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Jigs & reels / Joanne Harris.

By: Harris, Joanne, 1964-.
Material type: materialTypeLabelBookPublisher: London : Doubleday, 2004Description: viii, 273 pages ; 19 cm.Content type: text Media type: unmediated Carrier type: volumeISBN: 0385606427 :.Other title: Jigs and reels.Subject(s): Short stories -- Fiction | Short stories, English -- 20th century | Yorkshire (England) -- FictionGenre/Form: Short stories. | Short stories -- Women authors. | Short stories, English.DDC classification: 823.914
Contents:
Faith and Hope go shopping -- The ugly sister -- Gastronomicon -- Fule's gold -- Class of '81 -- Free spirit -- Auto-da-fe -- The pectator -- Al and Christine's world of leather -- Last train to Dogtown -- The G-SUS gene -- A place in the sun -- Tea with the birds -- Breakfast at Tesco's -- Come in, Mr Lowry, your number is up! -- Waiting for Gandalf -- Any girl can be a candkykiss girl! -- The little mermaid -- Fish -- Never give a sucker- -- Eau de toilette.
Faith and Hope go shopping -- The G-SUS gene -- The ugly sister -- Gastronomicon -- Fule's gold -- Class of '81 -- Hello, goodbye -- Free spirit -- Auto-da-fé -- The spectator -- Al and Christine's world of leather -- Last train to Dogtown -- A place in the sun -- Tea with the birds -- Breakfast at Tesco's -- Come in, Mr. Lowry, your number is up! -- Waiting for Gandalf -- Any girl can be a Candykiss Girl! -- The little mermaid -- Fish -- Never give a sucker... -- Eau de toilette.
Foreword -- Faith and hope go shopping -- The ugly sister -- Gastronomicon -- Fule's gold -- Class of '81 -- Hello, goodbye -- Free spirit -- Auto-da-fe -- The spectator -- Al and Christine's world of leather -- Last train to dogtown -- The G-SUS gene -- A place in the sun -- Tea with the birds -- Breakfast at Tesco's -- Come in, Mr Lowry, your number is up! -- Waiting for Gandalf -- Any girl can be a candykiss girl! -- The little mermaid -- Fish -- Never give a sucker ... -- Eau de toilette.
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Fiction Collection HAR 1 Checked out 05/11/2019

Enhanced descriptions from Syndetics:

Presents a collection of twenty-two short stories which feature suburban witches, defiant old ladies, ageing monsters, suicidal Lottery winners, wolf men, dolphin women and middle-aged manufacturers of erotic leatherwear.

Faith and Hope go shopping -- The ugly sister -- Gastronomicon -- Fule's gold -- Class of '81 -- Free spirit -- Auto-da-fe -- The pectator -- Al and Christine's world of leather -- Last train to Dogtown -- The G-SUS gene -- A place in the sun -- Tea with the birds -- Breakfast at Tesco's -- Come in, Mr Lowry, your number is up! -- Waiting for Gandalf -- Any girl can be a candkykiss girl! -- The little mermaid -- Fish -- Never give a sucker- -- Eau de toilette.

Faith and Hope go shopping -- The G-SUS gene -- The ugly sister -- Gastronomicon -- Fule's gold -- Class of '81 -- Hello, goodbye -- Free spirit -- Auto-da-fé -- The spectator -- Al and Christine's world of leather -- Last train to Dogtown -- A place in the sun -- Tea with the birds -- Breakfast at Tesco's -- Come in, Mr. Lowry, your number is up! -- Waiting for Gandalf -- Any girl can be a Candykiss Girl! -- The little mermaid -- Fish -- Never give a sucker... -- Eau de toilette.

Foreword -- Faith and hope go shopping -- The ugly sister -- Gastronomicon -- Fule's gold -- Class of '81 -- Hello, goodbye -- Free spirit -- Auto-da-fe -- The spectator -- Al and Christine's world of leather -- Last train to dogtown -- The G-SUS gene -- A place in the sun -- Tea with the birds -- Breakfast at Tesco's -- Come in, Mr Lowry, your number is up! -- Waiting for Gandalf -- Any girl can be a candykiss girl! -- The little mermaid -- Fish -- Never give a sucker ... -- Eau de toilette.

11 18 22 60 62 89 91 94 96 104 115 120 127 135 149 189

Excerpt provided by Syndetics

Jigs & Reels Chapter One Faith and Hope Go Shopping Four years ago, my grandmother went into an old people's home in Barnsley. Before her death I went there often, and a lot of stories came out of those visits. This is one of them. It's Monday, so it must be rice pudding again. It's not so much the fact that they're careful of our teeth, here at the Meadowbank Home, rather a general lack of imagination. As I told Claire the other day, there are lots of things you can eat without having to chew. Oysters. Foie gras. Avocado vinaigrette. Strawberries and cream. Crème brûlée with vanilla and nutmeg. Why then this succession of bland puddings and gummy meats? Claire -- the sulky blonde, always chewing a wad of gum -- looked at me as if I were mad. Fancy food, they claim, upsets the stomach. God forbid our remaining taste buds should be overstimulated. I saw Hope grinning round the last mouthful of ocean pie, and I knew she'd heard me. Hope may be blind, but she's no slouch. Faith and Hope. With names like that we might be sisters. Kelly -- that's the one with the exaggerated lip liner -- thinks we're quaint. Chris sometimes sings to us when he's cleaning out the rooms. Faith, Hope and Char-i-tee! He's the best of them, I suppose. Cheery and irreverent, he's always in trouble for talking to us. He wears tight T-shirts and an earring. I tell him that the last thing we want is charity, and that makes him laugh. Hinge and Brackett, he calls us. Butch and Sundance. I'm not saying it's a bad place here. It's just so ordinary -- not the comfortable ordinariness of home, with its familiar grime and clutter, but that of waiting rooms and hospitals, a pastel-detergent place with a smell of air freshener and distant bedpans. We don't get many visits, as a rule. I'm one of the lucky ones; my son Tom calls every fortnight with my magazines and a bunch of chrysanths -- the last ones were yellow -- and any news he thinks won't upset me. But he isn't much of a conversationalist. Are you keeping well, then, Mam? and a comment or two about the garden is about all he can manage, but he means well. As for Hope, she's been here five years -- even longer than me -- and she hasn't had a visitor yet. Last Christmas I gave her a box of my chocolates and told her they were from her daughter in California. She gave me one of her sardonic little smiles. "If that's from Priscilla, sweetheart," she said primly, "then you're Ginger Rogers." I laughed at that. I've been in a wheelchair for twenty years, and the last time I did any dancing was just before men stopped wearing hats. We manage, though. Hope pushes me around in my chair, and I direct her. Not that there's much directing to do in here; she can get around just by using the ramps. But the nurses like to see us using our resources. It fits in with their Waste not, want not ethic. And of course, I read to her. Hope loves stories. In fact, she's the one who started me reading in the first place. We've had Wuthering Heights, and Pride and Prejudice, and Doctor Zhivago. There aren't many books here, but the library van comes round every four weeks, and we send Lucy out to get us something nice. Lucy's a college student on Work Experience, so she knows what to choose. Hope was furious when she wouldn't let us have Lolita, though. Lucy thought it wouldn't suit us. "One of the greatest writers of the twentieth century, and you thought he wouldn't suit us!" Hope used to be a professor at Cambridge, and still has that imperious twang in her voice sometimes. But I could tell Lucy wasn't really listening. They get that look -- even the brighter ones -- that nurserynurse smile which says, I know better. I know better because you're old. It's the rice pudding all over again, Hope tells me. Rice pudding for the soul. If Hope taught me to appreciate literature, it was I who introduced her to magazines. They've been my passion for years, fashion glossies and society pages, restaurant reviews and film releases. I started her out on book reviews, slyly taking her off guard with an article here or a fashion page there. We found I had quite a talent for description, and now we wade deliciously together through the pages of bright ephemera, moaning over Cartier diamonds and Chanel lipsticks and lush, impossible clothes. It's strange, really. When I was young those things really didn't interest me. I think Hope was more elegant that I was -- after all there were college balls and academy parties and summer picnics on the Backs. Of course now we're both the same. Nursing-home chic. Things tend to be communal here -- some people forget what belongs to them, so there's a lot of pilfering. I carry my nicest things with me, in the rack under my wheelchair. I have my money and what's left of my jewelry hidden in the seat cushion. I'm not supposed to have money here. There's nothing to spend it on, and we're not allowed out unaccompanied. There's a combination lock on the door, and some people try to slip out with visitors as they leave. Mrs. McAllister -- ninety-two, spry and mad as a hatter -- keeps escaping. She thinks she's going home. It must have been the shoes that began it. Slick, patent, candy-apple red with heels that went on forever, I found them in one of my magazines and cut out the picture. Sometimes I brought it out and looked at it in private, feeling dizzy and a little foolish, I don't know why ... Jigs & Reels . Copyright © by Joanne Harris. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold. Excerpted from All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

Reviews provided by Syndetics

Library Journal Review

Quite a cache: 22 juicy stories. (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

Publishers Weekly Review

Harris, author of the bestsellers Chocolat and Holy Fools, delivers 22 sharp and wickedly provocative stories. In "Faith and Hope Go Shopping," two elderly women dream of escaping their nursing home and trading in their leatherette slip-ons for the perfect pair of Jimmy Choos. The narrator of "A Place in the Sun" goes to desperate lengths to penetrate the all-exclusive Platinum Sands beach, from which everyone but the "infinitely sexy, ultimately desirable" is barred. In "The Ugly Sister," Harris casts one of Cinderella's stepsisters in a sympathetic light, bringing an equally notorious and misunderstood fairy tale character into the picture to steal her heart. The protagonist of "Come in, Mr. Lowry, Your Number Is Up!" wins the lottery and spends his money recklessly only to discover that the ominous thing he truly wants he cannot buy. And when Angela K, the 29-year-old society columnist of "Hello, Goodbye" covers a celebrity funeral, she comes to understand the bizarre attraction of death and the twisted emotions that often accompany it. With themes ranging from ageism to magic and the harrowing intricacies of relationships, Harris's varied tales capture and magnify our hopes and flaws. Agent, Howard Morhaim. (Sept.) Forecast: Known for her sensual food-centered tales-though Holy Fools dabbled in darker waters-Harris makes a sharp turn into the frothy and clever; this may dismay some old fans, but win her new ones. (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

Booklist Review

The popular author of Chocolat0 (1999) and Five Quarters of the Orange 0 (2001) is best known for her sensual descriptions of food and her pleasing portraits of small-town life in France. Fans who pick up this collection of 22 short stories will be surprised at the new directions Harris explores here. Very brief stories prefaced by one- or two-sentence explanations of their origins reveal Harris' tart take on working out at the gym ("not my favorite place") or cosmetic surgery. Others, more fantastical in nature, ponder what would happen if an author ended up in a room with the characters from manuscripts long left unfinished or the plight of a monster who lures victims by setting up elaborate role-playing games. Also included is an impassioned retelling of the Cinderella story from the ugly stepsister's viewpoint and a tale about a young wife who discovers that the recipes in her mother-in-law's treasured if musty cookbook often have unintended consequences. It's possible that staunch Harris fans will be put off by her dark and fanciful tales because they are so unlike her mainstream fiction. Some of the stories, as well, seem to be more tossed off than fleshed out. Still, these inventive, darkly humorous pieces might intrigue readers looking for something entirely different. --Joanne Wilkinson Copyright 2004 Booklist

Kirkus Book Review

A debut collection of 22 silly and predictable stories. Only one comes even close to the level of the least of Harris's five novels (Holy Fools, 2004, etc.). Introduced by irritatingly chatty author's notes ("I got the idea for this story on a Saturday morning"), the pieces are mostly monologues by trendy folk, too often depending upon sophomoric satire rather than plot, character, theme, or language. In "Fish," the snobbish bride at dinner on a Naples honeymoon is on a vegetarian, lactose-intolerant, wheat-free diet; the groom ends up seduced by the culinary orgy offered by the proprietress. "Hello, Goodbye" is narrated by Angela K, a columnist for Goodbye! magazine covering a celebrity funeral that ends up coming too close to home when her own bumpkin parents show up to give eulogies. It turns out the deceased is her sister, a fashion model dead from an eating disorder, a bit of information neglected until the trick ending. "Al and Christine's World of Leather" puts Christine and Al, who met at a Weight Watchers meeting, in business, she sewing various leather garments, he selling them. Meanwhile, Christine's husband Jack begins spending three hours a night with his and Christine's best friend, making use of the mysterious leatherwear ("Poor stupid Christine, thinks it's dancewear, wouldn't know a dildo if she saw one"). Christine gets her expected revenge. Only "Waiting for Gandalf" moves beyond surface, reaching a level of empathy lacking in the rest. For 30 years, a geography teacher known to his students as "Sad Smith" has been a regular in a Saturday night woodland adventure with a group of live-action role-players. He's usually a monster, but sometimes the referee for the others. One week, when he has rounded up a group of university students as "sword fodder," things go horribly wrong, and Old Smithy loses control. Sadly, missing the usual sensual delights of Harris's work. Copyright ©Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.