The Memoirs of a Ghost signed association copy G.W. Stonier first edition 1947
London: Grey Walls Press, 1947
Small thin 8vo., black boards lettered in gilt to spine; in the wonderful dustwrapper featuring a striking design printed in black, green and red (unclipped, 8s. 6d. net); pp. [viii], 3-109, [i]; a few marks to boards and endpapers, with a few spots extending onto pages, but else a near-fine copy in the near-fine wrapper just a little toned to edges, with some small brown stains to the lower panel.
First edition. This copy formerly in the collection of writer V. S. Pritchett, with his library sticker affixed to the front paste down, and a lengthy inscription from the author to ‘My dear V.S. Pritchett, which reads… “as you see the publishers gave me no chance to put the sign-posts you wanted into the blurb. But all I “meant” was this. The man is really dead, but all his experiences except a very few are those of anyone inwardly dead but outwardly living. I tried to make his predicament as strong and simple as possible, but perhaps to mix deep feelings with paradox is a mistake… I don’t know. Thank you, anyhow, for your understanding words. Love from George. Feb ‘48”
Contrary to the title, Stonier’s Memoirs of a Ghost is not so much a ghost story as an existentialist horror, revolving around a character (aptly named John Wethered) who is caught up in the London Blitz. Published just after the end of the Second World War, the novella (being just over 100 pages in length) begins with the immortal lines “It seems a long while ago, When the bombs came — a stick of them — there wasn’t much one could do…” and sees the protagonist emerging from the rubble and discovering not only that he is invisible, but can also fly. Novelty soon turns to disorientation, however, as he returns again and again to the scene before his death - a death which had come “quickly, crashing, crashing in an instant. Then again, with a flickering consciousness, as of tides that whip and recede, I rose to the outlines of darkness.”
Chilling, compelling, and clearly a comment on the disorientation felt by many in the aftermath of WWII, Stonier’s experimental work is greatly enhanced here by the association with Pritchett - a writer he clearly knew well, and greatly admired. Both writers were, at one point, employed as editors by the New Statesman, and it is clear from this book, that they were friends. A fascinating association copy.