Now that he had heard Amabel and that he knew she was in her bath undressed, it seemed to him that when they had been together she had warmed him on every side. When he opened his eyes close beside her in the flat she had blotted out the light, only where her eye would be he could see dazzle, all the rest of her mountain face had been that dark acreage against him. He had lain in the shadow of it under softly beaten wings of her breathing, and his thoughts, hatching up out of sleep, had bundled back into the other darkness of her plumes. So being entirely delivered over he had lain still, he remembered, because he had been told by that dazzle her eyelids were not down so that she lay still awake.
He wanted her.
She still swayed him like water moves a trailing reed, and froth and some little dirt collects round, and sometimes when he first heard her voice again and when as now she used that private tone, then it was as if his tide had turned and helpless he was turned back, delivered up to move to her tune and trail back the way he had come helpless, delivered over, benighted.
Not long ago I had never heard of Henry Green. Then I somehow did hear of him and got hold of a collected edition of his three most admired novels Loving, Living, and Party Going. I wrote about Loving a few weeks ago and now I have just finished reading Party Going. Published in 1939, it had taken him eight years to write, though it is only about 140 pages long and the action takes place over a four-hour period. It is certainly one of the most remarkable novels I have ever read.
This is the story of a group of young society people who have been invited by their friend, the very wealthy Max, to spend three weeks at a villa in the South of France. All of them set off to the railway station where they are to catch the boat train. But a thick fog has descended on London and no trains are able to leave. Max books several rooms at the station hotel, which will be paid for by Julia’s uncle who is a member of the railway board, and they all set about the business of waiting, drinking, arguing, flirting. Their numerous trunks and dressing cases are still in the station being guarded by various of their employees.
One of the rooms is occupied by Miss Fellowes, Julia’s Auntie May, who has come to see her off at the station but has had some kind of attack and is lying semi-conscious in bed, watched over by two old nannies who have come for the same purpose. Feeling unwell when she first arrived she had a nip of whiskey to set her right, and the doctor thinks she is drunk, but the nannies know it is something a lot more serious. Julia and her friends look in on her from time to time but they are confused and helpless and have many other things on their minds. Julia is in love with Max, who is attracted to her but is still trying to escape from the beautiful Amabel, who has not been invited to France. Amabel turns up unexpectedly and announces she must have a bath – she has brought her maid, who has brought her bath salts. When she gets out of the bath, she dries herself:
As she went over herself with her towel it was plain she loved her own shape and skin. When she dried her breasts she wiped them with as much care as she would puppies after she had given them their bath, smiling all the time. But her stomach she wiped upwards to make it thin. When she came to dry her legs she hissed like grooms do. And as she got herself dry that steam began to go off the mirror walls so that as she got white again more and more of herself began to be reflected.
She stood out as if so much health, such abundance and happiness should never have clothes to hide it. Indeed she looked as though she was alone in the world she was so good, and so good that she looked mild, which she was not.
Quite apart from the extraordinary quality of the prose, which is completely unlike anything you will have read before, this novel is remarkable for the way it enters into the minds, thoughts and feelings of each of the characters. Their loves, their hates, their doubts, their insecurities, their fears are all revealed to the reader, though not, of course, to each other. Set apart by their wealth and privilege, they are thrown by it into a tiny clique whose only concern seems on the surface to be the petty fallings out and scandals of their friends. They are indeed an amusing but also a deeply pitiable group who, if they only knew it, share a great deal more with their supposed inferiors than they could ever imagine. That is to say, both the servants and their employers want their cups of tea, their drinks, their kisses – but of course the servants are more honest about it.
There are wonderful glimpses of the sea of humanity waiting at the station. Seen by Julia from the hotel windows directly above, the crowd seemed to be swaying like branches rock in a light wind, and Julia
had forgotten what it was to be outside, what it smelled and felt like, and she had not realized what this crowd was, just seeing it through glass. It went on chanting WE WANT TRAINS, WE WANT TRAINS from that one section which surged to and fro and again that same woman shrieked, two or three men were shouting against the chant but she would not distinguish words. She thought how strange it was when hundreds of people turned their heads all in one direction, their faces so much lighter than their dark heads, lozenges, lozenges, lozenges.
It’s terrifying, said Julia, I did not realize there were so many people in the world.
This wonderful, peculiar, extraordinary novel will not be to everyone's taste. But if you are willing to throw yourself in and let yourself grow accustomed to Green's amazing prose and strange, perceptive world view, it should certainly not be missed.
