Customer Reviews

Girl In a Swing

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Richard Adams will doubtless always be best remembered for his first novel, Watership Down. Although it seems at first glance a simple, albeit engrossing, story of some rabbits seeking a new home in the face of impending disaster, it is also a gentle yet forceful reflection of the way human societies work.

None of his other novels has quite caught the public imagination in the manner of that first one, though his proto-historical fantasies, Shardik and Maia are remarkable in their own ways. Indeed, in a recent interview, Adams declared Shardik his best book.

But he is mistaken. His masterpiece, though it is very different indeed from anything else he's published, is The Girl in a Swing of 1980. This novel, not even mentioned in the interview, was billed on the cover of the first paperback edition as "a haunting and erotic story of the supernatural." Those who have passed the book by on account of this description and those who reject it because of their difficulties with its grave moral perplexities, have rejected a work of the greatest depth and power. It contains, among other things, some of the most achingly beautiful prose in modern English literature.

One of the things that sets The Girl in a Swing apart from the Adams's other work is that it involves human characters from our time in a setting we can readily recognize. The action takes place in Copenhagen, in a small English town and, briefly, in London and Florida. The chief protagonists are Alan Deslands, a young, learned and earnest dealer in porcelain and china and Karin (or Käthe in some editions), a beautiful and prodigiously talented German woman he meets on a business trip to Denmark.

Since Alan is the narrator, and a skillful one, the reader readily forgives a certain priggishness in him, perhaps even enjoying it a bit. He is clearly a person to admire and, despite his manner, to like. In his adolescence he acquired a kind of second sight in the presence of strong sexual energy. The resulting visions, though usually unwelcome, have not seemed of great importance to him before the events of the novel. As the story unfolds, he experiences them more often, but is not always able to separate them out from the more mundane realities of his life.

Karin, whose beauty is almost unearthly, is well educated and cultured. She possesses every brilliance and talent one could wish. But when we meet her, she is rather poor, earning her living as a multilingual stenographer. At first she cannot quite believe that the distinguished and desirable Alan would be interested in her and, for that matter, he dares scarcely hope that a woman as beautiful and seemingly perfect as Karin would be interested in him.

They do connect, though, and their union seems better than perfect in every way. Yet there is no perfection in this world and it becomes clear that Karin, who has not told Alan anything of her past, harbours a secret which imperils their happiness. In time, between her abiding fear and Alan's psychic visions, the reader becomes aware of what the secret is.

Karin has committed the most appalling crime imaginable in order to be with Alan, an act "unnatural out of all course of kind" as he describes it in the last moments of his mesmerizing narrative. And to compensate, she undertakes to be a perfect wife and, in every other way, a good person. She is successful in the means, but not in the ends. She cannot forgive herself.

These are the bare bones of the plot, but they do not suggest the richness of understanding that informs every page of the book. It is an extended meditation on the nature of beauty, the beauty of sexual love for one thing, but even on the very act of finding and creating beauty in a finite and corruptible world. It is a study in unconditional and transcendent love, white hot in its eroticism, without really containing much explicit sex. And the horror in it is all the more affecting for never being gratuitous or overstated.

One does not often hear of this book, even in discussions which involve most of the author's other work. In preparing this review, I haven't been able to find out much about Adams other than what's in the interview already cited.

It is not hard to imagine that those who like to associate him with the cuddly heros of his first novel might find the searing emotions of The Girl in a Swing less than congenial.

Yet, however Adams or anyone else may now feel about it, he has given us nothing less than a masterpiece.

If there is one book I will remember my entire life, this is it. Richard Adams spins love and horror into a delicately-woven web of lyrical prose that is guaranteed to break your heart. The story is gossamer-like in its beauty, yet expresses an intensity of horror I have yet to meet in any other book to date. This is a story that will haunt you years after you've finished the final page. It absolutely will not let you alone, although sometimes you may wish it would.

I measure the initial depth of a person by whether or not they are willing to tackle this book; the eerie intensity and sense of recoiling from the inevitable, tragic ending start to echo within one's heart and soul long before that last wave breaks on the beach in that climactic almost-last scene. I agree with one of the previous reviewers in their assessment of the pathos of this work being equal (perhaps surpassing) anything else comparable in this century's works of literary art. A book that haunts one's dreams.

If you can find a copy of this haunting story of love gone wrong, don't ever let it go! It is by far Adams' best work and one not to be missed. The star of the show is the mysterious, enigmatic Käthe, a woman with too many secrets to hide and far too little to reveal. As the book unfolds, you'll want to get to know her. After it ends, you'll wish you could forget. But be warned! Girl in a Swing is a haunting book in every respect and one you'll remember for the rest of your life!

While often classified as a horror novel, The Girl In A Swing is actually far too complex to be boxed into a single genre. The story uses a mermaid metaphor to unfold this tale of transition and mutual transformation. (The story is even based in Copenhagen, with its famous mermaid statue.) As in all mermaid folklore, the siren-like Karin has to sacrifice something precious in order to enter the world of her mortal lover. This hinted-at infanticide which has parallels in Goethe's Faust, is one of the main Gothic splinters that drives the horror level of the story. Karin is truly an enigmatic character, being simultaneously The Goddess Incarnate and a star-crossed mermaid who craves the transition into mortal womanhood, like a darker version of Ibsen's Lady From The Sea. However tragic the relationship may appear, the underlying theme of the transforming power of the Feminine (which even appears in Chocolat and Mary Poppins) lifts the novel onto another level. Just as Faust is saved by the love of a servant girl who has been driven to madness and infanticide by the patriarchal arhitecture of misogyny, so too the male protagonist in TGIAS surrenders to the Chaos of Being, retaining one foot firmly in the Otherworld. If guilt and alienation turn your crank, this is for you. Happy ever after? That depends on what and who you are and where you have come from.

She is haunted by a mystery in her past, he is haunted by her beauty,
I am haunted by the story. For this book holds revolting human evil,

and an incredible, lyrical love - and they are both tied together.

For years after reading it, I could not shake the sensation of horror

that came over me when I thought again of what had been done.

How could anyone do it? And yet, the spell of love that is cast in the

beautiful telling of this story is equally haunting.

This is no average horror story. Readers who find Clive Barker and Dean Koontz
the height of enjoyment may not appreciate the delicacy, and gradual building

of this lovely tale.

The language of this book is nearly poetic in its beauty. It is rich with detail,

complex, and fully convincing. This is a sophisticated piece of work,

and incidentally, nothing like any of Richard Adams other books.

(I have read most of them, since after reading this book, I wanted

to investigate its author.)

This book is a gourmet meal, full of fine ingredients, exquisite flavors,

and subtle blendings and contrasts. It is excellent.

But I mean that in a good way! I'm surprised this book isn't better-known. Yes, the main female character (Karin) is a male fantasy figure: ravishingly beautiful, incredibly intelligent, unbelievably sexual, completely devoted -- and a good cook, too! Not to mention making their fortune by her cleverness!

But never mind: the story is still fast-paced and full of suspense, with a bass-note of horror that throbs louder and louder as the tale unfolds.

Last I checked, this book was out of print. But used copies are still available, and I recommend this very good read to everyone.

It seems that the first paperback edition of this book described it as 'a haunting and erotic story of the supernatural'. 'Haunting' I'll certainly go along with: 'erotic' and 'supernatural'? -- not really. This is a book about a romance and a marriage, brief in duration and with a gut-wrenching denouement. There's a lot about sex and it is outstandingly good, honest and original. I'd better explain 'original' I suppose -- nothing Alan and Karin do together is the slightest bit original I am pleased to say. The originality is in the story of a young man who grows up thinking himself unattractive to women and who has no sexual experience before finding himself overwhelmingly desirable to a woman of dumbfounding beauty. And this is 'no casual mistress but a wife', intelligent, loving and supportive. It all takes a bit of adaptation on his part. There is no pre-marital sex and he is impotent through nervousness or shyness during their honeymoon. Karin's sympathy and understanding conquers the problem and his descriptions of their love-making are notable for innocent enthusiasm with no trace of prurience. What I find original is that all this is readable without boredom or disgust. It is a vital element in the story, but this is still no erotic tale.

I can't read it as a tale of the supernatural either. My idea of the supernatural is Poe, Lovecraft, M R James, Clark Ashton Smith and that lot. Alan has something like psychic insights, triggered in the presence of strong femininity. This to me is a fascinating issue, the sort of thing that should warn any rationalist not to be too know-all. There seem to be more things, even on earth, than are dreamed of in a purely rational philosophy. Arthur C Clarke, commenting in retrospect on Childhood's End, says that while his interest in the paranormal had declined not all the unexplained phenomena -- poltergeists, premonitions etc -- can be brushed aside or rationalised away. Would you call this a story of the supernatural? I wouldn't.

It's the story of a relationship, perhaps a love story but perhaps that is going too far. What it definitely is is a Euripidean tragedy. Medea escaped unscathed for Karin's crime but Karin is struck down for it by the deity she has offended in a very Euripidean way. I cannot now remember where the two lines of Greek tragedy quoted at the start come from, but surely it must be the Medea. What they mean is

'I cannot explain what happened to her that she did this'.

'But for those who understand it all goes without blame'.

No it does not, neither to my ideas nor in the story itself.

Forget King, Straub, Herbert, Koontz, Andrews and all others illiterate horror writers of today. Here's a powerful, articulated voice that will reach deep down inside you and stir your emotions in a primal, archetypical level without stooping to clichés and formulas. Adam's "children's books" were full of truly frightening moments, but for all of us who love the macabre and admire the writer who is courageous enough to pursue his own personal demons while bringing us along for the ride, this is the book. The pair of "star-crossed lovers" he gives us are made of flesh and bones and their descent into horror is one of the most painful and moving in literature. The pathos evoked in the climax of the novel is, to my knowledge, unsurpassed in post-war american literature, regardless of genre. If you like your horror stories gripping and suspenseful but is more horrified by most of contemporary genre writers styles rather than their plots and skills, this is the book you've been searching for: poignant, elegant and very, very scary.

Adams is best known, of course, for _Watership Down_, but this later work of slightly supernatural romance is, I think, a superior piece of work. Alan Desland is in every way an entirely inoffensive young man, the heir to a small but thriving porcelain and ceramics retail business in Berkshire, a talented linguist, an enthusiast in Greek drama and German literature, and a believing member of the Church of England whose best friend is a practical-minded clergyman. He's content with his life and seems to have pretty much everything he could reasonably want. The one thing he doesn't have is a love life. Since adolescence, a private and somewhat prim person, he has seen himself as unattractive to women and likely to remain unmarried for life. All that changes on a business trip to Copenhagen when he unexpectedly meets Käthe, a strikingly beautiful office girl for whom he falls like a load of bricks. To his own bewilderment, he pursues her and rather hopelessly proposes to her a week later -- and is accepted. A whirlwind engagement back in England and a civil wedding on a trip to Florida follow, which naturally disturbs his mother and sister -- but once they meet the bride, their doubts disappear. But this is not in any way a happily-ever-after sort of story. The reader slowly becomes away of Käthe's true nature, ancient and tragic, and when the inevitable denouement arrives, it seems fitting. Only for a brief sentence is Adams ever explicit in attributing anything to the supernatural (and even that may be Alan's overwrought imagination), so there's always a rational explanation for everything that happens. But that doesn't matter. The story builds very gradually, the measured pace coiling around you and sucking you in until you're turning each page with a mix of fascination and apprehension. The characters are fully developed, even the minor supporting players, and Adam's language (and his ear for accents and dialects) is rich and complex. There's also a considerable amount of artfully poetic eroticism, which is fundamental to Käthe's incarnated personality. A beautifully realized story book you won't soon forget.