SOMETIMES the work of a writer feels like a gift of great generosity to the reader. Cheating at Canasta, the latest collection of short stories by William Trevor, is such a work.

Through 12 stories, some set in Ireland, some in England, one in Venice and one in Paris, Trevor peers into the hearts of his characters and reports to us from there and the stories themselves are so singular that they are endlessly intriguing.

The ending of 'Faith' finds its central character Bartholomew, a Church of Ireland minister, discovering a truth that compensates him for his lost faith. This truth is so subtle that it is predicated on the meaning of the moment of his sister's death, "The first moment of her eternity".

In 'Folie a Deux', the story set in Paris, a chance encounter with a waiter forces philatelist Wilby to recall a cruel deed committed by them both as children, and to examine its meaning.

What is particularly striking about these stories is that the moment of epiphany . . . the happenings or illuminations that alter the characters' lives irrevocably . . . are largely unwitnessed. They are examinations of his characters' most private and hidden journeys and Trevor's genius lies, in part, in their immense variety. He is just as adept at locating himself in the thoughts of an unprepossessing and gullible child as he is in the paedophile who preys on her. This story is 'An Afternoon' and it is especially chilling because the encounter between Jasmine and her chatroom friend 'Clive' is interrupted . . . a good thing one might think, until you start to realise that Jasmine will carry his false words of love in her heart forever.

In this collection, we are privy to the workings on the heart of unwitnessed events . . . the drowning of a pet, a sister's last breath, an encounter with a paedophile.

Thus, Trevor's characters are as unknowable to each other as real human beings are, and so they misunderstand, fail to escape obsessions, fail to communicate. In this book, it is often strangers that have the clearest view of the central characters.

In 'Men of Ireland', 52-year-old Prunty, a returning emigrant on his way to extort money from his old parish priest, hitches a lift from a van driver and they discuss their ageing mothers. The van driver has set up his mother with a companion:

"Every meal cooked while she'd wait for it. He wagged his head in wonder at these conditions. 'The Queen of Sheba, ' he said."

Prunty is asked if his own mother is in a home and responds:

"'I wouldn't touch one, like yourself. She's eighty three years of age, and still abiding in the same house eight children were born in. Not a speck of dust in it, not an egg fried you wouldn't offer up thanks for, two kinds of soda bread made every day.' The Van driver said he got the picture."

The fun for the reader is that you suspect that the van driver does indeed get the picture despite being without the information that Prunty's mother died 18 years earlier and word had to be sent to the pub before Prunty heard of it.

In the title story 'Cheating at Canasta', Mallory sits in Harry's Bar in Venice in fulfilment of the last request from his wife before dementia overtakes her. It is a beautiful, haunting tale, almost dreamlike as Mallory remembers letting his ailing wife win at cards . . .

one of the last pleasures he could gift her, whilst he dines in Venice alone and not yet bereaved.

In a recent interview with The New York Times, Trevor said "I believe in not quite knowing. A writer needs to be doubtful, questioning, I write out of a sense of curiosity and bewilderment." It's an arresting statement from so elegant a writer, but a story like 'The Dressmaker's Daughter' demonstrates where that alert bewilderment can lead. The opening line of the story, and indeed the collection is this:

"Cathal sprayed WD-40 onto the only bolt his spanner wouldn't shift."

If this prepares the reader for precision and simplicity, it scarcely hints at the almost gothic ending to which an unwitnessed tragedy will lead Cathal.

Cheating at Canasta is a superb collection of short stories told by a master of the art who is capable of drawing the reader into the secret places of the human heart.

Each story ends with a moment of concealed revelation, where the reader steadies the book in her hand and catches breath. The truth of the stories is both offered and withheld in precisely the same way as all truths are offered. They force the reader to jump the synapse of communication with the courage that is demanded of all who engage with precisely crafted storytelling.

There are so many different characters so perfectly fleshed out and understood by the writer, that you cannot help feeling grateful for the breadth of his compassion and the depth of his curiosity.

Karen Ardiff's novel, 'The Secret of My Face' is published by New Island