I did it, I finished my Christmas reading. Okay, it took until Twelfth Night (kinda 13) but I did it. This was yet another completely enjoyable short story collection by a growing favorite author. All were interesting, a few were a bit enigmatic. Must put more Boyd into my reading plans.

Sometimes it’s merely the uncanny juxtaposition of two simple words that lets us know we’re reading a great writer. “(V)ast insouciance” — from the short story “The Pigeon” — is such an example.

William Boyd is not just a wordsmith; he’s a magician who pulls rabbit-words out of hats, throws them together, then lets us marvel at the effect. Problem is, we come away from the page thinking — we, the rest of us, we other purveyors of English prose — what’s the point? Why even bother? With writers like William Boyd to contend with, why not just throw in the towel and remain content to be readers?

If Boyd has any weakness as a short story writer, it’s in relying too much upon his readers to supply those bits he has clearly decided — perhaps in the interest of grace or economy — to omit. Consequently, his stories, as eloquent as they are imaginative, are not easy to read. Full and unforgiving concentration is a requirement. As well, a leap of faith in Boyd-logic — an equal necessity if we, his readers, are to grasp and hold that thin reed of a story we, ourselves, could not even begin to imagine, much less tell.

Do I recommend Fascination? Only to the intrepid. But to the intrepid, without reservation. Let your imagination run wild with only eyes and ears to chaperone and guide. And then, enjoy the party. William Boyd, like few others, knows how to throw one — at least, on the page.

RRB
5/12/13
Brooklyn, NY
( )

Malgré les éloges de la 4è de couverture, j'ai trouvé ces nouvelles assez peu convaincantes, et sous une forme très particulière : écriture froide, pour certaines sous la forme d'un rapport, ou d'un dialogue. ( )

The short stories in this collection are definitely not the sort you find in Woman's Weekly Fiction Special. They are distinctly literary, suitable for people who like to read, re-read and puzzle over stories to tease out the meaning. You certainly have to sit up and pay attention - I found I couldn't read these with the football on in the background. Miss a line and the whole thing doesn't make sense. To be honest there were some where I didn't miss a line and the whole lot still didn't make sense, but that could just be me.

The traditional format of a story - beginning, middle and end - is rarely observed here. They all have a middle,certainly. As far as the end is concerned, in many cases I would compare it with taking a pleasant walk through a meadow, admiring the varied flora, and suddenly finding the ground has disappeared and instead you fall to your death down a chasm. Sudden, unexpected, inexplicable.

Many of the stories seemed to have been written as a cerebral exercise. For example "Beulah Berlin A-Z" in which each paragraph starts with the same word that ended the previous paragraph (or an approximation of it) and furthermore, these words all start with a different letter, arranged alphabetically. It was the sort of exercise I would expect to find in '100 Ideas To Cure Writer's Block', and one suspects entertainment for the reader might have been a secondary concern. Having said that, this particular story like all the others had high points, and moments of spectacular luminance, typical of Boyd's writing.

Maybe irrelevant, since everyone's tastes are different, but my personal favourites were 'Lunch', 'Incandescence' and 'The Ghost of a Bird'. All written in edgy style, but in plot terms a little more conventional than most of the others here. ( )

Neuf nouvelles nerveuses. Ecriture très masculine, ce qui ne veut peut-être pas dire grand-chose, mais ressenti fortement ainsi. Des instants de vie. Beaucoup aimé la nouvelle éponyme, et celle intitulée "Le problème esprit-corps".