In The Dance of Death, Algernon Blackwood
uses the supernatural to express platitudes. A modern man, a modern-deskbound-man,
yearns for rugged nature. Mr Browne’s nine-to-five deadens him, you see.
Blackwood does not redeem this trite setup with nuance, character depth, and/or
Weirdness. From respect to Blackwood, an acknowledged master storyteller, I was
tempted to uncover layers of irony, to find, beneath the naïve protagonist’s
thoughts, a subtext criticising the protagonist’s naiveté. But no, The Dance of Death depicts a love of
nature held only by those who have never met nature.
Mr Browne
loves nature. He saves up, from his stultifying desk-job, so he may retire to a
life among nature. His doctor’s diagnosis, then, comes as quite a shock; and a
shock is the last thing he needs, what with his weak heart. Living among nature
would be far too strenuous for him. Even dancing must be undertaken with care.
He attends that night’s dance hesitantly and sadly. Then he sees a woman, Miss
Issidy, a woman none else seem to see, a woman more like a forest sprite than an
urban dancer. He dances with her, and she reveals she knows him, and was waiting
for him. We zoom out: Browne died on the dancefloor from overexertion. His boss
is glad to be rid of him.
