When I read short story collections, I’m usually hoping to encounter stories that both challenge and entertain. With this collection of ‘Scottish stories’, I suppose I hoped also to get a stronger feel for the land and for the culture(s) of the people living there. These stories are all well-written, and, as seems to be consistent with the imprint (Everyman Pocket Classics), the book is a physical pleasure to read - attractively bound, heavy enough but not too heavy, font a good size, and with adequate margins. But I can’t say there’s much celebration of the Scottish landscape in these stories, and collectively they have some strange obsessions. I can’t tell whether those themes reveal something characteristic about Scottish culture or are just idiosyncrasies of the editor, Gerard Carruthers. His short preface does indicate he consciously selected pieces to reflect a diversity of geography, race, gender, and sexual orientation among recent Scottish writers.
The oddities: between a third to a half of the stories involve ghosts, more or less. Also, there’s a running theme of common, rural, or working people being ignorant and narrow-minded, while anyone who is really self-reflective almost inevitably finds themselves at odds with their family or society around them. For certain, Carruthers’ sense of humor is tuned differently than mine. I found a few of the stories funny - especially Lewis Grassic Gibbon, ‘Smeddum’, about a farm woman who does as she thinks best for and despite her children - but others that Carruthers describes as ‘side-splittingly funny’ just seemed to me appalling and relentlessly bleak, including Irvine Welsh, ‘The Granton Star Cause’, about a young man’s life falling apart. Carruthers sees John Galt, ‘The Gudewife’, as funny and perhaps proto-feminist; I read it as a pretty bitter takedown of a strong female character. The Arthur Conan Doyle selection, ‘J. Habakuk Jephson’s Statement’, uses the real-life inspiration of the Marie Celeste as fodder for a doubly racist adventure story that manages to include both a black supervillain who hates all white people and a whole tribe of African savages turned docile by a weird animist artifact. Surely there were better options from Conan Doyle, though this perhaps this offers an honest reflection of racism in Scottish culture in the British Imperial era.
Overall, I found the collection more challenging than straight-forwardly entertaining, though I’m glad to have read it. That said, I actively enjoyed: Margaret Oliphant, ‘The Open Door’, a gothic ghost story; Gibbon, ‘Smeddum’; Eric Linklater, ‘Sealskin Trousers’, a selkie story; George Mackey Brown, ‘The Drowned Rose’, another lyrical ghost story set on a remote island; William McIlvanney, ‘At the Bar’, a realist sketch of rudeness and recompense; Bernard MacLaverty, ‘The Clinic’, on diabetes testing; and Leila Aboulela, ‘The Museum’, a delicate and lovely exploration of the cultural gulfs between a young native Scot and a young foreigner in school together.