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Introduction by Colm Tóibín
In fifteen funny, colorful, poignant and mysterious stories, the irreverent modernist Katherine Mansfield, a friend and contemporary of D. H. Lawrence and Virginia Woolf, examines a range of themes integral to the human experience, from marriage, family, and death to duty, disillusionment, and regret in this commanding collection, part of the Ecco Art of the Story series.
Written towards the end of Katherine Mansfield’s tragically short life in the chaotic years after World War I, the fifteen stories in The Garden Party are as fresh, perceptive, and vivid today as they were nearly a century ago. Many are set in the author's native New Zealand while others take place in England or on the French Riviera. In each, Mansfield explores the small yet transformative epiphanies in every day life and illuminates the unspoken, often misunderstood emotions common to us all.
In the wry "The Daughters of the Late Colonel," two sisters discover that freedom from their father isn’t quite what they expected it to be. A lonely and naïve older woman’s contrived sense of self is painfully challenged in "Miss Brill." "At the Bay" considers the plight of a happily married young woman who struggles to find equality with her husband.
The Garden Party is an enduring work of literary craftsmanship from a marvelous modern artist.
288 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1922
It was all very well to say it was the common lot of women to bear children. It wasn’t true. She, for one, could prove that wrong. She was broken, made weak, her courage was gone, through child-bearing. And what made it doubly hard to bear was, she did not love her children.
…people began coming in streams. The band struck up; the hired waiters ran from the house to the marquee. Wherever you looked there were couples strolling, bending to the flowers, greeting, moving on over the lawn.
Then, as they were standing there, wondering what to do, he had suddenly opened one eye. Oh, what a difference it would have made, what a difference to their memory of him, how much easier to tell people about it, if he had only opened both! But no – one eye only. It glared at them a moment and then… went out.


Out of the smudgy little window you could see an immense expanse of sad-looking sky, and whenever there were clouds they looked very worn, old clouds, frayed at the edges, with holes in them, or dark stains like tea.
That's the way to live - carelessly, recklessly, spending oneself. .. To take things easy, not to fight against the ebb and flow of life, but to give way to it... To live, to live!"
I've only one night or one day, and there's this vast dangerous garden, waiting out there, undiscovered unexplored.
The point is - she shook her head - I couldn't possibly marry a man I laughed at.
he was so incredibly handsome the the looked like a mask or a most perfect illustration in an American novel rather than a man.
And what was left of her time was spent in the dread of having children.
She had become really quite expert, she thought, at listening as though she did not listen, at sitting in other people's fives for just a minute while they talked round her.
Oh, would you trust a gold watch to a native?
The shortness of Life! The shortness of life!
Why did the photographs of dead people always fade so?.. as soon as a person was dead their

