And here we have one of my favourite novels.
The Arrow is a whimsical novella by Christopher Morley. It packs a lot of story into just 85 pages, slowly building to a thrill of an ending.
Or, maybe I'm just a romantic.
Our twenty-two year old narrator sails from New York to London for school, marvelling at the rhythm of the sea and watching the passengers - Americans already missing the ways of home and the Europeans eager for return, and one special woman whose grey evening dress and elegant neckline catches his eye.
They were not to meet.
In London, he walks Shaftsbury Avenue, SoHo, and Charing Cross, pausing in Picadilly Circus to view the centre statue of Anteros, the God of requited love (often mistaken for Cupid).
"His curved wings, tremulous to poise him so, seemed visibly to spread and flatten in the diamond air. Along a slant of shadow, where light was grained with slopes of sunset, sped the unseen flash" and suddenly he is struck through the chest with a shining golden arrow! And only that morning he put on his first British tweeds. Firmly lodged inches in front and inches behind him, but he is the only one who can see it! Seeking help from police and then a doctor, they see just the hole in his shirt - although it inhibits his sitting back, and he is constantly accidentally poking people with its sharp point. Seeking help from his Embassy, he meets an old school friend who gives him an invitation to a society party. That night, across the floor, he looks over to a beautiful woman, and she looks back - their eyes lock - a beautiful woman in a grey evening dress. With a hole in it.
Christopher Morley poetically elevates this little fantasy filled with charm and wit. I love his writing and was lucky to find a small hardcover, first edition from 1927. The first portion is our narrators insightful view of the new world around him. By his accident at the halfway mark, the story turns comical, and there seems no cure. Enter the female, for a romantic and really joyful ending, right up to the final line. I'd love to tell you the whole story, but as my husband said, "stop, stop, I want to read it myself."
A complete pleasure.
My other reviews of Christopher Morley:
1927 / Hardcover / 85 pages
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