In a sense, to really appreciate most of these stories, one has had to have a bit of experience as an ex-pat. Many of these strange creatures were, and still are, lost souls who belong neither at home nor in the places in which they have temporarily settled. In France and Italy they grope for non-existent, imaginary joie de vivre through too much drink and irrelevant sexual encounters. They are disconnected without knowing it. I have met characters like them during my expatriate days in England and France, and found little liking for them and their purposeless lives. And if or when they finally return home, they hang onto their ideas of imaginary joys that they are sure cannot be found at home even if these look them straight in the eyes.

Reid has obviously experienced the expatriate's life. This film, television and radio producer, and now-and-then writer, reviewer and film jurist, has also been a diplomat, an economist and a university lecturer. He is an unashamed Francophile, who admitted in an interview that he is a different person when he speaks French. But then, most people while abroad — or in another city — feel free to be something that they are not at home, not because society deems it, but because they have inner insecurities and inhibitions they can shed in an environment where no one knows them. . . .

My interest in the works of Welsh writers is fairly recent. It began with the tremendous novel, The Hiding Place, by Trezza Azzopardi. It was her last name that caught my attentions, as it is a Maltese name I know well. It seemed rather strange to me to imagine someone with a Maltese name having a Welsh accent, although I find nothing curious about an Azzopardi having a Canadian accent. Just one of my quirks.

The Hiding Place was followed by Azzopardi's fine novel, Remember Me, which got me further interested in Welsh writing. It seemed to me a rather neglected category in the reading material that reaches us from the British Isles. We get English and Scottish authors, and a plethora of Irish, but Azzopardi was the first Welsh writer of either sex that struck a note since Dylan Thomas and Richard Llewellyn, the latter of How Green is my Valley fame. So, when I got a chance to read Wales, Half Welsh, a short story anthology of writers who are either Welsh or who have decided to put their roots down in Wales, I grabbed it.

Wales, Half Welsh was edited by John Williams, an author of two non-fiction books about crime and murder, and five books of fiction, the latest of which is Temperance Town, set in his hometown, Cardiff. He still has returned there with his family after years in . . .

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Dear Reader:

Here is a reply to my review and a note I send to lloyd robson telling him I got a royal trouncing from one of his fans for writing my critique. Mr. Robson has kindly agreed to let me publish his letter as I thought it might be relevant to anyone reading this review and to reading his story.

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