Tenderness. Sensitivity. Delicacy. Such are the words that come to mind when I consider the short stories in William Trevor's 2004 collection “A Bit on the Side.”

Trevor, who died in 2016, spent most of his life in England, but he was born and raised in Ireland, where most of the dozen stories in this book are set. He writes about wounded, mostly introverted people who live on memories and longings. And for some reason they usually have black hair. I can't guess why that is, but for some reason whenever he mentions someone's hair, it is black.

In "Justina's Priest," my favorite story in the book, Trevor tells of a woman, Justina, with the mind of a small child. Devout in her faith, she regularly makes her confession, although her priest wonders why because she never has any sins to confess. She just talks about her life. Justina's only friend, Breda, has moved away and invites Justina to visit her in the city. The priest fears she may run away and get lost in Dublin while trying to find Breda. He warns her family, even though this means breaking his vow not to reveal what he hears in confession.

In "An Evening Out," Trevor tells of two middle-aged people who meet through a dating bureau. It turns out, however, that the man, a photographer, is really looking for someone to drive him around London and carry his equipment but whom he would not have to pay.

"The Dancing-Master's Music" is about a servant girl from an impoverished background who is invited, along with the other servants in a large house, to listen to a musical recital. For most of us, music is a fleeting thing, but for her this music has permanence. Trevor concludes his story with this line, "She knew it would be there when she was gone, the marvel in her life a ghost for the place."

In the title story, "A Bit on the Side," two people, each married to someone else, conduct a long-term affair that becomes threatened when the woman gets a divorce. This may sound like a familiar story, but not in Trevor's hands.

"Sacred Statues" tells of a couple with more children than the husband can support. Meanwhile a childless couple has a good income. Certainly some kind of arrangement can be worked out, or so the mother, pregnant yet again, assumes.

These and other stories in the collection make us mourn William Trevor's passing all the more. ( )

I find that I must stop after each of William Trevor’s short stories; take a little time to think about what happened. They deserve that. I reflect on what happened and my reaction to it. I try to solidify the characters and the plot in my memory. I find I do not want to let the story slip away; do not want to lose it. I love that he can make me feel that way.

In the first story in A Bit on the Side, Sitting with the Dead, Emily’s husband of 23 years lies in an upstairs bedroom waiting for the undertaker’s arrival. Two sisters that Emily has heard of but does not know arrive to share her grief, and instead she shares her life, and her regrets: choices she has made and the implications.

While some of the stories in this collection stand out from the others, they were all worthy of that pause for reflection at the end.

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2018 ( )

Not being a fan of short stories, my opinion may not do this book any justice. The stories are deceptively mild, understated, yet providing insight into the human psyche even while it might appear that nothing much happens. Nevertheless, whether the subject is pleasant or repellant Trevor writes beautifully, eloquently capturing moments in time. ( )

This small collection of short stories was a bit of a disappointment. I have enjoyed several of Trevor's novels and story collections, but this one just didn't move me like other of his works. For the most part, the stories are about ordinary, mousey, even dull people living ordinary, dull lives. While this is true of other Trevor stories, his use of language has always been powerful, making me interested in and empathetic with the most ordinary of characters. That didn't happen for me in A Bit on the Side; for me, Trevor's usual poignancy was missing here. ( )