Isak Dinesen was nearly fifty when she published her first book, written in her second language. It was a masterpiece of storytelling. I’m impressed.

These intricate tales are richly imaginative, structured like a series of boxes within boxes. The writing style, slightly old-fashioned, matches the fact that she wrote them more than a century after the gothic fad in literature was passing out of fashion (which is when most of the tales are set). The scenes shift from Dinesen’s native Denmark (Elsinore is often mentioned, evoking the fate of Hamlet) to Paris and Rome, where Dinesen studied as a young woman, and points beyond.

The stories are loosely interconnected, with a character from one tale on the sidelines of another. The characters are, for the most part, aristocrats—unfashionable in the 1930s. But as the saying goes, write what you know; this is the milieu Dinesen belonged to. More importantly, populating the tales with aristocrats adds to the archaic flavor. But in most of the tales, some characters seem to partake of a supernatural existence, either divine or demonic.

Whether in forest settings, palatial ruins, storms, moonlight, or doomed love, and death—Dinesen ticks every item on the gothic romance checklist. Yet she deploys these elements imaginatively. If I had picked this book up in a different mood, I might not have gotten far before putting it aside. But book and reader met at the right time. ( )

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Long ago I read Out of Africa and loved it. This is nothing like that. Which is not to say that it doesn't have enjoyable moments. Dinesen can make beautiful images with her words. She has and uses insight into human nature to draw compelling characters, then she discards them without a look back. She can write moments of philosophy that go straight to the heart. What she doesn't do in most of these stories is worry about the story having a discernable plot. Most of the stories left me saying, "WTF?"

Finally, after five tales (yes, her writing is so good that I kept reading) I realized, stop looking for a beginning, middle and end or reason. That's not what she is doing here. We are to enjoy each moment along the way, wake up when we finish a tale and settle into the next one, appreciating the scenery, the characters and the emotions along the way. ( )

These tales are like nothing I have read before. Isak Dinessen’s – nom de plume of Karen Blixen – narration feels like a walk through a labyrinth, where the unfolding story thread makes sharp turns, leads us into dead ends and dark corners, until finally we emerge on the other side a bit unsure of the place we have been. Like in a dream, one story merges into another, taking us along into deeper realms. And, with hypnotic powers, the narrator’s voice enchants and enslaves us.

I absolutely loved this book – or the reading experience of it. There is something primal in Blixen’s story telling that transports the reader back to the shaman beside the fire, or the medieval jongleur in a country fair, or yet the bedtime fairy tales we were read as children.

Beautiful and riveting, I feel intoxicated by it right now, and crave more and more of it.
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