Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #1655573 in Books
• Published on: 2004-03-19
• Original language: English
• Binding: Hardcover
• 358 pages

From Amazon.com
Ireland is once more the source of great, and disturbing, fiction. Most of us will not have heard of Maeve Brennan before opening this volume, yet the quality of her stories is cause for wonder. The first several are autobiographical sketches of her childhood in 1920s Dublin. In one, she takes her brother with her to the Poor Clare nuns, a closed order. Because the little boy is only 2, he gets to see the hidden lives about which his older sister is so curious: "I imagined them, silent and swift, of all ages, descending upon Robert from every part of the convent." In another, following the treaty that turned Ireland into a free state, "some unfriendly men" twice come looking for her father, a Republican. One raider even thrusts his head up the fireplace, only to cover himself and the living room in soot. Despite the disarray, her mother rejoices. "And with us chattering a delighted, incredulous accompaniment, she laughed as though her heart might break."

In Brennan's acute hands, this proverbial phrase has more sorrow than joy about it, and in the collection's two other sequences, the emotions are far more raw. Husbands and wives are deadlocked in loveless marriages--the men longing for escape, the women desperate for contact. These are visions of powerful feelings, powerfully quelled, and there are some heart-freezing juxtapositions. One story ends with a young couple coming together; in the very next, 27 years later, ill will is everywhere.

But Brennan, whose life seems to have been even more tragic than that of any of her characters, can also anatomize peace, or at least respite. In "The Carpet with the Big Pink Roses on It," Mrs. Bagot and her child and pets (also on the shakiest of ground with Mr. Bagot) fall into an afternoon slumber. "They all slept safely. There wasn't a sound in the house. Nobody came to the door. Nobody saw them. There on the bed they might all have been invisible, or enchanted, or, as they were for that time, forgotten." Alas, such states of grace are momentary in Brennan's houses. According to William Maxwell, the title novella--a brilliant anatomy of envy and hate--"belongs with the great short stories of this century." So do several other pieces in The Springs of Affection.

From Library Journal
This collection contains all of Brennan's Irish short stories, all but one originally published in The New Yorker between 1952 and 1973. The 21 stories are divided into three distinct cycles. The first set is autobiographical in nature, chronicling Brennan's Dublin childhood, while the remaining cycles bring the reader into the lives of two Dublin families. Brennan depicts everyday scenes from family life using beautiful and emotionally charged language. The stories featuring Hubert and Rose Derdon are particularly stunning in their stark comparison of home, represented by a warm hearth, comfortable appointments, and a beautiful garden, and family relationships, governed by fear, hatred, and emotional distance. The stories in the last cycle are hopeful, only briefly skirting the periphery of unhappiness and despair. The autobiographical sketches are wonderfully written, and descriptions and events return in the fictitious stories. An introduction by Brennan's colleague and editor William Maxwell provides background and commentary on the author's life and work. Highly recommended.
-?Dianna Moeller, St. Martin's Coll., Lacey, Wash.
Copyright 1997 Reed Business Information, Inc.

From Kirkus Reviews
A treasured staff writer for The New Yorker from 1949 to the mid-70s, Brennan, who died in 1993, receives fresh, well-earned attention in a collection of her 21 Irish stories, all previously published either in Christmas Eve (1974) or In and Out of Never- Never Land (1969,) together with a frank introduction from her editor William Maxwell. The stories appear in three groups, the first autobiographical, and the second and third concerning two separate families, each of whose quietly desperate circumstances is detailed in a series of overlapping vignettes. For Rose and Hubert Derdon, the state of things surfaces in ``A Young Girl Can Spoil Her Chances'' when Rose, as always, goes to a Mass commemorating her father's death, now 43 years ago, leaving Hubert, as always resentful at the upset of his morning routine. Later, he wants to make amends, and remembers a blue hyacinth he'd given her years before and how happy she'd been to receive it. The truce established between them when he asks her about it, however, collapses as his habitual criticism of her resumes. In the third group, the Bagots--Delia, Martin, and their two young daughters- -fare only marginally better: Martin sleeps in a separate room and has only minimal communication with his family; Delia keeps an immaculate home but hardly ever leaves it. The loss of their firstborn son three days after his birth was a shock they never recovered from. In the extraordinary title piece, Delia and Martin's wedding is remembered after their deaths by his twin sister, spinster Min, who took their furniture and his wedding ring to her flat the better to indulge her satisfaction at having survived Martin, whom she feels betrayed his family to marry. With an understatement often approaching brilliance, the suppressed emotions and diminished lives echoing here make clear that this voice of the last generation deserves to be heard anew. -- Copyright ©1997, Kirkus Associates, LP. All rights reserved.