![]() The sight is so alarming that it sets her “blood and organs into crashing disarray until I was soon drained of all former purpose, as slender as that was.” She braces herself against a fence. So she heads down a road where she often sees cars passing. This is the time, she says, “when my mind is least disposed to fuss or hypothesis.” The rain has stopped, but the sound of it continues tiny drops slide down through thick trees with the sound of a “squandered chandelier dashing headlong down the hillside,” a noise that could cause a “peripheral insanity” if you stopped and listened too long. ![]() It begins simply, with the collection’s unnamed narrator, who lives mostly in solitude on the west coast of Ireland, deciding to take a walk on a damp afternoon. ![]() Three-quarters of the way through Claire-Louise Bennett’s début collection, “Pond,” there’s a story called “Morning, 1908” that altered my state of consciousness like a drug. Photograph by John Greim / LightRocket / Getty ![]() The stories in Claire-Louise Bennett’s “Pond” convey a sense of real time. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |