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A review by dee9401
In a Glass Darkly by J. Sheridan Le Fanu
5.0
After reading Carmilla by itself last summer, someone suggested that I keep reading J. Sheridan Le Fanu’s works. I picked up a beautiful edition of In a Glass Darkly and read it during the last few months. I moved slowly, due to being busy and distracted, but also so that I could savor his writings. This collection of five stories (three short stories and basically two novellas) were so perfect for me that this volume has jumped high onto my favorites list.
Since I mentioned the physicality of the book, let me start there first. It’s a very nice, 1929 edition from Peter Davies, with many small, beautiful illustrations by Edward Ardizzone. There’s something to be said for a physical book. The paper is thick, the boards firm and heavy. It was solid in my hands and just a pleasure to hold. I bought it from Any Amount of Books, a fantastic shop on Charing Cross Road in London.
Turning to the stories, I’d only ever read Carmilla. At the time, I praised it as a fantastic story that predated Dracula and was just something I couldn’t stop reading. Like Laura, I was drawn to Carmilla but couldn’t explain it. The story was just as good, perhaps better, the second time through.
I had heard the name Green Tea, the first story, but knew nothing of it. It was great. The spectral monkey was awesomely spooky and terrifying. Le Fanu describes so little but says so much. Like the spectral monkey of Green Tea, the footsteps heard by no one there was simply terrifying in The Familiar, his second story. I never really was gripped by the third story, Mr. Justice Harbottle. But, I know I will return to this volume again and again over the years, so perhaps it will grow on me. The Room in the Dragon Volant was brilliant, closest to the beauty of Carmilla. The terror of paralysis, almost being buried alive, and love betrayed made for a fantastical story.
I like how Le Fanu talked about writers. In Green Tea, he talked about the relationship between writers and stimulants, something that I can relate to: “I believe that every one who sets about writing in earnest does his work, as a friend of mine phrased it, on something– tea, coffee or tobacco. I suppose there is a material waste that must be hourly supplied in such occupations, or that we should grow too abstracted, and the mind, as it were, pass out of the body, unless it were reminded often of the connection by actual sensation” (p. 23).
If I could give this book six stars, I would. I highly recommend it.
Since I mentioned the physicality of the book, let me start there first. It’s a very nice, 1929 edition from Peter Davies, with many small, beautiful illustrations by Edward Ardizzone. There’s something to be said for a physical book. The paper is thick, the boards firm and heavy. It was solid in my hands and just a pleasure to hold. I bought it from Any Amount of Books, a fantastic shop on Charing Cross Road in London.
Turning to the stories, I’d only ever read Carmilla. At the time, I praised it as a fantastic story that predated Dracula and was just something I couldn’t stop reading. Like Laura, I was drawn to Carmilla but couldn’t explain it. The story was just as good, perhaps better, the second time through.
I had heard the name Green Tea, the first story, but knew nothing of it. It was great. The spectral monkey was awesomely spooky and terrifying. Le Fanu describes so little but says so much. Like the spectral monkey of Green Tea, the footsteps heard by no one there was simply terrifying in The Familiar, his second story. I never really was gripped by the third story, Mr. Justice Harbottle. But, I know I will return to this volume again and again over the years, so perhaps it will grow on me. The Room in the Dragon Volant was brilliant, closest to the beauty of Carmilla. The terror of paralysis, almost being buried alive, and love betrayed made for a fantastical story.
I like how Le Fanu talked about writers. In Green Tea, he talked about the relationship between writers and stimulants, something that I can relate to: “I believe that every one who sets about writing in earnest does his work, as a friend of mine phrased it, on something– tea, coffee or tobacco. I suppose there is a material waste that must be hourly supplied in such occupations, or that we should grow too abstracted, and the mind, as it were, pass out of the body, unless it were reminded often of the connection by actual sensation” (p. 23).
If I could give this book six stars, I would. I highly recommend it.