Balcony Stories

by Grace Elizabeth King

She said she had, and in truth she had, no other name than "little Mammy"; and that was the name of her nature. Pure African, but bronze rather than pure black, and full-sized only in width, her growth having been hampered as to height by an injury to her hip, which had lamed her, pulling her figure awry, and burdening her with a protuberance of the joint. Her mother caused it by dropping her when a baby, and concealing it, for fear of punishment, until the dislocation became irremediable. All the animosity of which little Mammy was capable centered upon this unknown but never-to-be-forgotten mother of hers; out of this hatred had grown her love--that is, her destiny, a woman's love being her destiny. Little Mammy's love was for children.

Genres: Short Stories

100 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1968

About the author

Grace Elizabeth King was an American author of Louisiana stories, history, and biography, and a leader in historical and literary activities.

Reviews

[Teresa · Rating 4 out of 5]

These stories, though some may seem mere vignettes, are delightful, charming even, apart from the darkness of a few, which includes one of her most famous. King’s biases can raise my hackles (especially the ending of a short story I recently read called "Bonne Maman" that’s not part of this collection) but these are better written, certainly more cohesive, than others I’ve previously read. The characters King probably feels sorry for (e.g., a spoiled-brat aristocrat whose fortunes drastically change after the Civil War) will not evoke pity in readers today, demonstrating the maxim that good writing can end up having meaning that an author likely didn't intend.

King employs unique metaphors--the fleece (sometimes the flesh still sticking to it) left on the brambles by the driven herd [to describe family heirlooms sold to and displayed in French Quarter antique shops]--and at times unusual faceless narrators, including one privy to a private, intimate conversation. Most surprising are the outright ‘hints’ of sensuality--the pretty honeymoon costume that suggests—well! to proceed--and some deadpan humor--the description is longer than the voyage. Her sense of place is, as usual, spot-on: the prologue is lovely, and still pertinent to an atmosphere of New Orleans, as are her descriptions of nearby bayous.