Daphne du Maurier – The Doll: Short Stories

I've oft' made a generic sweeping statement on here about how I am not a big fan of short stories. There have been collections that I've enjoyed, and there have been collections that I've struggled through. Daphne Du Maurier's The Doll: Short Stories falls somewhere in-between. All the stories in this collection, but one, were written in between 1926 and 1936, and are amidst Du Maurier's earliest works. The last story, The Limpet, was written in 1959. There is a common theme that binds all the stories together; whilst the first two stories would nudge one to think the theme is macabre, it is more about unproportionate(?) love. One character inevitably loves the partner more than the partner loves them. It's not quite unrequited, because at the very inception of their relationships, the characters are optimistic about the longevity of their propinquity. However, through twists and turns, it turns out that happy endings are just not meant to be.

Du Maurier's talent lies in creating an atmosphere so real and captivating that the reader is unable to turn away. On that front, this anthology does not disappoint. However, with the opening two stories, East Wind and The Doll, I found the climax leaving much to be desired. I don't believe that I am worthy of criticising Du Maurier's work, but simultaneously, this blog is just the idle naïve reflections of me walking in a literary wonderland, and I fully acknowledge that.

In East Wind, Du Maurier narrates the story of a idyll-like island with a population of merely seventy, which some nomadic sailors visit one day, and make merry with the islanders. However, all is not well when one of the inhabitants stumbles into infidelity with one of the newcomers, resulting in a horrific yet inevitable ending. My main gripe with short stories has always been that the ending is not natural, but forced upon the reader, and this story was no exception.

The Doll, on the other hand, had an air of wistfulness to it. The protagonist was called Rebecca, and for half a second, I did wonder if this was a pre-Manderley foray into the world of Rebecca. It wasn't. I loved how the story was told - just a verbatim recount from pages of a pocket notebook washed ashore. Yes, it is a device used by short-story tellers again and again, and yet, each time, there is a charm to it. The story, itself though, had me baffled, for it was about a man who falls hopelessly in love with a Hungarian girl, Rebecca. However, she is unable to reciprocate the love, and I was unable to make out whether she was holding back, or just did not reciprocate. Yet, it turned out that she had a life-size doll, who she would rather love. Baffling, as I said. I couldn't quite make out if it was a pathetic fallacy, or well, I'm not quite sure what. 

AndNow To God The Fatherand The Limpetboth had protagonists that were holier-than-thou, and manipulated people around them so easily, yet with such little self-awareness or guilt. In the former, the much-loved vicar turned out to be selfish beyond reason, whereas in the latter, the protagonist thought she was helping the people she was manipulating, in a manner so hypocritical that I did wonder whether I should be giving her the benefit of the doubt. I think And Now To God The Father remains my favourite story in the book, simply because it goes to show that redemption is a myth, and people only care about themselves. Such is reality.

A Difference In Temperament, Nothing Hurts For Long, And His Letters Grew Colder, andWeek-End are all stories tracing disproportionate love. Or rather, the characters unable to express themselves, resulting in them drifting away. The initial sanguineness descends to separation, and at least in the first of the three stories, it is simply because none of the two protagonists are able to express themselves to one another. These stories didn't really speak to me, and I was left feeling quite indifferent towards the characters and whatever fate had in store for them. If things didn't quite work out for them, I almost felt as though it's because they deserved nothing better. Or maybe, well, the characters did actually deserve one another.

Frustration reminded me of O Henry's The Gift of the Magi. A boy, a girl, in love, and trying to make it on their own with no money, but still content as they have one another, and that helps them make the best of a bad situation. Yet, I wonder if it's the title of this story that reduced its impact significantly. The Gift of the Magi is such a wonderful story, in that the ending is not surprising in the least, but the sweetness that lingers at the end makes it a classic. Yet, one simply cannot say the same thing about Du Maurier's short story.

Piccadillyand Mazie both follow the same character, Mazie. Now, Alice Munro works wonders providing glimpses into characters at different points in their lives through her short stories, but with these two stories, Du Maurier weaves a magical tale as well. Piccadillyis the story of Mazie before she turns to prostitution as a profession, whereas Mazie is a peephole into her life as a prostitute, and both are incredibly well-written. The last line of Piccadilly had me absolutely dumbstruck, for it was so powerful yet so simple. I'd quote it here, but I wouldn't want to ruin it for anyone who wants to read this collection. It's marvellous though, it really is, and just for the subtlety yet impact of that last line, I remain in awe.

Tame Cat had me feel quite queasy, for the character being referred to as the tame cat wasn't really tame, and... It's a coming-of-age story of a young girl, who goes back home for Christmas break, to spend the holidays with her mother and "Uncle John" (i.e. Tame Cat). She goes back home, with high aspirations, looking all grown-up, quite sure that her mother would be proud of her, but her mother is not happy with the girl she sees get off the train. Yet, "Uncle John" is. You can tell how this story goes, and well - the naiveté of the girl coupled with the wickedness of "Tame Cat" just... Words do fail me.

And finally, you have The Happy Valley, which again sets a fantastic scene. The valley, the search for a dream home, a confused young protagonist with a history of illness, and just some surreal visions. Again, there was something Manderlay-esque about this story, but I cannot quite pinpoint what.

The stories were written very early in Du Maurier's writing career, and they don't hold a candle to her later works. They are the setting stones for something far more spectacular, but they don't blow one's mind as they stand. Perhaps there is a reason why some of these stories were only recently discovered, some seventy years after Du Maurier had written them. I would like to read her later short stories, and compare, but for now, I must finish all her novels. That is essential.

Daphne du Maurier - The House On The Strand

What better way of spending a Sunday evening than curled up in bed, with a box of the world's best chocolates, and a Daphne du Maurier? Well, possibly if the book wasn't The House On The Strand...

Yes, I know that's harsh, but if you compare this book to the likes of Rebecca or My Cousin Rachel, it falls well short. Possibly, that's where I, as a reader, fell short - setting high expectations on a relatively obscure book by a fairly renowned author. Blame the gist on the back of the book for that though - after all, a story about time-travel always has potential.

So, when Dick Young, takes a break from reality in his friend's (Magnus) Cornwall house, things get interesting as he agrees to be the guinea-pig for a drug developed by Magnus that results in him walking the streets of Cornwall in the thirteenth century, things are bound to get interesting. Dick's looking for an escape, as he tries to figure out the next steps in his marriage and career, and Magnus is curious to see what happens with this magnificent drug that he's created, and how different people react to it.

The first couple of "trips" introduce him to a myriad of characters who were alive in the High Middle Ages; co-incidentally, Magnus' first trip with this drug introduced him to the same people, so there definitely is something about the drug - but what is it? It's not LSD or any other hallucinogen - or, if it is, why do both friends encounter the same people with every trip?And what's the relevance of this era? Why is the drug always transporting them back to the same period, and showing them the lives of characters who have no real historical importance?

Initially, I read each page eagerly, trying to figure out the hows and the whys. But instead, I was introduced to way too many characters of the past, who I cared little about. The fact that Dick came across as a fairly flat protagonist didn't help - his character didn't really evolve, and his interactions with his wife, kids and Magnus left a lot to  be desired. In fact, Magnus was the only character that was remotely interesting, but I don't think he featured enough.

As Dick swings between the present and the past, spending any free time he has in the past - even after his wife and children arrive - one marvels at both, the addiction caused by the drug and the commitment to the past that Dick has. Dick can't interact with the people he meets, nor can he make any difference. He's invisible; just a bystander, a viewer, someone who sits by and watches from the sidelines. Perhaps that's why he enjoys the past - there's no decision to make, everything just happens, in spite of him.

The ending, unfortunately, is predictable as well, which is a pity. I've come to associate Du Maurier with incredible twists and turns in her plots (yes, it only took two books to do that!), and when after a story that I found slightly tedious to read didn't even give me that, it added to the disappointment.

Don't get me wrong - I'm glad I read the book, and I will try reading Du Maurier's entire backlist in good time. I just do wish though, that the magic it weaved completely pulled me in, and left me awed for weeks after. It was not meant to be.

Helene Hanff - 84 Charing Cross Road

If there ever was a perfect book, this would be it. Yes, I know that's an extremely strong and subjective statement, but I don't think many people who have read this will disagree. It's feel-good, happy, and just... perfect. 84 Charing Cross Road revolves around two people living halfway across the world from one another, with their warmth, kindness, generosity, and love of books bringing them together. The book is a series of real letters exchanged between the two of them over a period of twenty years, starting in October 1949.

Helene Hanff, in New York, is a book-lover but she struggled to find good copies of the books she was interested in near her, so she wrote to a small second-hand bookstore in London, Messrs Marks and Co., which was located at 84 Charing Cross Road, requesting them to send her clean second-hand copies of books she was interested in. Frank Doel was her main correspondent at the bookstore, who replied, and through the letters, a beautiful friendship began.

What was amazing was how, through the letters, one can actually see the friendship evolve. The first few letters were "stiffer" and more formal, with Frank addressing Helene as "Madam" (to which she replies, "I hope ‘madam’ doesn’t mean over there what it does here.") and then moving on to Miss Hanff (to which she replies saying, "Miss Hanff to you (I’m Helene only to my friends")). Finally, they are on first name terms, as Frank isn't quite as stand-offish as he comes across initially.

Honestly, in an age that pre-dates online shopping by a few decades, the fact that Helene was buying her books across the pond seemed incredibly quirky. She had her reasons, which unsurprisingly I do agree with - the way books were made in New York didn't compare to the way they were made in London, and her philosophy was to not cram her shelves with contemporary books, but only purchase books that she'd read and loved - and she wanted the beautifully made ones from London sitting on her shelves.

I houseclean my books every spring and throw out those I'm never going to read again like I throw out clothes I'm never going to wear again. It shocks everybody. My friends are peculiar about books. They read all the best sellers, they get through them as fast as possible, I think they skip a lot. And they NEVER read anything a second time so they don't remember a word of it a year later. But they are profoundly shocked to see me drop a book in the wastebasket or give it away. The way they look at it, you buy a book, you read it, you put in on the shelf, you never open it again for the rest of your life but YOU DON'T THROW IT OUT! NOT IF IT HAS A HARD COVER ON IT! Why not? I personally can't think of anything less sacrosanct than a bad book or even a mediocre book.

The enthusiasm and passion that Helene had for her classics and books was incredibly endearing, as was her direct forthcoming manner which put Frank at ease.

“You’ll be fascinated to learn (from me that hates novels) that I finally got round to Jane Austen and went out of my mind for Pride and Prejudice which I can’t bring myself to take back to the library till you find me a copy of my own.”

However, what made her a truly remarkable character was her actions when she discovered everything in Britain was being rationed post-war. She promptly started sending the employees at 84 Charing Cross Road meat and eggs, and she even sent them nylons! Christmas presents were exchanged, and the friendship struck between the two people who had never met just came across as so real and wonderfully touching. In London, the rest of the staff started corresponding with Helene as well, as did Frank's wife, and again, the affection and kindness between these strangers who'd come together largely due to their love for literature was evident. Almost fairy-tale like. Too good to be true.

In fact, Helene was even invited by her friends in London to visit them, and stay with them. Her friends visited the bookstore in London, and once Frank et al discovered that they were her friends, they were treated like royalty.

...We walked into your bookstore and said we were friends of yours and were nearly mobbed. Your Frank wanted to take us home for the weekend. Mr. Marks came from the back of the store just to shake hands with friends-of-Miss-Hanff, everybody in the place wanted to wine and dine us....

It does make me wonder though - nowadays, the world is so much smaller, communicating across the pond so much easier, but how often are any of us going to be lucky enough to strike a friendship as pure and uncomplicated as that? No selfishness, no end-game, just affection and kind-heartedness. Remember: this book is non-fiction.

I loved all the characters in this book, and I think I'd feel lucky if I had the opportunity to befriend even one of them, for in a world as tainted as the one we are in today, such unselfish kind people are like hidden precious gems. I loved the sense of humour, the excitement and the literary passion.

I am going to bed. I will have nightmares involving huge monsters in academic robes carrying long bloody butcher knives labeled Excerpt, Selection, Passage, and Abridged.

Have you read this book? Is it the "nicest" book you've ever read? Or is it just me?

If you haven't, I really hope you're convinced that it's a must-read now. It really really is - I was slightly apprehensive when I began reading it, for I'd heard a fair few other bloggers gush about this book, but it really is all that.

Rachel Ferguson - The Brontës Went To Woolworths

The Brontës Went to Woolworths is one of those utterly bizarre books, with quirky characters and a story which makes the mind boggle. The thin line between fact and fiction is erased by the Carne sisters - the protagonists of this book - as they let their imaginations run away with them, and create a wondrous warm world of friendship, happiness and make-believe. A dog who used to be Pope, a doll who used to live in Paris and friends in high places, including Judge Toddington ("Toddy"). You also have their mother, who indulges them and the prudish governess, Miss Martin, who judges them, as she can't quite fathom what's going on inside the bubble the family has created for themselves, probably to cope with grief and sadness after their father's unfortunate demise. To be fair, one can't really blame Miss Martin for being confused about what's going on in this 1930s household - I was utterly baffled by what was going on for the first fifty odd pages, and I kind-of had an inkling of a clue. However, once I figured out the line that the Carnes had erased, things suddenly became much clearer...

...and while they became clear in my head, things got slightly more complicated for the Carnes, when Deirdre (the eldest sister) met Lady Mildred (Toddy's wife) at a charity bazaar, and ended up befriending the older lady and subsequently, her husband - the father figure that Deirdre had created for herself. The "Saga" the Carnes had created for themselves was suddenly moving closer towards reality, and the emotions that ran through the book were both, endearing and heart-rending. Shiel, the youngest daughter, practically had no grip on reality, and her older sisters were extremely protective of her - not only that, but, they themselves spent most of their time in the nursery, escaping their own reality.

The other thing I loved about this book was the irony and humour present throughout. There were a fair few chunks that had be laughing out loud. For instance, the opening paragraph, as narrated by Deirdre, reads:

How I loathe that kind of novel which is about a lot of sisters. It is usually called They Were Seven, or Three-Not Out, and one spends one’s entire time trying to sort them all, and muttering, ‘Was it Isobel who drank, or Gertie? And which was it who ran away with the gigolo, Amy or Pauline? And which of their separate husbands was Lionel, Isobel’s or Amy’s?

How can you not love the irony, when this book is about the three sisters, for the most part?

Another bit that absolutely had me in splits was when Deirdre talks about a proposal she received:

I couldn't accept the man, much as I liked him, because I was in love with Sherlock Holmes. For Holmes and his personality and brain I had a force of feeling which, for the time, converted living men to shadows.

I did enjoy this book thoroughly, and would recommend it highly. It's not very twenty-first century, though, so it's almost like a fairytale. The cynic in me did kick in from time to time, but, I just brushed it aside, for I couldn't help but hope for a "happy ending" for the kooky family, that resorted to escapism to find their solace.

Grace Metalious - Peyton Place

Oh, it's been absolutely ages since I've read a 470+ page book in a day, but boy, this one was absolutely worth it. It's been labeled "wicked", "sordid" and even "cheap". I half thought of The O.C. as I was reading it, albeit set in the late 1930s, and not the twenty-first century. I've heard of Peyton Place in passing before, but never realised it was a book until quite recently, when everyone in the blogging world seems to be reading it. I wasn't actually planning on reading it, as such, but when I stumbled upon it in the library, I figured I might as well see what it's all about. I wasn't disappointed.

Set in a small fictional town (Peyton Place) in New England, just before the second World War, this book focuses on the hypocrisy and the downright gossipy nature of the inhabitants of this small town, where a good story includes one of three: a suicide, a murder, and an unmarried girl getting pregnant. Needless to say, in this book, all three events occur!

It's a book that's quite hard to write about, simply because of the plethora of characters that were introduced and developed: some you couldn't help but hating, and some you just couldn't stop rooting for.  It's commendable, how well Metalious (a pseudonym) has developed all the characters, though, considering there are well over fifteen characters whose life the book follows. Not once did I get confused as to which character she was talking about, nor where they stood on various issues. For me, the two main characters were two teenage girls, coming from totally different worlds : Allison, who lived with her successful mother after her father had passed away; and Selena, who lived with her parents and siblings in a shack. The latter's father was an alcoholic, and made life miserable for the rest of the family. Allison carried her own burdens - she wasn't aware that she was an illegitimate child (a fact that haunted her mother continuously), and she had some very set, almost naive, ideas about how her life would turn out: she wasn't going to fall in love, but was going to live a life full of affairs.

In terms of the adults, again, there were two characters who stood out more than the others, as they were almost too good to be true. Doctor Swain and the new Greek principal of the school, Tomas Makris. Both want to do the right thing - even if, at times, the so-called "right thing" is illegal or frowned upon.

Other characters include a batty old spinster with a cat (quite stereotypical, don't you think?), the village handyman who is also an alcoholic, the son of the richest man in town who's an out and out hedonist, and the poor teenager whose mother is unhealthily possessive, and insists on "giving him an enema and putting him to sleep."

As already mentioned, in Peyton Place, everyone knows everyone, and everyone talks. That's the one thing that's been a constant at the little town.

"The public loves to create a hero....Sometimes I think they do it for the sheer joy of knocking him down from the highest peak. Like a child who builds a house of blocks and then destroys it with one vicious kick."

Yet, the writing is wonderful: extremely easy to read, but full of wonderful metaphors and analogies. The opening line itself is beautiful,

Indian summer is like a woman. Ripe, hotly passionate, but fickle, she comes and goes as she pleases so that one is never sure whether she will come at all, nor for how long she will stay.”

and then, a couple of pages later:

Those grown old, who have had the youth bled from them by the jagged edged winds of winter, know sorrowfully that Indian summer is a sham to be met with hard-eyed cynicism. But the young wait anxiously, scanning the chill autumn skies for a sign of her coming. And sometimes the old, against all the warnings of better judgment, wait with the young and hopeful, their tired, inner eyes turned heavenward to seek the first traces of a false softening.

Agreed, it's not the most "literary" book out there, but it really is an enjoyable read. Being from a society prone to gossip and talking, I could only empathise with the characters, although again, being a part of society means I had to judge some of them as well.

Muriel Spark - Loitering With Intent

There's a thin line between reality and fiction; they oft' reflect each other very closely, so much so that the line is indiscernible. But - what happens when reality starts imitating fiction? That's the basic premise of Spark's 1981 novel, starring Fleur Talbot: an aspiring writer in London in the 1950s. She's writing her first novel, Warrender Chase, but she needs a job to get by while she finishes it. And so, she takes up the position of the secretary to Sir Quentin Oliver, and his brainchild: The Autobiographical Association.

The Autobiographical Association comprises of a bunch of people who write their memoirs, which are to be published in the future, when anyone and everyone mentioned in the autobiographies are dead. In a manner of speaking, it's almost like a time capsule.

A myriad of entertaining characters are created by Spark, to fill in the roles of the members of the Association - each more warped than the other. Fleur, the narrator, ends up "enriching" their otherwise mundane autobiographies. However, right before her eyes, the scenes from the office start resembling her novel - which she had started before taking the job! What's is Sir Quentin's end goal? And to what lengths is he ready to go to in order to achieve his end goal?

In Fleur, we have a witty likeable narrator, who says it as she sees it.

I always desired books; nearly all of my bills were for books. I possessed one very rare book which I traded for part of my bill with another bookshop, for I wasn’t a bibliophile of any kind; rare books didn’t interest me for their rarity but their content. I borrowed frequently from the public library, but often I would go into a bookshop and in my longing to possess, let us say, the Collected Poems of Arthur Clough and a new Collected Chaucer, I would get into conversation with the bookseller and run up another bill.

She befriends Sir Quentin's mother, Lady Edwina, who is an eccentric character, with a mischievous side. And then there's the despicable Beryl Tims - the apparent love interest of Sir Quentin - who works with him, and finally, Sir Quentin himself - a character who's extremely unlikeable and becomes a shade more repulsive with each turn of the page. It's these characters that carry this work of metafiction, and makes it a fascinating read.

I think I didn't get enough out of the book, by virtue of not knowing much about a couple of authors (Benvenuto Cellini and John Henry Newman) whose works Fleur (and a couple of other characters) refers to at regular intervals (quoting passages as well), setting them as model autobiographies.

I also thought Warrender Chase sounded like a pretty dreadful book (not one I'd like to read, anyway). Maybe in a parallel universe, where novels are actually a byproduct of reality, this book exists, and the "lucid readers" are singing a different tune. If not that, maybe it has a "cult" following. What do I know?

Angela Carter - Shadow Dance

Angela Carter's debut book, Shadow Dance, is the fifth book by her that I've read, and it's as bizarre as the previous three. Due to a million other things, I wasn't able to get my thoughts out on this sooner, which is a pity, as I wanted it to tie in with Claire's Angela Carter  Month, which I have mentioned before. Oh well, better late than never, I guess. Shadow Dance is set in London in the 1960s (similar to Several Perceptions), and it focuses on the darker side of London, with unlikeable characters taking centerstage. The opening chapter of the book itself dove straight into the story: the return of a young beautiful girl who was raped and had her face knifed (and subsequently scarred for life) by the idiosyncratic Honeybuzzard.

However, neither the girl (Ghislaine) nor Honey are the protagonists of the book - at least, neither of them seem to be the protagonists to me. Yes, the book does revolve around them, but it's through the eyes of Morris - a weak indecisive character, who runs an antique shop with Honey.

Morris had slept with Ghislaine, despite being married, and spends most of the book trying to avoid her, as she returns to reality, after spending a fair bit of time at the hospital. Her return affects a fair few people, who frequented the same bar as her. It also affects the wives of the many people who slept with her.

Honeybuzzard is away when Ghislaine returns, and when he makes an appearance in the book, it's with a new lover in tow: Emily. Emily doesn't know Honey (or Morris) very well, but she does cook for them and help them keep the store. A mysterious character, obsessed with cleanliness, Emily rarely smiles and remains a figure of much contemplation.

As the many characters in the book come together, so the story evolves, and keeps the reader turning page after page, delighting in the beautiful, yet macabre, writing.

He lived in a state of guilty fear, starting at sudden noises, frightened of shadows. He was tormented by a recurrent dream, a mutation of the nightmare of the first night. /he dreamed he was cutting Ghislaine's face with a kitchen knife. The knife was blunt and kept slipping. Her head came off in his hands, after a while, and he cut her into a turnip lantern, put a candle inside and lit it through her freshly carved mouth.

I thoroughly enjoyed reading the book, which is an incredibly strong debut. I find it takes a special kind of talent for the writer to write a book, where none of the characters are really likeable, and yet, the story is completely captivating. One keeps hoping that one of the characters will redeem themselves, and one keeps wondering how much worse a character can get. It's a fascinating glimpse into people, their personalities and how they live with themselves, just to get by.

I do wonder though, how I'd read this book, if it was my first Carter. Would I enjoy it as much as I did, or would it be way too disturbing?

Angela Carter - Several Perceptions

I discovered the wonderful world of Angela Carter only last year, and I've been trying to read all her works slowly, savouring every moment of it. Of course, the bonus is the gorgeous covers, which draws me to her books like a moth.... The thing with Several Perceptions is, it's totally unlike anything I've read before. "Down the rabbit hole" would be one way to describe it, as we join Joseph, a disillusioned young man, in the 1960s, as he grapples with the meaning of life. Set in the Bohemian 'flower power' era, the people we meet fit some of the much talked about 1960s stereotypes: nature lovers, infrequent bathers, and people roaming the streets barefoot.

Joseph, it seems, is going through a very early midlife crisis. His girlfriend has moved on without him, and he's just listless, as he sees some less than ideal things around him: Vietnam, children taunting an old man with an imaginary fiddle, the caged badger in the zoo...

After a failed suicide attempt, Joseph tries to return to life, pulling all kinds of crazy stunts - some hilarious, some psychotic. They seem equally balanced between being well thought out and impulsive, and one just wonders what unexpected event is going to occur next.

If Joseph's adventures with his friends and neighbours isn't addictive enough to read about, we also meet his psychiatrist, and gain some more insight into the way the mind works for some people!

"I bet those lepers hated St. Francis," he added unexpectedly. "Fancy having a perfect stranger come up and kiss you just 'coz you've got a skin infection, just to show off what a big heart he had, you never hear the leper's side of the story. What if a leper out of the blue had jumped up and kissed St. Francis. I bet St. Francis would have been ever so affronted."

While I didn't enjoy this book as much as The Magic Toyshop, I still found it to be a witty fascinating book, and loved the characters - the fact that they all seemed polar opposites of one another. There are multifarious allusions to a myriad of things: from Alice In Wonderland, to Freud! It seems like a completely different world, with completely different rules, which change every moment of every day. In the words of Queen, "Easy come, easy go" just about sums up Joseph's life.

Just discovered that this is Carter's third book, and was written right after The Magic Toyshop. The subjects she deals with are so different, but, she still does an incredible job of holding the whole plot together, without overdoing the hyperbolism.

Muriel Spark - A Far Cry From Kensington

Sometimes, I wonder about myself. Half way through this Fantastic February Female Frivolities (I like alliterations, love double alliterations...), I realised I hadn't picked out a single Virago Modern Classic. Like I said, sometimes, I do wonder about myself. Anyway, the minute this hit me, I reached out for the first VMC I could find on my shelf, and here you have it: Muriel Spark's A Far Cry From Kensington. I haven't read anything by Muriel Spark before, and to be honest, I've always been kind-of intimidated by her works. I wasn't quite sure as to what to expect with A Far Cry From Kensington, but I definitely didn't expect it to be such an easy read - easy enough to finish in just one sitting!

Narrated by Mrs. Hawkins, a war widow, A Far Cry From Kensington is her reflections on a post-War London when she stayed in a "rooming house" in South Kensington, and worked in publishing houses in the early 1950s. Mrs. Hawkins is a likeable narrator - she doesn't hesitate to call a spade a spade, and there's no beating around the bush. Even when she talks about herself, she's direct, honest, and slightly hyperbolic - always good attributes in a story-teller.

There was something about me, Mrs Hawkins, that invited confidences. I was abundantly aware of it, and indeed abundance was the impression I gave. I was massive in size, strong-muscled, huge-bosomed, with wide hips, hefty long legs, a bulging belly and fat backside; I carried an ample weight with my five-foot-six of height, and was healthy with it.

One of the unwritten items on the job spec at a publishers is being diplomatic. While Mrs. Hawkins was well-liked and respected by everyone around her (even her boss confided in her), diplomacy wasn't her strongest asset. On calling an aspiring author, Hector Bartlett, pisseur de copie (a urinator of 'frightful prose') to his face, she finds herself in hot water - the author had a strong relationship with a famous influential authoress, Emma Loy, and she was looking out for him. Inevitably, Mrs. Hawkins lost her job, but the two authors (one famous, the other still unpublished) continued to plague her career, as she herself refused to withdraw the remark.

The secondary thread of the novel revolves around the other inhabitants in the housing, and how they bond together. Wanda, the Polish dressmaker receives an anonymous letter, which threatens to expose her to Inland Revenue for not paying her taxes, and the poor woman is convinced that she will be deported. Mrs. Hawkins (and the other residents) try to sleuth around, eliminating all possible suspects one by one... and then the episode slips to the back of their minds, until Wanda receives an intimidating phone call. The cycle repeats.

The book represents the post-War London, where people from different backgrounds are still affected by the horror of war, but, they're taking on the challenges to make a new life, almost optimistically. Throw in some extortion (fraudulence), some homosexuality, a budding love, humour, wit and even radionics (!), and you've got yourself an absorbing fascinating story, with vivid realistic characters - some awful, some immense. For instance, Hector Bartlett really is a pisseur de copie, but, by the time the book comes to a close, that's not the only phrase you'll use to describe him!

Oh, and let me repeat a small part of the opening paragraph of the book, for it drew me in immediately, and I felt compelled to keep flipping the pages. Even when I flipped to the last page, I almost felt as though I should go back and start from page one.

Can you decide to think? - Yes, you can. You can put your mind to anything most of the time. You can sit peacefully in front of a blank television set, just watching nothing; and sooner or later you can make your own programme much better than the mass product. It's fun, you should try it. You can put anyone you like on the screen, one or in company, saying and doing what you want them to do, with yourself in the middle if you prefer it that way.

Have you read any Muriel Spark? Do you have any recommendations as to what I should read next?

Jennifer Dawson - The Ha-Ha

The Ha-Ha is Jennifer Dawson's first novel, published in 1961. It follows the life of Josephine, a young woman with a mental illness, that often leaves her in hysterics, after she has been removed from Oxford and committed to a mental institution.

As we sat there I could even see the even-toed ungulates marching through the waste, and files of armadillos with scaly shells, and hosts of big black flies. The door opened...it was only the made in a starched cap carrying the silver kettle, but the laugh I gave shocked even the Principal.

A German refugee sister, and a fellow patient, Alasdair, push Josephine towards "normalcy," encouraging her to contemplate life after she's been released from the clinic (on being "regraded"), to find friends, interact with the outside world, instead of being perfectly happy within the boundaries of the clinic. However, the question does arise: can that do more harm than good?

“The committee? Regrade? I knew they graded eggs and milk, I did not know that they also had this word for humans. Regrade me?…As what?”

I think the quote above sums up the book - despite touching upon sensitive subjects, Josephine is smart, and witty. Despite being oblivious to the norms of society, and how to conduct "normal" conversations, she's profound and imaginative, and appreciates life for what it is, in an almost uncomplicated manner.

The afterword, in fact, gives us more of an insight into the book. Written after the Mental Health Act was passed in 1959.

The book was written in that loophole between this Act of Parliament and the libertarian mental-health movement of the mid-sixties and early seventies where voices grew louder as they suggested that physical treatment, the pads and cooling-off rooms, locked doors, and even drugs and informal, voluntary confinement of the mentally ill were socio-political violence against the real, non-conforming voices of our under societies.

Dawson herself spent six months in a hospital, after a breakdown, and Josephine's outlook seems to be an insight into Dawson's experience itself. Small gestures, like a hidden chocolate under the pillow, mean so much, as does companionship and someone to talk to; someone who discusses an escape, shows a different life, and treats one with love and respect.

Daphne Du Maurier - My Cousin Rachel

For twenty four years, Daphne Du Maurier has eluded me, and I'm still trying to figure out how! I read Rebecca earlier this year, and loved it, which led me to pick up My Cousin Rachel. Surprise, surprise! I loved it as well. My Cousin Rachel is narrated by Philip Ashley, who was orphaned at a young age, and brought up by his older affluent cousin, Ambrose. Philip is totally devoted to Ambrose, and in turn, Ambrose to his naive younger cousin.

Health problems force Ambrose to spend the winter months in Italy, and one year, he sends a letter home saying he is married to Rachel. Philip, consumed by jealousy, isn't able to share the happiness and excitement that the friends and family seem to revel in.

My cousin Rachel had a dozen personalities or more and each one more hateful than the last. I saw her forcing Ambrose to his knees to play at bears, the children astride his back, and Ambrose consenting with a humble grace, having lost all dignity.

When Ambrose's letters home mention sickness, and further ill-health, Philip makes plans to visit his cousin. The last letter received before his departure has an almost illegible scroll: For God's sake, come to me quickly. She has done for me at last, Rachel my torment. If you delay, it may be too late. Ambrose.

By the time Philip reaches Florence, Ambrose has passed on - a result of a brain tumour, the doctors day. Philip refuses to believe that, and insists that Rachel has had something to do with his cousin's unfortunate and untimely demise. Rachel has disappeared, and left the handling of her affairs (and villa) to a untrustworthy-looking man, Rainaldi.

Philip, the heir of Ambrose's estate, returns home and attempts continuing running things as he has been taught, silently glad that Rachel wasn't left anything in Ambrose's will. However, when Rachel comes to England, she seems to be the diametric opposite of what Philip thought, and he quickly discards his many theories associating her with Ambrose's death.

Not having a relationship with any woman previously, Philip is drawn to Rachel like a moth to a flame, and acts naively and impulsively - much reminiscent of the narrator in Rebecca. Yet, Rachel plays the part of the mourning widow to perfection, instead of acting like the black widow... yet, the questions are always there: was Rachel responsible for the events in Italy? Will history repeat itself?

The beauty of this book is in Du Maurier's immense skill of weaving a dramatic plot, that leaves the reader on the edge of their seat. Hints are scattered around artistically, and the various clues that make up the story keeps the reader guessing right till the very end - and beyond. If you had questions while reading the book, the number of questions that flood your mind once the book is completed increases tenfold.

Rating: A

Eudora Welty - The Robber Bridegroom

I stumbled upon The Robber Bridegroom in a second hand bookstore, and was intrigued immediately, by the  quote on the cover:

A Gothic fairy tale set in the eighteenth century Mississippi.

I like Gothic fairy tales, most of the time, and this was no exception. It had all the key ingredients, worthy of a Grimm tale: a rich plantation owner, a beautiful daughter, the evil step mother, the bandits, and the neighbour's pesky son.

Rosamond Musgrove lives with her father, a plantation owner, and her evil stepmother, Salome. While the father dotes on Rosamond, the typical step mother sends her to the far sides of the woods to get herbs, hoping some ill will fall upon her. She even hires the neighbour's idiot son to harm her step daughter... And, one day, harm does befall the naive innocent daughter, when she meets a bandit while running errands, and from that point, things change...

When I first finished this book, packed with interesting characters, and a couple of parallel stories (including tales about Little Harp and Mike Fink), I was disappointed. I thought the characters hadn't really been developed, and the book was superficial. Now, though, I think I appreciate its subtleties a lot more: be it the interaction between the bandits, the choices made by Rosamond, or the varying emotions that carry the book. Barring a couple of scenes, the book is practically suitable for children, and through the entire book, you do wonder when the fairy god mother is going to emerge to wave her wand, and make it all okay.

Rating: C