Rhapsody

By Dorothy Edwards

These sharp, ironic and compelling stories by Dorothy Edwards are perfect hard gems of observation about obsession, unhappiness and alienation. First published in 1927 and republished here with three new stories, Rhapsody is the first of only two books to survive this author's short and tragic life. Includes an introduction by Christopher Meredith

• Language: English
• Publisher: Parthian Books
• Release date: Oct 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781908946447

Dorothy Edwards

Dorothy Edwards dreamt up 'My Naughty Little Sister' whilst on a family holiday in 1950. Dorothy based the character on her younger sister, Phyllis, and went on to write five books about her naughty little sister with wide acclaim. Dorothy became a household name and her stories were read and loved across the globe. She became a fixture of a radio show in the 1950s called Read with Mother and she also wrote for Playschool and Jackanory. Dorothy died in 1982, aged 68.

Reviews for Rhapsody

[shanaqui_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

"I am killing myself because I have never sincerely loved any human being all my life. I have accepted kindness and friendship, and even love, without gratitude and given nothing in return." -- The suicide note of Dorothy Edwards, and the thing that caught my eye.

I read 'The Conquered' for class, and then decided to read more of her work. This is one writer I don't think you can truly understand without understanding that that was lying behind all her work -- a coldness, a holding back, an inability to give of herself... Many, most, all? of the characters of these short stories are this way. The stories are very perfectly formed; they make me think of sculptures very carefully and deliberately carved in ice. I think they will haunt me. They require thought, and unpacking, and even several reads, before you understand them. And they are well worth it.

I didn't enjoy them, as I usually do, by connecting with the characters -- Dorothy Edwards' work didn't lend itself to that. It was the ice sculpture perfection that intrigued me; the ideas that will haunt me, not the characters.