Mavis Gallant is expert at conjuring a milieu, such as post-war Germany ("The Latehomecomer") or the French Riviera ("The Moslem Wife"). Her characters, major and minor, are effectively drawn. The narrative feels natural or, less charitably, secondary. Her sumptuous writing style sounds like it comes from the first half of the 20th century; it's always surprising when a story turns out to be taking place in the 1980s.
My favorite story was "The Remission," in which a British family moves to a small village in the south of France so that the father can "die on the Riviera." He doesn't fade as quickly as anticipated, and the family needs to adjust their plans to make a life in the new locale. An excellent portrait of the village, of the casual colonialism of the expatriates, and the sundry motivations of the characters. The story ends with an awesome moment at the (eventual) funeral, the lapse when:
every person in the room, at the same moment, spoke and thought of something other than Alec. This lapse, this inattention, lasting no longer than was needed to say "No, thank you" or "Oh, really" or "Yes, I see," was enough to create the dark gap marking the end of Alec's span. He ceased to be, and it made absolutely no difference after that whether or not he was forgotten.
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