This exquisite book of short essays is for you. She captures New York of the '60s in her highly focused vignettes. A long-time writer for The New Yorker, these sketches were featured in the "Talk of the Town" section of the magazine always beginning with "Our friend, the long-winded lady, has written us as follows:" I always looked forward to them and vaguely thought the author was likely to be a well-heeled matron of impressive family lineage with a flair for turning words. My impression was totally incorrect. Ms. Brennan emigrated from Ireland at age 17, never had much money or security and viewed herself as "a traveler in residence."

She gave personalities to streets, buildings, and stores as well as people. " Sixth Avenue possesses a quality that some people acquire, sometimes quite suddenly, which dooms it and them to be loved only at the moment they are being looked at for the very last time." Her focus is keen and unblinking, but she sometimes infuses the scene and the people with the magic of her imagination. Her word portraits are so incisive, I often felt that I was sitting beside her seeing a man "morose and dignified, as though humiliation had taken him unawares, but not unprepared."

There is a certain sadness and loneliness in Ms. Brennan's peripheral outsider remarks, but you never feel pity only admiration for an author that always looks outward to keep from looking inward.

Maeve Brennan's book is a collection of perfectly polished little gems. Writing just doesn't get any better than what you'll find here. "Howard's Apartment" is a piece that you won't just read; you'll also see, hear and feel it. Follow this wonderful writer as she leads you through a New York City that no longer exists.

She is a marvel, a gem. Each of these little expositions is so rich... You're walking down a street, when suddenly, gracefully, she turns a corner and glances into a window of our common soul, and describes what is reflected therein. Her observations are touching, without maudlin sentiment, dead-on accurate, and her language clear and hard. It is more a book about New Yorkers than New York; what I mean is that there is a certain approach to life that is genuinely cosmopolitan without being especially clever or reckless or cute, and we who love reading have a deep affinity for the well-tempered, understated observation that Maeve Brennan perfected. This is one of the two or three best reading experiences I've had all year.

"The Visitor", by Maeve Brennan was found in an archive after her death, and now resides at The University Of Notre Dame. It is her earliest known writing, and the book was created from the only known copy of the manuscript. Written sometime during the 1940's, it represents her earliest work, and is older than her first published piece with The New Yorker in 1950, when she was 34 years of age. Christopher Carduff who has edited all of the posthumous work of this writer and he provides an Editor's note at the end of the volume that is the most concise and accurate description of her work I have read.

If you start with this work the balance of her writings will be understood as she intended them to be read. For though her later work contains humor, it is simply a veneer for dark feelings of contempt, selfishness, and the ice-cold characters she portrays. I have read all of her fiction and this is easily the most mean spirited. There is nothing here to soften the main character, she is cruelty personified. If ranked amongst Dickens' darkest portrayals of the blackness of the human heart, this grandmother would rank near the very top. This same woman is also a contagion; for if one spends enough time with her she can cause another behave in ways that otherwise would be foreign and unnatural.

If you have yet to discover this wonderful writer this is the place to begin. For this brief tale is the start of 4 decades of work that can in many instances be traced back to the dark side of human nature first written in, "The Visitor". The work and the editor's note will send you back, to again read her stories even if you have enjoyed them before. The amazing aspect of this story is that it foreshadows not only what will become of her later writing, but also contains another human condition that she too will become a victim of later in her life.

THE VISITOR is a miracle of terse writing. The story - a young woman attempting to re-enter her only remaining family in Dublin after her mother's death in Paris and finding that even this is not her home - is as engrossing as a long novel. As a matter of fact, reading this short novella leaves the reader with such clear images of the four women characters that you feel you've been getting to know them for years. For Brennan, the clash of Irish women, struck firmly in the molds they have been assigned/chosen, is fodder for what could be a dark nightmare. But we are awake, her characters are real and unyielding, and we are given a glimpse of just how cruel and isolated estranged families can be. Brennan creates her tale amidst the foggy and rainy depressed atmosphere of Dublin, and even her women who attempt some morsel of kindness get buried in the dank reality of this sad tale. This is committed writing at its best, a joy to read despite the gothic horror of the tale.

What a delight to have read on a recent airline flight, and to be so close to finishing that my eyes raced on the final pages to beat the schreech of the tires on landing. It crossed my mind how awful to be denied the conclusion by some mishap. Of course I made it, but was nonetheless denied the more typical "happily ever after" ending. I believe the author desired the reader's work to continue a bit, to contemplate and possibly turn back and re-read key sections that might suggest a resolution. A terrific book for a book club. I would love to hear folks argue over the author's way of closing the story. If there is a Maeve Brennan expert out there for whom the ending was more obvious, it would be interesting to hear your take. But not necessary. I am happy with it as is.

I don't believe I've read any other Christmas stories quite like the ones in Christmas Eve. Not all of the stories were about Christmas, but that doesn't mean you can't curl up with them near the fire at Christmas time and have a wonderful evening. The author tries wholeheartedly to envelop you in each of her 13 plots. I would recommend if you read no other tales in this book, read "Christmas Eve" and "The Springs of Affection".

Even the stories that are rather sad and unhappy are so well written that they speak profoundly. One of the stories that I particularly liked was "The Barrel of Rumors." Curious about the life of the Poor Clare nuns her mother helps with donations of food, Maeve can never bring herself to ask them about what she wants to know. And, of course, no one she does ask can really answer her questions. Her Uncle Matt, though, can throw in just a very light touch of humor about what she wants to know. Charming.

Maeve Brennan was one hell of a writer and that's saying something for an Irish person.

Although her stories bear no resemblance to the country now (rich, self-satisfied, and smug), they describe the Ireland of my memories. Acerbic. Jealous. Snobbish when there was nothing to be snobbish about, as if there ever is.

This book is one of the most-underecognized marvels I have read. She nailed Ireland, a certain type of Ireland, not the current version, even though she spent most of her life in the States. The title story beats anything in Dubliners in its viciousness and observation.

She also helped me, when I read the book after her death, come to peace with my own mother's death. But enough of the navel searching - this is, first and foremost, a powerful piece of writing. You are left in awe. Well, I am.

Mr. William Maxwell wrote the introduction to this book. He clearly was a man who valued Ms. Brennan as a writer and a friend. His introduction is as jarring as many of the stories, and it sets the tone for the tales the book contains. After reading this introduction to, "The Springs Of Affection", I would even reevaluate her other collected stories, "The Rose Garden". The quality of her work is not the question rather how her personal life drove the commentary the stories held. Mr. Maxwell refers to the premature end of her writing life and the cause, which was tragic. Though these stories were written before her troubles began a reader has to wonder if they explain so much about this woman who stayed in America at age 17 when her Family went home, and with a brief exception spent her life alone as well. These stories are full of bitterness, regret, and lives that were unfulfilled, children wished for, marriages unwanted, and a decent into madness for one.

The final story that is the title of the book is one of the best short stories I have read. The final story also could serve as a summary of the worst that the previous stories hold. It is riven with hatred, selfishness, and a woman who relishes the possessions of the dead no matter how close they were to her. Her preoccupation with the faults of others, and her one accomplishment of having outlived them all, is a portrait of a person more miserable than that of Dickens' Ebenezer. However this woman is worse, for she neither seeks an affirmation of life and is acutely aware of whom she has been for almost nine decades.

The other stories will document the gradual decay of relationships whether between family members or those who have wed. One husband is driven to sobbing not because he grieves for his dead wife; rather he realizes he lacks the ability to care enough to grieve. A mother looses a child and rejects her religion with an enthusiasm that is jarring. Those who have children often have little use for them, and those who are bereft of issue spend their years bemoaning their absence.

Mr. Maxwell described the stories with words like ferocious and devastating; they are all of that and more. It is a beautiful collection from a woman who was a brilliant writer who laid bare the darker sides of human nature without pause or apology, and felt no need for a redemptive or soft ending. Indeed the final story may be the hardest of all. For if a reader is left standing at the beginning of the final chapter, they will undoubtedly be flattened by its close.

The Rose Garden is a collection of short stories by the late New Yorker writer Maeve Brennan. The book feels split into two collections. The first half of the book is a collection of stories about the fictional "Herbert's Retreat" an exclusive enclave of a few dozen houses 30 or so miles up the Hudson from New York City. Brennan captures the minor social adventures of the wealthy denizens through some of the sharpest humored dialogue and descriptions I have ever read. At the same time as the homeowners vie to capture for the best river view and to throw successful parties with the most desirable guests - in short, to be the envy of their neighbors - their Irish maids ruefully observe - and occasionally subvert - their antics.

Unfortunately, the Herbert's Retreat stories only constitute half of this book. The second half of the book is less enjoyable. The remaining stories rely heavier on description rather than dialogue, and the characters - which range from cafe regulars to a dog named Bluebell - are far less entertaining or memorable. Nonetheless, Brennan is an expert in capturing New York, and this book is must have in a library of books describing 20th century New York, to be placed in the vicinity of fellow New Yorker writer Joseph Mitchell's great social observations. The Herbert's Retreat stories alone make the book essential reading.

I'd never heard of Maeve Brennan before I picked up this book, and I'm sorry that it's taken me so long to find her. This was a wonderful surprise, filled with astute observations, sly humor, and delightful prose. The stories in this collection bring to mind Raymond Carver and J.D. Salinger in their recording of the subtle moments in life, when nothing seems to outwardly happen but profound shifts in power and status occur behind the visages of the complacent and bemused characters she so brilliantly sketches. If you're looking for a steady stream of action, you'd do better elsewhere, but if you prefer incisive characterizations and a more gentle touch, please give this a try. Make no mistake, though, in believing her to be some imitator. Stories like "A Snowy Night on West Forty-ninth Street" and "The Door on West Tenth Street" showcase a writer with her own distinct and wonderful voice, someone who probably deserves more attention than she's received thus far. Once I finished these stories I immediately bought her other collections, eager to read more.

Ms. Maeve Brennan wrote for and about, "The New Yorker", magazine for over four decades. The New Yorker is many things including a publication known for excellence. To have been a part of such an institution for so long is enough to place this woman in a very small group if not alone for her tenure there. "The Rose Garden", is one of two books that collect short stories Ms. Brennan created, and they are without exception excellent.

Of the twenty stories there are a few that are stand-alone tales. The book opens and then closes with a series of stories that share place and characters but also could stand by themselves as well. The first grouping is a brilliant and savage attack on a small community north of Manhattan, which is based upon a community the writer, lived in. She has a rapier wit and she uses it to dismember the people and their pretensions that occupy this community. She does it with such style that some of the targets would probably lack the insight to see just how badly she savaged them and their affected lifestyle. There are two stories that on their own are worth owning the book, one is, "The Servant's Dance", and the other begins with, "The Holy Terror". Writing such as this is a rare event.

The cover of the book is a picture of the writer from 1949. If those Irish Eyes of hers ever focused on a person and identified them as a target, it would be akin to being told Mike Wallace of 60 minutes was waiting to speak with you.

A wonderful writer and a woman that must have been a daunting presence to be in the midst of. Fantastic reading!