Tessa Hadley, the master of English short stories, has often been compared to the great Alice Munro, both writers who prioritize wisdom over niceties. They both craft sentences as precise as an Olympic skater’s figure eights, using their words to uncover the complexities of domestic life. In their work, no one is immune to the consequences of moral ambiguity. However, there are distinctions to be made: Munro focuses on expansive periods of history and location, while Hadley homes in on the intimacy of hearth and home, presenting her dramas on a smaller, more personal scale.
Hadley’s latest collection, “After the Funeral,” elegantly showcases the talents readers have come to recognize from her previous works. (Seven of the 12 stories initially appeared in the New Yorker.) She explores the ill-fated pursuit of an authentic self, distant and duplicitous families, and marriages burdened by the complexities of raising children. These themes have always formed the heart of Hadley’s fiction. However, in this collection, she adds a new layer by presenting a lament for an era plagued by pandemics and other threats. Can empathy still exist? Are we beyond redemption?
Hadley’s characters dance around their desires, longing for connection and meaning. A divorced woman encounters her ex-husband on the London tube and invites him to her flat, hoping to rekindle their passion, only to discover he has moved on. A teenage girl rebels against her helicopter parents’ conformity while on holiday in Florence, experiencing an intellectual and imaginative awakening. Heloise, a woman in her forties, enrolls her child in a violin class, only to uncover a mysterious instructor who holds the key to her own past.
The stories in “After the Funeral” delve particularly perceptively into sibling tensions. In “The Bunty Club,” three stressed sisters gather in a coastal town as their aging mother’s health deteriorates. They take turns caring for her while simultaneously nursing their own grudges. When they clash over the presence of an attractive gardener, the youngest sister, Serena, reaches her breaking point and storms away. Serena embodies the indomitable spirit of Hadley’s women; she sits alone at a cafe table, sipping her black coffee, emanating an aura as if she were a celebrity seeking solitude to indulge in her rich internal life.
Hadley does not grant the same depth to her male characters; they are typically vain and incapable. In “My Mother’s Wedding,” a clumsy groom unknowingly seduces his bride’s underage daughters. In “Old Friends,” an engineer engages in a passionate affair with the wife of a childhood friend, deceiving himself into believing he has a chance. The poignant “Funny Little Snake” portrays a stepmother caring for a neglected child.
The title story, “After the Funeral,” is a marvel of conciseness, as it follows two young girls navigating the unexpected death of their distant father. Hadley’s descriptions are exquisitely detailed, capturing the sisters sharing a bed, one sprawled out with her twisted pajama top, sweaty curls, and visible baby teeth. Hadley often ends her stories abruptly, leaving readers to imagine what happens next, inviting collaboration. While this technique doesn’t always succeed, as seen in “Mia,” where it feels incomplete, comparable to a workshop exercise, it still showcases the author’s innovative approach.
Regardless, Hadley saves the best for last. “Coda” serves as her lockdown piece, narrated by Diane, a middle-aged woman whose nonagenarian mother, Margot, is physically frail but mentally sharp. Together, they navigate their isolation through tea, television, snippets of books, and banter. Their routine is disrupted when Diane becomes fixated on Teresa, a Maltese home-care aide living next door, leading to a quasi-romantic obsession. Diane proves to be an untrustworthy narrator, scheming to find ways to encounter Teresa.
“Coda” brims with Hadley’s witty observations and sharp skepticism. Amidst the quarantine, there is a glimmer of hope, a glimpse of a world rejuvenating itself. From her window, Diane witnesses a cherry tree in bloom, a poetic contrast to the mundane street it resides on. This depiction perfectly encapsulates Hadley’s fiction: finding beauty and meaning in ordinary moments, acknowledging the disappointments of reality. The question of whether we are entitled to those disappointments remains open. Hadley refrains from passing judgment, but acknowledges that morality is not merely a human invention, but rather a fundamental aspect of our evolutionary journey, one that could vanish in an instant. Morality, our obligations to one another and our communities, may be imperfect and futile, but we persevere. “After the Funeral” is a revelation for those who appreciate the art of short stories, showcasing the vibrancy and wisdom of Hadley’s celebrated career.
Hamilton Cain, a Brooklyn-based book critic and the author of “This Boy’s Faith: Notes from a Southern Baptist Upbringing,” finds Hadley’s work enthralling and insightful.
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