The Girl in a Swing is a study of guilt made manifest—of the far-reaching effects of the past, clattering in upon a fragile porcelain world. It's narrated by [Alan Desland], in exactly the tone you'd expect from such a man: quiet, reflective, with just the right amount of fussiness. He takes his time. He digresses often upon the subject of ceramics, which is not only his business but his passion. He's given to quoting poetry at what he considers to be appropriate moments. Some of the events he describes are included not because they're essential to the plot, one suspects, but because Alan takes a certain gentle enjoyment in recounting them—just as we enjoy reading about them. But it all works together, ultimately. His leisurely description of the weather, at the outset, wends its way toward a point. "How should I not weep?" he asks suddenly, and he tells us about a dream he had in which all his figurines were crying tiny flakes of tears.
In fact, The Girl in a Swing is a genuinely pleasant book, and the credit rests with its finely drawn narrator. Alan could easily have been a cartoon, a male old maid puttering among his china shepherdesses. Instead he's someone we understand and admire, comfortable with his placid routine, happy in his work. (pp. 72-3)
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