The Bell in the Fog and Other Stories — Edition Insights

Recurring Images of Observation and Longing

Across the excerpts, characters are frequently positioned as observers of a world they covet but cannot join. In 'The Bell in the Fog,' Orth is described as having 'realized one of the dreams of his ambitious youth,' yet his satisfaction is undercut by a sense of isolation. Later, in a story about a man named Andrew, the narrative dwells on his ritual of watching fashionable women parade through Central Park: 'He knew all the fashionable men and women by sight.' The act of watching becomes a form of possession, but also a reminder of exclusion.

Atherton reinforces this motif through physical barriers: gates, windows, and the 'bend in the driveway' that frames the carriages like a stage. The observer is always outside, looking in. This structural repetition—characters stationed at thresholds—gives the collection a cohesive psychological undercurrent, even when the settings shift from English manor to New York avenue.

Movement Between American and European Settings

The collection deliberately juxtaposes American and European locales, often within a single story. Orth, though American-born, 'had long since ceased to be spoken of as an American author' because his work transcended nationality. Yet his ancestral hall is a purchase, not an inheritance—a fact that underscores the artificiality of his belonging. In contrast, the story of Andrew is firmly rooted in New York, with detailed descriptions of Fifth Avenue promenades and Newport summers.

Atherton uses these geographic shifts to explore class and identity. The American characters are often striving, self-conscious, and acutely aware of social hierarchies. The European settings, by contrast, offer a veneer of permanence that is repeatedly questioned. The movement is not just physical but thematic: each location becomes a stage for the performance of status.

The Gothic Undercurrent in Social Fiction

Although cataloged as social fiction, the collection frequently veers into Gothic territory. 'The Striding Place' introduces a supernatural element with a missing man and a weir that seems to swallow him. The prose becomes sparse and ominous: 'The water was black and deep, and the weir roared.' This is a sharp departure from the measured, ironic tone of the title story.

Atherton does not segregate these modes; instead, she lets the Gothic seep into the social narratives. In 'The Bell in the Fog,' the ancestral hall is haunted not by ghosts but by the weight of history and the author's own anxieties. The 'fog' of the title suggests both literal mist and psychological obscurity. This blending of genres gives the collection an unpredictable texture, where a drawing-room conversation can suddenly give way to a chilling revelation.

Voice and Narrative Distance

Atherton employs a detached, ironic narrator who often undercuts her characters' pretensions. Of Orth, she writes that 'his ego raised its goose-flesh at the sight of rooms furnished with a single check'—a wry deflation of his artistic sensibilities. The narrator also shifts into free indirect discourse, inhabiting the characters' thoughts without full endorsement. When Andrew imagines himself as Schuyler Churchill Webb, the narrative notes his fantasy with a hint of pathos: 'Why in thunder can't I be Schuyler Churchill Webb instead of a nobody in Harlem?'

This narrative voice creates a consistent tone across the stories, even as the subject matter varies. It allows Atherton to critique social ambition while maintaining sympathy for her characters. The distance is never cold; it is the distance of a keen observer who understands the absurdity and the pain of longing.

Readers will find that Atherton's stories reward attention to recurring details: the way a character stands at a window, the specific quality of light in a room, the sound of water or a bell. These elements are not decorative but structural, linking the social and the Gothic. Approach the collection as a series of variations on a few themes—observation, longing, the performance of identity—and the individual stories will resonate more deeply.

There’s something achingly familiar in the way Atherton’s characters chase an old-world grandeur that slips through their fingers. The bell in the fog tolls for all of them, I think, summoning a past they can’t quite reach. That same melancholy shimmer lingers in the world of Gallantry: Dizain des Fetes Galantes — Story, Setting & Ideas, a quieter door into a similar longing. I still recall the missing man’s empty corridor, and how it stayed with me long after.