Mavis Gallant’s first sentences are clear and purposeful: they orient readers and offer a glimpse of the story’s tone. “His mother had come of age in the war and then seemed to live a long greyness like a spun-out November.” Another remarkable aspect of her craft is the way
Just four weeks ago, I was commenting on the first story in From the Fifteenth District, a novella, and noting how many key elements of Mavis Gallant’s storytelling were present in “The Four Seasons”. In “The Latehomecomer”, not only do some familiar elements resurface, but an actual character reappears.
“Those assholes again? Nah, he said. So I knew his aunt or Elwin had done it.” Violence permeates Joe’s life. It simmers beneath the surface of every single day. But in The Round House it erupts, nearly eclipses every other aspect of life for awhile. Something happens to his
Event hosted by Kaggsy's Ramblings Stuck in a Book #1977Club So much good women's fiction from 1977, from Margaret Atwood's Dancing Girls to Marilyn French's The Women's Room. But I reread Carol Shields' Unless last year and I wanted to reread another of hers. Enter, The
They are no longer only thieves and rascals: “All men are filth.” Bea is perhaps no more unhappy than Marian Kimber, but she is more outwardly disgruntled. And even though she says this with a laugh, there’s an undeniable edge to it. “My mother was a saint and my
