Mavis Gallant’s first sentences are clear and purposeful: they orient readers and offer a glimpse of the story’s tone.
“His mother had come of age in the war and then seemed to live a long greyness like a spun-out November.”
Another remarkable aspect of her craft is the way she broadens the capacity of a single story, which is hinted even in this single sentence, for ‘long’ and ‘spun-out’ suggest a breadth to the story that one might not have guessed from the title and, more subtly, with the mention of ‘November’ which suggests that we will have a view of the earlier months before witnessing the greyness-in-full.
We have gotten to know other mothers, in and around wartime, in this collection, but this is the most detailed and evocative depiction. Readers can picture her vividly, with sensory details (textures frequently add intensity to Mavis Gallant’s descriptions) to enliven her scenes.
“He seldom looked up – never truly saw her – a stately, careless widow with unbrushed red hair, wearing an old fur coat over her nightgown, her last dressing gown had been worn to ribbons and she said she had no money for another.”
And this is because the view of the mother comes from another observer, not the mother’s son, but from someone else who is not afraid to note how she is feeling, not afraid to look at her directly.
Not that the difficulties in their relationship are one-sided. The son has trouble asking about important things, trouble even meeting his mother’s gaze. But the mother has trouble recognizing the differences in their experiences, trouble making conversation about even simple details, which are not simple when cast against the backdrop of soldiering.
“Talking to him was like lifting a stone out of water.” And, so, the stone remains underwater.
“She felt shamed because it had not been in her to control armies, history, his stony watery world.” As a counter to the sense of shame, his mother insists on her appreciation of quality. And, because her son, although he is not a perfect son in some ways, provides for her reliably (as he is able, from a distance – always from a distance), she is able to maintain a standard which she would not be able to afford otherwise.
His assistance is vital. It is what funds her ability to visit the café which had a reputation for quality before the war, to fill her cupboards and drawers with blouses and hairclips, to buy the hat with a brim and the soft, grey (yes, grey!) gloves.
But her son’s support is not the most important part of him. His absence overshadows everything else. (Indeed, the story is not titled “Her Son”.)
And, yet, she writes long letters filled with the details of her comforts, which are only made available to her because her son remains a stone underwater and across the channel.
Truly bittersweet.
Note: This is part of a series of posts on Mavis Gallant’s stories, as I read through her short fiction. This is the second last story in From the Fifteenth District. Please feel free to check the schedule and join in, for the series, or for a single story; I would love the company. Next story: “Irina”. Next collection: Home Truths, beginning Feburary 5th with “Thank You for the Lovely Tea”.
The Four Seasons / The Moslem Wife / The Remission / The Latehomecomer / Baum, Gabriel, 1935 / From the Fifteenth District / Potter / His Mother / Irina DEC26
I guess it would help to know more about Gallant’s personal life (which I don’t, but could easily!). Do you think she’s putting herself in the place of the son or the mother? The mother must be so lonely.
Yes, I would say I am! Although it was more of a timing thing – I’m feeling a little more “caught up” with some of my reading (the library reading – only because it has been trickling in nicely – this could change at any time!).
I have the sense that, given her disappointing relationship with her mother, that she is partly concerned with inhabiting the role of the mother (to try to understand what her own mother might have been feeling) but also concerned with exploring the effects of that kind of disappointment on later life decisions based on her personal experience of feeling neglected/abandoned. But I feel like she is extraordinarily fair-minded, always reaching to see things from everyone’s perspective. Does it feel like that to you, or do you feel there is more of a slant in one direction?
That’s where I am now too. I feel like I’ve just reached the point I’d’ve thought I’d be at, heading into January, and now we are approaching…March? How can that be.
I know! I feel like I only just changed the calendar to February!
I agree – she seems really fair-minded. I usually feel sorry for everyone equally in her stories. snicker
Hahah – yes, that’s it exactly!
You’ve described if perfectly. And used many of the quotes I had underlined.
The story suggests that they are closer now that they’re apart. It’s easier to talk through letters – things they wpuldntw say face-to-face . But it’s sad that she’s been left with these crazy tenants and that he never suggests visiting.
Do you think the mother is happier with the nice letters that make her feel close, or would she rather have him physically close, risking his sullen closed-off behaviour?
It feels like we can find evidence of both, that she’s content to have him at a distance – can make him perfect from afar – and that she longs for his return – or, at least, to be able to show him off. (Maybe MG was channeling her own experience of belonging/not-belonging, each true in its own way?) I dunno. What do you think?
I think she longs to see him again in the hopes that this new letter-writing son of hers is the one she’ll get to see. But I worry that being together will bring back the awkwardness. However, it might be better with his wife and children around. She should get to meet them, shouldn’t she?!
It could be that she would prefer the idea of him that she gathers through the letters, and the idea of the people who are now living with him as family, as he once lived with her. That, if they were to meet, it would not only be awkward but soaked with might-have-beens and would-rather-haves. When one thinks of Mavis Gallant’s relationship with her mother, such disappointment and resentment, it’s hard to say how that might have influenced her in the writing of a story like this. Whether she might have wanted to write about this, or to write an alternative to it instead. Are you back in a Gallant-mood now?