When I was a child in the Kingdom by the Sea, yes, that very same Kingdom, we stayed part of the summer at my grandfather's. Considering my grandfather's immense education, there were surprisingly few books. Actually, there were several bookshelves, but they were loaded with religion books. He was a theologian. And there was Saki. One volume. My father had raised me on Edgar Poe, thus Saki's vague creepiness was not totally to be snubbed. I remember reading the stories and promptly forgetting them. Later I would read the one about the boy and his ferret-God. I remember crying. Other than that, the only one that stood out in my memory was The Open Window. I believe it showed up on a lit crit test. I was unmoved.
I don't think I would have bought this volume if it hadn't been for the Gorey illustrations, and I was in NYC. I figured the stories were short enough for a subway ride of the medium length.
Oddly, I think I should have been more impressed by Saki at a younger age rather than older, but the converse is true. I quite enjoyed the stories. The earlier ones offer piquant, satiric
vignettes of upper-middle-lower aristocratic life in pre-WWI England. I found myself chuckling aloud at times. The later half has the stories that I had remembered, though only vaguely. However this time the mordant humor and laconic tone was not lost on me. Saki's strength lies in what he doesn't tell.
While he should not be confused with the truly great masters of the short story; Chekhov, Gogol, Mansfield, he isn't the just a bit better than a hack writer I set him down as in my youth. I don't think he has the depth of understanding, or doesn't display it, as those before mentioned writers, plus there is a lack of sympathy for the human condition that great literature requires.
Though falling somewhere between entertainments and great books, the stories are worthy of attention for their craft and humor. ( )

When I was a child in the Kingdom by the Sea, yes, that very same Kingdom, we stayed part of the summer at my grandfather's. Considering my grandfather's immense education, there were surprisingly few books. Actually, there were several bookshelves, but they were loaded with religion books. He was a theologian. And there was Saki. One volume. My father had raised me on Edgar Poe, thus Saki's vague creepiness was not totally to be snubbed. I remember reading the stories and promptly forgetting them. Later I would read the one about the boy and his ferret-God. I remember crying. Other than that, the only one that stood out in my memory was The Open Window. I believe it showed up on a lit crit test. I was unmoved.
I don't think I would have bought this volume if it hadn't been for the Gorey illustrations, and I was in NYC. I figured the stories were short enough for a subway ride of the medium length.
Oddly, I think I should have been more impressed by Saki at a younger age rather than older, but the converse is true. I quite enjoyed the stories. The earlier ones offer piquant, satiric
vignettes of upper-middle-lower aristocratic life in pre-WWI England. I found myself chuckling aloud at times. The later half has the stories that I had remembered, though only vaguely. However this time the mordant humor and laconic tone was not lost on me. Saki's strength lies in what he doesn't tell.
While he should not be confused with the truly great masters of the short story; Chekhov, Gogol, Mansfield, he isn't the just a bit better than a hack writer I set him down as in my youth. I don't think he has the depth of understanding, or doesn't display it, as those before mentioned writers, plus there is a lack of sympathy for the human condition that great literature requires.
Though falling somewhere between entertainments and great books, the stories are worthy of attention for their craft and humor. ( )

When I was a child in the Kingdom by the Sea, yes, that very same Kingdom, we stayed part of the summer at my grandfather's. Considering my grandfather's immense education, there were surprisingly few books. Actually, there were several bookshelves, but they were loaded with religion books. He was a theologian. And there was Saki. One volume. My father had raised me on Edgar Poe, thus Saki's vague creepiness was not totally to be snubbed. I remember reading the stories and promptly forgetting them. Later I would read the one about the boy and his ferret-God. I remember crying. Other than that, the only one that stood out in my memory was The Open Window. I believe it showed up on a lit crit test. I was unmoved.
I don't think I would have bought this volume if it hadn't been for the Gorey illustrations, and I was in NYC. I figured the stories were short enough for a subway ride of the medium length.
Oddly, I think I should have been more impressed by Saki at a younger age rather than older, but the converse is true. I quite enjoyed the stories. The earlier ones offer piquant, satiric
vignettes of upper-middle-lower aristocratic life in pre-WWI England. I found myself chuckling aloud at times. The later half has the stories that I had remembered, though only vaguely. However this time the mordant humor and laconic tone was not lost on me. Saki's strength lies in what he doesn't tell.
While he should not be confused with the truly great masters of the short story; Chekhov, Gogol, Mansfield, he isn't the just a bit better than a hack writer I set him down as in my youth. I don't think he has the depth of understanding, or doesn't display it, as those before mentioned writers, plus there is a lack of sympathy for the human condition that great literature requires.
Though falling somewhere between entertainments and great books, the stories are worthy of attention for their craft and humor. ( )

H.H. Munro, aka Saki

Hector Hugh Munro, who wrote under the pen-name Saki, was born in Akyab, Burma in 1870, the son of a military police officer. At the age of 24, Munro moved to London with the intention of becoming a writer -- and he soon made his name as a brilliant satirist of late Victorian and Edwardian societies. Perhaps his role as an outsider helped him to develop his satirical eye. He mercilessly -- and efficiently -- lampooned the British upper classes for their shallow concerns over social status, their adherence to outmoded forms of etiquette, and their focus on appearances rather than substance. A master of the short story, Saki wrote funny, sometimes macabre short pieces in which, often in as few as three or four pages, he struck at the heart of snobby social conventions. He also showed a predilection for pitting diabolical children against somewhat dim-witted adults, who were hopelessly outmatched.

In this reissued collection of some of Saki's finest short stories, NYRB offers an unbeatable combination: Saki's writings paired with Edward Gorey's illustrations. In the title story, "The Unrest-Cure," J.P. Huddle complains to a friend during a ride in a railway carriage of his descent into a "deep groove of elderly middle-age" in which he and his sister "like everything to be exactly in its accustomed place; we like things to happen exactly at their appointed times; we like everything to be usual, orderly, punctual, methodical, to a hair's breadth, to a minute." His friend suggests that perhaps Huddle would benefit from an unrest-cure, as he is "suffering from overmuch repose and placidity, and you need the opposite kind of treatment" from the traditional rest-cure. "The Unrest-Cure" is a fitting title for this collection, as these stories, short, bracing, devilish, and very, very funny, provide an excellent remedy for our own placid, boring, conventional moments.



Many thanks to NYRB for letting me read this ARC through Netgalley in return for an unbiased review.