Bravely Perriam probes the slippery topics of love and fear, fixation and disgust. Little Marvel, we find out, is a variety of green pea. Green peas bizarrely become the heroine’s phobia. We can smile, but also share the sorrows of poor Dolores, menaced by green thoughts in a green shade. The narrative shows deep understanding of the intractable nature of phobia.
Understanding it, its origin, its dynamic, is perhaps not so hard. Conquering it might prove to be beyond one’s powers.
All of these tales grapple with their protagonists’ consciousness of a deep deficiency or an irreconcilable conflict in their life. This is thoughtful stuff, though the absurdity of which the characters themselves are disarmingly aware can certainly be funny. What is one to say to credit-controller Brian, pushing forty, who on a business trip to Sorrento has his eyes opened to real passion by the beautiful, willing Fiorella, half his age?
Go back. You know you belong with your dowdy wife and uncouth teenage children. Why? Because they love you, that’s why? And yet . . .
Unlike many authors, Perriam seems to be able to empathise equally with the dreams and disappointments of the young and callow, the wellmeaning middle-aged and the nearly dotty elderly – and with both men and women. We can suffer the agonies of the young daughter of a broken marriage just as we can cringe with Grace at her unwanted Diamond Wedding celebrations. ‘She and Charles remained at arm’s length despite six long decades of so-called intimacy yet she had never, once, admitted her frustration, except silently, to the furniture.’ A lot of life is frankly disappointing. You can learn the reasons, examine the causes, but you are still stuck with the results. Sustained positive thinking, the kind the selfhelpers celebrate, is beyond most of us, realistically. But ‘good enough’? Yes, we can settle for that. Even ‘good enough’ can involve a world-shaking change of heart or habits. Achieving it can be a personal triumph. ‘Religion’ and ‘spiritual’ turn up in the newspaper reviews as well, the writers seemingly failing to note that Perriam gives religion of any sort fairly short shrift, mainly because it fails to deliver the goods. In fact, in all of the stories, she herself only rates things, people and ideas that deliver the goods. This down-to-earth approach is so characteristic of her that the surprising, sometimes surreal, endings of the stories can leave the reader gasping, but never indifferent.
The technical quality of Perriam’s work is justly praised. It would be hard to fault. As Fay Weldon says: ‘Wendy’s born to write.’ Only very seldom, and fleetingly, does one detect ‘crafting’ or get that whiff of ‘creative writing class’ – when writers are trying too hard – which can be off-putting to the reader.
As if aware of the danger, Perriam in the final story ‘Peacocks’ reveals a perceptive grasp, perhaps to some extent autobiographical, of the urge to write, and how easily it can be inhibited or stifled.
An impressive fifth collection of short stories, Little Marvel is, then, a rewarding read from a writer who knows how to mix irony, fury and humanity. Her people all find a brave way out of their predicament.
We might not always approve of their choices – some may be too accepting for our taste, some too wild, some truly surreal. But they are honest choices, born of honest reflection.
Alison McRobb teaches theology and English Language and is a Principal Examiner in Hinduism for Cambridge International Examinations. She is a former Chair of SoF Trustees.
Alison McRobb reviews Little Marvel and Other Stories by Wendy Perriam Robert Hale (London 2008) Hdbk.224 pages. £18.99.
Little Marvel and Other Stories by Wendy Perriam (Robert Hale, London 2008) Hdbk. 224 pages. £18.99. ISBN: 978-0709085973