I was browsing through a little bookshop a few weeks ago when this title struck me. About as long and beautiful as it is memorable, it looked good from the cover too, so I ended up taking it. It turned out to be a collection of short stories, the title story being the first and the longest in the little book.
I read the first bit and it seemed great. Then I became preoccupied with reading all sorts of other things for a while. I read one of the other stories, probably the shortest or most striking before falling asleep one evening. Facing a mild bout of insomnia late the other night, I gave the title piece a shot. It was ace until halfway where dreams attacked and defeated a miserable incarnation of insomnia. I surfaced from the dreams hungry to devour the remainder. In some ways this seemed to me a strange way to experience a short story that could lazily be swallowed like a little pill in one sitting. Yet it felt perfectly good to sleep on it at half time.
What I find astounding is that the book was written about 50 years ago yet feels pretty much contemporary England. I suppose because the human condition doesn’t tend to change much and this is a rather classic struggle for individualism, freedom and self-expression regardless of odds. The plot, story, style, timing and characterisation is excellent. I have to say that it’s the best short story I’ve yet read. Admittedly I’ve not read many.
There’s an interesting interview with the author, Allan Sillitoe, at the back of the book too. I always love reading about individual creative processes. His is rather serious and conscientious but delivers quality goods.
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