octavia_cade's Reviews (2.64k)

A hefty collection of short stories, all linked by the fact that they were inspirations for episodes of late-night horror on television programmes such as The Twilight Zone or The Outer Limits. And there's probably something for everyone here - the range in stories is massive, and it doesn't confine itself by genre. Some are based in science fiction, for example E.M. Forster's "The Machine Stops" or (one of my favourites) "William and Mary" by Roald Dahl. Some are more fantasy focused, such as "The Monkey's Paw" by W.W. Jacobs, and some have no speculative element at all, such as "The Kiss of Blood" by Arthur Conan Doyle. A lot of these stories I've read before, and apart from the Dahl I retain a continued fondness for "The Doll" by Richard Matheson and the horribly creepy "Gramma" by Stephen King.

Most of the included stories are genuinely disturbing, albeit a little old-fashioned; if there's one aspect of this book that's less broad in range than it could be it's the protagonists, a large proportion of whom seem to be functionally identical Oxbridge types. But the collection's decades old at this point, and some of the entries were written over a century ago, so it's not really surprising that it's a bit dated. Still, as an anthology of classics it's genuinely entertaining.

A collection of fifty short pieces, one from each year as indicated by the title. By far the vast majority were science fiction stories, though there was one fantasy and several straight mysteries in there, as well as the odd non-fiction piece. Most of the stories were likeable enough, though there's some that didn't quite stack up to the rest, and a small handful - for example "Nightfall", "The Ugly Little Boy", and the robot stories involving Susan Calvin - that were excellent. I read and reviewed each of the six short books that were collected into this single volume separately, so this is really just a note for my own records. The collection rating is an average of the six individual ratings - volumes two and five both earned four stars from me, and the remainder earned three.

I don't know whether it takes more gumption or sheer bloody cluelessness to up and buy an olive orchard when you know nothing about farming, or olives, or even cooking for that matter, but that's what Gulian and his partner did, and you've got to admire the go they made of it. Sometimes you just have to make a change and take a chance and they did, in a foreign country no less, and I'd feel a bit bad about laughing at them if the book weren't so funny. Although, given the humour is so relatable - no-one can blame them for not wanting to eat their pets! - it's more a case of laughing with than laughing at, as Gulian is clearly aware of the ridiculousness of some of their attempts to adapt. Happily, it's a success story, and not just with the olives. The greater success, I think, lies in the community around them, how it comes together and helps out, and how they become part of it. And on that note: there's a number of recipes included in this book, most of them taken from neighbours, and I have to say that, having just made them this morning, Olwen's Welsh Cakes are lovely, and I'll be making them again for sure.

Granted I read this in translation rather than the original French, but all credit to both author and translator here because the language is absolutely beautiful. I first came across this book in an Irish hotel, and (resisting the urge to steal it) eventually found a second-hand copy somewhere else, years later. The decision of the author to deceive her husband, letting him believe after an operation for cancer that he would recover when both she and his doctors knew he would not, is a confronting one. I'd never understood, before, why the book lacked any explanation for this - there's no description of Gérard Philipe's personality that indicates he would crumble under the knowledge of his approaching death. It always seemed a hole in the text to me. But I've recently finished Illness as Metaphor by Susan Sontag, which describes how keeping their terminal status from patients was common in the France of the time, and that explains the absence. It's still a choice I have difficulty with, but it's horribly, painfully clear from this memoir that Anne Philipe wrestled with it as well, trying to keep from her husband knowledge of his fate through the final weeks of his life, trying desperately to spare him the suffering of it and trying not to sink under secrets herself. Whatever you think of her actions, this is a small, sad, struggling, perfect little book.

A short collection of eight stories by H.G. Wells. They're all fairly likeable, although the focus on dreams and apocalypse can become a little repetitive. There were two that really stood out for me, though. The first was the title story, "The Door in the Wall", which was quiet and restrained and not particularly original, but so wistful and sadly regretful in its tone that it became really rather appealing. The one unreservedly great story here, though, was "The Country of the Blind" (the early version, with the non-stupid ending - why did you mess with this piece of perfection, Mr. Wells? Why?). It works on those typical sci-fi tropes of conformity and individualism and oppression, the tension between utopian and dystopian societies, and it's so subtle and so ambiguous in its original form that it rewards both a number of readings, and a number of different readings. It's genuinely outstanding.

Two and a half stars, rounding up to three. There are a couple of plays here from the Irish dramatist J.M. Synge, and one was far better than the other I thought. The Playboy of the Western World is Synge's most famous play, as I understand it, and it's also the one I liked least. I get the feeling it's meant to be funny, but this story of a big-talking brat who never quite manages to murder his father, and the community that falls for and spurns him on a dime, just inches too far into farce for me to take it seriously. There are some amusing bits but it's too silly for me to really enjoy, and it felt dragged out over three acts. It gets two stars from me. Far more compelling was the one-act Riders to the Sea, a sad little piece based on life on the Aran Islands, and the death of a family's final son by drowning. Three stars for that one, it's short and affecting and evocative.

I have to admit, I'm predisposed to like the idea of using alphabet books to teach science! This is aimed at slightly older kids, and uses primarily geological terms, one or two of which I hadn't actually heard of. ("Kame", for example, which is a ridge of sand or gravel deposited by a glacier. Now you know.) Truth is, I'd give it three stars if it weren't for the very first entry - A for Antarctica. Asimov is clearly being tongue-in-cheek when he says nothing lives there but penguins and scientists, but I'm not sure kids will pick up on the fact that it's bollocks, and I tend to side-eye books that teach kids wrong science on purpose... even if it is because the author's trying to be funny.

I'm not sure what I like best about this learn-science-through-the-alphabet book: the constant emphasis on sensible use of renewable resources and preventing pollution, or the fact that the book practises what it preaches and has "This book is printed on recycled paper" written directly on the cover. I think it's the latter, to be honest. If only more publishers did that today...

Likeable alphabet book themed around ocean science. There were a couple of terms in here I didn't know - like varve, which refers to the layers of material that get deposited, in much the same manner as tree rings, onto the bottom of a harbour or lake. I'm making a note of that here so I can go look it up in the future, because I find tree rings fascinating things, and varve sounds just as interesting. I'm sure there's a story in it!

One of my favourite poetry collections ever. I even wrote a paper on this several years back, which was eventually published so that was nice, but I've read the collection again today and I love it as much as ever. O'Connor spent a summer working on the Reef as a scuba diver at a scientific research station, and the collection came out of that. It's a collection that's full of wonder and anger - wonder at all the marvellous creatures he sees, this chaotic bloom of life and diversity... and anger that we're so easily letting it slip away through mismanagement and neglect. It's kind of horrifying to remember that this came out in 1976 (before I was born, even) and that things now are even worse for the Reef, and getting ever more so.

Someone needs to reissue this book, is all I can say. It's as topical as ever. And it's been a horrible process, but I think I've finally narrowed down my favourite poem from it - "On a first encounter", about the crown-of-thorns starfish, which is an invasive species still wreaking absolute havoc today. I'm fairly sure O'Connor hates the thing as much as I do.