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192 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1984
‘He walked away from her, sat down in his worn red armchair, fumbled for his glasses, found them and took up the The Times crossword. She watched him, still holding her glasses in her hand. It’s funny, she thought, that whenever we talk to each other, we take our glasses off. We blur each other out. I suppose we’re afraid that if we see each other clearly – too clearly – communication between us will cease.’ (p71)This can be taken two ways, first, the way Tremain has it; a fading of affection and the development of insulation from a life partner after the spark has gone but their habits remain. Or it may mean a deliberate blurring, to remember more clearly the bonds which tie and satisfy. Probably the former. Apparently Henry was never the same after the war.
How many people, Charlotte wonders, as the police car passes the Camden Plaza showing a black and white film, are obscured by their own uselessness?Not usually a fan of short stories, I've saved several collections to read at once, and I'm glad I started with this one. Perfect pandemic reading, these are less than absorbing, but rewarded me as I stuck with them. The title story's the best, although it depressed the socks off me. Rose Tremain's social commentary never misses, which is not a comfort to me in any way, and her characters are mostly revolting and unlikeable but frighteningly understandable. She makes them radiate life without the use of adjectives. She's the queen of showing, not telling, and her characters stand out singularly with their own voices.
...being twins, we enjoyed attention from people which, singly, neither of us would have earned. It was as if the two of us equaled one very striking person.