Spine-chilling tales for dark nights from Celia Fremlin, 'Britain's Patricia Highsmith' (Sunday Times) who is 'Irresistible' (Val McDermid), 'brilliant' (Elly Griffiths), 'a master of suspense' (Janice Hallett), 'packs a punch' (Ian Rankin) and 'got me hooked' (Ruth Rendell)
He was smiling, and covered in blood - face, hands, pyjamas - everything and in his hands - thrust towards her like a birthday gift - was Julie's teddy-bear, soaked and dripping with blood.
This collection of spine-chilling Gothic miniatures from Celia Fremlin is a nightmarish showcase of macabre domesticity: controlling husbands rub shoulders with manipulative wives, parasitic visitors meet fatal accidents, there are nervous breakdowns, toxic relationships, sinister villagers and mob justice. With an unerring nail, Fremlin picks the scabs concealing domestic fault lines and chills our blood.
Celia was born in Kingsbury, now part of London, England. She was the daughter of Heaver Fremlin and Margaret Addiscott. Her older brother, John H. Fremlin, later became a nuclear physicist. Celia studied at Somerville College, Oxford University. From 1942 to 2000 she lived in Hampstead, London. In 1942 she married Elia Goller, with whom she had three children; he died in 1968. In 1985, Celia married Leslie Minchin, who died in 1999. Her many crime novels and stories helped modernize the sensation novel tradition by introducing criminal and (rarely) supernatural elements into domestic settings. Her 1958 novel The Hours Before Dawn won the Edgar Award in 1960.
With Jeffrey Barnard, she was co-presenter of a BBC2 documentary “Night and Day” describing diurnal and nocturnal London, broadcast 23 January 1987.
Fremlin was an advocate of assisted suicide and euthanasia. In a newspaper interview she admitted to assisting four people to die.[1] In 1983 civil proceedings were brought against her as one of the five members of the EXIT Executive committee which had published “A Guide to Self Deliverance” , but the court refused to declare the booklet unlawful.
Another author unknown to me. I’m filling in gaps in my reading. This author was evidently fairly well known 1960s through 1990s and sometimes called England’s Patricia Highsmith. After reading this collection of short stories, I see the resemblance.
This isn’t “horror” although there is occasionally a touch of supernatural. The psychological tension is far more important. Her stories of women, children, men and families do often inspire dread and discomfort and sometimes a little warped humor such as in Ephemerida when an old discarded woman floats above it all as would a mayfly on its last day. More typical is Place in the Sun, again an old forgotten woman, revisiting her useful healthy days as a young mother.
I definitely recommend this forgotten author and intend to try one of her novels.
This was an interesting collection of short stories by a writer who seems to have vanished into obscurity, which is too bad. Celia Fremlin was definitely a competent, distinct, and witty writer, and these stories are mostly gently macabre and enjoyable. Most of them are very short, and one of the complaints I have is that just when a story really started to get interesting, it would end abruptly. This happened in almost all cases. There is a similar tone in the POV of each story as well, although the protagonists range from teenage girls to young men to middle-aged women (which is the predominant POV here).
The collection started off stronger than it finished, and a couple of the stories were outright duds, but I'm glad I read it and I would be open to reading more by Fremlin.
That title seems self-explanatory, doesn't it? And the only thing here I'd read before, Don't Tell Cissie, is absolutely a ghost story, albeit a very unusual one, about a female friendship group, and one of those people "Friendly, good-hearted, and desperately anxious to be in on everything, and yet with this mysterious knack of ruining things". And there are other supernatural stories here, timeslips, suburban voodoo, and another ghost or two. But more often we get what I suppose you'd call tales of unease; the postwar consensus can look idyllic as seen from the apocalyptic present, but story after story homes in on someone living in that classic sitcom set-up, husband and wife and 2.4 children, and shows the desperate lengths to which it's driven them. In The Sunday Outing, Pamela always insists the family should go to the beach at the first sign of sun, when James would much rather rest in the garden, and of course he can't do anything as outlandish as explain how he feels, but just once he thinks he's got a foolproof way to get out of it... Had they lived a few decades later, the husband in An Unsuspected Talent could have stayed home with the kids as he clearly prefers, and his wife been ambitious on her own behalf instead of vicariously, but coming when they did, they drive each other up the wall, and that's before the fateful day of his interview for a promotion. And even the people trying not to perpetuate the straitjacket, like the progressive mum in Barry Findlater, only create new ones. But just when you're wondering if the real horror was the conformity we met along the way, you realise how many stories seem locked on for an utterly despairing ending, only to manage last minute swerves (of varying degrees of plausibility) to salvation. An odd, claustrophobic little book, but never a dull one.
Celia Fremlin (1914-2009) es una autora británica que escribió novelas y relatos de misterio desde finales de los años 50, y que fue especialmente productiva en los años 60 y 70 (en España se llegaron a editar algunos -pocos- libros de bolsillo).
Su popularidad se apagó y Celia Fremlin se convirtió en una vieja excéntrica que daba de comer a los gatos callejeros y de vez en cuando envenenaba a sus vecinos con deliciosos bizcochos de cianuro o beleño.
Esta parte me la acabo de inventar aunque supongo que a Celia Fremlin no le importarán estos apuntes negros en su biografía.
Por este motivo, la editorial Faber ha recuperado en su serie Finds los cuentos de esta dama del misterio. En mi opinión, se trata de cuentos estupendos, escritos con absoluta maldad y mala leche (con sabor a cianuro), por lo que creo que es una autora que merecería más atención. Por citar a otras autoras próximas en 'negritud' y 'humor negro' (sí, sé que es una manía muy masculina) diría que haría buen equipo con Patricia Highsmith o Shirley Jackson ("oiga, señoras, ¿no les parece que este bizcocho huele demasiado a almendras amargas?").
Es cierto que algunos relatos tienen un tono muy cruel (joder, Celia, ¿no te estás pasando un poco?) pero siempre hay un último giro o contranota que da la vuelta a la 'humorada'.
I adored this set of short stores by Celia Fremlin. They are separate stories but they are connected by their total despair about human need and misplaced desire. Each story is short but powerful, usually concentrating on how need may backfire, leaving the protagonist devastated. Yes, they are dark but there is almost a bizarre humor to the method in which each plan backfires. I can’t wait to read more from this exceptional author.
3.5 - not a short story person usually, but enjoyed this overall. some were...not my favorite. not bad, just kind of nothing. but quite a few were very good! and I enjoyed her writing style regardless.
I would not say that any of these stories qualifies as horror by today's standards. More like suspense and some claustrophobia. Some stories were good, but most were not as good as Fremlin's novels.
Confounding stories that invite you, plead you, beg you and force you to keep reading until you don't have a choice but face the un-ending. The horror is in simple gestures, petty words and silly thoughts that put together reveal the only way to appreciate the narrative - be haunted. There is no other way. You do feel the horror but don't know where it is or where it comes from. It's there in each line and between, underneath, above and beyond the language, the scenes, the actions, the characters, their lives, their psychology, their intentions, their destiny. You better start worrying about your everyday life. Humanly haunting, simply horrifying.
As well as being a master of the domestic mystery genre, Celia Fremlin is also an excellent writer of short stories. Each one is carefully crafted, the scene set with believable characters, and each has an ingenious denouement. Many of the stories in this book also include strong elements of fantasy.