In true Chekhovian style not a lot happens in this story, yet it remains beautifully engaging. And that engagement comes from wondering why a daughter is showing so much reverence for her father’s lost coat. There appears to be nothing all special about the coat, and yet there’s an underlying reason why the daughter is so desperate to retrieve it.

And in true Chekhovian style again, McGregor offers little in the way of an answer. He prefers to leave this one open, to let the puzzle linger in the mind of the reader. Has the father left something of value in a pocket? Has he suddenly left his daughter, leaving the jacket as an only memory of him? Does the coat hold special sentimental value to him, her or both of them (she can certainly describe it in minute enough detail)? There could be a million reasons why the daughter is desperate to recover the coat, and this story leaves the reader thinking about every one of them.

EDIT: But does McGregor really leave the ending to this one open? He’s been in touch (a pleasant surprise) to let me know that there’s one sentence – one word in fact – that carries the weight of the entire story. It’s so cleverly subtle, and yet so glaringly obvious. If you read the story, see if you can spot what I didn’t. It’s genius! P.S. I still like the idea of an open Chekhovian ending though .

Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars

This story was read as part of a review of the Jon McGregor short story collection, This Isn’t The Sort Of Thing That Happens To Someone Like You. If you want to find out more about this collection then I invite you to pop along to my forethoughts post for this title, or to take a trip over to the publisher page for this book.

The first person I thought of when I saw the subject for this week’s Bookshelf of the Week was Michel de Montaigne, the celebrated sixteenth-century French nobleman, who is credited as being the founder of the modern personal essay. If the man were alive today in his library which was situated in a corner tower on the grounds of his château in the Périgord, then this is what I think it might look like.

The in-built bookcases in this library room are exquisite. I love how they mould to the circular shape of the room so perfectly, with the windows forming part of the integrated design. I adore the antique desk too. It fits the room perfectly I only thing I wonder about however, is where the little stepladder lead to? Could this be the only entrance and exit to the room? If it is then I’m sure Montaigne (given his love for solitude) would approve.

So what of the great man’s tower, and the real library room in which he scribed his famous Essais? Well, the Château de Montaigne itself was extensively damaged by fire in 1885 (it has since been restored), but the tower thankfully remained untouched. It stands today, and many people visit it, but alas Montaigne’s library no longer houses any books, or indeed any bookshelves (the majority of the surviving collection of around 100 books are now housed at the Bibliothèque nationale de France and the Bibliothèque municipale, Bordeaux). The room does however still stand as a testament to a great man, and if one casts one eyes skywards, then one is able to gaze in awe at the the scholarly Greek and Latin inscriptions that Montaigne had had burnt on to the rafters.

I shall leave the final word to Montaigne himself, who describes his library and his interactions with his books, in his Essais. This extract is taken from the essay Of Three Kind of Association, found in the Everyman’s Library edition of The Complete Works of Michele de Montaigne:

When at home I turn aside a little more often to my library…There I leaf through now one book, now another, without order and without plan, by disconnected fragments. One moment I muse, another moment I set down or dictate, walking back and forth, these fancies of mine that you see here.

The shape of my library is round, the only flat side being the part needed for my table and chair; and curving around me it presents at a glance all my books, arranged in five rows of shelves on all sides. It offers rich and free views in three directions, and sixteen paces of free space in diameter.

Can I close this week’s Bookshelf of the Week by recommending a further book to you? If you’re searching for an accessible and entertaining biography on Michel de Montaigne, then please look no further than Sarah Bakewell’s most excellent How to Live: A Life of Montaigne in one question and twenty attempts at an answer (Chatto & Windus). It’s flawless, and I have this book alone to thank, for sparking my own interest in Montaigne.

Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars

*Story read as part of my Checkin’ Off The Chekhov Shorts reading challenge.

Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars

*Story read as part of my Checkin’ Off The Chekhov Shorts reading challenge.

Rating: 3 out of 5 stars

*Story read as part of my Devouring De Maupassant reading challenge.

Rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars

*Story read as part of my Devouring De Maupassant reading challenge.

One could say that In Winter The Sky is two stories wrapped into one, but it isn’t. One could say that In Winter The Sky is one story told from two different perspectives, but it isn’t really that either. Perhaps the most accurate way to describe In Winter The Sky is to say that it’s a story told from two different perspectives, using two different literary forms with which to tell it; one form is a straightforward narrative, while the other is something of a mix between a poem and an explosion at a typesetter’s convention.

Regardless of my difficulties in describing what exactly In Winter The Sky is, I can say without a shadow of a doubt that the story’s unique construction works. I might have struggled at first figuring out the best way to read the story (one perspective is told on the left hand page, and the other on the right), but after settling on the decision to read the narrative part first, followed by the poetic, I found that the former was complimented beautifully by the latter, with it bringing a real colour and vibrancy – along with subtle tension – to the story as a whole.

Of course, McGregor’s decision to add a separate poetic layer to his story isn’t a random one. Aside from it offering him the perfect vehicle on which to rather profoundly describe the sparse beauty of the fenland landscape in which the story (and indeed the collection) is set, the poetic perspective is intrinsic to the story itself, with the character who’s scribing it (Joanna) being something of an aspiring writer.

So, another winning story from McGregor, and one that will be remembered fondly for a long time to come. Odd, because much of the story is rather macabre.

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

This story was read as part of a review of the Jon McGregor short story collection, This Isn’t The Sort Of Thing That Happens To Someone Like You. If you want to find out more about this collection then I invite you to pop along to my forethoughts post for this title, or to take a trip over to the publisher page for this book.

‘Wonder About Parents’ moves back and forwards through time, as a father looks back on moments of inability and helplessness. The story mainly switches between the present day and the dawning weeks of fatherhood, when a serious illness threatens the life of his first born. Interspersed in amongst the time shifts are facts about lice, taken mainly from a 1934 book by American bacteriologist Hans Zinsser, called Rats, Lice and History. It’s all rather unpleasant, and it makes one shift in one’s seat, but it all adds to the effect of uncomfortableness as a whole, because that is the very nature of this powerful and affecting story.

The entire story is presented using short and punchy sentences, which gives it a real sense of pace. This in turn not only the raises the anxiety level, but the sense of urgency too, making it feel as though events are moving too fast to be controlled. Every decent parent wants to feel as though they are always in control when it comes to caring for and protecting their child, but the main character in this story comes across as barely being able to.

‘Wonder About Parents’ is all hugely powerful, and so personal and intimate that one is left wondering (but hoping that it isn’t the case) whether MacLeod has gone through similarly trying times during his own fatherhood. OK, so almost every parent goes through the lice thing I know, but not so many have to deal with the pain and anguish of a gravely ill newborn. Regardless, MacLeod paints an impression of the pain, anguish and sense of helplessness, perfectly.

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

This story was read as part of a review of the Alexander MacLeod short story collection, Light Lifting. If you want to find out more about this collection then I invite you to pop along to my forethoughts post for this title. I also encourage you to head on over to the publisher page for the book.

No words necessary. Just enjoy this Oscar-nominated bookish short movie, from Moonbot Studios.

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

This story was read as part of a review of the Jon McGregor short story collection, This Isn’t The Sort Of Thing That Happens To Someone Like You. If you want to find out more about this collection then I invite you to pop along to my forethoughts post for this title, or to take a trip over to the publisher page for this book.