![]() ![]() It does lead into the letters from a Japanese fan, but that part was so sad, lacking the paired responses from Jansson herself. There are also fragments of fan letters and personal correspondences which Jansson has tinkered with to make the speaker seem more or less needy. ![]() It is composed of stories taken from Jansson’s childhood experiences, and then with a sudden lurch, those of her late adult life. And where I would accept this in other, more experimental authors, I felt let down by Jansson who is otherwise so steady. The book in question is not at all an uncertain book in its prose, in Finnish writer Tove Jansson’s matter-of-fact sentences, her wry peering at the foibles of human nature, but in its form – the way it is frustratingly not enough of one thing or another. ![]() I started this story collection on the 30th of December, so it’s a cross-over from last year’s Endless Reads to this, and so occupies disputed territory. The cover is grainy in the dim light of my living room. ![]()
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