According to Sir Walter, a midget’s account should never be dismissed as unimportant. In a mixed culture, Miss M. was exaggeratedly conscious of her minute stature and with due course of time, she lost the eagerness to grow into an indescribably beauteous little figure, in her bright-colour apparels loving her part of isolation and indulging in it excessively. The book opens with an introductory chapter narrated by Miss M.’s financial trustee, her occasional visitor and financier, Sir Walter Pollacke, who was able to bring back her destiny, enabling to sanction her lost home and securing her independence to live in the privacy that she always she loved, until one day he was left with her message, “I have been called away. - M.” (Memoirs of a Midget, p-15). As her sole executor, Sir Walter came across her memoirs sealed up in numerous small square brown paper packages in her cupboard where she recounts the ‘one year’ experience of her life with a covering letter addressed to him, “…my dear Sir Walter, you know the rest. What is Deep in - at variance between Man and Midget? You may discover this; even if I never shall.”[11]

The book begins with the principle protagonist’s narration of her own account who believes that she is a gift from the fairies to her parents in substitute for their real child. She has funny facts about herself like her body is among the smaller works of God while her soul, mind and heart were merely given any preference, her father taught her to play chess with pygmies on a little board. Though she was happier in her mother’s company, yet disliked her mother giving her immature tasks like composing her fabric and arranging the string of beads, and treating her sometimes as a mere trivial plaything.  Her questions to her mother remained unanswered, “Tell me, Mamma, are you sorry that your little daughter is a midget?” (26)

She describes herself as physically strong with muscular chest and never suffered from severe colds or skin irritations. She would enjoy the habitation of few extremely dwarf trees in green tubs in their balcony beyond her window, for hours together, the reason being her mother was shy of her and seldom took her abroad. Reading was always a difficulty for her and her father bought her a diminutive book that included a dwarf Bible. Pygmy books came for her from Paris with a minute masterpiece of calligraphy by her grandfather.

She proves to be a greedy scholar when she says, “Apparently from infancy I was of a firm resolve to match my wits with those of the common-sized and to be ‘grown-up’ someday.” (42) Though she had no formal education, yet knew to respect human nature and was without rivalry. Miss M., a nature-lover, often compared the clustering and gathering of planets to families with different shapes and sizes. Any one dwarfed among the heavenly bodies was supported by Miss M. against others.

By the midst of her eighteenth year, she found life was raw to her, perhaps because her mother had rarely given her any knowledge of the other world. It was on may after her eighteenth birthday, when suddenly she hears a gasping cry to find her mother lay in an intense sleep as cold as marble. She had no strength of a superhuman, “It was my first acquaintance with calamity, and physically powerless to aid her.” (47) She only wished, the problem have been opposite, “I myself might have had natural-sized children and they a pygmy mother.” (49) Miss M. soon started wearing bright color dressed in order to bring out some changes in her father’s mood but by the beginning of August in her twentieth year, he became almost a stranger until one day he was found dead in his bed.

As per her imagination, if the human beings born into this universe, from the next generation onwards, would be of mere pygmy stature,  then there would remain a few of the normal-sized, fifty years hence, in the land walking through the midget streets, shops, church, furniture, pygmy sized house, and vehicles with scanty livelihood and unpleasant appetite where their boots would be a public risk. What a pretty play it would be when someday the nature might take fancy to the dwarfs!

She was to live with Mrs. Bowater, an acquaintance of her godmother, leaving her mute and sympathetic great house just to find things queer and herself alienated. Her only fellowship was a blackbird which flew down into her refuge, and at times, the moon. She states, “I was no longer a child; and the responsibilities of life were now wholly on my own shoulders.” (63)

Arrival of Fanny, Mrs Bowater’s daughter made Miss M. feel insecure. Fanny found her very peculiar, “‘I’ve never never in my life seen anything so queer.’ She suddenly raised her strange eyes on me.” (109) Miss M  suddenly broke out, “Will you please remember, that neither myself nor what I choose to do is any affair of yours.” (109)  At the age of twenty, she has not yet been used to others’ mockery at her being so little, “My real rage was not that Fanny had taken me as a midget, but as such a midget.” (111) She fell asleep and dreamt herself to be a child again tightened up in one of the glass vessel with growing panic.

According to Miss M., giants are usually dull witted people and so she doesn’t want to change herself. The differences between her and the common sized is just a matter of few inches, as of age, weight and sex. She says, “We are not lobsters… What a mysterious thing it seems. All of them thinking pretty much the same: Norm Thoughts, you know; just five-foot-fivers.” (122)

Midgetina, a name given to Miss M. by her unfaithful friend Fanny, who hated being alone, so in order to kill her time, Fanny pierced Miss M. with harsh comments like, she won’t give birth to anyone like Miss M. or enquiring whether M.’s mother was a midget! Later, Fanny was pregnant and this might lead her to commit infanticide. This somehow made Miss M. think her life as worthless. An absurd, contrary, volatile creature, she was.

She came across a strange figure, one day, amongst the nature, in the woods, fancying the figure as a bird at a little distance and later, a human, confused whether real or an illusion. She writes, “Standing here, with fixed, white face and black hair, under aflowering black thorn, he remained as motionless and as intentas I. He was not more than a few inches, apparently, superiorin height to myself.”  (223)This was her first confrontation with someone, just like her, Mr Anon.Truly, this stranger was making her life really interesting. The moment she bade him farewell, the same time she would promise him to meet the succeeding fine morning. The desire in her was so strong, that a deep fright would chill her mind.

Soon, she receives an invitation from Lady Pollacke to have the pleasure of her company at tea, with her guests. She entered Pollacke’s house only to find the busy tongues sink straightaway to a hush and she was daggered by a score of eyes. With a murmur of nasal voice exclaiming, ‘Touching, Touching!’, she was presented to a lady of large and surprising appearance, Mrs. Monnerie. M. was even asked whether she knew swimming to which she answered a ‘yes’. Every face and ever eye was fixed on her, from which she could find no refuge. Her name was summoned and she was ready with the poem - The Weakest Thing, by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

On meeting Mr Anon, his face was pale with fury and disdain with humped shoulders and straight hair who burst out harshly, “And I have no friend in this world, and need you.” (261)There fell a silence between them. According to Mr Anon, he had better knowledge of mankind than Miss M. had but Miss M. never let him overshadow her.

She expressed her desire to visit Mr Anon’s house. The air was stormy, yet with a dusty scent. It started to rain severely. The wind blew faster making her uneasy. Mr Anon scrambled to his feet and kept his forlorn heart in front of M. He, then, not only fetched a horse wagon but also brought her some hot milk and a few raisins to warm her. Mr Anon made her like him and would have been contented if she should love him, M. thought.She was invited to Mrs Monnerie’s town house at London for a week or two. She was transported in the midst of the world of fashion.  She missed Mr Anon, their bond, even if they made a miserable pair.

The day she met Mr Anon, he looked peculiar, standing alone, his clear eyes were surrounded with dark circles. He opened up only to say, “It has been a long waiting.” (358) She replied with a ‘yes’ and further asked the reason for not answering her letters but he decided to remain silent. He was happy that Miss M. was safely out of Mrs Monnerie’s clutches but this made Miss M. angry and defended Mrs Monnerie as one of her friends, “Clutches! Thank you so much. You forget you are speaking of one of my friends. Besides, I can take care of myself.” (359) She felt more lonely and helpless and broke out suddenly to humiliate him again accusing him of dominating over her, “You domineer over me. Youpamper me up with silly stories - trailing clouds ofglory, I suppose. They are not true. It’s everyone forhimself in this world, I can tell you; and in future,please understand, I intend to be my own mistress.” (359)Though she cannot love him, still he is the one who treats her as she is. That is enough. His grip tightened around M.’s fingers.

We come across a beautiful monologue, Miss M.’s words for the bygone Miss M. and emerging Miss M.,

Time and circumstance have strangely divided me from theMiss M. of those days. I look back on her, not with shame,but with a shrug of my          shoulders, a sort of incredulous tolerance- almost as if she too were a stranger. Perhaps a few yearshence I shall be looking back with an         equal detachment on theMiss M. seated here at this moment.  (365).

Adam Waggett, one of Monnerie’s acquaintance, had given her the clue of a circus set up in London, over which Miss M. kept hovering upon and concluded to be a part of it in order to gain her own identity. The showman asked her name, age, where she came from, if she could dance, ride, sing. Then, came Miss M.’s turn and she asked how much would he pay her! She had her terms.Her little part in the performance was decided.  She could find the grin in her smirking eyes, awe-stricken faces – towns-folk and village tribe. She looked on softly from face to face. It was her debut.

She had given words to her showman to consider over his invitation of working as a permanent member in his troupe and in return will be paid full.She startled  in horror, only to find Mr Anon in it. There was a cry of joy within her.This is where an anxious gentleman gave Mr Anon a genuine offer of either to ride a horse or to be a spot boy. Miss M. felt it was a bit stupid on Mr Anon part not to take things as they came, just for her sake. But she got her answer when Mr Anon forbade her to show herself, ordering her to come away. She could have even forgiven him, but he dare to command her. Miss M. broke into anger, made him understand how deliberately she wants to be free, devoid herself from his company and asked him to leave the place at once. Mr Anon stood stubborn.  “I’ll take your place”, he said. (503)

She implored him that he was doing wrong, she was a woman and they dare not harm her at any circumstance. The show was to start in next ten minutes. Mr Anon denied the showman of her performance. Both had a fight of words. Anon threatened to call the police. Miss M. had never seen a personso infuriated before. He looked savage. His roaring swept over her as if she was nothing more than a leaf in the wind.

“Beware, my friend. Have a care. I see a rope around your neck”, (505) she cried out.A few minutes to end. She began counting. A  human or animalscream, she could not recognize, died away in the distance.The music ceased. The whip cracked. And unanimous roar poured out into the space. The mob seemed satisfied. She ran out over the damaged grass to find Mr Anon wounded, the strings of his cloak were broken. The members left him to Miss M.’s custody. Sitting there she tried to control her misery of killing Mr Anon. Her pride, vanity, greed, obstinacy, lovelessness had killed him. She wanted to set herself against the world, but there is no escape to this. She even hopes someday someone might take her seriously, neither with scorn, nor with pity but as one reads a work of a common-sized person. After all, all have shared the world on equal terms.

Rebecca West, a well known British Writer compliments, "For centuries to come, this book will inspire imaginative people. Beyond all doubt, it will be an ingredient of future poetry." (Amazon.com) Even Angela Carter states that this book may be  read with a great deal of simple enjoyment after which it sticks like a splinter in the mind. The story seems to be perfect and utterly original to Harry Mathews who describes it as, "totally idiosyncratic and yet there isn't a line you couldn't identify yourself with." (Amazon.com)

"One of the strangest and most enchanting works of fiction ever written", writes Alison Lurie, from her foreword. Washington Post reviews the novel as a masterpiece and "acts upon the reader like a ghostly visitation, at once unsettling and revelatory." New York Times Book Review applauses it to be a great work. "Sentences, pages, whole chapters cause us to catch our breath",  writes Atlantic Monthly. John Bayley of New York Book Reviews praises Walter de la Mare as a remarkable writer. Jean Hannah Edelstein remarks in the Classics Corner, "Almost 90 years on, Memoirs ... is not quite as timeless as the best-loved classics of its era. The length seems to show the hand of an overindulgent editor: the first 100 pages plod along as de la Mare sets out the particularities of Miss M's predicament in meticulous, tedious detail." (Classics Corner)

1. Cecil, David. Walter De la Mare. London and New York: The English Association, 1973.

2. Coates, John. “The Numinous in Walter De la Mare's Memoirs of a Midget.” Renascence: Essays on Values in Literature, vol. 70, no.2, 2018.

3. "Definition of DWARFISM."Merriam-webster.com, 04 May 2017.

4. Gerdes, Eckhard. "Walter de la Mare. Memoirs of a Midget." The Review of Contemporary Fiction, vol. 24, no.

5. Griffiths, Joe. "Walter De la Mare's Quest." www.walterdelamare.co.uk 1997.

6. Mare,Walter de la. Memoirs of a Midget. Collins Sons & Co, 1921.

7. Savidge, Simon. “Memoirs of a Midget by Walter de la Mare.” Savidge Reads, 21 Apr. 2009.

8. https://archives.bodleian.ox.ac.uk/repositories/2/resources/9057

9. https://www.amazon.com/Memoirs-Midget-Alison-Lurie/dp/1589880129