Capuchin and Comyns in concert!

This post is brought to you by a very excited blogger. Excited because one of my favourite books, The Juniper Tree, by one of my favourite authors, Barbara Comyns, is being republished by one of my favourite publishers, the excellent Capuchin Classics Press. With a foreword by Margaret Drabble and a cover illustrated with an intriguing image redolent of the tale (and surely partly based on Barbara Comyns’ own image), I can hardly contain myself. Only 9 months to wait...

Fanny by Gaslight: enough said.

The booky detective in me has been on fire of late. It all started when I was re-reading Barbara Comyns’ almost completely forgotten memoir Out of the Red into the Blue and found the following passage about the author’s arrival in Ibiza in 1956:

“among them I saw something that I couldn’t believe was true. It was a little girl of about ten dressed like a woman, her face heavily made-up. She was walking with some respectable looking black-clad women. Then I distinctly saw a little boy of about the same age dressed as a woman. His cheeks were all rouged and he was holding a parasol over his head, while a stout pair of boots were showing below his flounced skirt. I wished I had never read Michael Dadler’s Forlorn Sunset, and turned to my companion in horror”.

I had never heard of Forlorn Sunset but that was nothing that a quick google could not cure and I soon discovered that the author was in fact called Michael Sadler. If there was some confusion about his name, he had only him self to blame, since he had apparently changed it from Sadler to Sadleir in order to distinguish himself from his father, who was also an author. As regular readers of this blog may remember, I sought out Forlorn Sunset and raved at length about it.

The preface to Forlorn Sunset mentioned another book by the same author, the amusingly titled Fanny by Gaslight and so my Michael Sadleir mission continued. A quick spot of research reveals that Fanny was first published in 1940, made into a film in 1944 and enjoyed a renaissance in 1981 when it was the subject of a TV miniseries starring Chloe Salaman in the title role.

The cannon of popular and remembered literature is a funny old thing. Both of these novels are now almost completely lost to the reading public but I think that of the two, it was Fanny by Gaslight rather than Forlorn Sunset which has enjoyed the most acclaim and publicity in the past. The reason that I think this odd is that Forlorn Sunset is a much better novel than Fanny.

Fanny by Gaslight is the tragic life story of a young girl born to two lovers and brought up in the seediest possible corner of Victorian London. Her early life as well as her adulthood is littered with pimps, prostitutes, drunkards and schemers but she herself stands apart from the degeneracy around her. She does not judge but she is very separate. Sadleir has set up a series of binary opposites which he explores in the story. Firstly, and most prominently, there is the opposition between honesty and hypocrisy. Fanny is an honest girl as are both of her parents and all of the various allies she picks up in her life. However “low” they may seem to the outside world, they are honest about themselves and to others. They contrast sharply and are oft injured by the battalion of hypocrites in the tale. The aristocratic drunkard who dabbles in paedophilia; the glamorous society lady who meets her lovers in a high class brothel; the list is endless.

In this polarised world “sex” is part of the “honest” section and “marriage” is presented as a deeply hypocritical state. As Fanny’s father comments: “I have some reason for not regarding marriage as the element of a love affair that is made in heaven. Heaven comes at an earlier stage if it comes at all”. Fanny herself identifies with this non conformity and refuses to marry the man that she loves, a steadfastness for which she pays in heavy coin. I understood her best when she says to her lover: “I am an outside person. I always have been, and I am too proud to come inside – at any rate at present”.

It is all very anti-Victorian to an extent which I find rather patronising and simplified and somehow imbued with snobbery. Fanny is dated without being charming and I think that maybe my Sadleir sojourn ends here.

Who was changed and who was dead: a case of Comyns fever

In celebration of the publication by Dorothy of a new edition of Barbara Comyns’ wonderful novel Who Was Changed and Who Was Dead, I have posted below a review of this novel which I wrote earlier this year for Pattinase’s feature “Forgotten Book Friday”. My copy of the new edition has arrived all the way from the US and I can’t wait to re read it. The cover is just as good in real life and Brian Evenson’s new introduction is excellent. So, here are my thoughts…

Who Was Changed and Who Was Dead is the story of a family, a household and a village in a time of flood, plague and savagery. The year is 1914 and the family is that of widower Ebin Willoweed. Ebin is the lethargic home tutor to his three motherless children – Emma, Dennis and Hattie. He is also the dependent and resentful son of the rich forbidding matriarch – Grandmother Willoweed. Grandmother Willoweed is an old tyrant with a forked tongue who refuses to step upon land that she does not own. The wider household includes their tender maids – the sisters Norah and Eunice – and their gardener – the frank speaking, keeper of traditions – Old Ives. Beyond the gates of their manorial home sits a community wider still; the doctor, the baker, the farmer, the miller, the rector, the idiot; their wives, their lovers, their children. As the novel opens the river has burst its banks and flooded the house and the village. Ducks swim through windows and Ebin rows his daughters around the garden in a small boat. Everything is displaced. But soon it will be worse – for plague follows flood and madness follows hard behind. Who will be changed by it, and who will be dead?

The tone of this tale is surreal and slightly magical – but it is not meaninglessly strange. Rather – bizarre happenings and peculiar interludes are used to illustrate themes that are close to us all. Barbara Comyns explores snobbery and insecurity alongside kindness and understanding. She explores the casual cruelties of family life, the odd traps of domesticity, the secrets and lies that lurk in every household. She shows how people can become displaced – by their own attitudes and the mentalities of others. The characters that she creates are powerful because they are candid. Although the moral compass is stronger in some than it is in others, everyone in this stricken village has more than one side – there are no pantomime villains or heroes beyond reproach. Barbara Comyns builds a topsy-turvy world and uses it to illustrate a landscape of great familiarity.

This is not a story without horror. Indeed, the grotesque descriptions of the damage caused by the flood led to the book being banned in Ireland when it was published in 1954. Barbara Comyns was not a user of the euphemism. She wrote frankly and unapologetically. But if a history of censorship suggests to you that this book might be gratuitously unpleasant – then her history of censorship has done Barbara Comyns wrong. In Who Was Changed and Who Was Dead there is an overwhelming feeling for the profound and confusing oddness of everyday life. The true horrors of the novel are the ease with which people will turn to violence – the speed with which they will lose compassion – the comfort which they will take from prejudice. Alongside this disturbing narrative – there are also the unexpected new beginnings that emerge from chaos – the happier, surer future beyond the disaster. This is a lyrical and humane book which ought not to be forgotten.

Introducing The Bedside Lilliput….

Along with many odd interests, I have for some time, had a lingering fascination in the history and content of a little and long since deceased literary magazine called Lilliput.

Lilliput was founded in 1937 and was dedicated to humour, short stories and little pieces on art and literature and so on. I first became aware of it because it was Lilliput that first published Sisters by a River, the first novel (maybe you can’t quite call it a novel, but that is another blog post) by one of my favourite writers, Barbara Comyns. The novel was published in instalments under the title “The Novel Nobody Will Publish” and that rather acted as a catalyst for somebody to publish it.

When I took a closer look at the annals of Lilliput, I discovered that Barbara Comyns was very much at the non famous end of its contributors. Here was a magazine which regularly featured the work of Nancy Mitford, Monica Dickens, V. S. Pritchett, Robert Graves and Patrick Campbell to name just a clutch.

My “Lilliput project” has been a casually looking out for information and references kind of affair – rather than a fiendishly searching and hunting down every tiny clue mission. Maybe that is why it has taken me so long to find that which I now proudly hold in my hands: a lovely volume called The Bedside Lilliput.

The Bedside Lilliput was published in 1950 and draws together short stories and other snippets that appeared in the magazine between 1937 and 1949. In his foreword the editor Richard Bennett wrote:

“There is always the possibility that Bedside Books may actually be placed beside beds. If this should happen to the Lilliput Bedside Book, may I wish the reader a good bedside lamp and pleasant dreams?”.

I know that it is 60 years since publication, but yes, Mr Bennett, you can, and thank you very much. It is right by my bed, and I hope to blog about its contents as I go along.

Now for a bit of a dabble

"The Dabbler" is a great name and a great blog and one of its features which is close to my heart is the "1 penny book review" in which various contributors review the many obscure and half forgotten books which can be bought on Amazon for 1p or 1c.

I was most flattered to be asked for a review and did not hesitate in singing the praises of forgotten novel Our Spoons Came From Woolworths by Barbara Comyns. To read the review click here. To buy one of the 1p copies on Amazon click here.

If the promise of a penny book is not enough, I have attached a picture of Comyns to tempt you. May the rediscovery begin!

Little, Odd, Excellent: The Victorian Chaise-Longue by Maghanita Laski

Marghanita Laski’s strange little book The Victoria Chaise-Longue has got me thinking about eras and about links and divides between generations. Before I even started to read, I noticed that it was first published in 1953, the year that the Queen was crowned and my mother was born. How long ago that sounds. The book itself explores how social mores and the place of women had changed between the Victorian age and the modern world of the early ‘50s. I am thankful to Richard at Richard’s Books for recommending such a muse worthy novella to me.

With only 99 pages, The Victorian Chaise-Longue must surely be the tiniest Persephone there is. I think that I will take a risk and say that it is the most interesting Persephone book that I have read so far. It is a domestic novel but it is not pedestrian. Its a little bit odd, but whatever is wrong with that?

The story focuses on a few hours in the life of Melanie Langdon. Melanie is a young barrister’s wife and she is pretty, spoilt and makes a profession out of being helpless. She is the kind of girl who is always being looked after by somebody, and as the book opens she is in the care of her patrician GP, the mildly lascivious Dr. Gregory. We soon learn that Melanie is recovering from TB, an illness which almost terminated her recent pregnancy and which has kept her apart from her baby son from the moment that he was born.



All very straight forward, or so I thought. Before long, the book changes direction entirely and with the assistance of an antique chaise-longue, Melanie is transported to the Victorian age in which she has become somebody else – a Milly Baines. The reader experiences with Melanie the claustrophobia of entrapment – the prison of knowing oneself to be one person while all others believe one to be somebody else. Gradually, the sorry tale of Milly Baines begins to unravel. Melanie learns, like a detective in a story what her own character has done and how she has been punished.

I never fully understood whether we are to believe that Melanie has become a time traveller, or has been reincarnated and is recalling her previous life, but I don’t think that this matters too much. Now that I have turned the last page, I understand why Richard recommended this book, and why he mentioned it in the same breathe as The Vet’s Daughter by Barbara Comyns. Like The Vet’s Daughter, it is not a book about the paranormal, but it uses paranormal ideas to explore very real issues; morality, identity, entrapment, mystery. It borrows from the thriller genre but it s not a thriller – it is suspenseful and dark, but it is not frightening. It is a domestic novel, but it is not an aimless one. Laski uses domestic images to sign post the most powerful of human fears and links. She is not simply a chronicler of days gone by, she seems to raising objections about them too.

Melanie finds her life as Milly impossibly restrictive and frustrating. Milly has advanced TB and can barely move. She is kept in a stuffy airless room and is subject to the care of characters bound to her by duty rather than love. Melanie, whose pre illness days were filled with furniture shopping and relation visiting is horrified that she has somehow been stolen away from her own era and condemned in this way. She comes to realise, as does the reader, that the life paths of Melanie and Milly have not been so very different but that the strictures of their respective societies are. Melanie’s ordinary life events are Milly’s dreadful transgressions and the life of punishment which is so awful for Melanie to experience, is usual for Milly. Will Melanie ever escape? Well, I can’t give that one away; interested parties must read for themselves and I hope that they enjoy it as much as I did.

The illustrations are the rather beautiful Persephone edition and endpaper and the even more beautiful Marghanita Laski. Other opinions can be found at Serendipity; Booksnob; Things mean a lot; A Book a week; Novel Insights; Farm Lane Books; The Genteel Arsenal; Green Road Books; and Fleur Fisher.

Dreamer, Publisher, Novelist SPY: the strange birth of the Vet’s Daughter by Barbara Comyns

Continuing with this week’s theme of being inspired by Simon at Stuck in a Book, I find myself with a most unusual read. Simon, Polly at Novel Insights and Claire at Paperback Reader are heading up an informal read along of The Vet’s Daughter by Barbara Comyns.

I am not reading along because I have read the book a couple of times before and know it to be a wonderful read. There are excellent reviews already at Stuck in a Book, Verity’s Virago Venture and Harriet Devine’s Blog. The novel is typical of Comyns’ unsentimental and spell-bound style and holds in focus a chilling depiction of domestic bullying and the transformative powers of the imagination. It is clear-sighted and interesting and quite unique. It is also cheap on Amazon, so if you haven’t already, maybe give it a go.....

Because it seemed silly to read along, I thought that I would read something else, which has been sitting on my shelves starring at me for some time, and which has an odd and little known connection to the Vet’s Daughter.

My Silent War is the autobiography of Kim Philby. If you don’t know the Kim Philby of history, you may know the Kim Philby of literature as he has spawned numrous literary alter egos, most notably Bill Haydon in John Le Carre’s classic novel Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy. The Kim Philby of history was a notorious double agent; a man who, at the height of the Cold War rose to the top of the British Secret Service, whilst also being a loyal agent of the Soviet state. With his fellow communists Donald MacLean, Guy Burgess, Anthony Blunt and John Cairncross, he formed part of what has now become known as the Cambridge Spy Ring. My Silent War is an extraordinary book because in it Philby speaks with his own voice; showing the simmering loyalties of “Stalin’s Englishman” and the web of lies that he wove for those around him. He describes the tension between appearance and reality; between what he must have looked like to his colleagues and what he actually was, with real mastery and not a little egotism.

One such colleague, to whom Philby was, or seemed to be close was Richard Comyns Carr, the husband of the novelist Barbara Comyns. Theirs was not a polite office friendship but a close association and a constant round of dinners and drinks parties. So much so, that when Richard and Barbara married immediately after the Second World War, Philby loaned them his own holiday home for their honeymoon. It was there that Barbara Comyns had a dream that inspired the Vet’s Daughter. And so an unexpected and half-obscured path connects the lady novelist and the unrepentant spy.

But the connection does not end there. My Silent War is a book with two prefaces. The first is by Phillip Knightley, Philby’s scholarly biographer and the second is by an altogether more shadowy figure in his history – the novelist and mystery man Graham Greene. Greene’s foreword is compelling but ultimately rather fawning and not worthy of Greene’s usually critical stance. However, Phillip Knightley in his introduction tells us that Greene may have been the man whom the British authorities sent to Moscow to try to persuade Philby to return home. So Greene’s words at the opening of My Silent War stand as testimony to his regard for Philby, but possibly also, his one time “brief” to turn a double agent into a triple agent.

Graham Greene was a man with one foot in the secret service and one foot in the literary world. The foot that was in the literary world was one of Barbara Comyns’ biggest and most influential fans. He consistently championed her unusual and striking novels, including the Vet’s Daughter. Indeed, he even published her first book, Sisters by a river when nobody else would touch it.

My Silent War is an interesting read. It doesn’t shed that much light on the Vet’s Daughter, but it is an fascinating side track in the life of its author. It will be a surprise to nobody who has enjoyed the Vet’s Daughter to learn that it was inspired by a dream – it has a profoundly dreamlike quality about it and the creative and resilient power of the mind is one of its chief themes. I think that political espionage interested Barbara Comyns less than personal betrayal and as she rather dismissively commented “all of our friends turned out to be spies in those days”.

I have included pictures of Barbara Comyns (looking remarkably like Greta Garbo as Vaishnavi has commented), Kim Philby and Graham Greene (looking remarkably similar, I wonder if anyone ever saw them together….). For good measure, Kim Philby’s most famous literary double, Bill Haydon, as played by Ian Richardson also makes an appearance.

The objects of our disbelief: Are they funny, are they dead? by Marjorie Ann Watts

I know that one should not judge a book by its cover, or its title, but when I first read about Marjorie Ann Watts’ collection of short stories Are they funny, are they dead? I was immediately reminded of the title of my favourite Barbara Comyns novel Who was changed and who was dead. I suppose that there are sillier reasons to pick up a book, so I shall not feel too guilty, and anyway, it did turn out to be worth it.

Are the funny, are they dead? Is a collection of short stories from the pen of a lady who originally trained as an artist and there is a strong visual element and a sense of landscape in many of these tales – which range in period and setting. They take in the wilds of the English coast and the grey paving of Harley Street among many other places. The stories in general deal with the anatomy of unsatisfactory relationships between people, the far reaching legacies of past family deceptions and lack of understanding that so often keeps one generation from being close to another. Watts frequently focuses on an object as a means of teasing out a long story and a set of characters. This is a most successful strategy – although I suspect that in a further volume of stories, it would come to feel formulaic. In this volume however, characters are well and quickly drawn and each story moves fast, taking in action and analysis with ease.

There is a clear-sighted surrealism and a willingness to ask questions at the heart of this collection. It contains shrewd observations about everyday life, and much humour as well. My favourite story is A Vivid Imagination in which Dr Ryle, a curmudgeonly and cynical old psychiatrist finds himself with a most unusual new patient. Milly Banks is a children’s novelist who claims to be tormented by the characters that she herself has created. Her tale is the kind that is always dismissed by others; and yet, before long, Dr Ryle will be careering down Harley Street amongst a plague of pigs and questioning his own sanity. This story is a wonderful piece of whimsy and an exploration of incredulity and imagination. Watts satirises the pompous and celebrates the freethinking – although part of her message seems to be that things would be better if people worked together.

In my view, the best stories of the collection are towards the end rather than the beginning of the book, so the reader who is short on time, might wish to start at the back. I am most grateful to Charles Boyle at CB Editions for sending me this book. If you are interested in CB Editions, their blog is here. This weekend has been a glorious one in France, and I have included some more garden photographs to commemorate it.

Forgotten Book Friday: Who Was Changed and Who Was Dead by Barbara Comyns reviewed at Pattinase

I was thrilled when Patti Abbott asked me to guest blog on her “forgotten book friday” feature at her lovely blog Pattinase. This is a weekly treasure trove for all of those marvellous reads that have unfairly slipped out of the cannon of famous literature. So, let the rediscovery begin!

I have reveiwed one of my favourite books – the splendid “Who was changed and who was dead” by Barbara Comyns - click here to read it.



The illustrations here are the Virago Modern Classic cover and a photograph of the author.

If this has got you interested then you may enjoy reviews of this fascinating little book by Simon at Stuck in a Book, Verity at Verity's Virago Venture and at Leaning Towards the Sun.

What would be your top “forgotten” read?

Experiments in Bohemia – the collective laundry of the last century’s writers and artists

I have always thought that the word “Bohemian” has got something infuriatingly bourgeois about it. Some how it is a glib and inadequate classification for some of the most interesting people in modern cultural history. But there it is and here we are. That is the word that has been bestowed by history – and for those who are interested I would heartily recommend Virginia Nicholson’s masterly survey Among the Bohemians – experiments in living 1900 – 1939.

This is a rich and warm-hearted survey of people who in the early part of the twentieth century were linked together by art and eccentricity. It knits together lives entangled and divergent but all of its characters are colourful. They are for the most part artists and writers and Nicholson looks at how their daily lives differed from the norm. She unashamedly and very successfully takes a “laundry list view of history” and her compelling conclusion is that this motley crew of drinkers, dancers, talkers and painters were behind a minor cultural revolution.

So how might a bohemian of the period have been recognised by his or her countrymen? These were people who, in an age of economic uncertainty, prioritised art and beauty a long way above money. Whilst there were a few rich bohemians – they were for the most part, almost comically poor – living on a diet of black coffee and boiled eggs in freezing garret flats. In addition to this and probably most famously, they advocated rather more freedom in sexual relations that was otherwise accepted in their era. It was on this basis that Augustus John’s household came to consist of his wife, his mistress, at times, her other lover – and the collective children of the ensemble. Speaking of children – the raising of the young to be fearful of authority was another Victorian stricture which the bohemians had no truck with. Their children knew upbringings quite different from the rest of the population. Nicholson also shows how the bohemian was marked out by his dress, his (or rather, her) housekeeping, his willingness to travel, and even his dinner.

This patchwork of daily life is interesting for two reasons. Firstly, it clearly shows an historical parting of the ways – with the age of Victoria receding into the past and the modern age of individualism opening up before us. Secondly, it shines a light upon the domestic circumstances, the everyday paraphernalia from which some of the most interesting British art and literature of the 20th century emerged. I am fascinated to learn that Dylan Thomas – whose poems I love – was so poor that he habitually stole clothes from his friends and wracked up colossal bar and hotel bills on their behalf. I have always loved Augustus John’s portrait of the Marchesa Casati (for more on the Marchesa Casati see my earlier post) – and this is enriched by the knowledge of the personal drama that sat behind its production.

I have called Nicholson’s work “warm hearted”. This is because she manages to catalogue her “laundry list” of bohemia humorously, keeping in balance sympathy and admiration for the bohemians and also an awareness of how ill a life without boundaries could sometimes treat them. For all of the colour and drama and notable work produced, for many, poverty, ill education and a chaotic home life were in fact the enemies of promise. Nicholson manages to show this without a trace of self-righteousness and her work is all the richer for it.

I have included a few illustrations of notable bohemians. The images are of Dylan and Caitlin Thomas, Augustus John and Nina Hamnett.

As much as the name annoys me, I must admit to being a bit of a “bohemia” junkie in my book collection. For those who are interested, I have loved reading the following first hand accounts of this community:

- The Life of Dylan Thomas by Constantine Fitzgibbon
- Two Flamboyant Fathers by Nicolette Devas
- Laughing Torso by Nina Hamnett
- Our Spoons Came From Woolworths by Barbara Comyns.

Daffodils in February and putting the cart before the horse with Antonia White

I have photographed my copy of Jane Dunn’s “Antonia White: A Life” with a vase of daffodils not because they reflected my mood whilst reading the book, but because I needed cheering up. A dear friend has been bullying me for years to read White’s classic novel of convent school life Frost in May. I finally acceded and thought it deserving it of its reputation. I can understand why this book was chosen as the very first Virago Modern Classic. Aware that Frost in May is heavily autobiographical, I then jumped feet first and with much speed into its author’s biography.

As a cursory glance at this blog will show – I do love a good biography. But sometimes, just sometimes, reading a biography of a writer before one has read most of their work can be a shame. I suppose that the reason for this is that knowledge of the life and demons of a writer can taint the way we see their work. Jane Dunn’s biography of Antonia White is excellent, but I wonder if I should have waited.

Antonia White – the first Virago lady was a remarkable talent. Born in the last year of the 19th century, Antonia’s life changed when her father converted to Catholicism when she was seven years old. Her father’s conversion was the defining spiritual event of Antonia’s life and she would turn it and its implications over in my her mind for many years and in the midst of doubts, rebellions and reconversions. Her father took to his new faith with gusto and Antonia was sent to be educated at the Convent of the Sacred Heart at Roehampton. Her account of the cruelties and bigotries of convent school life – where children were encouraged to fall asleep with their hands clasped in prayer lest they should die in the night still has the power to shock us today.

It was not simply Antonia’s spiritual landscape that was laid out at Roehampton. So too, her identity as a writer was formed. The dramatic events at the end of Frost in May (which I will not spoil for readers who have not read it) left Antonia with a profound, tormenting sense of personal victimhood and an inability to write fiction. Although her writing was outstanding, she would never, even as a grown up woman be able to write purely fictional work. Like another Virago writer of the same period – Barbara Comyns – her writing was cathartic and based on her own life. For Antonia – writing was associated with the greatest injustice of her life and this changed the way she worked forever. She suffered from extended periods of appalling writer’s block. She destroyed huge amounts of her work. This account of her life as a writer has left me wondering what she would have produced if she had been able to tackle fiction. Was it her early experiences at the convent that put the fire into her writing? Or did the convent partly stymie a talent that was always there?

This tussle between pain and creativity speaks of the dominating factor in Antonia White’s life. As was evident from her very early adulthood, Antonia White was severely and brutally bi-polar. She suffered from extended periods of crushing mental illness which sapped years from her life and poisoned most of her relationships with others – even, or rather especially – those closest to her. For me, the most striking part of Jane Dunn’s biography was where she compares the medical reports from Antonia’s most dramatic breakdown, with her own fictionalised rendering of the same event. The clarity of vision and vivid language that White used to describe her darkest moments are staggering and the reader will watch anxiously for the strange interlacing of her depression and her startling creativity throughout this splendid record of her life.

The other pictures that I have used here are a publicicty shot of the adult Antonia White - and also a school photograph of one of the Scared Heart's other famous old girls - Vivien Leigh.