The Collected Stories
In the autumn me and a few mates went on a weekend cycling jaunt from The Gower to Pembroke, cycled past Dylan Thomas' house at Fernhill and visited his Laugharne boat house (http://jdwhols.blogspot.co.uk/2014/10/last-of-summer-wine.html). Given it's the centenary of his birth I decided that there was a calling to read him as not ventured into his books before. After unsuccessfully trying to get a cheap second hand introduction to his prose I discover that my dad has an anthology which I borrow.
It may be my current state of mind (this first bit written in December 2014) but the start of this book does seem very very dark what with wandering around doom laden welsh hills, unjoyful sex and death. Fascinating though and very readable. The style reminds me of James Joyce crossed with William Burroughs - a slightly surrealist edge with vivid descriptions of characters covered by a foreboding storyline where you fear the worst. At least I do.
The middle part is written in the late 30s (later in the decade than the first part) and is about memories growing up in Swansea taken from Portrait of the Artist as a Young Dog. Next is three chapters from Adventures in the Skin Trade written in the war about moving to London and bizarre carryings on. These haven't got such a dark psychedelic edge to them as the first part and to be honest are a bit of light relief although hardly a comedy. Some are very funny and all have a brilliant insight into people's behaviours, thoughts and feelings. There are a lot of times that I recognise Thomas' insights in modern character depictions often in telly comedy for instance the way that teenagers talk nineteen to the dozen repeating the same few words and depictions of drunkenness. And to be honest I recognize a bit of myself in some of the anecdotes. I won't tell which ones.
We finish with some short stories, more like essays, from post war then for the nuts and port course a few very early stories the last in draft. Overall it's given me a taste for Thomas and I'll have to search out his poetry. I usually struggle with poetry but maybe it's time for me to dip my toe, if not dive, into that artistry much like we did in the cold autumnal waters of Amroth in Pembrokeshire back when I was a young man.
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