Friday, December 24, 2010
William Trevor's "Selected Stories"
The New York Times critic Charles McGrath states that William Trevor and Alice Munro are the two greatest living short story writers, and I heartily agree with this assessment (I have written more than once here of my admiration – even love – for Alice Munro’s fiction), with only the proviso that V.S. Pritchett be included as the third in the trio. A second volume (the first was in 1992) of Trevor’s collected short stories has recently been issued: “Selected Stories” (Viking, 2009). This hefty volume is made up of 48 stories from four of his books: “After Rain,” “The Hill Bachelors,” “A Bit on the Side,” and “Cheating at Canasta.” Trevor is Irish, and has lived both in Ireland and England; his stories are set in both countries. One of the many pleasures of the stories is some of the Irish-sounding titles, such as “The Potato Dealer,” “Justina’s Priest,” and “Graillis’s Legacy.” Reading, and in many cases re-reading (as I had read some of the original volumes from which these stories are collected), these stories reminds me of the way they capture aspects of human nature in quiet, unassuming but beautiful prose. McGrath’s 11/28/10 New York Times review of the new collection emphasizes the way the essential aspects of human life as portrayed by Trevor stay the same: the stories are “not modernist, but neither are they antique. They are almost literally timeless”; I think this assessment gets at the essence of Trevor’s fiction. His settings are often small towns, and often the “events” of the story are everyday, quotidian, focusing on revealing character more than on dramatic plots. However, occasionally a sudden change comes into a character’s life, and we learn about the character, as well as about the others around her or him, from the way she or he responds to that change. The language is descriptive but in a low-key, straightforward way. Every word seems just right, but not in a fussy, precious way. The author is both very present through his voice, yet self-effacing. When I read his perfect stories, I think of him as a sort of brilliant but quiet uncle who tells the best, wisest, and most compelling stories one can imagine.
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