The term
'mainstream' – when related to literature - can provoke generally
negative responses from those of us who have long held hard to the
independent press. With no formal training in journalism, without a
regular slot on a corporate title, it is easy to sneer. Equally, we
can pull-up the metaphorical drawbridge marked 'private property' or
'keep off the grass.' And why not? Most of what I read – and review
- was written with neither a particular audience in mind, or for
contractual obligation. So, here's to shameful elitism...! It may be
produced from personal necessity, often enough, and even occasionally
for the obverse, sneer-provoking term, love; but almost never to
form. i.e. to editorial decree.
So, to
find myself reviewing my first 'mainstream' collection in eighteen
months feels something of a culture shock. Sentences suddenly flow
swiftly passed the eyes like cool running water, or a script for
CBBC. Understatement is taboo, with description almost
condescendingly explicit. ('Yes, I know, I know...,' I find myself
murmuring under the breath). Sometimes it's by no means clear which
audience was being served; adult or children? Going with it, however,
cumulatively elicits the strength of a writer who might otherwise
have succumbed to the cosily banal.
Most
tales here derive from Fifties editions of Reveille, The
London Evening News and the near-forgotten Truth and
London Mystery magazines. Pan, Tandem, Fontana and Armada Ghost
and Horror collections complete the contents. Like Richmal Crompton
before her (her Mist collection also available from Sundial
and previously reviewed here
http://panreview.blogspot.co.uk/2015/06/mist-and-other-ghost-stories),
Timperley honed an easy commercial style through prolific necessity.
'Christmas Meeting' and 'Harry,' which open the collection, while
highly-praised, now feel more like transient playwiths' of the genre;
particularly next to what follows. Of the twenty-two tales, there are
six which excel beyond the call of contractual duty; 'The Listening
Child,' 'The Mistress In Black,' 'To Keep Him Company,' 'Dreams Are
More Than Shadows,' 'Voices In The Night' and 'Little Girl Lost'
conspire to stubbornly lodge in the mind.
'The
Listening Child' revolves around a mother's fear for the safety of
her child, who becomes bewitched by the dark figure of a
fiddle-player, only to seemingly follow his pernicious path; 'The
Mistress In Black' concerns the ghost of a teacher whose legacy in
life seeks resolution in death; 'To Keep Him Company' has more true
charm than sentiment as the reason a girl and two boys secretly hang
around the young protaganist becomes clear in the final words of
their mother. Both 'Dreams Are More Than Shadows' and 'Voices In The
Night' involve ghostly new tenants - the latter a victim of
premonition. 'Dreams' is notable in being the one tale here you could
call ambiguous in its depiction, of who is real and who an illusion;
a particularly interesting conceit, beautifully told. 'Little Girl
Lost' confounds the usual interpretation of the title, as the 'little
girl' here reveals greater knowledge and acceptance of 'the other
side' than her understandably skeptical parents.
With
'The Listening Child' in particular, echoes of Timperley's own
background can be gleaned, from its Christian-adherent GP (Doctor
Rivers) recommending prayer as a means to, temporarily at least, ward
off child-afflicting 'evil.' You can also see it in the now
charmingly dated pop-culture references of the post-war middle-class.
"The radio news and 'Programme Parade' were over now. Music
on gramophone records came next. Linda was glancing through a highly
coloured comic, which had just arrived..." etc.
At her
best, Timperley transcends the contemporary mainstream with an
unerring ability to elicit familiar fears through wide-ranging
depictions of encroaching childhood dangers.
The
cover, a chilling image of a half-visible child beckoning through
frosted glass, is also notable for the credit of Sundial's stoical
publisher, Frank Kibblewhite.
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