29 Dec 2010 02:09:01
I have long been a lover of Hector Hugh Munro and his short stories, and I'd like to propose a trio of stories from Saki. I remember being disturbed yet fascinated by "Tobermory" as a bedtime story. Although, as is the way of these things, I was more upset by the death of the cat than that of the oddly named Cornelius Appin. As I got older, I relished the wit and cringes. And now we are heading into seasonal territory of twee and saccharine jollity, the nastiness of Saki is a welcome refreshment.
To begin, we have Reginald on Christmas Presents. Reginald is one of Saki's heroes. I've never found him quite as devastatingly debonair as Clovis Sangrail, with his mulberry eyes and lowered dexter eyelid. But I think that's mostly because he's called Reginald.
What particularly appeals in this vignette is how little things change. "I wish it to be distinctly understood (said Reginald) that I don't want a "George, Prince of Wales" Prayer-book as a Christmas present. The fact cannot be too widely known." We may not be buying bridge markers or cheaper editions of Omar Khayyam in 2010, but the principles still apply. Aunts still have to be trained, and the person who "knows a tie is always useful" will, sadly, exist forever.
For the day itself there is Reginald's Christmas Revel. It's a bracingly vicious take on spending Christmas with dull people – best if you imagine it delivered in a sardonic drawl. Faced with a bluff old major's boring safari anecdotes, Reginald retaliates: "I used to listen to him with a rapt attention that I thought rather suited me, and then one day I quite modestly gave the dimensions of an okapi I had shot in the Lincolnshire fens. The Major turned a beautiful Tyrian scarlet (I remember thinking at the time that I should like my bathroom hung in that colour)."
To begin, we have Reginald on Christmas Presents. Reginald is one of Saki's heroes. I've never found him quite as devastatingly debonair as Clovis Sangrail, with his mulberry eyes and lowered dexter eyelid. But I think that's mostly because he's called Reginald.
What particularly appeals in this vignette is how little things change. "I wish it to be distinctly understood (said Reginald) that I don't want a "George, Prince of Wales" Prayer-book as a Christmas present. The fact cannot be too widely known." We may not be buying bridge markers or cheaper editions of Omar Khayyam in 2010, but the principles still apply. Aunts still have to be trained, and the person who "knows a tie is always useful" will, sadly, exist forever.
For the day itself there is Reginald's Christmas Revel. It's a bracingly vicious take on spending Christmas with dull people – best if you imagine it delivered in a sardonic drawl. Faced with a bluff old major's boring safari anecdotes, Reginald retaliates: "I used to listen to him with a rapt attention that I thought rather suited me, and then one day I quite modestly gave the dimensions of an okapi I had shot in the Lincolnshire fens. The Major turned a beautiful Tyrian scarlet (I remember thinking at the time that I should like my bathroom hung in that colour)."
