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"We played
this game when we kids. Being the older brother, I’d always end up
leading Jack. I’d take him down to the old mine workings, or up the
mountain to where Nant y Bychan rushed by like an angry whisper. Then
I’d untie the bandanna, he’d open his eyes and gaze at the
rusting machinery, or the silver water, as if he was looking at the
world for the first time.
"
Reviewed by Sarah Hilary
This isn't Brian George's
first collection, and I hope it won't be his last. It's a rare
treat to read such gentle, precise portraits of places, people and
relationships. Several of the stories take place in Wales, but it's
a Wales which could be anywhere, or nowhere; a slightly surreal,
timeless place that's the perfect backdrop for the stories
themselves. A sense of yearning underscores many of the stories, more
than one of which opens or closes with a character moving on, or
away.
There's a strong sense too, of
what's unseen or half-glimpsed, reinforcing the power of the title,
Blindfold, which is also the title of my favourite story in
the collection. This story is about two brothers, one of whom is
struggling to live in the real world. The other brother is the
narrator, cast in the role of care-giving. Blindfold is
beautifully and sparsely told, with genuine compassion. It's
unsentimental and it packs one hell of a punch; this story will stay
you.
One of the best things about this
collection is the sense that the stories are connected, without any
heavy-handed signposting by the author (or editor). Instead, the
reader is allowed to discover or ‘feel' the connections, some of
which may be very personal, or subjective. My Head was Filled with
Singing, and Meanest Axe in the County share a road-trip
quality. So, in a less obvious sense, do Belaucèl
and Mute. The motif of a guitar conjures images of escape, or
perhaps of journey without end, a wandering minstrel? But that
suggests a degree of whimsy which isn't present in these stories;
you believe entirely into the cast of characters that George
presents. As if you've read about them before, or passed them in
the street.
Then there are stories about the
ways in which bureaucracy reduces us, maybe even blinds us. Madame
Ofsted and the Fluttering Hands
is one of these, and Bytes
and Flowers is another. The Chief Speak Softly is
my favourite, taking the red-tape theme into new territory.
The stories about families missing one another are some of the best,
I think. Fathers who can't quite work out when they lost sight of
their children, or those left wondering about the broken connections.
Taking Care is an unnerving example. Mexican Moustache
is both funny and touching, and very sad. My Son Skates By is
the best example, a mini masterpiece of loss.
I highly and wholeheartedly recommend this collection.
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