I thoroughly enjoyed the beautiful array of Mansfield’s work. She has such an alluring and delicate charm to her narrative. Her writing touches upon youth, differing perspectives, dual meanings, fate, and insecurity. She evokes the dissatisfaction of life but simultaneously the hyper-idealisation that stems from our disappointment. Nothing is unequivocally real; there is always a ‘stage’, a meta-narrative, an orchestra of emotions conducted by nature, ironically supernatural. Her characters often paint their feelings through the melancholic, silvery outside world. Mansfield realises that we rarely own up to our own emotions, often placing them on a glossy cake-stand, leaving them to dry and be eaten up. She allows her characters to become overgrown and thorny, without a single straightforward facet to them. This wandering and mutable nature is very modernist and subsequently, vitalist (vitalism engaged with life as a constant process of metamorphosis) illustrating this constant sudden change in Mansfield’s characters. Sometimes there are sudden fires, bursts of desire and youth, drains of energy, of melancholy, of dullness. There is a grey draping cloth around the world that Mansfield torments us with. But she makes a fairy-lit den out of it, filled with half-shadowy excitement. Often her characters glimpse sight of the greyness again but will sometimes grow back into their dream-like, clueless states. A comforting but torturous song sung ‘over and over’.