This is the last Helen Simpson book on my tbr shelf and I was really looking forward to it having absolutely adored all my previous encounters with her writing but wow! The first few stories have thrown me a wobbly….I’m assuming it’s me that’s changed not her because I was really thinking the writing is a wee bit pretentious and even classist and I really just didn’t enjoy them at all…but then,
Panic over!
Every short story collection has one or two that don’t gel with every reader. I thought I’d have to go and find my real head because I’d clearly screwed the wrong one on.
But then…..
“Your fondness for dubiety, the way you prize the fluid and infinite possibilities which unfurl before an unattached person, these I sympathise with utterly. You cry freedom and I hear you. Harbouring the sense that there’s an epiphany just around the corner, you wait, breath bated, creatively passive, for the chance phrase or glance that will crystallise it all, show you what your life is about and where it is leading. You lack the desire to commit yourself. You tell me you are not ready for the responsibility of a child, and why should you be, my darling? You’re only thirty-six.”
These words and the couple of stories after this one connected with, and really resonated with my experience as a young working woman and as a young mother.
And I thought, all good, here she is, the astute and acerbic, wise and sassy, Helen Simpson as I remember her being; and the story Heavy Weather had such sharp painful resonance I almost feel she had spied on me and my young family and told the tale here. And then it turns out that I read it in a precious collection that I red back in 2017!
And then, the next few stories again! Sorry but I yawned my way through them.
A real mixed bag, it’s definitely me, not the book!
3 stars is generous I think.