This is the sixth of the twenty Faber Stories that I have read, and the first that hasn’t really worked for me. My problem was that I couldn’t find much to like in this short trilogy.
Originally these three stories appeared in 1922, ‘’23 and ’24 in different US magazines, the first being Vanity Fair. All appeared under the pseudonym Lydia Steptoe, and this collection is the first time that the three have been collected together. It is hard to tell if any linkage was ever intended, but the similar themes behind them makes this a possibility. The theme of sexual awakening links the three quite different characters. The first is a fourteen-year-old girl who tries to set up a meeting with her sister’s older lover at which she intends to whip and beat him. The second story is about a boy of the same age who is lured into the woods by his older cousin, who is also his father’s mistress. The third story is of a forty-year-old widow who falls in love with a younger man and so finds herself transported back to the state of youth she thought she wanted, but once there she is not so sure.
All three stories use the same style, of dated diary entries, which all start in August or September and run for a few weeks or a month or two. They have anything between six and twelve diary entries to cover the period, and the first two have longer gaps before the final entry to allow some time to pass and sense to prevail.
In the first story, called The Diary of a Dangerous Child, where the girl arranges a tryst with her older sister’s lover, she rides out to meet him at midnight, determined to whip him. Up to this point she has engaged in a debate with herself:
“I am debating with myself whether I shall place myself in some good man’s hands and become a mother, or if I shall become wanton and go out in the world and make a place for myself.
Somehow I think I shall become a wanton.
It is more to my taste. At least I think it is.”
In the second story I particularly liked the boy’s description of his mother:
“She is small and dark and there is a hard softness about the place you put your head when you lean on her. She says “Dear” in a tone that makes you want to keep it away from everyone else.
She wears more rings than father, and her hands are kind, but they hurt if she wants them to. She wears loose clinging dresses, she walks in the garden with a hidden anger, and she cuts flowers for the house as if she were displeased, but all the time there is a smile in her face that makes you wait for something grand and terrible to occur.”