Sarzy soon became impossible, but she was an innocent, and innocence is a quality Mr. Trevor highly prizes. He tells us in his introduction that from the very beginning he has used anything in his writing that was useful. THIS delightful book, which seems so relaxed as to be almost casual, is in fact a serious confrontation between Mr. Trevor and his memory. A writer, he says, must be able to separate himself from his identity as a human being. He must stand back, and that means exile.
Stories derive from memories, but they can equally well be memories of anywhere and anyone.
The likeness of Thomas Farrell, stationmaster of that time, is not forgotten. . . . But there is hardly any doubt that in some other place, with different recollections, Beckett would have succeeded as well. Here, in his well-mannered, entirely persuasive way, William Trevor is claiming sovereignty for the writer over his source.