To begin: what are these stories about? Well, some examine the ways we use memories to build our reality, and what happens if the memories are wrong. ‘Fingers’ tells of an accident that may be all the more terrifying for never having happened. ‘Intruder’ shows how the simple act of returning home can change someone. ‘Plausible’ delves into the world of dreams and how easily they bleed into our recollections of reality.

Other tales in ‘Pieces for the Left Hand’ raise a wry smile. In ‘Twilight’, a coffee shop worker mishears a question asked by one of a group of French tourists, a small incident that leads them to a new experience. ‘The Fathers’ is about a picnic for fathers and their children which turns sour. In ‘The Manuscript’, a poet’s car is taken away when he is arrested for drunk-driving – and the car contains a manuscript of his, which the police won’t return. The poet dies, and the manuscript is published after a policeman reads it over the phone to the publisher. But all is not as it seems…

Another main theme of the book is how ordinary people can behave in the stangest ways. ‘Spell’ is about a woman who spells out certain words when she speaks, and the effect it has on the people around her. ‘Indirect Path’ tells of what happens to a couple when they remove a table from their dining room after a good number of years. In ‘Two Professors’, the titular academics cannot agree on how to spell the word ‘grey’ (or ‘gray’) – and come to change their minds.

So far, I have tried to skate over the surface of the stories I’ve covered, rather than delve too deeply into them; but I’ll make an exception for my favourite piece in the book. In ‘Leaves’, Lennon takes something so familiar – how leaves on trees change with the cycle of seasons – and draws parallels with seasonal tourism and its effects on communities. He weaves an affecting tale with beautiful language. For example:

“Occasionally a visitor will pull over and compliment us on the beauty of our leaves, but none of them ever thank us – for fertilizing the soil, for keeping the insects at bay, for treating the wounds caused by storms, and droughts, and old age”.

One of the most satisfying things about ‘Pieces for the Left Hand’ is that it succeeds both on the level of the individual story and of the book as a whole. A good many of these hundred tales contain something striking and memorable. Yet the collection also works as a complete piece. Few names are mentioned in these tales, whether of people or places. It’s never clear whether the stories are told by the same people, or set in the same (or nearby) places. Their edges become blurred, though certain details remain sharp in the memory – rather like life, I suppose.

Lennon says in his introduction to ‘Pieces for the Left Hand’ that ‘[s]ome of [the stories] are true. Some have been embellished, or fabricated entirely.’ I’ve no idea which stories are which, or even if they’re all true or all made up. It makes no difference, because they all feel as though they might be true. There’s a fine line between authenticity and fiction, but the author treads it skilfully. And there is the ever-present sense that life produces remarkable moments more often than we expect; that, if we each looked over our lives, we could tell tales of our own, just like these.

David Hebblethwaite lives out in the wilds of Yorkshire, where he attempts to make a dent in his collection of unread books. You can read more of David's reviews at his review blog.

© 2006 Laura Hird All rights reserved.