The prolific Meriol Trevor, BA, FRSL was a writer of novels, biographies, and children's books. A convert to Roman Catholicism, Trevor wrote a two-volume biography of John Henry Newman (The Pillar of the Cloud and Light in Winter) which won the James Tait Black Memorial Prize in 1962.
I will be so bereft if I ever run out of William Trevor's books, because he is my go-to for every time I am restless, awry, melancholic, uninspired, peaceful, sad, or empty. Somehow, he fits all these emotions and moods. In the age of the internet brain and AI slop, William Trevor left us a legacy that is a gift. Every bit of his writing urges you to slow down, take in, breathe, pause, and absorb. You will certainly lose something of the essence of Trevor if you ever attempt to binge through his stories, for the soul of his stories is not in the beginning or end, wrapped neatly, but often in the middle or somewhere you are not expecting.
Trevor's stories can be so cruel in that they strip away people's performances to their bare minimum selves, to the self that is desperate, yearning, lonely, pathetic, so pathetic, to the self that is a hypocrite. But in this cruelty, there is also tenderness and empathy, even as he is talking about the societal bullies, the 'villains', not just the victims, not just the truly vulnerable. Trevor, on initial contact, tricks you into thinking it is all personal, given the beautiful intimacy of his stories. But in truth, I have never read a Trevor story that is not anti-imperialism, anti-religious hypocrisy, or against societal norms that imprison some people and make jailers of others. He is firmly on the side of the marginalized, even as the story focuses on those who oppress.
And the way he portrays women is so unique, in a way that even these 'modern' male writers cannot ever hope to achieve. In Trevor's stories, women are just humans, very often victims but never less than fully realised. Often, you forget the gender of the writer of these stories. Yes, William Trevor is political, and that makes him firmly sit alongside my favourite authors of all time.
I enjoyed this short story collection. William Trevor has a bit in common with Munro, with a Gothic country kind of feel (Munro's "Chance" and Trevor's "Beyond the Pale" even have a common plot element, a character who feels badly when talking to a stranger before the stranger mysteriously dies), yet not seeming surreal.
I'm currently re-reading The Folio Society's beautiful edition of Beyond the Pale & Other Stories by William Trevor. Published in 2010, it includes an introduction written by Trevor the previous year. A notable coup, given how notoriously media-shy the author is.
The eighteen short stories are accompanied by illustrations from Lyndon Hayes. Although they took me a while to warm to, I now see what a perfect fit they are for this collection.
There's something about Trevor's writing that puts me a little on edge. Despite the familiarity of the settings, the gentle nuances of daily life, there is always a part of me that remains removed from his stories. When I first picked up this edition the striking, somewhat harsh, style of Lyndon's illustrations did nothing to diminish that feeling.
It was the same when I read Trevor's last novel, Love and Summer. I held back from embracing the character of Ellie. There is a cool feeling of detachment sometimes in Trevor's depiction of women. In this collection, he writes a lot from the female perspective. He is dutiful in addressing the varied emotions and responses his female characters experience when faced with the beginning, the end, or the possibility of romance. Yet I'm never fully satisfied.
This preoccupation with a character often stays with me after I finish one of Trevor's stories. I find myself pondering their next move. Wondering if they'll go back on their decisions, wondering—in some cases— if they'll even make a decision. Lyndon's paintings have the same effect. They linger long after I've left the book down. Expertly chosen.
I've never considered myself a short story fan. It would be unlike me to choose a collection above a novel. Now though I see that a short story is as much about what is left unsaid, as it is about what an author chooses to include.
For the reader, part of the short story's allure is filling in the blanks. Once I thought about it, I realised that was exactly what I had been doing whenever I walked away from Trevor's stories. Suddenly I had a deeper appreciation for the skill of short story writing.
I think of Joni Mitchell's Both Sides Now. She's doesn't provide specifics, but she covers a whole lot. So too does Trevor, in his carefully selected and sparse choice of words.
All very well written stories, but a bit of a downer. The author often deals with trapped people, whose lives piviot about an unforseen life altering event (or series of small events), which create a state of mind they find inexcapeable.
I started to read William Trevor’s books in the late 1990s and consider him as one of my favorite authors. His fiction and short stories are equally good. I joined GoodReads about 2 months ago and wanted to start to build up my library/books read here, since I do enjoy reading.
John Updike had a blurb on the back cover of the dust jacket: Mr. Trevor has a solid reputation in Great Britain and a growing one here. "Other People's Worlds" surely will boost this reputation; it is a dense and constantly surprising work, grimly humorous, total in its empathy and pungent with the scent of evil and corruption.
I love William Trevor short stories, but this one didn’t really connect with me. Some standouts were “The teddy-bears Picnic,” “Mr Tennyson,” “Being Stolen From,” and “Autumn Sunshine.” Four excellent stories, but usually Trevor collections have a higher hit rate for me. Still some haunting and resonant stuff, but also some forgettable pieces.
I've always meant to read William Trevor, and this collection of short stories is a good introduction. The first one, "The Bedroom Eyes of Mrs. Vansittart," is the gem of the volume. It starts off being a story about a particular kind of woman--presented as vain, superficial, adulterous to her henpecked husband--and then, in a masterly stroke, Trevor upends all your assumptions and shows you a whole different side of thing. As it illustrates once again that you can't really know what a relationship is like from the outside, it also takes your breath away.
Seems to have taken a long time to eead but as they are short stories it is easy to put down and read something else first.
It takes a little to adjust from reading novels to reading short stories. As with poetry as much is left out as is said but on the whole I really enjoyed these snippets of Irish country life. Some where surprisingly dark, it was good to be able to use my own imagination to "fill in the gaps" not always correctly but guessing was as much fun.
More heartbreaking stories of love, loss and just a little touch of depravity, from the Master.
I now have all of his published works save for the two earliest short story collections. I should like to see Mr. Trevor win the Nobel Prize; his time is running out.