Fair warning - out of the 26 short stories in this collection only one (Edith Wharton’s “The Other Two”) is light-hearted and optimistic. The anthology starts with the brilliant and tragic “The Story of an Hour” by Kate Chopin which kind of sets the tone for this volume. Some of the best stories here deal with dreadful husband - wife/men-women relationships:
1)Ann Petry’s “Like a Winding Sheet” starts innocuously enough, but as we follow the male protagonist’s journey through his work day, we watch the anger that he feels (due to real and perceived racism) grow and result in a terrible crescendo of violence against his wife;
2)My personal favourite and the longest story in this collection - Doris Lessing’s “To room nineteen” is about a married woman with four children who seemingly lives in a suburban paradise. But as time goes on, the “perfect” marriage cracks and the woman falls into an abyss of despair, depersonalization/derealization and madness. There’s only one way things can end…
3)Grace Paley’s tragicomic “An interest in life” which follows Lessing’s story is a perfect antidote to it. It opens with the following lines: “My husband gave me a broom one Christmas. This wasn’t right. No one can tell me it was meant kindly.” With a great sense of tongue-in-cheek humour the narrator goes on to chronicle her struggles as an unemployed mother of four who has been abandoned by her deadbeat husband;
4)In very elegant prose Edna O’Brien’s story tells us about a toxic relationship between a callous womanizer and a woman desperate to please;
5)The bitter main character of Margaret Drabble’s “The Gifts of War” is stuck in a marriage to an alcoholic and the only ray of sunshine in her life is her young son for whom she wants to buy a wonderful birthday present, but her plans go awry.
The aunt in Willa Cather’s “A Wagner Matineée” marries for love but she’s forced to move to the countryside and give up the music which she loves so much. During her brief visit to the city her nephew takes her to the eponymous matineée and as she listens, “her eyes were closed, but tears were glistening on her cheeks, and I think in a moment more they were in my eyes as well. It never really died, then - the soul which can suffer so excruciatingly and so interminably; it withers to the outward eye only; like that strange moss which can lie on a dusty shelf half a century and yet, if placed in water, grows green again. She wept so throughout the development and elaboration of the melody.”
Kay Boyle’s wonderful “Winter Night” features my favourite opening lines in this collection: “There is a time of apprehension which begins with the beginning of darkness, and to which only the speech of love can lend security. It is there, in abeyance, at the end of every day, not urgent enough to be given the name of fear but rather of concern for how the hours are to be reprieved from fear, and those who have forgotten how it was when they were children can remember nothing of this.”
Unfortunately, some stories seemed subpar to me because they were preceded by much better ones. There are two stories about widows - Hortense Calisher’s “The Scream on Fifty-Seventh Street” and Mary Lavin’s “In a Café”. The former deals with the crushing loneliness experienced by a widow in New York. The latter feels underwhelming, coming after Calisher’s and Petry’s brilliant tales.
The same is true for the two stories about adolescents. Katherine Mansfield’s “The Garden Party” follows Virginia Woolf’s exquisite psychological portrait of a painfully self-conscious woman in “The New Dress” and is somewhat overshadowed by it (but still, “The Garden Party” is well worth reading). However, Carson McCuller’s “Wunderkind” (her first published story) can’t hold a candle to Maeve Brennan’s heartbreaking “The Eldest Child”.
Luckily, there’s only one awful story in this anthology - Gertrude Stein’s “Miss Furr and Miss Skeene”; the other stories range from okay-ish to brilliant.
And finally, an honorable mention goes to two other great stories - Tillie Olsen’s wistful tale about motherhood “I Stand Here Ironing” and Jean Stubbs’ “Cousin Lewis” whose female protagonist has a male persona modelled on her deceased cousin with whom she was in love “at thirteen. In love as one never is again, with someone who can never let you down, never be destroyed.”