Not After Midnight and Other Stories

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I would like to thank my wonderful guests, Darren Gordon Smith and Steve Borys, for putting up with my shenanigans and being on the show. We had a wonderful conversation, and I think the answer is "LOVE."

Beauty: 3/3/3/2/3. Not the most elegant, but bits of striking imagery; nothing terribly bad beyond a bit of stiltedness. Not giving too much away, he goes on to relate how he had gone to Crete to paint for a week. The hotel was quiet and not badly appointed, although to the unease of the staff, he insists on moving to a chalet that later transpires to have been previously occupied by a man who had drowned in the sea nearby only two weeks before. Grey is unperturbed by this and carries on with his painting. In fact, the only disruption to his peace and quiet is the presence of a loud and abusive American called Stoll and his silent wife. The man drinks like a fish, and, according to the hotel bar-man, he’s even making his own hooch in their chalet: But, when he telephones to see how his son is doing in England, his wife Laura is there on the other end of the line. So who exactly did John see on the river, and what does this all mean? When the monster is dead. Hank takes the bottle of Peanut Noir that Abby is clutching. He asks her if she wants to drink another case of this shit with him. Flipping it upside down and holding it up to her. It is apparent that there is an engagement ring in the bottom of the bottle. Hank had listened to what Abby had said the night before. Realising that he had taken her for granted. Hank had planned an elaborate proposal for her birthday party. He was finally ready to give Abby the commitment she had always desired. The monster just happened to interrupt before he could actually propose. After Midnight – A Metaphorical Monster All of them reach a satisfying conclusion, and I look forward to reading more of her short stories in the future, mainly ”The Birds”.Nevertheless, after reading the five tales included in this collection, I started thinking whether they might not have something in common – apart from the skilful, suggestive yet unobtrusive prose they are written in –, uniting every single one of them. Saying this, I don’t even know, hardly knowing the first thing at all about du Maurier, whether these five stories were originally included in one collection or whether their joint appearance in one volume is simply due to a publisher’s choice. Be that as it may, if it is the latter, it can be said to be a felicitous choice all the same because, as the title of the collection implies, all five tales are more or less about people’s tendency to deceive themselves, to give in to denial behaviour and to suppress part of their inner lives. Sometimes, this is quite a wise decision, sometimes it isn’t. I would like to thank my wonderful guests, William Collier and Allan Misner, for putting up with my shenanigans and being on the show. We had a conversation that was both entertaining and meaningful.

A word of caution: Do not confuse this book, Don't Look Now and Other Stories with Don't Look Now: Selected Stories of Daphne Du Maurier. They are not the same book. The only things they have in common are the the title story and the author. Both books are fine, mind you, but if you are participating in a group discussion and the stories you are reading aren't the same as what everyone else is reading, you will likely feel left out in the cold. He bent down and brought out a small screw-topped bottle filled with what appeared to be bitter lemon. “Left here last evening with Mr Stoll’s compliments,” he said. “He waited for you in the bar until nearly midnight, but you never came. So I promised to hand it over when you did.” I looked at it suspiciously. “What is it?” I asked. The bar-tender smiled. “Some of his chalet home-brew,” he said. “It’s quite harmless, he gave me a bottle for myself and my wife. She says it’s nothing but lemonade. The real smelling stuff must have been thrown away. Try it.” He had poured some into my mineral water before I could stop him. Hesitant, wary, I dipped my finger into the glass and tasted it. It was like the barley-water my mother used to make when I was a child. And equally tasteless. And yet... it left a sort of aftermath on the palate and the tongue. Not as sweet as honey nor as sharp as grapes, but pleasant, like the smell of raisins under the sun, curiously blended with ears of ripening corn.Short Fiction: Come Wind, Come Weather, 1940; Happy Christmas, 1940; The Apple Tree, 1952; Kiss Me Again, Stranger, 1952; Early Stories, 1955; The Breaking Point, 1959; The Treasury of du Maurier Short Stories, 1959; Not After Midnight, 1971; Echoes from the Macabre, 1976; The Rendezvous and Other Stories, 1980; Classics from the Macabre, 1987.

In The Way of the Cross, British tourists from Little Bletford congregate in Jerusalem, where the vicar who was scheduled to lead their tour of the Holy City falls ill and is replaced by a young minister. In The Breakthrough, an electrical engineer is loaned out by his employer to the salt marshes near Saxmere, where he discovers an eccentric scientist is working on a project to harness the lifeforce at the moment of death. I would like to thank my wonderful guests, Andrea Faye Christians and Kim Lengling, for putting up with my shenanigans and being on the show. We had a conversation that was both entertaining and meaningful.

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How will these two mesh during the show? What will they find out they have in common? What about their differences? Find out now.