Harriet Devine's Blog

Mamma by Diana Tutton on Shiny New Books

It was a great day for me when the British Library announced a new series - 20th Century British Women Writers. This promised to provide exactly the kind of books I enjoy most, and it hasn't disappointed - I've read and loved all of them (well, I wasn't crazy about Tea is So Intoxicating by Mary Essex, but I probably wasn't in the mood for that kind of humour). So I was delighted to be asked to participate in the blog tour for Mamma. I've avoided blog tours for a while, having twice agreed to one and found I hated the book, but I knew I was safe with this one. I'd heard of Diana Tutton and knew of her Guard Your Daughters - now published by Persephone - and read several reviews, but this would be a first for me. And of course I loved it. 

You can read my full Shiny review here, but here's what I said in my opening paragraph:

[This] is the story of a woman who falls in love with her daughter’s husband. However, though I’m sure we all could picture the sort of sensational novel that could have had such a plot line, this is the most delicately nuanced account of a woman struggling with powerfully unexpected and confusing emotions. And, though this situation is obviously central, the novel is about far more than that. It’s about society in the 1950s: family relationships, the generation gap, class divisions, and sexual mores.  It’s immensely readable and extremely enjoyable.

Diana Tutton wrote only three novels - the third one, The Young Ones (1959) is about brother and sister incest and sounds intriguing. She clearly enjoyed challenging subject matter and is an excellent writer. So do read Mamma! 

Woman Reading

Thanks to Rob Spence for this lovely image, which is by the British painter  Gerald Gardiner (1902-1959). Painted in 1935, it's called 'The Artist's Wife, Evelyn, Seated, Reading'. 

Double Lives by Helen McCarthy in Shiny New Books

I was very pleased to have the chance to read Helen McCarthy's latest book, which is subtitled 'A History of Working Motherhood'. Women's working lives, especially when juggled with home and motherhood, are certainly a subject worth exploring, and this book promised to be a welcome addition to what's been an unplanned thematic exploration of this issue in 2021: Nell Frizzell's The Panic Years, which looked at the problems faced by young women today in deciding between a career and motherhood, and Carol Dyhouse's Love Lives, which I described as 'an interesting and thorough exploration of the ways in which women’s views of themselves and their function in the world has changed over the generations since WW2'. 

McCarthy's book starts in Victorian Britain and ends in the present day, combining personal accounts, facts about labour pay and conditions, and a survey of social attitudes, to provide a fascinating picture of what has changed – and what has stayed the same. As the child of a working mother who returned to her professional life when I was about three, this was perhaps bound to be of particular interest to me - my mother was lucky enough to have an income sufficient to pay for reliable domestic help, but of course this has not been the case for many women over the ages and remains so for some even today.

Superbly researched and extremely readable, this is an important book in the fields of both social studies and history. It's been shortlisted for the Wolfson History Prize and I hope it wins. Helen is, by the way, the daughter of one of our Shiny reviewers, Elaine Simpson Long. If you want to read my full review, here's the link. 

Miss Browne's Friend by F.M. Mayor

I first encountered Flora Mayor ten years ago, and wrote a very enthusiastic review of her 1924 novel The Rector's Daughter [here]. I went on to read The Squire's Daughter, which I don't seem to have reviewed,  and her first, The Third Miss Symonds (1913) [here]. But all this went on in 2011, and when I'd read these three I assumed that was it, as Mayor's output was notoriously small. However I've since learned that she also wrote some short stories, so it was very pleasing to discover that Mike Walmer had unearthed and reprinted Miss Browne's Friend. This little gem first appeared as a serial in the Free Church Suffrage Times between June 1914 and March 1915.

In almost every village in England a Miss Browne is to be found; in every town several Miss Brownes; in London they must be almost too many to count. We all  know them, spinsters from thirty onwards, who are cheerfully devoting their lives  to be of use and comfort to their families, their friends, their village, their town, and their country. Sometimes these objects of their goodness patronize them, sometimes they laugh at them, and sometimes they writhe a little under the benefits they are receiving; but they could not possibly get on without their Miss Brownes.

Our Miss Browne is one of those who are patronized - she's at the beck and call of her family, who clearly don't appreciate her. So when she sees an article asking people to befriend girls who are in a Rescue Home - 'they are so solitary, poor lasses, not a soul to care for them. Who will take them by the hand?' - she leaps at the chance to do some good. Soon she acquires an appointed 'friend', one Mabel Roberts. On her visit to the home, she is surprised to see how unattractive most of the girls are - though it's never spelled out, they have presumably been rescued from prostitution. But then she spots Mabel, whose 'small, lithe figue, drooping neck, and eyes of a piercing blue might have belonged to the poetic daughter of an earl'. She's delighted to find that Mabel seems sweet-natured and talkative, and before they part she has assured Miss Browne that now she has a friend to care for her, 'I mean to do my very best'.

It's very clear to the reader that Mabel is not all she pretends to be. But Miss Browne is very optimistic that she will do well once she's placed as a domestic, and at first all seems fine - she sends happy, grateful letters to Miss Browne, who feels for the first time that she's not just being taken for granted. But sadly things don't go well, and soon Mabel is looking for another place. Eighteen months later she is sacked from her seventh household. The pattern is always the same: the family is pleased with her at first, and Mabel writes charming letters to Miss Browne, always assuring her how hard she's going to try 'so that you can be proud of me'. But it never lasts.Things go from bad to worse. Mabel tries waitressing, then sewing, and seems to be living far too rackety a life. Miss Browne's final attempt to place her in a suitable environment fails, and sadly things do not end well for her.

In my review of The Rector's Daughter I described it as 'a novel about how hard it is to understand other people, and how many misunderstandings and even tragedies arise from it'. The same could be said about Miss Browne's Friend. Poor, well-meaning Miss Browne tries so hard, but clearly cannot imagine what it's like to be a pretty, lively young woman who wants to enjoy her life but has so few options open to her. She swings between optimism and disappointment, wanting desperately to believe Mabel's loving, grateful letters but all too often upset by hearing what Mabel has been saying and doing behind her back. So this could be a very sad novel, but there's an twist at the end which lifts Miss Browne's mood and should lift the reader's too.

All in all, in just thirty pages, Mayor manages to convey, with tenderness and humour, the unsatisfactoriness of women's lives at the era, whatever social class they belonged to. Hooray for Mike Walmer for finding this and producing such a delightful little book.

 

Woman Reading

The painter of this lovely image is Charlie Mackesey. He was born in Northumbria, England, in 1962.. According to Wikipedia, he is a former atheist who has 'found Jesus' and sees his work as a way to "introduce God to the people he loves". You may have heard of him in another context, as he's the author of a massively best-selling book, The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse. 

Painting the Darkness by Robert Goddard

A man comes back from the dead - or does he? That's the theme of Painting the Darkness,  Robert Goddard's third novel, published in 1989. I first discovered his intelligent, twisty historical mystery novels in the mid-nineties, and read a number of them, though apparently this one passed me by. Twenty-eight novels after his 1986 debut Past Caring, he's still writing, but I'd more or less forgotten about him, and can't remember what reminded me how much I used to enjoy his work. Anyway, I spotted this on Audible, brilliantly read by Michael Kitchen, embarked on it sometime in April, and have only just finished it. It was over 20 hours long, and it was less than two hours from the end when you finally found out whether the protagonist was the real deal or not.

The novel starts in 1882. William Trenchard and his wife Constance have spent a peaceful afternoon in the garden with their little daughter Patience. Mother and daughter have gone inside, and William is enjoying the quiet satisfaction of a happy domestic life. But, only an hour later, his life, 'and that of every occupant of The Limes, St John's Wood, had changed utterly - and forever. An hour was all it took for ten years to overtake them'. A polite, well-dressed man appears outside the garden gate, claiming to be Sir James Davenall, to whom Constance had been engaged eleven years earlier. Everyone had been waiting eagerly for the planned marriage - but one day, with no warning, James had disappeared without trace, and was believed to have committed suicide. though no body was ever found, and nobody could explain why he should have done so. Constance had been heartbroken, but after slowly recovering had agreed to marry Trenchard. She knows he will be a good husband, though her feelings for him are not the same as she had for James. At first, she totally rejects the newcomer as a fraud, but his astonishing knowledge of private matters between the two of them, and his explanation of the reasons for his disappearance, soon convince her that he is indeed her long lost lover. From then on she defends him against all attacks, and realises she is as much in love with him as ever.

Not so the rest of the Davenall family: James's mother, and his younger brother Hugo, who has inherited the Baronetcy, the property and the wealth, totally reject him. His old nanny, however, welcomes him with open arms, and his solicitor cousin Richard, initially sceptical, comes to believe that he is telling the truth. How else could he possibly know so much about some things the family would prefer to stay hidden? But despite these new supporters, Hugo is enraged and determined not to lose the great advantages he's inherited, which have enabled him to live the drunken, dissipated life he enjoys. A court case ensues, which drags on for many weeks. What will be the outcome? And will the real truth be revealed?

The great question to be answered is, of course, how this man can so closely resemble James if he is indeed an imposter. However, the old Baronet Sir Gervaise, father to James and Hugo, was notoriously free with his favours, so perhaps he is a result of one of these casual liaisons? However, attempts to prove this are thwarted at every turn. If there ever was a novel for keeping you guessing, this is surely it. I found my beliefs and loyalties swinging wildly as various pieces of evidence on both sides appeared and were discounted. Whoever James turns out to be, he is a great deal more likeable than the shallow, unpleasant Hugo and his cold, hard mother. I was rooting for James all the way through, and wishing him a happy marriage to the faithful Constance, whose husband is now out of the picture for reasons I won't be explaining to you. But who is the beautiful woman who has been spotted with James a few times? And what part in the story will be played by Prince Napoléon Bonaparte, always known as Pion Pion, the dissolute cousin of Emperor Napoleon III, who glides in and out of the action, not always with honourable motives?

So - this is a very long novel, but I was hanging on every word. I obviously can't tell you what the final part of the novel reveals, but you won't be disappointed. I love stories about returning claimants - The Return of Martin Guerre is one, made into a film with Gerard Depardieu in 1983, with a US version, Somersby, starring Jodie Foster and Richard Gere, ten years later. Then there's Josephine Tey's Brat Farrar, and Daphne du Maurier's brilliant The Scapegoat, both of which I enjoyed enormously.  This one certainly deserves to be on that list.

I enjoyed reacquainting myself with Robert Goddard so much that I've just started another of his novels. I'm a bit apprehensive that I may not enjoy it so much. Have to wait and see.

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China Court by Rumer Godden

Why oh why have I never read this book before? And why is Rumer Godden not as celebrated as she deserves to be? 

I've read a good many of her novels, all of which I have loved, but had never heard of this one till I saw it reviewed recently on someone's blog. And what a lovely book it is. It's the story of a house, told through several generations of the family who inhabit it. But it's not your run of the mill family saga. The stories criss cross and overlap, and it takes time to unravel how an event we may hear about early on actually played out. There's a family tree at the beginning, and at first you may think you'll never keep track of who these people are, but soon they are as familiar to you as the members of your own family. Rather unusually, I'm going to quote the last paragraph of the novel:

'and now the stories seem like tales', says old Mrs Quin when she is very old. 'Perhaps they don't matter', she says, for she is also very tired, 'except to the people  who lived through them. The stories are all different  - of course , each has its time and place - yet they are alike in that, as with every day, they must be lived through from sunrise to sunset, all the hours of the day; and as the day ends, it begins', says Mrs Quin.

Mrs Quin is central to the plot of the novel, and also central in terms of the generations - her husband was the grandson of the first owners, and her granddaughter Tracey is the youngest member of the family. In fact it is Mrs Quin's death that brings Tracey back to China Court. Her flighty mother dumped her there as a child, so Mrs Quin was her surrogate mother for some years until she was whisked off to America. It becomes clear that she is the only descendent who both appreciates the house and loves her grandmother. 

Mrs Quin's own story is something we have to. gather piecemeal. Fairly early on she appears as little Ripsie, a poor neglected child from the village. Her mother is totally unreliable and she has no idea who her father was, though some pretty accurate guessing goes on in the village and in China Court. She's more or less of an age with the two Quin boys, the charming glamorous Borowis and the sturdy, reliable John-Henry. The three become inseparable, though it is Borowis with whom she becomes closest. It does become clear fairly early on that she ended up marrying John-Henry, despite her great love for his older brother - why and how this happens is not revealed until near the end of the story. 

Another plot concerns John-Henry's parents, handsome, rather feckless Jared and his beautiful aristocratic Irish wife, who is always known as Lady Patrick. Deeply in love at first, these two had some kind of serious falling out quite early on, the details of which are mysterious - once again, the whole story finally emerges. But most memorable, and important to the plot, is Eliza, Jared's sister. A little plain, especially compared to her beautiful younger sister, she is highly intelligent, practical and shrewd, but her qualities are dismissed by the family who are so sure that women have no place in any world apart from the home that they pour scorn on any ideas she may have about using her talents for some purpose. She'd like to help Jared run the family business, and would do it far better than he can, but that's out of the question. However, she develops in interest in old books, and teaches herself over time to recognise what is valuable and worth having. Exracts from a 'Book of Hours' which was one of her acquisitions form headpieces to each chapter, which as you can see from the quotation I put at the beginning, is something referred to obliquely there. Eliza's life is obviously a comment on women's lives at the period, but it also forms a thread which will be crucial to the plot at a later stage. Though her life is not what you'd call a happy one, it brings her great satisfaction in her later years and she was probably my favourite character, alongside Mrs Quin and her slowly revealed life story which is also fascinating and thought-provoking.

Altogether this was a wonderfully absorbing read and I was sorry to finish it. As I said at the beginning, though I know Godden has many admirers, she somehow doesn't seem to be in the top rank of mid-20th century writers. One for the BL Women Writers series, maybe?

Girls with Books

This original oil painting  by the American illustrator Max Ginsburg was used as a cover illustration for The Friends by Rosa Guy. 

Woman Reading

This is 'Marguerite', painted in 1918 by the American Impressionist Guy Orlando Rose (1867-1925). Born in California, he studied art in Paris, and bought a cottage in Giverny where he and his wife lived for eight years, becoming friends with Claude Monet.

I'm fairly sure I've posted this before, but I don't keep a record and anyway it's pleasing enough to deserve a second showing.

Flowers for the Judge by Margery Allingham (1936 Club)

Mr Campion was silent. For a moment he was aware of forces and counter-forces beneath the quiet lives surrounding Barnabas Limited. There were revelations to come, he knew, some of them hideous, some of them piteous and others fantastic in their unexpectedness. He also knew that the man in front of him did not dream that once the searchlight of police and Press was turned upon them there could be nothing hidden, nothing protected, and that beneath the glare little intimate things would stand out in unnatural prominence.

I wasn't very well prepared for the 1936 Club - life has been rather hectic in the past couple of weeks - I did a scan of my bookshelves and everything that looked hopeful was published in either 1935 or 1937! Then I spotted this and was very happy because I can never have enough of Margery Allingham and of course of Albert Campion, her wonderful private detective. I can't remember when I last read this, but it wasn't all that long ago and then it would have been a re-read, or a re-re-re-read.  But I've been re-reading her from time to time since I was introduced to her by my mother when I was about 11 - it was Sweet Danger, if you know what that is, and if you do you'll know it was a perfect first meeting with Campion and with Amanda, who would many years later become his wife. 

Amanda doesn't appear in Flowers for the Judge, but Campion does. He was first introduced in 1929, at which point he was a rather effete-seeming young aristocrat - possibly a parody of Peter Whimsey - but over the years he grew in maturity and strength. He has a brilliant mind, though he still tends at this stage (1936) to hide it sometimes under a vacuous exterior. He is, as we gather in this novel, the heir to a Dukedom, and many of his friends are from the cultured upper levels of society, but he also has numerous acquaintances in the seedy criminal world. It was from this world that he recruited his valet, Magersfontein Lugg.

Though published in 1936, Flowers for the Judge is set in 1931 for some reason. However, the story begins twenty years earlier with the mysterious disappearance of Tom Barnabas. A member of a large and well-established publishing family, Tom left home one morning dressed for business, and halfway down the road apparently vanished into thin air. This never-explained mystery has been largely forgotten, but it's brought to mind in the novel's present because another family member, Paul Brande, has just walked out of the flat he shares with his beautiful American wife Gina and doesn't reappear. Paul and Gina are not happy together, and she assumed at first that he's just taking a short break. But after three days, she and the members of the firm get worried. Finally, Paul's body is discovered in a basement strong room, where he has died from exhaust fumes coming through a grating from the garage next door. At first this looks like an unfortunate accident, but it turns out that a rubber pipe has been fixed to the exhaust of a car belonging to a young man called Mike Wedgewood, the youngest of the cousins who run the firm. Mike is in love with Gina, though the relationship has not developed. However, it gives Mike a motive, and he can't provide an alibi, saying he was out walking alone round London on the evening in question. And, most damning of all, he had visited the strong room during the time Paul's body was there, but strenuously denies seeing it. So, after the inquest, he is arrested for murder.

It's now up to Campion to investigate, which he does with the help of Lugg and some of his criminal friends, and with the support of Richie Barnabas, an eccentric cousin who lives upstairs in the building. And, although Mike goes to trial, everything turns out OK in the end. And, in a final prologue, we get to find out what happened to Tom Barnabas back in 1911.

I read somewhere that this is thought to be one of Allingham's best novels, and I would definitely concur with this. The plot is satisfyingly complex and the denouement provides some enjoyable twists. There's some skullduggery along the way with an original unpublished manuscript by the Restoration playwright William Congreve, and lots of excellent background detail. Allingham writes with wit and intelligence, and I was happy to read that Agatha Christie much admired her. Her characterisation is superb, and she sums people up in a sentence or two so that they become unforgettable. Here's Gina's housekeeper, Mrs Austin, after the news of Paul's death: 'Mrs Austin was kind; sympathy and friendliness oozed from her every pore, and yet she was enjoying the tragedy with the shameful delight of the under-entertained'. However, I was slightly bothered, for the first time, by Allingham's rather patronising attitude of people of a lower social class. Mrs Austin is one, but above all there is the wonderful Lugg. He and Campion have a wonderfully symbiotic relationship, and Lugg not only fusses over his master and obviously cares for him, but also helps him with his various criminal connections. However, Campion is endlessly scathing about Lugg's attempts to 'better' himself, and he's treated rather too much like comic relief to be altogether comfortable. I've never noticed this before, and it didn't spoil the novel for me at all, but it did add an interesting sidelight.

Anyway I'm delighted to have read it, and though rather late in the day, I'm happy to have made a contribution to the 1936 Club.