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Flower Phantoms
"Told with delicate imagery and fine perceptions, a minor rococoism of art deco literature." - Everett F. Bleiler
An oddly forgotten gem of interbellum Britain in 1926 that tells the story of Judy, a young horticulturist who works at London's historic Kew Gardens. Her older, business-like brother insists on finding her a husband, to which Judy resists and retreats further into her obsession with the plant life at Kew, even so far as to personify the Water Lily and Orchid, among others, and discuss life and philosophy and relationships with them. Flower Phantoms is beautifully written, funny, at times even mystical, and sensuous, perfectly matching Judy's character and maturation throughout the story. It is a quiet, light tale with a small cast, limited locales, and ultimately concerning very mundane matters, but transcends the smallness of outward scope through the scale of Judy's imagination and personality.
An oddly forgotten gem of interbellum Britain in 1926 that tells the story of Judy, a young horticulturist who works at London's historic Kew Gardens. Her older, business-like brother insists on finding her a husband, to which Judy resists and retreats further into her obsession with the plant life at Kew, even so far as to personify the Water Lily and Orchid, among others, and discuss life and philosophy and relationships with them. Flower Phantoms is beautifully written, funny, at times even mystical, and sensuous, perfectly matching Judy's character and maturation throughout the story. It is a quiet, light tale with a small cast, limited locales, and ultimately concerning very mundane matters, but transcends the smallness of outward scope through the scale of Judy's imagination and personality.
132 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1926
3 people are currently reading
297 people want to read
About the author
Ronald Fraser
49 books9 followersSir Arthur Ronald Fraser was born in 1888, the fourth son of an Inverness-shire cloth merchant who had moved to London. Fraser had a conventional education at St Paul’s School, but by his early teens was writing poetry, which was published in the Westminster Gazette, much to his family’s amusement. At eighteen he was put to work in an insurance company, but in his spare time read at the British Museum; he was particularly interested in Buddhism. He served in the First World War and was in the trenches by November 1914. He was seriously wounded at the battle of Beaumont Hamel and invalided out. He made his career in the overseas section of the Department of Trade, and in the Foreign Office, serving in Argentina and France as the Commercial Minister in the British Embassies there, and later as a Government Director of the Suez Canal, when he was resident in Egypt. His knighthood in 1949 was one of several decorations in recognition of a distinguished diplomatic career. He published twenty-seven novels between 1924 and 1961 and in later life became involved in the New Age movement, running a healing and meditation centre with his partner Ingrid from a temple attached to his home. He died in 1974.
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Displaying 1 - 18 of 18 reviews
January 29, 2024
Flower Phantoms is a fanciful fantasy written in the lush poetical language…
It’s winter in Kew Gardens… She lives nearby… She is a beautiful girl full of introspection…
She is engaged to be married to a handsome young man… The spring is near…
What rapport may exist between human being and flower? Is there any similarity between humans and plants?
She has an imaginative mind… She feels a special affinity to exotic flowers… In her daydreams she communicates with the ethereal spirits of hothouse flowers…
Flora and fauna constitute a whole of the live nature and human beings belong to this nature too.
It’s winter in Kew Gardens… She lives nearby… She is a beautiful girl full of introspection…
Now she was in silence and warmth, wrapped up and hidden once more like a seed in the blackness of earth, with no knowledge of anything outside, conscious only of tiny internal changes, nor desiring the unknown splendor of summer suns.
She is engaged to be married to a handsome young man… The spring is near…
The days were lengthening; the frost had given way to mud and warm rain. Scented rain it seemed to Judy, and sometimes she saw May in the February horizon. Here and there shoots were pushing up through the sticky mold, little spears that pierced into her heart and woke intolerable longings for the spring and the time of flowers.
What rapport may exist between human being and flower? Is there any similarity between humans and plants?
“We know now that the plant and the animal are not so different. They breathe, there is circulation of fluid by pumping, pulsatory movement from cell to cell, and similar nervous mechanism. All life is the same. A daffodil and I are similar creatures in dissimilar circumstances…”
She has an imaginative mind… She feels a special affinity to exotic flowers… In her daydreams she communicates with the ethereal spirits of hothouse flowers…
The thoughts of the Water Lily floated from him, as it were, like an aroma. “Hide yourself near me in the water. Great beauty is not for the vulgar, but for the cultivated. The spectacle of what is beautiful, what is new, what is sad, is not for the gross.”
Flora and fauna constitute a whole of the live nature and human beings belong to this nature too.
March 21, 2019
On the strong recommendation of a few people whose literary opinions I highly value, I took a chance with this unknown-to-me author. With an introduction by the highly-reputable scholar of obscure English works, Mark Valentine, I had at least some assurance that the book was likely not going to be awful.
The work starts out, blandly enough, as a sort of domestic story of class, family, and wooing one might expect from an interwar-era work. But a tiny sliver of decadence, a delicate kind of decadence, shows up about a quarter of the way in as Judy, the protagonist, is being, as is her wont, a touch aloof from her soon-to-be-betrothed Roland. Roland, poetic but not terribly sharp, looks into her eyes and states:
"My god, Judy, the human eye is a very terrifying thing. It's so inhuman. There's no soul in it. It's a machine. A lot of cloudy, spongy, extremely queer stuff with a sinister black hole. It's expressionless, when you look close. Laughter, kindness, everything that makes people human. seems to disappear. What a strange and terrible thing mind must be . . ."
Later, we find just what a strange and terrible thing mind is. At least strange and terrible to those who cannot see inside another's mind to understand its workings. This is especially so when that mind does not seem to function "correctly".
And Judy doesn't "function correctly". I like her chutzpah. She is a surprisingly complex figure for a female character written by a man in the 1920's. I had not expected this. In time, the complexity of Judy's malfunctioning thoughts becomes intriguing. I wondered if Judy's quirks were harmless or if there was something seriously deranged in her thinking. My greatest fear, though, was that Judy might become "domesticated" or portrayed as an indecisive ditz. I hoped neither of those things happen. I liked her too much as-is.
Not long ago, someone very, very close to me suffered a bout of temporary psychosis. It was one of the most harrowing experiences of my life, to see this person that I know so well in a state of paranoia and mania. It broke my heart to see this. The person I knew was not the person ranting and raving during that spell. It was sad and terrifying to be a part of that suffering and to see it up close, first hand. I catch myself using the word "crazy" far too often, and I now know that this word has special, specific meaning, and that it has nothing to do with fun and frolic. It has become a slur and a word to be avoided. But years of habit are hard to break, and I still catch myself letting it slip. But I correct myself, out of the deepest respect I hold for this friend.
So, as Judy progresses (or falls?) into a state outside of reality, I asked myself what was happening, partially, I think, as an emotional protection to myself, given what I so recently witnessed. Was Judy suffering from insanity (and note that suffering is the precise word to use when describing what the insane are going through)? Pollen-induced hallucinations? Remote memories of a past life or a soul caught between states of existence? Whatever the source, it was beautiful, sad, and languid.
As the novella progresses, one sees Judy slip more and more away from "reality" to the point where the reader questions what is real and what is not. Despite the sensitivity of the subject matter, the "trippiness" of the second part of the story is a nice contrast to the bland domesticity of the first.
In summation, Flower Phantoms shows a most sympathetic view of madness. This is not what I expected from a piece of writing from this period and definitely not what I expected when I began reading. It is touching, but not maudlin, decadent in its subject matter but more practical in its portrayal, and seething with existentialism but not buried in fatalism. Judy is a complex, if sometimes confused, character: she is broken, but not weak. Confident, but fallible. All in all, a human being.
Each reader will pull something different from this novella, depending on one's experiences (and proximity in time and space to said experiences), but it may just shatter your expectations . . . subtly, without undue fanfare or heroics. An extremely interesting, surprising read.
The work starts out, blandly enough, as a sort of domestic story of class, family, and wooing one might expect from an interwar-era work. But a tiny sliver of decadence, a delicate kind of decadence, shows up about a quarter of the way in as Judy, the protagonist, is being, as is her wont, a touch aloof from her soon-to-be-betrothed Roland. Roland, poetic but not terribly sharp, looks into her eyes and states:
"My god, Judy, the human eye is a very terrifying thing. It's so inhuman. There's no soul in it. It's a machine. A lot of cloudy, spongy, extremely queer stuff with a sinister black hole. It's expressionless, when you look close. Laughter, kindness, everything that makes people human. seems to disappear. What a strange and terrible thing mind must be . . ."
Later, we find just what a strange and terrible thing mind is. At least strange and terrible to those who cannot see inside another's mind to understand its workings. This is especially so when that mind does not seem to function "correctly".
And Judy doesn't "function correctly". I like her chutzpah. She is a surprisingly complex figure for a female character written by a man in the 1920's. I had not expected this. In time, the complexity of Judy's malfunctioning thoughts becomes intriguing. I wondered if Judy's quirks were harmless or if there was something seriously deranged in her thinking. My greatest fear, though, was that Judy might become "domesticated" or portrayed as an indecisive ditz. I hoped neither of those things happen. I liked her too much as-is.
Not long ago, someone very, very close to me suffered a bout of temporary psychosis. It was one of the most harrowing experiences of my life, to see this person that I know so well in a state of paranoia and mania. It broke my heart to see this. The person I knew was not the person ranting and raving during that spell. It was sad and terrifying to be a part of that suffering and to see it up close, first hand. I catch myself using the word "crazy" far too often, and I now know that this word has special, specific meaning, and that it has nothing to do with fun and frolic. It has become a slur and a word to be avoided. But years of habit are hard to break, and I still catch myself letting it slip. But I correct myself, out of the deepest respect I hold for this friend.
So, as Judy progresses (or falls?) into a state outside of reality, I asked myself what was happening, partially, I think, as an emotional protection to myself, given what I so recently witnessed. Was Judy suffering from insanity (and note that suffering is the precise word to use when describing what the insane are going through)? Pollen-induced hallucinations? Remote memories of a past life or a soul caught between states of existence? Whatever the source, it was beautiful, sad, and languid.
As the novella progresses, one sees Judy slip more and more away from "reality" to the point where the reader questions what is real and what is not. Despite the sensitivity of the subject matter, the "trippiness" of the second part of the story is a nice contrast to the bland domesticity of the first.
In summation, Flower Phantoms shows a most sympathetic view of madness. This is not what I expected from a piece of writing from this period and definitely not what I expected when I began reading. It is touching, but not maudlin, decadent in its subject matter but more practical in its portrayal, and seething with existentialism but not buried in fatalism. Judy is a complex, if sometimes confused, character: she is broken, but not weak. Confident, but fallible. All in all, a human being.
Each reader will pull something different from this novella, depending on one's experiences (and proximity in time and space to said experiences), but it may just shatter your expectations . . . subtly, without undue fanfare or heroics. An extremely interesting, surprising read.
November 25, 2019
Every so often, but not often enough, a wonderful book comes along which is so unlike any other that you've read that you cannot classify it. A prime example for me is William Hope Hodgson's novel 'The House On The Borderland' (for its hallucinatory final sequence) which is in some ways a science fiction novel but has such a breadth to it that it becomes something that transcends the genre. 'Flower Phantoms' is also an hallucinatory novel but its prose is a million miles away from Hodgsons heady rush, being quite austere and delicate like the sinuous Aubrey Beardsley design on Dowson's 'Collected Poems'.
In some ways the novel(la?) is quite straightforward. A young woman, Judy, escapes the world, represented by her 'modern', materialistic brother and her boyfriend, a seemingly unimaginative poet, by identifying herself with the exotic plants that she tends at Kew Gardens to the extent that she becomes the 'lover' of an orchid.
A lush, but death tinged sexuality, weaves its way through the book as Judy moves between the world of men/man and that of her plants: "But ah! The wild beating of her heart redoubled, for now that little balcony of marble was not quite empty; there was a form among the blue moonbeams, a flower of the moonlight, the silence, the birds passion, the sadness of the water and the force, the vast cruel beauty of the night." This also seems to extend into the prose itself; the dialogues between Judy and here brother especially are quite brittle and spiky compared to her plant based reveries. Spikes are also found in an episode where she ponders the pleasures of the spiky embrace of a cactus and speculates about the cutting open of orchids and as a gardener Judy is aware that the hothouse not only nurtures but also speeds up decay and dissolution.
It is all exceedingly odd (and wonderful) stuff, open to interpretation on so many levels but without any overt cleverness or condescension on the part of the writer - it is very beautifully done.
This is certainly my fiction book of the year and as my copy is not the Valancourt edition I dont have the extra extra benefit of Mark Valentines introduction which will probably be as elegant and informative as this review is clumsy and perplexing.
In some ways the novel(la?) is quite straightforward. A young woman, Judy, escapes the world, represented by her 'modern', materialistic brother and her boyfriend, a seemingly unimaginative poet, by identifying herself with the exotic plants that she tends at Kew Gardens to the extent that she becomes the 'lover' of an orchid.
A lush, but death tinged sexuality, weaves its way through the book as Judy moves between the world of men/man and that of her plants: "But ah! The wild beating of her heart redoubled, for now that little balcony of marble was not quite empty; there was a form among the blue moonbeams, a flower of the moonlight, the silence, the birds passion, the sadness of the water and the force, the vast cruel beauty of the night." This also seems to extend into the prose itself; the dialogues between Judy and here brother especially are quite brittle and spiky compared to her plant based reveries. Spikes are also found in an episode where she ponders the pleasures of the spiky embrace of a cactus and speculates about the cutting open of orchids and as a gardener Judy is aware that the hothouse not only nurtures but also speeds up decay and dissolution.
It is all exceedingly odd (and wonderful) stuff, open to interpretation on so many levels but without any overt cleverness or condescension on the part of the writer - it is very beautifully done.
This is certainly my fiction book of the year and as my copy is not the Valancourt edition I dont have the extra extra benefit of Mark Valentines introduction which will probably be as elegant and informative as this review is clumsy and perplexing.
April 23, 2013
A short but potent story of a woman in love with an orchid. One of the most bizarre pieces of prose poetry I've ever read - gloriously over the top, unashamedly spiritual, filled with mystical, erotic visionary language. if only more author were as unafraid of revealing their originality.
December 3, 2017
Pleased to find a 1926 copy of this in circulation at Los Angeles Public Library, though I am missing out on Valentine's introduction (btw - hat-tip to his blog for pointing me to this podcast about the novella: http://www.holdfastnetwork.com/sherds...).
This slender volume is marked by purple prose, dryly abominable gender relations, and fantasies suffused by Orientalism...still, I can't think of many books that succeed in crafting a plot out of day-dreams/uninterrupted meditation, and there are some subtle themes of man (and commerce) vs. nature, reason vs. irrationality, death and eros, and creative inspiration that are worth puzzling over.
This slender volume is marked by purple prose, dryly abominable gender relations, and fantasies suffused by Orientalism...still, I can't think of many books that succeed in crafting a plot out of day-dreams/uninterrupted meditation, and there are some subtle themes of man (and commerce) vs. nature, reason vs. irrationality, death and eros, and creative inspiration that are worth puzzling over.
May 30, 2013
Delightful. That's the word I choose and I'm stickin' to it. I may even go so far as to add an "utterly" in front of it.
October 14, 2017
Listen to an in-depth discussion of this novel on episode one of Sherds Podcast: http://www.holdfastnetwork.com/sherds...
September 22, 2019
Fiori fantasma di Ronald Fraser (Atlantide) è un racconto breve ma intenso. Protagonista è una ragazza controcorrente, soprattutto per l'epoca. Judy è una ragazza che vive con tutti i sensi attivati e li mescola all'immaginazione.
Quando facciamo la conoscenza di questa ragazza, la troviamo sdraiata a terra che guarda la finestra e immagina di essere una pianta. Bizzarro ma anche incredibilmente suggestivo. Judy, che fa la botanica, vive in casa con il fratello che non potrebbe essere più diverso. Se da una parte c'è l'immaginazione, il misticismo, la conoscenza attraverso i cinque sensi, dall'altra abbiamo la razionalità, il calcolo, la praticità. Ed è proprio a causa di questa diversità che Judy si fidanza con Roland, uno squattrinato ragazzo che rimane folgorato dalla bellezza di lei.
Nel momento in cui fratello Hubert manifesta il disappunto per la possibilità dell'unione tra i due ecco che Judy desidera realmente fidanzarsi.
Judy ha una personalità complessa e non riesce ad amare Roland fino in fondo e forse neanche con costanza. Troppo concentrata a cercare di scovare i fuochi all'interno di se stessa (fuochi che il fidanzato non potrà mai accendere) si costruisce una prigione di pensieri impenetrabile. La realtà riesce a inserirsi ma solamente a tratti, non a caso riesce ad amare il fidanzato soltanto quando la bacia... i baci sono così reali.
RECENSIONE COMPLETA SU: www.lalettricecontrocorrente.it
Quando facciamo la conoscenza di questa ragazza, la troviamo sdraiata a terra che guarda la finestra e immagina di essere una pianta. Bizzarro ma anche incredibilmente suggestivo. Judy, che fa la botanica, vive in casa con il fratello che non potrebbe essere più diverso. Se da una parte c'è l'immaginazione, il misticismo, la conoscenza attraverso i cinque sensi, dall'altra abbiamo la razionalità, il calcolo, la praticità. Ed è proprio a causa di questa diversità che Judy si fidanza con Roland, uno squattrinato ragazzo che rimane folgorato dalla bellezza di lei.
Nel momento in cui fratello Hubert manifesta il disappunto per la possibilità dell'unione tra i due ecco che Judy desidera realmente fidanzarsi.
Judy ha una personalità complessa e non riesce ad amare Roland fino in fondo e forse neanche con costanza. Troppo concentrata a cercare di scovare i fuochi all'interno di se stessa (fuochi che il fidanzato non potrà mai accendere) si costruisce una prigione di pensieri impenetrabile. La realtà riesce a inserirsi ma solamente a tratti, non a caso riesce ad amare il fidanzato soltanto quando la bacia... i baci sono così reali.
RECENSIONE COMPLETA SU: www.lalettricecontrocorrente.it
December 13, 2018
Incantevole, delicato e affascinante, una narrazione lucida immersa totalmente nella fantasia, un viaggio coraggioso e assurdo nella struttura pluri-livelli dell’immaginazione, una straordinaria resa traduttiva....un’esperienza multisensoriale! Lo consiglio a chiunque voglia....di più !
“Sarebbe molto interessante scoprire cosa si intende e cosa si desidera veramente, e come si è davvero dentro di sé. Sono certa che ognuno di noi contiene in sé le possibilità più impensate.
“Poi, spingendo i denti sul labbro inferiore, girò la maniglia ed entrò nell��illimitato universo misterioso, dove la sua immaginazione era un angelo in volo”.
“Tu sei pazza”.
“No, soltanto diversa. È diverso dal mio lato della luce della luna, tutto qui”.
“Sarebbe molto interessante scoprire cosa si intende e cosa si desidera veramente, e come si è davvero dentro di sé. Sono certa che ognuno di noi contiene in sé le possibilità più impensate.
“Poi, spingendo i denti sul labbro inferiore, girò la maniglia ed entrò nell��illimitato universo misterioso, dove la sua immaginazione era un angelo in volo”.
“Tu sei pazza”.
“No, soltanto diversa. È diverso dal mio lato della luce della luna, tutto qui”.
February 15, 2026
I don't mind the end, but – if there was one thing I could change, it would be for Judy to end up as a flower. Just let her be a flower. - Roland Fraser, Flower Phantoms
Apparently it’s supposed to be stirring with extremely beautiful prose, but read it and moved on with my life unaffected.
Apparently it’s supposed to be stirring with extremely beautiful prose, but read it and moved on with my life unaffected.
October 27, 2022
Un libro interessante, con molti strati e spunti di lettura. Atmosfere descritte in modo sapiente. Un libro che resta appiccicato addosso.
March 31, 2025
Godawful. Purple as hell. Luckily short.
April 13, 2025
This line was straight savagery: “She was more interested in her thoughts, really, than in his love.”
Read
February 16, 2026DNF
June 23, 2018
What a strange book. A woman falls in love with a flower through hallucinatory visions of the orchid as an exotic prince in a lush Oriental kingdom lost in the depths of time. A lot of Art Nouveau imagery of the sensuous curves and colors and mysteries of nature, contrasted to the staid constraints of middle-class British society, exemplified by a domineering, misogynistic brother who is defied by our heroine's devotion and escape to an otherworldly haven.
December 11, 2022
//Some spoilers ahead//
This book is like one long poem. Difficult at times, actually most of the book was difficult for me to grasp; lots of words I've never encountered before, and the descriptions are so very vivid but also far reaching – or maybe just, very, very creative, quite often. And I don't hate that, I think it's more that I'm not used to it. But I did like it, nonetheless. It will definitely stay with me, and since it's such a short story, I'll certainly come back to it, to write down the words I didn't know at first, and to try and really understand the story. I love the idea of Judy's hallucinations and would love to see it used in a similar way in contemporary literature. It's very dreamy and I felt as if my mind was fogged all throughout it, sometimes in a bad way, other times just a good and fascinating sort of fog.
And it's such a death positive (and of course, in general spiritual) book if you think about it! I love the sarcasm and nihilism of the Water Lily (? Sometimes I mix him up with the orchid).
Sometimes I got very lost and didn't comprehend anything. But pages 67 to 69 had me 100%. I could see everything, feel every word, and felt deeply connected with Judy's experiences. So so lovely. Made me want to visit the botanical garden first thing tomorrow morning. To feel the dew on ones skin!
These are some of my favourite paragraphs, all from the end of the novel:
(Page 67)
"It was cold, vast and beautiful as the contemplation of one who shall soon cease to be. By a little Rock grew a starry flower. »Be my body, seed of this flower,« she prayed, and the world faded."
(Page 75)
"It was a paradise, where she was received by smiling spirits, the blessed and fortunate who have opened their imaginations to the unknown power, and suffered the tortures, and become parents of beauty." (Oh the life of a wounded artist ... Is that the saying?)
(Page 78)
"I told you once that poets can make effects with words that quite eclipse anything in nature. Thus you. You are a poet and artist. Reality, call it what you like, looks out of these flowers. A matter of relationships, proportions . . . synthetic power . . . rhythmic vitality . . . There are so many words. Literature, perhaps, cannot achieve what painters and musicians can achieve. I have tried. It has at any rate given me understanding."
(Finally Roland agrees that poetry isn't the only form of art that can capture the world in an individualistic way. Thank you, Roland, for not making me despise you the way I do Hubert.)
(Page 79)
"Life is short, splendid and beautiful sunflowers. It is a brief opening to the glory of light, a swift closing and return to decomposition."
(DEATH POSITIVITY.)
So yeah, to put this review to an end: I don't mind how the story plays out. I don't mind the end, but – if there was one thing I could change, it would be for Judy to end up as a flower. Just let her be a flower. And maybe, let Roland pick that flower, and to not make it too depressive, let him take care of the flower, so that Judy can live in both of her worlds, happy forever.
This book is like one long poem. Difficult at times, actually most of the book was difficult for me to grasp; lots of words I've never encountered before, and the descriptions are so very vivid but also far reaching – or maybe just, very, very creative, quite often. And I don't hate that, I think it's more that I'm not used to it. But I did like it, nonetheless. It will definitely stay with me, and since it's such a short story, I'll certainly come back to it, to write down the words I didn't know at first, and to try and really understand the story. I love the idea of Judy's hallucinations and would love to see it used in a similar way in contemporary literature. It's very dreamy and I felt as if my mind was fogged all throughout it, sometimes in a bad way, other times just a good and fascinating sort of fog.
And it's such a death positive (and of course, in general spiritual) book if you think about it! I love the sarcasm and nihilism of the Water Lily (? Sometimes I mix him up with the orchid).
Sometimes I got very lost and didn't comprehend anything. But pages 67 to 69 had me 100%. I could see everything, feel every word, and felt deeply connected with Judy's experiences. So so lovely. Made me want to visit the botanical garden first thing tomorrow morning. To feel the dew on ones skin!
These are some of my favourite paragraphs, all from the end of the novel:
(Page 67)
"It was cold, vast and beautiful as the contemplation of one who shall soon cease to be. By a little Rock grew a starry flower. »Be my body, seed of this flower,« she prayed, and the world faded."
(Page 75)
"It was a paradise, where she was received by smiling spirits, the blessed and fortunate who have opened their imaginations to the unknown power, and suffered the tortures, and become parents of beauty." (Oh the life of a wounded artist ... Is that the saying?)
(Page 78)
"I told you once that poets can make effects with words that quite eclipse anything in nature. Thus you. You are a poet and artist. Reality, call it what you like, looks out of these flowers. A matter of relationships, proportions . . . synthetic power . . . rhythmic vitality . . . There are so many words. Literature, perhaps, cannot achieve what painters and musicians can achieve. I have tried. It has at any rate given me understanding."
(Finally Roland agrees that poetry isn't the only form of art that can capture the world in an individualistic way. Thank you, Roland, for not making me despise you the way I do Hubert.)
(Page 79)
"Life is short, splendid and beautiful sunflowers. It is a brief opening to the glory of light, a swift closing and return to decomposition."
(DEATH POSITIVITY.)
So yeah, to put this review to an end: I don't mind how the story plays out. I don't mind the end, but – if there was one thing I could change, it would be for Judy to end up as a flower. Just let her be a flower. And maybe, let Roland pick that flower, and to not make it too depressive, let him take care of the flower, so that Judy can live in both of her worlds, happy forever.
July 13, 2020
Ronald Fraser's Flower Phantoms is the dreamy, poetic story of a young woman's obsession with the mystical and erotic power of plants, and the difficulties this obsession creates for her in the world of humdrum reality. Encouraged by her brother to marry a suitor whom she likes (but does not really love), her initial rejection of this unwanted fate is overcome in the end, although the last sentence of the book confirms that things are not truly settled: "For the time being the ghosts were laid."
I admire Fraser's ability to portray a free-thinking young woman who does not shy away from ecstatic visions and experiences, despite the risks she faces in the hidebound society of interwar Britain, when women's choices in life were not always their own to make. While the descriptions of dreamy visions can get a bit repetitive, the short length of the book works in its favor, and the complete work feels more like a prose poem than a traditional novel.
I admire Fraser's ability to portray a free-thinking young woman who does not shy away from ecstatic visions and experiences, despite the risks she faces in the hidebound society of interwar Britain, when women's choices in life were not always their own to make. While the descriptions of dreamy visions can get a bit repetitive, the short length of the book works in its favor, and the complete work feels more like a prose poem than a traditional novel.
June 8, 2022
A criminally underrated novella, purple pose in the best possible sense, where the real world and the fantastic are both of equally beauty. An artefact of its time for setting but extremely modern in its outlook
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