peru, and Guatemala.
‘'Our stories are always in movement, even when we think they aren't. For we never truly end.''
Bones and blood, violent spirits, sacrifices born in cultures long lost but not forgotten, ghosts that desire human warmth, very real monsters who sell their daughters to international crime-rings, women raped, tortured, murdered by men infinitely more dangerous than spectres or demons. Stories of spice and marigold, and the essence of the Unknown. Stories that guide you through graveyards and dusty roads around the world. Stories to be read after 3.00 a.m. Stories that echo a guitar serenade under the weak flicker of a candle. Or a scream of desperation...
‘'Inside I know what awaited me. It is what awaits us all. We all must remember memento mori.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
Upon finishing this book I couldn't help but think that there was a reason that most of these stories remained hidden. One of the most disappointing volumes in the Tales of the Weird series. Melodrama, ridiculous dialogue, and plots that have little to do with either the Gothic or the Weird. Queens of Boredom would have been a more appropriate title...
Houses are our shelter. The space where memories are created. The places where we develop our personalities, where we are raised, where we raise our families years and years later. Our houses are places of love and death. In the seven stories of the collection, the houses become caskets of isolation and despair, of emptiness and threat.
Women obsessed with ‘'fixing'' other people's houses, relatives that succumb to madness, mothers and wives unable to escape a traumatic past and a terrifying present, children who endanger themselves for a few hours of the attention that has been denied them by negligent parents. People who leave their houses wearing bath robes to lose themselves in the heart of the metropolis.
None of That: I've always loved walking in the evening streets, watching the windows being lit one by one to drive the darkness away, trying to imagine the residents' lives based on their curtains, walls, shelves, whatever little I was able to glimpse in seconds. However, the mother in this story elevates the ‘'watching houses'' habit to a stratospheric level. She doesn't limit herself to just observing. She fixes whatever strikes her as odd or improper. Yes, it is as paranoid as it sounds and she's a real piece of work...
My Parents and My Children: In a story that balances the ridiculous/grotesque and the menacing, two siblings follow the example set by their utterly problematic grandparents.
It Happens All the Time in This House: A woman tries to comfort a father who has lost his son in a story that hides so many secrets in a few pages. Who is bereaved? Who is the one suffering? What do we all hide behind our closed doors?
Breath from the Depths: The longest story in the collection is one of the most cryptic, ‘'what was THAT'' stories I've ever read, a mayhem of isolation, threatening cupboards and fridges, lists, boxes, ringing bells, death and the question of a futile existence.
Two Square Feet: A woman tries to find an open drugstore to buy aspirins for her mother-in-law whose story causes her to think of her own isolation while living in the heart of Buenos Aires.
An Unlucky Man: I cannot claim to understand what this story tried to convey but it made me feel extremely uncomfortable...
Out: A woman and a man meet in an elevator. Moments later, they find themselves wandering in the streets of Buenos Aires, both burdened by dysfunctional marriages and the need to find an exit from a stagnant present. But change is the most unattainable thing in the world...
Uncertainty, eerieness, terror. There is no light in any of these stories. The houses are empty and dark.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
''One time in a million, someone who is still very young understands that life is a one-way journey and decides that the rules of the games don't agree with him. It's like when you decide to cheat because you know you can't win. Usually you're found out and you can't cheat any more. But sometimes the cheat gets away with it. And if, instead of playing with dice or cards, the game consists of playing with life and death, then the cheat turns into someone very dangerous indeed.'‘
Undoubtedly atmospheric, with a few haunting moments, but in my opinion. the writing felt dry and clumsy and the dialogue seemed almost naive and lifeless. I don't know whether the fact that it was Zafon's first novel or the possibility of a genuinely soulless translation is to blame but I am not particularly eager to try my luck with the rest of his work.
A YA novel (or whatever you want to call it) is no excuse for pure boredom, predictability and ridiculous remarks. Our teenagers deserve better than today's writing which wants to treat them like fools. Don't be idiots.
‘'I'll do anything in the world for you.''
Elise and Jamey meet in New Haven in 1986. It doesn't matter whether theirs is ‘love at first sight' or not. The bond swiftly developed between them defies such a mundane expression. They move to New York, fighting every prejudice and courageous hostility imaginable. As we follow a year of their relationship, we witness how her strength and determination unite with his naivety and moments of weakness, forming one of the most memorable couples in Contemporary Literature.
Jardine Libaire has created a beautiful, edgy, tender dance in the streets of New York during the delirious decade of the 80s. Politics, social unrest, racial issues, the nightmare of AIDS, the chasm dividing the residents of Tribeca and Upper East Side and the homeless veterans begging for spare change, forgotten by everyone. Two young people are struggling for the right to love each other in peace. When you recognise that Love is the only force that can help stay afloat in the ocean of unadulterated shit, then hope is not as unattainable as we might think.
Sometimes, the Big Apple is better off asleep...
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
‘'Our love affair with trains - especially steam trains - is matched by our fear of them. Who amongst us has not, at one time or another, been ultra-cautious about standing too close to the edge of the platform as the train thunders in, or has hurried over a level-crossing just in case the train might appear at any second, or has found themselves alone in the labyrinth of the tunnels underground leading to a possibly deserted station. And who has not wondered who will sit next to them in a carriage, especially the older carriages where you could be trapped in a compartment.'' Mike Ashley
When I saw the title in the catalogue of British Library Publishing, I knew that it was bound to offer an exciting edge to this daily commuter's life. Commuting on a day-to-day basis is both a blessing and a curse (and trust me, I reacted much more vehemently during the early years...) and the idea of a ghost among the masses of commuters seems utterly illogical.
But is it really? Where else could a ghost appear in plain sight and pass (largely) unnoticed? Who is responsible for every single thing that turns our lives into a nightmare in the subway? Why do all these stupid people refuse to understand that the subway is not a place to make out, or to occupy 5,000 seats with shopping bags? Not to mention the zombies who walk like intoxicated Teletubbies on high heels, enjoying the non-existent sights on the platform while the rest of us are desperately trying to go to our jobs in safety.
Bottom line: Ghosts are always better than people.
The Strange Story of Engine Number 651 (Victor L. Whitechurch): A locomotive cursed with ill fortune and a tragic story of obsession.
The Conductor's Story (Zoe Dana Underhill): The sad tale of a tragic accident that reveals the anger lurking in a problematic family, echoed in the sounds of a haunted bell...
A Desperate Run (Anonymous): A spectre is there to prevent an accident in the dark moors.
A Strange Night (L.G.Moberly): A pair of friends stumble upon a hamlet with no residents in sight, close to a railway that leads nowhere and trains that disappear. A haunting story that reminded me of the exceptional film Backtrack with Adrien Brody and Sam Neill.
The Tragedy in the Train (Huan Mee): A perplexing crime committed in a locked compartment occupied only by the victim. The structure of the story is outstanding.
The Man With the Cough (Mary Louisa Molesworth): A man carrying important documents finds himself in the centre of a strange nightly adventure, accompanied by ‘'the man with the cough''.
Railhead (Perceval Landon): A message in the darkness coming from a disconnected instrument hides a terrible warning.
The Barford Snake (Edgar Wallace): An eerie tale about a junction where accidents take place, resulting in numerous casualties. Ιs it haunted? Cursed? The ending is astonishing! A Ghost on the Train (Dinah Castle): A passenger on the last train to Brighton comes face-to-face with a murderer and a ghost in a story that is chilling and thrilling.
The Underground People (Rosemary Timperley): As a daily commuter I've always believed that public transport was created by Satan himself. This fascinating account of one of his minions confirms my conviction.
Really.
A Romance of the Piccadilly Tube (T.G.Jackson): A tragic accident in the Tube reveals the secret of a codicil and the unjust treatment of two brothers by their father. Don't let the title mislead you...
In the Tube (E. F. Benson): A man witnesses a death that hasn't happened yet in a complex story that defies the principles of Time and Place.
A Subway Named Mobius (A. J. Deutsch): A train disappears in the subway along with its passengers, possibly escaping to another dimension. A complicated tale that my mind refused to engage with on account of a character called Sweeney.
Don't judge me.
The Last Train (Michael Vincent): Phantom lights glimpsed from dark windows. Phantom passengers eternally waiting for the one train. Spectres of people who committed suicide. Lines passing under cemeteries. Missing drivers. Spooks...
The Underground (R. Chetwynd - Hayes): In this memorable story, the spectre of a young soldier in the subway reveals a tragic loss to a woman who is trapped between her obnoxious father and a worthless suitor.
A Short Trip Home (F. Scott Fitzgerald): A young man, desperately in love, is willing to face a very persuasive rival to the end of the trip home...
The Companion (Ramsey Campbell): ‘'Stone closed his eyes. When he opened them he saw within the hood of an oval of white cloth upon which - black crosses for eyes and nose, a barred crescent for a moth - a grinning face was stitched.''
This collection is absolutely precious! Brilliantly Introduced and edited by Mike Ashley.
‘'We are the Underground People. We dwell in that world of roaring trains and dark tunnels, moving staircases and bright platforms, crushing crowds and strange draughts that seem to come from nowhere. You see us every day. You are familiar with many of our faces, for we have a set routine of movements and travel. We are always in the same places at the same time each day. Each one of us is governed by the will of Him. We do not know who or where He is. We know nothing. We act according to His will, having no will of our own. We are not ghosts. We are solid. Very solid.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
‘'Like many counties in Ireland, stories are in the DNA of the people. The landscape is the fabric of the stories - what sews us together or unfortunately, at times, rips us apart. Stories are a way of coming to terms with our fortunes and misfortunes, and with the quirks of others; in short, a way of making sense of the human condition.''
On this journey in Armagh, one of the most historic counties on the Emerald Island, you will meet heroes and heroines, gods and goddesses. The tragic story of the Children of Lir, the larger than life figure of Cú Chulainn, Deirdre's sorrows, the haunting mermaid Liban, Conor Mac Nessa. You will trace Saint Patric's footsteps, pray by the Holy Wells (and read an extraordinary story about the Night of the Well), dance with fairies in both traditional tales and sightings of our times, meet changelings, get spooked by ghostly footsteps in the night and modern ghost stories. And this is a mere handful of the treasures waiting for you in Co. Armagh.
Unfortunately, the experience would have been truly unique if it hadn't been for the lifeless, weak, confusing, dry writing, the writer's obvious and inexplicable aversion to Christianity and the sorrowful attempts to appear ‘'humorous'' and ‘'spirited.'' In my opinion, apart from a few beautiful moments, this volume is one of the weakest in the series due to Quinn's approach. A pity, really, because the content is excellent.
''But coming out of that sleep was excruciating. My entire life flashed before my eyes in the worst way possible, my mind refilling itself with all my lame memories, every little thing that had brought me to where I was. I'd try to remember something else- a better version, a happy story, maybe, or just an equally lame but different life that would at least be refreshing in its digressions - but it never worked. I was always still me.'‘
The amount of stupidity aimed towards this novel by some members (who are unable to spot the difference between Dickens and the latest ‘‘o-so-cool - and superb- and whatnot YA writer) is unimaginable. What does the fact that the main character is ‘‘tall, blonde, thin and rich'' have to do with anything? Are there any new criteria regarding a character's external appearance on which we should determine their literary value? Is there a special measuring tape for problems and their importance and their use as a plot device? So the character is self-absorbed, isn't she?
Well, news flash. We all ARE! Every single creature on this idiotic planet is self-absorbed to various degrees. We are no Jesus Christ or Virgin Mary. We are not pure and innocent. So, I suggest some of us step down from our righteous pink bubble and face reality.
This is a marvellous book with an excellent heroine by an exceptional writer. End of story!
‘'As I neared Iskar, my eyes drifted to Hettie's window, and something against the pane stopped me in my tracks. I pinned my attention to it and was assailed with a spike of disquiet. As I tried to mould what I had witnessed into cloud, whatever it was moved closer to the glass and revealed itself. There in Hettie's window was Mary herself, her expression solemn as she gazed back down upon me. My heart stilled in relief. Then, as my vision adjusted, another shape appeared behind her, before the light failed and cast the image into darkness.''
Elspeth leaves Edinburgh and a bitter loss behind for Skelthsea and Iskar, a mysterious house that provides shelter (or does it...) to a young girl whose life has been marred by tragedy. Being a nanny gifted with a special instinct and a deep love for children, she begins to uncover the secrets echoing in the wind, the obsession and despair. A soft lullaby is heard every night, a whistling faint, yet unmistakable, echoes through the old walls, and nightmares haunt Elspeth's mind.
And this is one of the finest novels you'll ever read.
‘'The world gives birth to both the viper and the lamb, and there are churches for each.''
Set in a truly ‘'wuthering'' corner of Scotland where the wind and the wrath of the sea unite with the echoes and woes of the past, Rebecca Netley's story will haunt you (in the most exciting manner) long after you turn the last page. Paragraph after paragraph, chapter after chapter, the beauty of her writing, the aura of the setting, the lively characters compose a literary journey that is darkly enticing. The reader is immediately transported to Skelthsea and Iskar. You will feel the salty wind on your face, you will gaze upon the steep rocks under the moonlight, you will listen to frail steps and the murmuring of a haunting lullaby, you will wander in abandoned rooms, trying to distinguish the shapes in the windows, you will lose yourselves in a maze of vices, lies and pain. And you will turn to look behind your shoulder more than once.
‘'I had been dreaming, running through the streets of Edinburgh, my dress aflame, and yet the fire did not warm me and then I was on the ridge, with Skelthsea below, a ruin of ashes. Only the headstones in the graveyard jutted from the scorched earth. A crow, huddled on Hettie's plot, regarded me with a preternatural gaze and opened its beak. It was not song that fell from its throat but a whistle that soured and sickened on the air and wound like a shadow over the island.''
With traces of witchcraft, paganism, and spectres, and guided by an earthly, complex, fascinating heroine, The Whistling reads as the beautiful, proud child of The Turn of the Screw although it doesn't need the comparisons blurb writers adore to make. It shines on its own and it is bound to become a classic of the genre.
‘'As bedtime drew ever nearer, the night came turning its key upon my fear and all I could hear was the wind on the ridge and how it howled across the graves, graves that had not closed the eyes of those that lay there.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
''And what a long night it is, out there beyond the warm rooms and the firelight. Don't worry about the noises. Ignore the moving shapes. It's time to step out. Turn the page. Oh, and happy Christmas. If you come back.'‘
Tim Martin
Α grotesque dream is merged with reality. The spirit of an abusive husband refuses to leave his wife in peace even in death. A shadow seeks revenge. A tragedy haunts the son of a happy family. The injustice done to a poor family creates the ghostly steps of the Erinyes in a tale of which Dickens would be proud. A strange man appears in an elevator and is seen only by a young boy. A famous actress initiates a peculiar game of fate. A ghostly young man becomes a faithful companion to a girl.
These and other stories are included in this collection of eerie, melancholic tales. From Muriel Spark to Robert Aickman, from Louis de Bernieres to Jenn Ashworth, this volume is compulsory reading for those eerie, silent winter nights.
Beautiful Introduction by Tim Martin.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
''There was a little snow on the ground, and the church clock had just struck midnight. Hampstead in the night of winter for once was looking pretty, with clean, white earth and lamps for moon, and dark sky above the lamps.'‘
The Phantom Coach (Amelia B. Edwards): A young man finds shelter from the cold night in a strange house before he braves the darkness of the moor and a coach with peculiar passengers.
Jerry Bundler (W.W.Jacobs): A lively company finds shelter in a public house and spends the time narrating ghost stories. But the real terror becomes tangible when they learn the story of the inn. A rather unique, chilling tale that seemed destined to become an excellent play to be performed during Christmas.
Bone to His Bone (E. G. Swain): The new vicar makes a strange discovery, aided by a spirit residing in the library.
Oberon Road (A. M. Burrage): A ‘‘trippy'' version of A Christmas carol in which a strange neighbourhood becomes a likely counterfeit for Paradise.
The Last Laugh (D. H. Lawrence): The aetherial heroine of this eerie story is haunted (or is she?) by an uncanny, ‘‘masculine'' laughter tracing her steps in a strange, wintry London. A fascinating story that poses a dozen questions.
Dr. Browing's Bus (E. S. Knights): Ghosts are lurking in the storm and a bus is full of unfortunate souls...
Whittington's Cat (Eleanor Smith): It's a traditional Christmas pantomime. What could possibly go wrong?
''Right above her now hung the gargoyles, peering down at her. Behind them the sun was setting in clouds, soft and humid as winter sunsets can only be in Somerset. She was standing in front of a tiny door studded with nails. The doorway was the oldest part of the church of Cloud Martin. It dated back to Saxon days; and the shrivelled bits of blackened, leather-like stuff, still clinging to some of the nails, were said to be the skins of heathens flayed alive.'‘
The Earlier Service (Margaret Irwin): Cryptic Latin inscriptions, ghostly figures, Black Masses...You can't get any more British Gothic than this exquisite story.
Christmas Honeymoon (Howard Spring): A young couple wants to spend Christmas Eve in mythical Cornwall. But what they find is an eerie, silent land...A superb story which reminded me of Robert Aickman's work.
The Cheery Soul (Elizabeth Bowen): Do not disturb the spirit of the faithful cook of the house.
Between Sunset and Moonrise (R. H. Malden): Set in the mystical land of the fens, this is the story of a vicar troubled and haunted by shadows in the fog. A wintry tale that will leave you shivering.
The Mirror in Room 22 (James Hadley Chase): A haunted mirror and a dog that is only heard barking three days before Christmas trouble the Air Force officers who spend Christmas in an old cottage, now used as a mess. A chilling, cryptic story.
At the Chalet Lartrec (Winston Graham): A tragic story of love, survival, vengeance and treachery tracing the years before and after WWII with a shocking ending.
Account Rendered (W. F. Harvey): A strange patient asks to be fully anaesthetised at a specific time on a specific day without having the need for an operation. One of the most unique ‘‘weird'' stories I've ever read.
The Wild Wood (Mildred Clingerman): The hunt for THE perfect Christmas tree provides the backdrop in a story of desire and secrets. Clingerman's tale is a true puzzle that I couldn't fully grasp, yet thoroughly enjoyed.
The Waits (L. P. Hartley): A family is disturbed by two carol singers that refuse to take the money and go away. Another mysterious (and darkly exciting) story that provides a plethora of questions.
Deadman's Corner (George Denby): A rather humorous, traditional story about a spectral highwayman.
Don't Tell Cissie (Celia Fremlin): A group of old friend decides to explore a supposedly haunted cottage without telling their unfortunate, accident-prone, infuriating friend. But Cissie will not be dissuaded or fooled. A tender, moving story about these strange friendships that exhaust us until we lose them completely. A beautiful tale to end a fascinating collection.
Marvellously introduced and edited by Tanya Kirk.
''Should you find yourself sitting by an open fire this Christmas, look into the flames and perhaps you will see a spooky shape or two, flickering there..'‘
Tanya Kirk
P.S. Spending 2023 anxiously waiting for the next volume of Christmas Ghost stories by British Library.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
''To me, it's the one time you are really a child at heart, however old you may be. It's a time of lovely, darling surprises, of, for once, reaping the benefit of having saved up - of being happy just simply...One walks lots at Christmas, have you noticed? And one plays games, and is not only a child at heart, but pure of heart; just for a little while.'‘
The Turkey Season (Alice Munro): A satirical -yet poignant- look at the interactions between the workers of the Turkey Barn during the days leading up to Christmas.
This Year It Will Be Different (Maeve Binchey): This story demonstrates that a) the greatest expectation-busters are our own families, and b) it will take millennia for all to understand that a woman's natural habitat is NOT the bloody kitchen! Christmas or no Christmas!
General Impression of a Christmas Shopping Centre (E.M. Delafield): A hilarious insight into the frenzy of a shopping centre during Christmas.
The Christmas Pageant (Barbara Robinson): One of the jewels in the collection. Meet the ‘‘nightmarish'' children who taught everyone what Christmas is all about. And read the novel that followed the story. You'll roll with laughter and, simultaneously, find yourself moved to tears.
Ticket for a Carol Concert (Audrey Burton): The village gossipers are touched by the Christmas spirit and a carol concert becomes unexpectedly successful in a story that exposes all the burdens that can't be concealed by the bright Christmas lights.
Snow (Olive Wadsley): A tender story about the ordeals of love, misunderstandings and secrets. And footsteps in the snow...
‘Twas the Night Before Christmas (Kate Nivison): A mouse does its best to avoid a mother who tries to prepare the stockings as she contemplates the ways her teenage daughters are about to change.
Christmas Fugue (Muriel Spark): Love is in the air when Christmas comes to town. Just be careful who you fall for...
The Little Christmas Tree (Stella Gibbons): The unexpected arrival of three charming children causes our heroine to take a different course in life. Personally speaking, I'd prefer my solitude, thank you very much.
The Christmas Present (Richmal Crompton): I've always said that when I become an elderly lady, I will pass everyone off by pretending to be deaf. This story reinforced my future plan.
Christmas Bread (Kathleen Norris): I'm afraid this one left me cold despite the beautiful Christmassy scenes. A rather melodramatic family reunion isn't really my cup of tea. However, the vast majority of readers will adore it.
Christmas in a Bavarian Village (Elizabeth von Arnim): Christmas in a Bavarian village two years before the Nazi terror of the Final Solution.
Freedom (Nancy Morrison): Sylvia is in love and eager to earn her freedom from a tyrant. A charming story set in Switzerland.
On Skating (Cornelia Otis Skinner): Unfortunately, this story was overloaded with questionable (to put it mildly...) remarks about races and religions. In my humble opinion, it shouldn't have been included in this collection.
Clap Hands, Here Comes Charlie (Beryl Bainbridge): Again, I found myself appalled and wondering who thought it would be a good idea to choose this abominable story with an even more abominable ending to be included in this volume. Not to mention the fact that it is actually traumatic for a person whose father has experienced a heart attack. The editor dropped the ball with a serious thud here.
The Pantomime (Stella Margetson): This story gives a lively snippet of the fever behind the scenes of a pantomime and the difficulty of leaving something (and someone) behind...
On Leavin' Notes (Alice Childress): New Year's resolutions cannot alter the position of the ones who have been deemed as the ‘‘weakest'' by society.
''Then there was scurrying and laughter in the streets, bundles dampened, boys shouting and running, merry faces, rouged by the pure, soft cold. The shabby, leather-sheathed doors of St. Martin's, opposite Merle's window, creaked and swung under the touch of wet, gloved hands. Merle could see the Christmas - trees and the boxed oranges outside the State Street groceries coated with eider-down; naked gardens and fences and bare trees everywhere grew muffle and feathered and lovely. In the early twilight the whole happy town echoed with bells and horns and the clanking of snow- shovels.'‘
Marvellously introduced by Simon Thomas, this is a memorable anthology of festive stories with a healthy dose of hope and nostalgia, despite my serious (subjective) objection over 3 -4 of the works included.
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
One of the most heartwarming books I've ever read! Angels, gifts from the other side, reunions, whispery warnings, hope and faith. During Christmas, there is magic in the air and all things are possible. This is the true meaning of Christmas. The birth of hope, the beginning of unconditional Love as the Saviour's light shines upon us. In this volume, instead of dread, you will find hope. Instead of spooky spectres, you will find Angels. This is Christmas enclosed within the pages of a book, true to the Dickensian spirit.
‘'Don't you want to hear me speak my piece?''
The Invisible Tenants of Rushmere (Florence Marryat): The young couple who rented Rushmere thought they had found the ideal shelter. However, they soon realise that ‘'no one who lives in Rushmere lives there alone.'' A quintessential haunted house story in which darkness is always present.
The First Comer (B.M. Croker): An unusual and rather atmospheric tale that combines ghostly sounds, burning coals and Folklore.
The Day of My Death (Elizabeth Stuart Phelps): A sceptic husband, a somewhat problematic medium, a wife who puts up with her husband's refusal to believe in the supernatural, and prophecies of death. The ingredients for a darkly hilarious story, one of the finest in the collection.
The Spirit's Whisper (Unknown): The temptation to link psychiatry and the paranormal is always present in a tale that lets us draw our own conclusions.
A Case of Eavesdropping (Algernon Blackwood): A peculiar, complex mystery in which the protagonist becomes the witness of conversations that can only be heard through a wall.
A Speakin' Ghost (Annie Trumbull Slosson): The eerie, moving confession of a spectral child.
The Whispering Wall (H.D. Everett): What starts as a challenge becomes a moving account of loss and grief as whispering echoes along the wall of an old house.
No Living Voice (Thomas Street Millington): An exciting story that gives new meaning to the old ‘' a voice made me do it..''
The Lady's Maid's Bell (Edith Wharton): One of the most famous eerie tales by the great Lady of Literature in which a faithful maid returns from the dead to protect her lady's secret. The reader and the sympathetic narrator are left to wonder what led to a house filled with silence and sorrow...
The Case of Vincent Pyrwhit (Barry Pain): Can a mere telephone lead to murder?
The Haunted Organist of Hurly Burly (Rosa Mulholland): A tragic tale of vice, obsession and extreme loyalty.
Over the Wires (H. D. Everett): My favourite story in this beautiful volume. Set during the First World War, it is a haunting tale of love beyond the grave. A soldier returning to London on his first leave is trying to trace his beloved Isabel, a Belgian woman whose family suffered a terrible fate at the hands of the monsters from Germany. I sobbed like a child...
Siope - A Fable (Edgar Allan Poe): Sometimes silence becomes more terrifying than the loudest ghostly wail. This is a myth of Desolation and Despair that reminded me of Oscar Wilde's tales and the Book of Revelation. The House of Sounds (M. P. Shiel): A strange tale of cosmic horror and a curse that afflicts the inhabitants of a particular house in Norway. Quite unique and extremely complex.
Ringing bells, hair-raising screams, eerie whispers, unearthly silence. A collection of Acoustic Weird and one more exquisite addition to the Tales of the Weird series by our beloved British Library.
‘'And, all at once, the moon arose through the thin ghastly mist, and was crimson in colour. And mine eyes fell upon a huge grey rock which stood by the shore of the river, and was litten by the light of the moon. And the rock was grey, and ghastly, and tall, - and the rock was grey. Upon its front were characters engraven in the stone; and I walked through the morass of water- lilies, until I came close unto the shore, that I might read the characters upon the stone. But I could not decypher the characters. And I was going back into the morass, when the moon shone with a fuller red, and I turned and looked again upon the rock, and upon the characters - and the characters were DESOLATION.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
‘'If you lived in Jenkintown in 1968 or went to school at Choate, chances were good you'd cross paths with most of the people there eventually, even if just to nod and say hello, but New York City was a wild card. Every hour was made up of a series of chances, and choosing to walk down one street instead of another had the potential to change everything: whom you met, what you saw or were spared from seeing.''
Maeve and Danny are trying to find their way through a series of events that have marked their lives. Their mother disappeared, their father married again (all too quickly) and now they have been thrown out of their home by their stepmother (what an abominable word!). As the decades go by, we witness their strengths and weaknesses, their ability and determination to move on. But can you actually move on when the past is there to haunt you? Can you let sleeping dogs lie when you visit your old home to scratch the old wounds? Most of all, we witness the siblings' extraordinary bond and affection at a time when everything changes all too rapidly.
‘'The houses on VanHoebeek Street were never entirely dark. People left their porch lights on all night, as if they were always waiting for someone to come home. Gas lights flickered at the end of driveways, a lamp in the front window of a living room stayed on through the night, but even with all these small bursts of illumination there was a stillness about the place that made it clear the inhabitants were all in their beds, even the dogs of Elkins Park were asleep.''
I swear, Ann Patchett can write some of the most evocative nightly scenes you'll ever read.
Exquisite. Moving. Poignant. Tender. Reflective. One of the finest novels I've read with two protagonists that renew your faith in the power of Literature to create characters that reflect our own hopes and struggles, that help us look into our own souls and face our own doubts. Maeve and Danny (but especially Maeve whom I ADORED!) show that you can allow yourself to be insecure and uncertain because we are humans after all. At the same time, giving up should NOT be an option. This is what Literature is all about and Ann Patchett executes that to perfection.
The Dutch House is an immersive literary triumph.
‘'Do houses ever die of grief?''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
''Beside the cave, nettles grow, emerald green and young. Snow white, swan white butterflies lay their eggs on the young green shoots of these nettles. You must pick them with your bare hands. No gloves. The nettles will bite. Next, you must take them in bundles and stamp them with your pretty bare feet. Stamp them until they make flax and this you must spin to a delicate thread, fine as a spider's filament. When you have this thread you must knit eleven shirts, one for each swan, one for each brother, fine as thistledown. When eleven shirts are made, and not until then, you must throw one over each white swan's shoulders and then, only then, they will be free.'‘
A moving retelling of the beloved tale by Hans Christian Andersen, exquisitely illustrated and narrated by Jackie Morris. A true gem for every bookcase.
‘'I don't like the idea of dying with regrets.''
In the café Donna Donna in beautiful Hakodate, lives are unfolding as autumn approaches. A heartbroken daughter wants to meet her parents to heal the pain of being left alone at a tender age. A husband meets his beloved wife who died before their shared dream was fulfilled. A young woman learns to smile again instructed by her deceased sister. An aspiring young actor wants to express his feelings to his childhood friend who is about to face an unknown ordeal.
So, you can't change the present. The past is ‘'locked''. The present is what it is. But the future is our own. And what kind of life is there when you are consumed by guilt and regret and the words that should not have remained unspoken? Loss is unbearable. Death is terrifying. But setting yourself free from regret is necessary. Putting one foot in front of the other won't do. Life should be so much more than this. Giving voice to your feelings can become the finest balm for scars that may never be healed but will not bleed again. It is the mandatory step to move forward. You can't change the present but the future deserves to be lived. And regret is a tombstone for the living.
Yes, Toshikazu Kawaguchi and his treasures keep breaking our hearts, but the hope, love, and sense of freedom that surround you when you read his books last long after your coffee gets cold. Within these pages, Life awaits. You don't want to miss it...
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
‘'We walked through a landscape bleached with frost, the earth standing hard and frozen. Ice crept everywhere. Even the streams had begun to freeze, ice fingering out from their edges, tombing them over. Yet the cold left me feeling alive, as if we were indeed the only things out there that were still living, the only things moving in the whole landscape.''
Sally Hinchcliffe has created a mystery that doesn't need ghouls and spirits and damsels in distress to become engaging. Instead, the story focuses on the most terrifying of monsters. The human soul and the sins of a murky past. We don't need spirits in closets or boogeymen hiding under our beds. Family, a doomed love affair and the pressure from local communities (not to mention experiencing an absurd war) become the worst demons haunting your steps. Questionable decisions, repercussions (justifiable or not...) and isolation create the most terrifying shadows.
The writing is beyond beautiful. I could copy dozens of paragraphs dedicated to the beauty and mystery of autumnal nature, the mysticism of the Scottish moors and the enticing, yet unmistakable, threat of the approaching winter. With references to witches and the history of witchcraft (without becoming a gimmick) and an unreliable narrator that I adored, this is a novel that doesn't insult our intelligence.
If you're looking for naive governesses besotted with their darkly mysterious employer or fashionable madwomen in the attic, then look elsewhere. If you desire a novel that will actually make you think while inviting you for a hike within the heart of a golden autumnal forest, then Hare House is the perfect companion for the dark evenings of the year.
‘'If I hadn't laughed before, I might have then, except that we had reached the churchyard gates and were standing staring at them. The wind here was wild and gusting, the tops of the trees tossing violently, and for the first time it struck me that walking through forests in a gale wasn't that sensible an idea. But it wasn't that which had brought me to a halt, brought both of us to a halt. On the gateposts ahead of us, fresh paint stood stark red against the rain-blackened stone. It was crudely done, the letters crammed in towards the end, the paint running, but it was still clear. Exod 22:18.''
My reviews can also be found on https://theopinionatedreaderblog.wordpress.com/
‘Our lives will encircle the sun, setting and rising, setting and rising. Stonehenge will endure; the red and white dragons will sleep on Dinas Emrys; and a happy Merlin will inhabit Caledonia while, to the south, children dance on the shoulders of giants.'
A beautiful, haunting, moving journey within the heart of the legends, the myths, the characters, and the convictions that shaped the British Isles. A monumental work, a true gem, for every lover of Mythology, History and Folklore.