With its tale of a family who are born colossal and grow smaller as they age, the premise of Last Christmas borders on body horror, even as its tone tends towards the farcical. I say a family; it's impossible to know whether or not the story takes place in a world where everyone shrinks in this way. The characters' attitude of resignation towards this phenomenon says it's likely; their attempts to create workarounds to accommodate relatives both large and small - a dolls' house for the grandparents, a tarpaulin in the living room for the baby - might suggest otherwise. Either way, these four generations of the same family, gathering for Christmas dinner, are all we see. Ordinary preparations are made bizarre, warped through a surreal lens.
Ordinary details, like the 'flowery sofa and old-fashioned TV', are jarringly placed next to the bizarre imagery of a giant baby and elderly relatives so tiny it's near-impossible to hear them talk; the players in this absurd scene speak mostly in banalities. It's a clever portrait, relating the chaos of a family Christmas in a very creative way, but we also know these people have to go on making their way through life outside this particular day, and it ends on a poignant note.
“Nat King Cole is singing on the radio about kids from one to ninety-two.”
As I began to work out the ‘rationale’ of this story, I realised that I couldn’t explain it in this brief review because that would have spoiled the enjoyment of gradually working it out for other readers. If the concept is, as I believe, original to this story, it is certainly noteworthy as such and worth reading for that alone. Eminently anthologisable. I am still trying to work out the logistics of childbirth for poor Fiona. I loved the touches of a British Christmas and its Aickman-like feel (but I can’t specify which Aickman stories for fear of potential spoilers). I simply sympathise with the grandparents, because I am more than old enough to be one. Perhaps I’m lucky. Just one stray cork short of a celebration.