The Boy Who Taught The Beekeeper To Read by Susan Hill download in pdf, ePub, iPad
Such shifts in power or surprising reversals interest her. Bit lonely, here with the old people.
Cruelty, failure, mourning and loneliness are her strong suits - I've rarely read anything about bereavement so poignant as In the Springtime of the Year. They had tortured flowers with wire stays, and straitjacketed them in thin metal tubes.
After that, they met several times a week, the boy materialising wherever Mart May happened to be working, so that it seemed he had been waiting, following. The weather turned warm and sultry, there was no air, no stirring of the leaves. The late swallows skimmed low into the doorway of the end stable and out again. Mart stood, hearing the faint far-off closing of a door, and then the silence again, like felt in his ears.
Her novels and stories have that unsettling dark violence and melancholy - as well as the absorbed feeling for landscape - that English writers can be so good at. The mainly rural settings of the stories - the garden of a big house, a circus-gypsy settlement - seem paused in time. The name, he said, was James Burnett.
These aren't romantic settings, though. The menus were startling, scarlet boards lettered in spikes of black.
Death was the final certainty, and this was uncertain. The boy wore long shorts, almost to the knee, and a cotton shirt with a neat collar. Not wanting the future to begin. She never came into the glade, though occasionally when he was doing some job about the house she came upon him, and always spoke. Mart May was sitting astride the old mounting block.
Long-dead spiders were caught, transparent in dirty webs. The boy, as always, watching, watching. He folded the discarded white husk and set the helmet on top.