New York Review Books
is to be commended on two counts: firstly, for making this overlooked
John Collier classic collection of short stories available to a wider
audience; secondly, for including an introductory essay by Ray Bradbury
where Ray has three memorable lines:
"There is no umbilical cord
between the characters in Collier’s world and the world we live in. It
is a world were anything can happen and always does."
"The stories here are not serious and thank God for that."
"John Collier saw the irony of human encounters and the fun in putting it down."
Reading
these fictional poppers is a toot. Before I offer commentary on my two
favorites that just so happen to be the weirdest of the bunch, there's
one bit of British author bio worth noting - as a joke, Collier penned a
review of his own novel, His Monkey Wife, wherein he
characterized the book as a half-baked attempt "to combine the qualities
of the thriller with those of what might be called the decorative
novel." And as something of a grand finale, jokin' John C offered the
following concluding remark regarding the novelist's abysmal lack of
talent: "From the classical standpoint his consciousness is too crammed
for harmony, too neurasthenic for proportion, and his humor is too
hysterical, too greedy, and too crude." Thanks, John Collier! Anyway,
with stories this good, it's on with the show:
THUS I REFUTE BEELZY
A tale with great depth. We have six-year-old Simon who no longer plays
with the other children but spends his days in or near a decaying little
summer-house down at the end of the garden. The lad carries a stick,
struts up and down, mouthing and gesticulating. Beckoned by a bell to
come along and join others for afternoon tea, Simon drifts in. Betty, a
visitor, notices Simon’s face is almost a perfect triangle pointed at
the chin and the child is as pale as pale can be.
Unexpectedly,
Simon’s father, a dentist and man of science, bustles on the scene. The
father wastes no time in letting everyone know, especially Simon, that
he is the person squarely in charge. When Simon calls his father
“Daddy,” his father insists Simon call him “Big Simon” and then goes on
to pontificate how in times past little boys called their fathers “sir”
or else they got a good spanking on the bottom. To this, Simon turns
crimson.
Once seated around the table, the conversation turns to
what “Small Simon” has been doing all afternoon. When Simon replies
“nothing,” Big Simon states Little Simon should learn from experience
and do something amusing tomorrow so as not to be bored. Simon replies,
in turn, that he has learned. Father presses son on the details of the
imaginative games he’s been playing and who exactly he's been playing
with. Unable to contain himself, Simon tells his father in a soft voice,
“Mr. Beelzy.”
Big Simon probes more into the nature of this “Mr.
Beelzy,” to which Simon answers that Mr. Beelzy isn’t like anything.
More back and forth until Big Simon, forever the staunch realist,
insists his son acknowledge such beings as Mr. Beelzy are not real but
simply a creation of mental fancy. When Simon refuses, Big Simon tells
his son to go upstairs to his room and he will soon follow. At this
point, Simon’s mother cries, “You are not going to beat the child?” To
which Simon informs his father that Mr. Beelzy won’t let him, that Mr.
Beelzy will come as a lion with wings and eat up anybody who tries to
hurt him. Predictably, his father shouts, “Go on up with you!”
What’s
especially fascinating about this tale is the tension between the
everyday world, the world of science, and a second, less material, plane
of existence. Of course, being English culture and society, it makes
perfect sense John Collier would use Mr. Beelzy (short for Beelzebulb)
as a representative from another, darker realm. Also worth pointing out,
in several other of his tales, the author features the devil as one of
the characters. Lastly, let me mention, Thus I Refute Beelzy has one heck of a powerful, unforgettable ending. I'm quite sure Big Simon would wholeheartedly agree!
GREEN THOUGHTS
Poor
Mr. Mannering. If he only knew what he and others were in store for
when he received an orchid with a certain sinister quality from a friend
who perished mysteriously when out on a scientific expedition. What
sort of orchid was it? He did not know but he took special care to plant
his new acquisition in the section of his hothouse where he could
always keep an eye on its health.
Not long thereafter, Mr.
Mannering knew he need not worry – the orchid proved to be
extraordinarily hardy, its stalks opening out bunches of darkly shinning
leaves that quickly took over the space from any of its neighboring
plants and flowers. Then after some time, tiny buds popped up here and
there among its profuse greenery, buds that looked like the heads of
flies. Mr. Mannering was overjoyed – possibly he is now the proud owner
of a heretofore unknown variety of orchid, an orchid that might even be
named after him and thus secure his rightful place in the world of
botany.
But then it happened: Cousin Jane’s cat inexplicably
disappeared. Not long thereafter, a strange new bud appeared on the
orchid, a bud that continued to grow bigger and bigger until it reached
the size of Mr. Mannering’s fist. And again, Mr. Mannering had to deal
with strange disappearance number two: Cousin Jane herself.
I
suspect nobody reading this will be shocked to know John Collier’s tale
features a crossover in lifeforms, from human to plant. The only other
such transformation I've come across in all of literature is Argentine writer Santiago
Dabove’s Being Dust. As the Latin American author's yarn is
harrowing, Collier’s contains light humor and signature British
understatement. What a treat for fans of the fabulous. It isn't exactly
Jane Austen's Mr. Darcy metamorphosing into Kafka's giant cockroach, but
it's close!
I recommend you take the needed steps to put your hands on a copy of this collection and have some fun.
British author John Collier, 1901-1980
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