“And so they stood together watching the extinct and rare creatures twirling away from the party. Light as snowflakes, fading in the dawn...” Spend Christmas in Venice, Paris, Whitby and on the planet Mars! Fourteen festive tales… from a fabulous story-teller.Featuring the magical tale of the Goblin King and his Invisible Mask… and a new story for Brenda and Effie and Iris Wildthyme at Christmas...
A brilliantly festive cross-section of Magrs' work, from memoir to cosy mystery, from magical realism to cult sci-fi. Perfect if you want some more Magrs (and you should) or a lovely collection of surprising stories to curl up with December. A proper Christmas chocolate box of treats.
A Paul Magrs collection which does exactly what it says on the tin – short stories, some of which give the impression of having maybe been told to young relatives in December, and a couple of which could maybe have done with another edit between that stage and this, but all of which show the same deep love of the season that came through in his lovely Silver Archive. They include a longer version of the Bowie story about the invisible mask which did the rounds back when we lost the Starman, and for me the additional material to some extent gets in the way of its core; even read over the course of two Christmases, there are a lot of unsupportive parents in these tales, grown-up types mostly alternating between them and the more impressive, tough, but slightly weepy aunt-type – who may or may not be an actual aunt, though very much is in the story of Santa's holiday in off-season Venice, which can't altogether resist echoes of Don't Look Now but does refrain from going all the way with the red hood. But while Father Christmas does make that appearance, part of the charm is that, as the cover suggests, Magrs is more than willing to move beyond the usual suspects and festiveify all manner of new faces, from dodos to dragons, and even a vacuum cleaner; I found the story of the Christmas Trilobite, desperate to find a suitable festive tale in which to star, especially and surprisingly moving. Granted, the one told from the perspective of Magrs's cat has the classic cat-lover's flaw of being too kind on the adorable little psychos – one cat kindly keeping a mouse warm in his mouth is already pushing it, but multiple felines? Still, I suppose we must defer to the teacher telling her enthusiastic but mildly perplexed kids that "sometimes audiences don't understand truly innovatory and special experimental art. Not at first", not least because her idea of the perfect Christmas play reminds me a lot of one of our stranger junior school Christmas outings, the one with the scaly aliens. The penultimate piece, before a longer story starring Magrs' series characters Effie and Brenda meeting his other long-running creation Iris Wildthyme, is the poignant Party Like It's 1979 - not even a tale as such, more A Child's Christmas In Wales for those of us from a slightly later generation. In amongst that same silvery, sometimes sharp nostalgia that suffuses the best Christmas songs, it hits on one observation about childhood Christmas Eves that, once you read it, feels like it should have been obvious, yet somehow never was: "That seems the craziest and most marvelous thing of all when I look back now: that there was ever a time when I wished time away."
A wonderful Christmassy collection that shows the breath of Paul's work and is also a wonderful sampler of all the different worlds he's created that you might just want to wonder off into immediately for those unfamiliar with his work. I personally can't wait for Brenda by Gaslight!