By Robertson Davies, Mavis Gallant

A brand new choice of tales by way of Mavis Gallant is often a massive publishing occasion. For this can be the author who--like Margaret Atwood and Alice Munro--has made Canadian brief tales a presence at the international literary scene, and on our bestseller lists.

In Across the Bridge 4 of the 11 tales are hooked up, following the fortunes of the Carette relatives in Montreal. In "1933" their widowed mom teaches Berthe and Marie to disclaim that she used to be a seamstress and to claim as an alternative that she used to be "clever along with her hands." In "The selected Husband" the luckless suitor Louis has to endure the front-parlour scrutiny of Marie's mom and sister: "But then Louis started to cough and needed to conceal his mouth. He was once in hassle with a caramel. The Carettes seemed away, in order that he may strangle unobserved. 'How darkish it is,' acknowledged Berthe, to allow him imagine he couldn't be seen."

We then keep on with their marriage, the delivery of Raymond, and Raymond's flight from his mom and aunt to his eventual position as a lodge supervisor in Florida. "'The position was once jam-packed with Canadians,' he acknowledged. 'They stole like raccoons...'"

With the exception of "The Fenton Child," an eerie tale set in postwar Montreal, the opposite tales occur within the Paris Mavis Gallant understands so good. "Across the Bridge," the name tale, starts with the narrator's mom throwing her reluctant daughter's marriage ceremony invites into the Seine. "I watched the envelopes fall in a gradual bathe and land at the darkish water and waft aside. Strangers leaned at the parapet and stared, too, yet no one spoke."

This is an excellent selection of tales via a author on the most sensible of her form.

From the Hardcover edition.

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Additional info for Across the Bridge

Sample text

When she was standing she followed the grunts with a long, low whistle. "It's becoming a powerful effort for me to get around,'' she complained. Aunt Lil, who was thin, had sat across the fire in a straight chair. "The trouble with you, Sally, is you're getting fat," she cried in a dry voice. She sat very straight and leaned forward from the hips as she shifted the snuff to the other side of her mouth and spat toward the coffee can on the hearth. Two drops of the 60 THE STARLESS AIR brown liquid splattered on the ash dusted hearth like raindrops on dusty earth.

The five boys undressed and pulled on their bathing suits. Johnny woke the old man who was asleep in the passage between the two rooms and they rented a boat from him and rowed out to the middle of the lake. On every side pine trees circled the shore, high into the sky, and cast shadows that jutted over the edge of the water. The wide surface of the lake was bright and smooth, and glittering in the wake of the boat. In turn they dived from the back of the boat down into the green depths below the surface where the cold water peeled the perspiration from their bodies as sharply as a knife.

He had been remembering specific girls again, their flesh blossoming and fading in the dark red space before his closed eyes, and thinking that he would never see them or any others again. But he was not angry. He was too weak to be angry. He wanted only either to be well again or to be dead. Death was like everything else in life, and he accepted it. He had gotten only love out of life-perhaps he had gotten life out of only love-and it was better to die of what he had lived by than to die of something which had no connexion to him, better to die of love than to be run over by an automobile driven by someone he did not even know.

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