Leslie Poles Hartley (1895-1972) was born in Whittlesey, Cambridgeshire, and educated at Harrow and Balliol College, Oxford. For more than thirty years from 1923 he was an indefatigable fiction reviewer for periodicals including the Spectator and Saturday Review. His first book, Night Fears (1924) was a collection of short stories; but it was not until the publication of Eustace and Hilda (1947), which won the James Tait Black prize, that Hartley gained widespread recognition as an author. His other novels include The Go-Between (1953), which was adapted into an internationally-successful film starring Julie Christie and Alan Bates, and The Hireling (1957), the film version of which won the Palme d'Or at the Cannes Film Festival.
Ah-mazingly good. I came across one of these short stories, "The Traveling Grave," in a particularly good collection of weird tales. I read it once and straightaway read it over again. Rarely has a story hooked and bemused me like that.
The first three sections of this book - which is a compilation of four short story collections - are at a really high level of execution (in the spirit of Isak Dinesen's story telling) with some creepy ones that really linger. The very last collection, Mrs. Carteret Receives, isn't at the same pitch; it's still well written, but doesn't hit the same mark, and there's occasionally a story, like Mrs. Carteret, that doesn't really come together. But the first three collections - the first 40 stories - are pitch-perfect and beautifully written.
"The Travelling Grave" - Mr. Munt invites some friends around to his estate (Lowlands) for a Sunday dinner. Hugh Curtis is invited along by his rather frivolous friend Valentine Ostrop, who assures him that Munt is an eccentric and collector, which should make the dinner interesting. But when Hugh arrives, the entire place is dark and he in informed that there is a game of hide and seek going, while, unbeknownst to him, Munt has just taken possession of his newest addition to his collection of coffins, an automated variety that buries itself after grabbing and folding a body.... What a strange story. I had looked forward to reading it, as it's one of Hartley's most anthologized pieces, but wasn't prepared for what I got. This is a weird cross genre piece - kind of like P.G. Wodehouse doing Edward Gorey, thoroughly modern in eliding all the details (why was this device made? By who? For what?) because that (and, for that matter, Munt's bloodthirstiness and willingness to commit homicide) are beside the point of a tale that ends on a bit of morbid humor (and begins on one as well, with a long exchange in which prams and coffins are confused by two people talking at cross understanding). Strange. Enjoyable but strange.
"A Change Of Ownership" - Ernest arrives home late at his new estate, just inherited and something he's sure he's always wanted after the meanness of his upbringing. But, as he tries to attain entrance he finds the going difficult, and it slowly becomes apparent that in fact he is not at all happy in his new home, feeling lonely and frightened and paranoid about it - even as an inexplicably locked door forces him to attempt entry by windows, which prove problematic as well... Another thoroughly modernistic tale (Ernest spends a lot of time, in his interior monologue, adopting guises of potential "others" wanting access to the house) with a lot of slowly built atmosphere as we grow to realize how flustered he is and how unwelcoming he's found the place - although it is only at the climax, faced at the windows by mysterious figures inside the empty house, that we begin to understand the "why" of it. Quite nicely done, but needs to be paid attention to (reminded me a bit of Walter de la Mare.
I recently referred to Walter de la Mare as a writer of the ghostly sadly more often mentioned than discussed, but L. P. Hartley doesn't seem to have been honoured with either these days during contemporary discussion of the genre. Better known as the author of the moving novel The Go-Between, he was also a master of the strange story and supernatural terror yarn – my favourite of these being Podolo.
Hartley--like Saki and E.F. Benson--is one of those authors I can read only if I am in a properly tolerant mood, and even then I only like a few of the stories. But he did write some excellent ones (W.S., a metafiction ghost story, for example). I suspect that some of the less tolerable ones made more sense--and were more fun to read--in the time and place in which he was writing; to a foreigner in the opening decades of the next century, the meaning is sometimes incomprehensible.
#19 I had been too preoccupied to let his careless good spirits have their way with me. Well, he would get his own back. And what plea could I urge, what declaration could I make to compound for my bad manners? There was nothing left me but my determination, under however many affronts and provocations, never on my side to let go, but be torn, protesting faithfulness, from the very horns of Friendship’s altar.
#40 He remembered how the invitation had come about: it had come about, as invitations often do, at a cocktail-party. His host had led him up to Mr. Blank and said: ‘I am sure you will have a lot to talk to each other about, Fred. Mr. Blank has just started as a publisher, and he is very much interested in the Jacobean Dramatists.’