Colm Tóibín remains a favourite of mine. This, his latest short story collection, is characteristic of his writing: sparse simple sentences using plain unadorned English without sentiment or judgement. Yet it always astounds me that such writing can still stir the emotions.
I’ve come to believe that his work, and writing like it, leaves room for the reader to insert their own experiences and understandings of human behaviour into the narrative, forcing it to be relatable and therefore moving. This is what readers do.
These stories are of everyday people confronted with everyday dilemmas and how they deal with them. Dilemmas such as delivering bad news; facing your own bad decisions; restoring a damaged life; trying to get a good night’s sleep. I’m reminded of the other master of the short story, W Somerset Maugham, but not because they are similar. Maugham’s stories are neat: a beginning, a middle and an end. This is now a dated format, which some readers find disappointing. Tóibín’s stories, and those of some of his contemporaries, are not like that. They are anecdotes. They could be scenes from a novel, there isn’t necessarily a climax, an end. There are sometimes resolutions but sometimes just an acceptance of how things are. This does not make them less engaging, less true, or less affecting. It just makes them different.
This is the type of book that will sit on my bedside table with my phone, hearing aids and loose change. Just sitting there for me to delve into to remind me that the stuff of fiction is the stuff of life. A good resolution for a good night’s sleep.
Michael K Freundt 