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Collected Stories
A superb copy in an archival Mylar jacket cover.
520 pages, Paperback
Published January 1, 1983
4 people are currently reading
58 people want to read
About the author
V.S. Pritchett
158 books72 followersVictor Sawdon Pritchett was the first of four children of Walter Sawdon Pritchett and Beatrice Helena (née Martin). His father, a London businessman in financial difficulties, had come to Ipswich to start a shop selling newspapers and stationery. The business was struggling and the couple were lodging over a toyshop at 41 St Nicholas Street where Pritchett was born on 16 December 1900. Beatrice had expected a girl, whom she planned to name after the Queen. Pritchett never liked his first name, which is why he always styled himself with his initials; even close friends would call him VSP.
Pritchett's father was a steady Christian Scientist and unsteady in all else. Walter and Beatrice had come to Ipswich to be near her sister who had married money and lived in Warrington Road. Within a year Walter was declared bankrupt, the family moved to Woodford, Essex, then to Derby, and he began selling women's clothing and accessories as a travelling salesman. Pritchett was soon sent with his brother Cyril to live with their paternal grandparents in Sedbergh, where the boys attended their first school. Walter's business failures, his casual attitude to credit, and his easy deceit obliged the family to move frequently. The family was reunited but life was always precarious; they tended to live in London suburbs with members of Beatrice's family. They returned to Ipswich in 1910, living for a year near Cauldwell Hall Road, trying to evade Walter's creditors. At this time Pritchett attended St. John's School. Subsequently Pritchett attended Alleyn's School, Dulwich, and Dulwich College but he stayed nowhere for very long. When his father went to fight in World War I, Pritchett left school. Later in the war Walter turned his hand to aircraft design, of which he knew nothing, and his later ventures included art needlework, property speculation, and faith healing.
Pritchett was a leather buyer from 1916 to 1920, when he moved to Paris, where he worked as a shop assistant. In 1923 he started writing for the Christian Science Monitor, which sent him to Ireland and Spain. From 1926 he wrote reviews for the paper and for the New Statesman, which later appointed him literary editor.
Pritchett's first book described his journey across Spain (Marching Spain 1928) and Clare Drummer (1929) was about his experiences in Ireland. Whilst in Ireland he met his first wife, Evelyn Vigors, but it was not to be a happy marriage.
Pritchett published five novels but he claimed not to enjoy their creation. His reputation was established by a collection of short stories (The Spanish Virgin and Other Stories (1932)).
In 1936 he divorced his first wife, and married Dorothy Rudge Roberts; they had two children. The marriage lasted until Pritchett's death, although they both had other relationships. His son is the journalist Oliver Pritchett and his grandson (son of Oliver) is the cartoonist Matt Pritchett.
During World War II Pritchett worked for the BBC and the Ministry of Information whilst continuing to submit a weekly essay to the New Statesman. After the war he wrote widely and he started taking teaching positions at universities in the United States: Princeton (1953), the University of California (1962), Columbia University and Smith College. He was fluent in German, Spanish, and French, and published successful biographies of Honoré de Balzac (1973), Ivan Turgenev (1977) and Anton Chekhov (1988), although he did not know Russian and had never visited the Soviet Union.
Pritchett was knighted in 1975 for his services to literature and became Companion of Honour in 1993. His awards include Heinemann Award (1969), PEN Award (1974), W.H. Smith Literary Award (1990), and Golden Pen Award (1993). He died of a stroke in London on 20 March 1997.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/V._S._Pr...
Pritchett's father was a steady Christian Scientist and unsteady in all else. Walter and Beatrice had come to Ipswich to be near her sister who had married money and lived in Warrington Road. Within a year Walter was declared bankrupt, the family moved to Woodford, Essex, then to Derby, and he began selling women's clothing and accessories as a travelling salesman. Pritchett was soon sent with his brother Cyril to live with their paternal grandparents in Sedbergh, where the boys attended their first school. Walter's business failures, his casual attitude to credit, and his easy deceit obliged the family to move frequently. The family was reunited but life was always precarious; they tended to live in London suburbs with members of Beatrice's family. They returned to Ipswich in 1910, living for a year near Cauldwell Hall Road, trying to evade Walter's creditors. At this time Pritchett attended St. John's School. Subsequently Pritchett attended Alleyn's School, Dulwich, and Dulwich College but he stayed nowhere for very long. When his father went to fight in World War I, Pritchett left school. Later in the war Walter turned his hand to aircraft design, of which he knew nothing, and his later ventures included art needlework, property speculation, and faith healing.
Pritchett was a leather buyer from 1916 to 1920, when he moved to Paris, where he worked as a shop assistant. In 1923 he started writing for the Christian Science Monitor, which sent him to Ireland and Spain. From 1926 he wrote reviews for the paper and for the New Statesman, which later appointed him literary editor.
Pritchett's first book described his journey across Spain (Marching Spain 1928) and Clare Drummer (1929) was about his experiences in Ireland. Whilst in Ireland he met his first wife, Evelyn Vigors, but it was not to be a happy marriage.
Pritchett published five novels but he claimed not to enjoy their creation. His reputation was established by a collection of short stories (The Spanish Virgin and Other Stories (1932)).
In 1936 he divorced his first wife, and married Dorothy Rudge Roberts; they had two children. The marriage lasted until Pritchett's death, although they both had other relationships. His son is the journalist Oliver Pritchett and his grandson (son of Oliver) is the cartoonist Matt Pritchett.
During World War II Pritchett worked for the BBC and the Ministry of Information whilst continuing to submit a weekly essay to the New Statesman. After the war he wrote widely and he started taking teaching positions at universities in the United States: Princeton (1953), the University of California (1962), Columbia University and Smith College. He was fluent in German, Spanish, and French, and published successful biographies of Honoré de Balzac (1973), Ivan Turgenev (1977) and Anton Chekhov (1988), although he did not know Russian and had never visited the Soviet Union.
Pritchett was knighted in 1975 for his services to literature and became Companion of Honour in 1993. His awards include Heinemann Award (1969), PEN Award (1974), W.H. Smith Literary Award (1990), and Golden Pen Award (1993). He died of a stroke in London on 20 March 1997.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/V._S._Pr...
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Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews
January 15, 2018
The best of Pritchett's stories, structurally speaking, are models for what a short story should be. I found myself pulled into the narratives, even when his subject matter would not normally interest me. His use of language often took my breath away. All this achieved in a seemingly artless manner. Lovely stuff!
January 28, 2025
Master craftsmanship but choice of subject matter (mostly the derangement of English sexual mores following World War 2, with fun digressions) makes it limited in a way that keeps me from going along with the comparisons to Chekhov, Joyce, etc. Extremely funny in places. Pritchett's imagination feels infinite, particularly his ability to summon up little cultures, villages, professions, movements, from thin air. Antiques collectors, leather dealers, cattlemen, etc. Despite his fantastically varied syntax and style, he mostly keeps to the plot of "two weirdos allow each other unguarded glimpses at their private deformities and then fall in love." This provides the motor through what can be quite dense prose. The couple of stories whose protagonists are vaguely socialist activists (naturally, their campaigning has stunted, somewhat, their feel for what it is to be human) made me feel the limitations of his universal humanist approach.
The final story, "The Wedding," feels like a very conscious homage to the Chekhov classic "In the Cart." A deeper Chekhov head than myself could doubtless find several others, as well as more conscious homages to Joyce.
A drawback to reading a large (29 story) collection without much break is that you begin to notice the themes and tics as they are recycled. Would recommend interspersing with other books.
Highlights: the oft-anthologized "The Saint," "Handsome Is As Handsome Does" (feels very Mavis Gallant-y with English vacationing in France), "The Wheelbarrow", "When My Girl Comes Home" (lots of Muriel Spark on this one), "Blind Love" (somewhat cheesy romance could succeed as a limited series), "The Skeleton", "The Camberwell Beauty" (the antiques story, basically a very good novella), "The Spree", "The Fig Tree", " A Family Man", "The Wedding."
The final story, "The Wedding," feels like a very conscious homage to the Chekhov classic "In the Cart." A deeper Chekhov head than myself could doubtless find several others, as well as more conscious homages to Joyce.
A drawback to reading a large (29 story) collection without much break is that you begin to notice the themes and tics as they are recycled. Would recommend interspersing with other books.
Highlights: the oft-anthologized "The Saint," "Handsome Is As Handsome Does" (feels very Mavis Gallant-y with English vacationing in France), "The Wheelbarrow", "When My Girl Comes Home" (lots of Muriel Spark on this one), "Blind Love" (somewhat cheesy romance could succeed as a limited series), "The Skeleton", "The Camberwell Beauty" (the antiques story, basically a very good novella), "The Spree", "The Fig Tree", " A Family Man", "The Wedding."
Want to read
December 17, 2022#4
She did not move at once, but still, like a shy child, stood watching them, waiting for them to be settled and fearful that they would not stay. But at last she put out her hand to the child and hurried out to the kitchen.
#6
“Here,” said Margaret, mastering her. “Chin-chin, Jill, drink up, it will do you good. Don't cry. Here, you've finished it. Frederick, two more,” she said, sliding toward Mrs Forster and resting one breast on the bar.
#10
“I was a young limb,” said Aunt Gertrude tenderly and dreamily; but while there was a glow in Uncle's dreams, Aunt Gertrude's had an edge to them and suggested that if anyone went back with her into her memories, they would get their hands scratched or their clothes torn.
#17
Women, above all, they said, expected this of him. Now was the time to save nothing but to spend all.
He mistrusted them until they said, remembering his tradition, that it was his duty. He had bowed, but now at last had come the time of freedom and uprightness.
#24
She washed her face and brushed back her yellow hair over her ears to hear and understand the Voice again. She put on her white dress for her purity. “You are good to me, too good to me, Miss Baker,” she said to the image in the mirror, thanking it with her repentance.
#32
“Very sweet of you, old boy,” said the old man with zest. “Very sweet. We've cleared everything up. They got most of the machines out to-day. I'm just locking up and handing over. Locking up is quite a business. There are so many keys. It's tiring, really. How many keys do you think there are to a place like this? You wouldn't believe it, if I told you.”
She did not move at once, but still, like a shy child, stood watching them, waiting for them to be settled and fearful that they would not stay. But at last she put out her hand to the child and hurried out to the kitchen.
#6
“Here,” said Margaret, mastering her. “Chin-chin, Jill, drink up, it will do you good. Don't cry. Here, you've finished it. Frederick, two more,” she said, sliding toward Mrs Forster and resting one breast on the bar.
#10
“I was a young limb,” said Aunt Gertrude tenderly and dreamily; but while there was a glow in Uncle's dreams, Aunt Gertrude's had an edge to them and suggested that if anyone went back with her into her memories, they would get their hands scratched or their clothes torn.
#17
Women, above all, they said, expected this of him. Now was the time to save nothing but to spend all.
He mistrusted them until they said, remembering his tradition, that it was his duty. He had bowed, but now at last had come the time of freedom and uprightness.
#24
She washed her face and brushed back her yellow hair over her ears to hear and understand the Voice again. She put on her white dress for her purity. “You are good to me, too good to me, Miss Baker,” she said to the image in the mirror, thanking it with her repentance.
#32
“Very sweet of you, old boy,” said the old man with zest. “Very sweet. We've cleared everything up. They got most of the machines out to-day. I'm just locking up and handing over. Locking up is quite a business. There are so many keys. It's tiring, really. How many keys do you think there are to a place like this? You wouldn't believe it, if I told you.”
October 25, 2023
Short stories, vignettes really, no lengthy or complicated plots. I can't think of many authors who write as beautifully as Pritchett. Each story is like a painting, beautifully detailed.
March 1, 2025
The necklace, the New Yorker fiction podcast, March 1, 2025
July 29, 2016
I read the first three stories of this collection and found that the stories are clever, witty and psychologically interesting. However I am not convinced that there is more than the dramas of love, jealousy, absurdity in the lives of these people. These stories may make easy reading but not profound.
July 1, 2014
Two stars to start with and at least four to finish. The stories in this collection get better and better and are timeless. I need to reread them to discover the true treasure; which is a true treasure in itself.
Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews