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“ L. M.” came to see me
the other evening; she brought me some oysters. Oh! I said, the
smell! of them reminded me so of a little café in Marseilles.
And how well, I remembered
one particular evening ! Just then, I looked up. “L. M.’s”
face had changed became curiously
blank and then serious and distressed. “ One moment, dear,”
said she; “ I must fly and pay a
little visit.” She flew, and came back all smiles and readiness.
“Yes, dear, one evening in the
little café,” said she, composing herself. But while
she was away it occurred to me that
something of this kind invariably happened whenever I wished to
describe anything to her. . .
. “Would you just wait, dear, while I get a hanky?”
Or, “ Shall I put on a lump of coal before
you begin?” Or, “ Shall I just dash up to the kitchen
and put the kettle on?” . . . Then, “
About the little café, dear. Do go on!” “ No;
I’ve forgotten.” Very distressed : “ Oh, you
haven’t ! Not really.” “Yes, absolutely. Have
you washed your hair lately? It’s such a pretty
colour-like lager beer.” “No, I haven’t washed
it for ages. I must, though. It’s coming out in
handfuls, simply.” Which is the correct reply according to
the Book of Female
Conversations?
KATHERINE MANSFIELD
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21st
DECEMBER, 1911
REVIEW OF ‘IN A GERMAN PENSION’ BY BEATRICE HASTINGS
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In a German Pension. By Katherine
Mansfield.
(Stephen Swift. 6s.)
When Miss Mansfield gets quite clear of the lachrymose sentimentality
that so often goes
with the satirical gift, she will be a very amusing and refreshing
writer: but the publisher’s
comparison of her with Turguénieff she would probably
be the first to ridicule. Her work is
totally different from the vast, epic order of “ Fathers
and Children.” She is a sketch artist,
and very expert in producing vignettes that contain every
necessary detail, if sometimes more
than is necessary. Her unquenchable humour gives to the work
an atmosphere dry and
sparkling, very valuable in our swampy age. The advance made
from the morbidistic “Child
who was Tired ” to “The Modern Soul,” a
triumph of humour, makes one wonder how she
came to include the former in this collection, or the baldly
conventional “ Blaze,” which
hundreds of modern souls could pen between tea and dinner.
“The Luft Bad,” “ A Birthday,”
and “At Lehmann’s,” prove that the “
Modern Soul ” was no tour de force, but definitely
belonging to
the make-up of one of the most promising of young writers.
B.H. |
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