Under a Glass Bell begins like a dream and never really wakes up. It is clear from the outset that Nin is no ordinary writer and you have to get used to the bizarre and vague world she mixes up. The stories have an otherworldly feel, but also the feel of being on the edge of society, the language and the world of the outsider, the non-conformist, the homeless and displaced, the nomad and the mystic. "Houseboat" is the first and longest story here and it sets the tone. Like many of these tales, Nin sets "Houseboat" in a mysterious and misty Paris, floating down the Senne in the titular home. It is beautiful at times, and very evocative. Details are important and, simultaneously, irrelevant. Think the cartoon-like world of Amelie (for the beauty) and even a touch of Wes Anderson (for the ridiculous). Whereas Anderson balances that ridiculous world with something intriguing, the worlds of Anais Nin often become tiring. The narrative jumps too often and never takes hold of you. The characters, like the houseboat resident in the first story, are lost, lonely and sympathetic, but they often remain in the realms of irreality and fail to be memorable.
The circus dream feel continues in "The Mouse", one of the better stories in the collection. Here Nin remains with the character and hooks you with her tragedy. It tells of a serving girl (again in Paris, again the river) and an accidental pregnancy then a dangerous abortion. The mix of Nin's magical style with hard reality combines to make "The Mouse" a much more memorable story. Similarly "Under a Glass Bell" has characters that stick in your mind; a sister and two brothers seemingly frozen in time in a crystaline, fragile old manor house filled with a kind of stagnant beauty. There's something of the decrepid, tumble down romance of Gormenghast and the awful, mumified horror of Lovecraft. It is a mysterious and sumptuous fairy tale, a sleeping Cinderella palace, that fits perfectly to Nin's style in this collection.
Unfortunately the ingredients don't always mix well and the vagueries of the setting, the jarring narratives and dreamlike characters turn most of the rest into confusing muddles. Most of them are too short anyway to truly latch on to, a difficult middle ground between poetry and vignette that ends up being something like a fading dream. At the end Nin gives us two stories with something to hold on to. "Hedja" is fairy tale and romantic tragedy with the feel of Eastern mythology, but "Birth", the last story, is grounded in a cold, hard reality and is the first time one feels that Nin's own voice comes through at last. It's powerfully emotional, a heart wrenching and disturbing story about a stillborn child and the mother's wish to see her baby. Nin manages all of this without sacrificing the stylistic approach of the rest of the collection and the tragedy hits harder because of it. Throughout the collection there is no doubt that Nin can write beautifully and her imagery is occasionally really beautiful. But it is when something of her self rises to the surface, when her characters become real and relatable, that they succeed in being something else, something more than a trippy dreamscape, and turn into something haunting and memorable. 4