The Stories of Robert Aickman

[Fried Egg]

I wanted a place to discuss Robert Aickman's stories with other people who have read them so I started a new thread. Please feel free to either respond to points others have made or initate new thoughts on any of his stories you are interested in discussing.

Note, this discussion is aimed at people who have already read the stories discussed so there might be spoilers below.

A story particularly fresh in my mind is "The Next Glade". It originally appeared in "Intrusions" but I have just read it in the "The Unsettled Dust" collection.

It is one of his opaque mysteries which could have multiple meanings and interpretations.

Who is this stranger that the female protagonist meets and that no one else seems to believe exists? Throughout the story we are left thinking that he may well be a figmant of her imagination until the end when her son reveals having seen him when he asks if she is going to marry him.

This seems to me to be a story about the drudgery of our lives and how we cope with that drudgery. It also looks at faithlessness that can be a means of escape and the effect that can have on our relationships and the way we see each other.

Is the next glade Aickman's metaphore for the other side of the fence where the grass is always greener? The first time she crosses the next glade, she is confronted with an idyllic dream that is soured when her dream like man shows an expression of horror when he sees her. The second time the idyllic dream has disappeared to be replaced by nightmare, a symbol of the deep and endless drudgery of our lives.

The next glade seems to be her private place in a wood so small there shouldn't be any private places. Each time her mysterious stranger goes into the next glade he disappears, as if he never existed. When her husband tries to follow her there he cannot penetrate the thicket, cuts himself on the thorns which leaving him fatally wounded. But is it the wound that kills him or the stress and drudgery of his life, and the estrangement from his wife emotionally?

Definitely, I think, one of his more interesting stories.

 

[Fried Egg]

Okay, another one I've just read: "Bind Your Hair".

Long time spinster Clarinda seems to have finally acquiesced to the attentions of Dudley who's taken her out to the country to meet his parents for the weekend. Clarinda is not really sure what she thinks of Dudley's family and friends, with the exception of the strange Mrs. Pagani. One afternoon she goes for a walk on her own (the rest of the family seem quite content pottering about the house) in the near perpetually fog shrouded countryside along a strange path up towards a hill where she meets some strange but ominously friendly children, a not so friendly Rufo and Mr.s Pagani again.

Restless and unable to sleep that night, she returns in the middle of the night and the fog has cleared. Again she meets one of the children who is urging her on as she's late, and the others are already "changing". The child leads her to the strange, circular maze in which many men and woman are at the edge clothed in animal skins and furs (including Rufo and Mr.s Pagani) while others in the maze are slithering around naked in some kind of primative, primal ritual. The other "child" appears and bites Clarinda's ankle drawing blood.

It seems to me that it might be the case that the entire village was involved in this primal ritual, including Dudley and his apparently straight laced family. They all went to bed very early, there was a large number of people involved in the rite for such a small village and when they drive past Mr.s Pagani on the way back to the station, she waves at them both telling them not to be late. Of course, she could have been merely talking about the train they were intenting to catch but after MR's Pagani's repeated reminders throughout the story not to be late, one has to wonder.

But what was the significance of the binding of the hair? When Clarinda meets Mr.s Pagani on her first walk, she is complemented on how well she has bound her hair (Mr.s Pagani hair is likewise bound). Later, when the child is urgently leading her to the maze, she insists that Clarinda binds her hair first. what was meant by it all I'm not really sure.

 

[j d worthington]

Who is this stranger that the female protagonist meets and that no one else seems to believe exists? Throughout the story we are left thinking that he may well be a figmant of her imagination until the end when her son reveals having seen him when he asks if she is going to marry him.

I'm not at all sure that the two are incompatible. The way I read it, he may well be her unconscious idealized version of a lover: no real entanglements, all the excitement but none of the actual disillusionment which comes of knowing a person (even a person one genuinely loves dearly) well... yet the very fact that she, on a conscious level, is unaware of this desire for such attention and "affection" (read: sexual titillation) gives it all the more power; perhaps to the degree that, the more she becomes prone to follow her fantasy, the more it takes on a certain degree of corporeality; enough to where a sensitive individual such as her son (who, recall, reacts in a way when she is on the telephone which indicates he senses her implicit infidelity to his father) may be able to "see" him... at least with the mind's eye.

Recall, too, Mut's response, where she talks about a "criminal" whose situation keeps cropping up, believing this is the person asked about despite a wide disparity of names. Is this simply an example of poor memory? But Mut says she wrote down the name when asked about the man, which would make this unlikely. Is it an indication, on some level, of the protagonist's own realization that what she is engaging in is, by its nature, "criminal" according to society's moral, if not legal, code? And is this further indicated by that very look of horror you mention -- if he is such an apparition, it may be her conscience which causes him to look upon her with horror, mirroring her own internal censor, exacerbated by her very real fear of a confrontation of her husband and her lover.

This seems to me to be a story about the drudgery of our lives and how we cope with that drudgery. It also looks at faithlessness that can be a means of escape and the effect that can have on our relationships and the way we see each other.

To some degree, I'm inclined to agree with you on this; though I think Aickman is positing that even purely mental infidelity -- which is surely what this is, if the man is but a ghost of her imagination, her own desires -- can be as powerful, as much an escape, and as destructive to a relationship, as any actual physical act or extramarital affair; perhaps even more so, as it is the emotions themselves, rather than the body, which are leaving behind one's spouse or partner; not even for a real object, but for something entirely imaginary. As the old song says, "Imaginary lovers never disagree; they always care, they're always there when you need".... They are the very thing with which a real, flawed, human being can never compete... but this also means you lose out to something which doesn't exist....

Is the next glade Aickman's metaphore for the other side of the fence where the grass is always greener? The first time she crosses the next glade, she is confronted with an idyllic dream that is soured when her dream like man shows an expression of horror when he sees her. The second time the idyllic dream has disappeared to be replaced by nightmare, a symbol of the deep and endless drudgery of our lives.

Again, in a sense, I think this is it; but it is, like the implied truth behind that "the grass is always greener, etc." both elusive and illusive. It is the ideal which, ultimately, is always unattainable. At the same time, it cannot help but be a fantasy marred by that sense of guilt for abandoning someone who really has been faithful and caring; with whom one has had children, led a relatively good life, shared a bed and one's body, created (in a sense) the very person one is by virtue of the way each has influenced the other... all for no apparent reason other than boredom and a feeling of surfeit with one's spouse and the bars of that life.

As for the nightmare... it seems to mirror both this sort of drudgery and a feeling that any action taken outside of the safe and normal helps to dig an ever deeper pit wherein one becomes mired, chained to a constant downward spiral of entrapment in the repercussions of one's decisions to step outside the accepted social requirements. Yet her friend also admits to having taken numerous lovers over the years, the difference being that, as she asserts, such has never made the least dent in her love for her husband; leading us once again back to the fact that it is the mental/emotional abandonment which is the cause of both the "illicit" desire and the resulting guilt, with its attendant horrific images.

It is interesting that her daughter is the one she becomes alienated from, whereas her son (whom she previously had been unable to connect with emotionally) becomes almost a lover himself, to the point where we see a reversal of the stereotypical thing a boy often says to his mother when young, about wanting to marry her when he grows up; here she denies intending to marry the mysterious man, adding "I'm not proposing to marry anyone for some time yet. No one but you", which adds an element of incest to the sentiments here -- not that she actually has any sexual desire for her son, but that he, too, has become a substitute lover (on an emotional level -- recall how she has also come to depend on him) in place of his father. At the same time, the daughter is intensely close to her father, apparently resents her mother's distance from him (even though this is not obvious in any fashion, therefore only sensed rather than seen), and becomes, in a sense, the grieving widow in place of her mother. It is as if she symbolically is all the things the mother is supposed to be (by those societal ideals), but no longer is.

The next glade seems to be her private place in a wood so small there shouldn't be any private places. Each time her mysterious stranger goes into the next glade he disappears, as if he never existed. When her husband tries to follow her there he cannot penetrate the thicket, cuts himself on the thorns which leaving him fatally wounded. But is it the wound that kills him or the stress and drudgery of his life, and the estrangement from his wife emotionally?

Ultimately, the wounds suffered by the foliage, to me, represent the fact that this is her own private world, and he is no longer allowed in; is in fact rejected in a forceful and violent fashion by all the unacknowledged resentments she feels at being tied to her role as his wife, mother of his children, and all the other "respectabilities" which she simultaneously holds to and hates. Like their son, he has "never grown up", and is overly dependent on her; being rejected by one who is as much a mother to him as she is to their own offspring, he is cut off from the source of his nurturance, and eventually withers and dies. (Which might well explain why the doctors remain "baffled" about the course of his ailment and eventual demise. To all appearances, even within her own conscious mind, she remains a devoted, loving wife. Who would suspect that it is she who is also responsible for the state of emotional and physical inanition which eventually leads to his fading away?)

At any rate, those are my thoughts at the moment. As I recall, such themes as the sexual/emotional tension between partners in a relationship are quite pervasive in Aickman's work, though he, typically, refuses to offer any of his own views on what is right or wrong in these situations; using the dynamics of these situations instead to explore that feeling of something awry with reality, however strong or weak the bond between the characters may be.

 

[Fried Egg]

Thanks for sharing your thoughts on "The Next Glade", J. D. You have helped me (as usual) get to grips with the essence of this story. In particular, I don't think I had given enough significance to her changing relationships with her children. And I think you're right, it doesn't really matter whether or not this mysterious stranger was real or not, it was the mental faithlessness and it's effect on her family that was being explored here.

I wonder whether the wood itself paralleled her view of her own life; all too small (impossible to get lost in) and strewen with rubbish (she was disgusted by the thought of sitting down anywhere). When she entered the main clearing with the stranger, it was particuarly littered:

'How disgusting!' said Noelle, 'What a degredation!'
'Don't look at it,' said the man, as before, 'Look upwards. Look at the trees. Let's sit dfown for a moment.'

He told her not to look at the rubbish, to look at the trees. That she was the essence of the trees.

 

[j d worthington]

That's a very good point, one I hadn't given conscious consideration... but I think it's a very, very likely possibility.

By the way... I don't believe I had ever read this particular story by Aickman before, so thanks for nudging me into reading it....

 

[Fried Egg]

I've just finished "The Stains". May take me a while to get my head around that one, that's for sure. A passage from it made me chuckle and demonstrates Aickman's dry, subtle humour:

For luncheon the next day, Stephen had even less appetite, even though it was mashed turnip, cooked, or at least served, with mixed peppers. Harriet loved all things oriental.

A classic illustration of traditional English fare, made exotic (or so it would seem to an English person of a conservative palate) by the mere addition of mixed peppers.

As for the story itself, very dark and mysterious...

 

[Extollager]

One of my favorites is "The Houses of the Russians," in part because of my interest in aspects of Russian (and Finnish) culture. Conversely, I've never managed to read some of his stories ("Larger Than Oneself" I think is one of these).

 

[Fried Egg]

"The Houses of the Russians" was in the collection I just read. It was, again, quite mysterious. I'd be interesting in hearing your take on it...

 

[j d worthington]

I'm not entirely sure about this one myself... not unusual with Aickman, who once stated that "the ghost story draws upon the unconscious mind, in the manner of poetry; that it need offer neither logic nor morals" ("Introduction" to the Second Fontana Book of Great Ghost Stories, citing statements made in his introduction to the First Fontana Book). But a few things do occur to me:

1) The importance of the pigs, and their relationship to Mrs. Pagani and to the animalistic tendencies of Rufo and other celebrants.

2) Mrs. Pagani's name.

3) The effect she has on others, especially men.

These strike me as connected, and I can't help but feel -- at least on this rereading (the first in a couple of decades) -- that she is something of a Circe figure. After all, remember her comment that the ground had to be specially deconsecrated in order for her to live there... and it is, after all, a church (temple) which is now being put to uses of a quite different order.

As for her name... the obvious connection (though I may be quite mistaken here) is that drawn from both this association and the nature of the ritual: "pagan", a word which, I would argue, not coincidentally is quite fitting, given that it derives from the Low Latin paganus, which meant "worshipper of false gods", but even more anciently "civilian" in the sense of "not a soldier of Christ", and derived from a word meaning "peasant", as well as "village or rural district". Binding the hair, if memory serves, also signifies, in some religious connections, binding oneself to someone or something, as well as sexual maturity or reaching an age of being eligible for marriage. Hence, it may serve the multiple purpose of indicating her betrothal, and her enrollment (witting or no) in this pagan society with its rituals and magic.

Are the pigs actually the celebrants we see later -- either those who were obviously human but naked, or those who were dressed in the animal skins and appearing in their very manner and physical presence more animals than human? Are they, in certain rituals, given such human form, either restored or simulated? The almost bestial level of complacency and inability to question we see in Dudley's family may indicate they are of such an origin themselves. All of this is highly speculative, but the thought keeps recurring to me that these things are connected.

As for the "don't be late" -- the timing would also seem to determine what role (if any) one plays in the ritual; and hence may be either an admonition to be on time in order to be included, or a warning that not being punctual (either early or late) could carry some dire consequences to such a new celebrant as Clarinda.

At any rate, that's what I have to offer at this point on this story. A very enigmatic, and very disturbing, tale; but definitely one which lives up to Aickman's intention to present the feeling of something being "wrong" with reality just off the beaten path....

 

[Fried Egg]

As for her name... the obvious connection (though I may be quite mistaken here) is that drawn from both this association and the nature of the ritual: "pagan", a word which, I would argue, not coincidentally is quite fitting, given that it derives from the Low Latin paganus, which meant "worshipper of false gods", but even more anciently "civilian" in the sense of "not a soldier of Christ", and derived from a word meaning "peasant", as well as "village or rural district".

Ah, that never occurred to me when I read it but now seems quite likely when you mention it.

Binding the hair, if memory serves, also signifies, in some religious connections, binding oneself to someone or something, as well as sexual maturity or reaching an age of being eligible for marriage. Hence, it may serve the multiple purpose of indicating her betrothal, and her enrollment (witting or no) in this pagan society with its rituals and magic.

Ah, that's interesting. Was Clarinda intended for Rufo do you think?

Are the pigs actually the celebrants we see later -- either those who were obviously human but naked, or those who were dressed in the animal skins and appearing in their very manner and physical presence more animals than human? Are they, in certain rituals, given such human form, either restored or simulated? The almost bestial level of complacency and inability to question we see in Dudley's family may indicate they are of such an origin themselves. All of this is highly speculative, but the thought keeps recurring to me that these things are connected.

I see what you mean about the pigs; I had almost forgotten about them. I'm not sure if I agree with your assessement about Dudley's family. I prefer to think that they were secret participants of the ritual.

At any rate, that's what I have to offer at this point on this story. A very enigmatic, and very disturbing, tale; but definitely one which lives up to Aickman's intention to present the feeling of something being "wrong" with reality just off the beaten path....

I take it you have read this one before?

 

[j d worthington]

Yes, though it was in my mid- or late 20s, as i recall....

I wasn't so much thinking of Rufo, but the general idea of being "bound" -- through the linkage with Dudley and his family, who, I feel, were likely linked to what is going on, yes; as well as the broader idea of being "bound" to the "congregation"....

 

[Connavar]

I have had the honor of reading my first two stories of by Aickman. Interesting enough 3,4 stories mentioned in this thread by FE is included in my library copy of The Wine Dark Sea. Which is apparently a big collection that released several of his best stories for the first time to American audience according to inside cover blurb.

My first story was the title story "The Wine Dark Sea". It was very weird, gods, 3 witches etc. I liked the vivid picture of the sea, nature, the supernatural he build up where the main character Crigg was lost in. The second half of the story, the ending lacked the twist, the kick in the gut, the little extra you might expect.

My second story "Never Visit Venice" was much more impressive and it was so gothic, such a wonderful ghost story.

 

[Fried Egg]

Ah, "The Wine-Dark Sea"...I thought a relatively conventional and straight forward story by Aickman's standards and also reminded me of Tanith Lee's "The Gorgon" (although Aickman's was probably written first?)

Interesting enough 3,4 stories mentioned in this thread by FE is included in my library copy of The Wine Dark Sea.

Does it? That's interesting, because none of them were in my copy of "The Wine-Dark Sea". It will be interesting to compare the content listing.

 

[Connavar]

Yeah "The Wine Dark-Sea" was too straight forward for my taste.

So I like his calm prose, his writing ability show why he is highly acclaimed in his field. Maybe its only this collection but he has interesting themes, references you dont see often in weird, horror stories.

Have you read "Never Visit Venice" ? might not be his best story but it was a haunting, emotionally strong perfect for new Aickman readers.

My version The Wine Dark Sea is a fat one close to 400 pages, the hardcover is huge,heavy. Library copy was terrible hardcover so yesterday i ordered paperback version. I was impressed, intrigued by Aickman.

 

[Fried Egg]

Ah, presumably you have the Arbor House edition? the ISFDB lists the contents:

• The Wine-Dark Sea • (1966)
• The Trains • (1951)
• Your Tiny Hand is Frozen
• Growing Boys • (1977)
• The Fetch • (1980)
• The Inner Room • (1966)
• Never Visit Venice • (1968)
• The Next Glade • (1980)
• Into the Wood • (1968)
• Bind Your Hair • (1964)
• The Stains • (1980)

I have emboldened those above that were not in my edition of "The Wine-Dark Sea" although they were all in the collection I recently read "The Unsettled Dust".

As for "Never Visit Venice"...it wasn't one that particularly resonated with me. As I've said elsewhere, I don't dislike any of his stories, they are always a pleasure to read. But that one isn't one of my favourites.

 

[Connavar]

Yeah thats the edition i have right now.

I like the lonely man in Venice story and the ending was a bit anticlimax though. Hope to get paperback version in a week or so and i can read more of the collection in new book condition.

I dislike huge, old hardcover. It got in the way of me enjoying the book.

 

[Fried Egg]

Hope to get paperback version in a week or so and i can read more of the collection in new book condition.

I dislike huge, old hardcover. It got in the way of me enjoying the book.

Watch out though, you may get a copy that excludes the stories I emboldened above. They're all good stories so many you should read those first...

 

[Fried Egg]

I re-read "The Real Road to the Church" last night. It stands out, I think, as being one of his stories with a somewhat upbeat/happy ending.

In this story, a woman has spent most of her life unsatisfied and unfulfilled without really knowing why and has ended up whiling away her days alone on an unspecified channel island. Perhaps she has been subconsciously drawn there because the house she lives in is on a historically holy site. She hears about a silent procession that makes it's way right past her house on a regular basis but she's never been aware of it before because she was not ready.

She is advised by her char woman and gossiping friends that if she ever hears the procession that she should definitely not look. However, she meets the vicar of the parish for the first time on her cliff walk and he gives her quite different advice. His coversation with her seems to be on two levels, the surface conversation which makes little sense to her and the under the surface converstation with her subconscious. She feels simultaneously enlightened and confused by the converstaion, but somehow relieved as if a weight has been lifted off her.

Back in the house she is only barely aware of what she is preparing for and is simultaneously afraid and expectant. When the silent procession arrives outside her house, we find that it is herself that they are baring and that the porters are the people she has known (and died) in her life. My take is that the changing of the porters is the trigger that allows her soul to depart, freeing her from it's melancholy and inertia. She can now get on with the rest of her life, enjoying it to the full.

 

[blacknorth]

Philip Challinor has written some interesting interpretations of Aickman's work; you could probably find them via google, if you haven't already.

I don't have any of the stories you've been discussing above so I can't add any insights. Not that I ever do, lol. I did pick up a lovely Gollancz 1st of Cold Hand In Mine and I'm going through that one at the moment.

 

[j d worthington]

Thank you for that suggestion. I've not had a chance to read it, but here's one, at least (complete or not, I do not yet know)....

http://books.google.com/books/about/Akin_to_Poetry.html?id=Ff-0CpHJySQC