The Wells of St Mary’s by R.C. Sherriff

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I was a little late in the day to R.C. Sherriff, but have now read and loved all three of his novels that Persephone publish – with Greengates being my favourite, I think. And naturally it made me want to read more of his. Bello have republished a few as ebooks and POD, but I got this quirky little paperback online relatively cheaply – and, while on holiday, read The Wells of St Mary’s (1962). It’s a few decades later than the Persephone novels, but every bit as good.

Our narrator is Peter Joyce, who lives in a large house on the outskirts of a village called St Mary’s. He is a magistrate and retired colonel. The Joyces have lived there for many years, but being landed gentry doesn’t bring the same riches it once did. Joyce is rather down on his luck financially, at least compared to his family’s former wealth – he does still have a butler – and its made him a bit cautious to invite old friends to stay. But one old friend does come – Lord Colindale (whom he also calls Colin – is his name Colin Colindale??) They haven’t been in touch for a while, and when Lord Colindale arrives, Joyce sees why – Colindale was renowned for being a powerful man of politics, journalism, and public life, and now he can’t move more than a few feet without the use of crutches. His vitality has been taken by rheumatism.

Don’t stop reading, if you think a novel about rheumatism doesn’t sound very gripping! I should also mention that, very early on, Joyce says that the account he is writing is connected with a murder. We don’t know who will be murdered, and we are constantly watching out for developments in the novel, to see who the victim and perpetrator will be, and why.

While taking his friend on a short tour of the village, they come across St Mary’s Well. It is on Joyce’s land, and still manned by an old man who has worked for the family since Joyce’s grandfather’s time – if ‘worked’ is the word, since he is often drunk and very few people come to the wells. It has been used since Roman times, and there is a building around the well, but the locals wouldn’t dream of going – and the number of tourists fighting their way down the overgrown path to the well is dwindling. But it has supposedly miraculous health-restoring qualities, and Colindale decides to take a drink.

And – yes! He finds the next morning that he doesn’t need his crutches. He is miraculously cured by the water of the well!

From here, things in the village start to change. Colindale uses his public position to tell the world about the well – and the next day the roads are jammed with cars getting there. The village puts together a committee to decide how they will make the most of this potential windfall, and most of the villagers sink their savings into shares. After all these highs, obviously not all will go well… but that’s all I’m going to say. And it’s obvious from early on, because Sherriff ends an awful lot of chapters with things like ‘but that was before the worst day of our lives’ etc.

I love fantastic fiction, and the premise of this novel puts it in that category. But more than that, I love Sherriff’s writing. In all of his novels, he is so, so good at unshowy writing that just drags you in and keeps you captivated, while being constantly gentle and character-led. It’s a real gift, and the sort of talent that doesn’t come around all that often. Whatever his genre or his idea, he gets us right in the midst of the community – he can sell any premise without the reader blinking an eye, and there is as much nuanced humanity in his sci-fi post-apocalypse as in the tale of a retired couple buying a house as there is in this novel about a miraculous well.

I was a bit worried that there wouldn’t be enough fiction on my end-of-year list, but this would be a worthy addition. And now I need to track down the rest of his novels, evidently…

StuckinaBook’s Weekend Miscellany

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Happy weekend! Even happier for me, because I’m off work for a week – and off on holiday with my brother. We tend to go away this time of year, because it’s coming up to our birthday, so we always get to enjoy places that are cold and wet. Hurrah! A couple years ago we went to Canada, last year was Northern Ireland, and this year it’s Yorkshire. If there are any bookshops near Harrogate that I mustn’t miss, let me know.

Luckily Hargreaves isn’t being abandoned – Mum is coming up to look after him, with Dad popping in occasionally. They were known as Our Vicar and Our Vicar’s Wife here for many years – and those of you who’ve just read The Diary of a Provincial Lady for the 1930 Club will now know why – but since they’re retired now, what should their nicknames be??

I’m going to be taking a blogging break while I’m away, but I’ll leave you with a book, a link (or two), and a blog post.

1.) The link – I read an interesting take on that Booker prize and its rule-breaking double win, from one of the judges – and then I read an even more interesting take from one of the not-super-pleased publishers with a novel on the shortlist. I have to say, I ended up #TeamPublisher.

2.) The book – Of the making of books about books there is no end, and thank goodness say I. The Secret Life of Books by Tom Mole came through my letterbox recently, and you can colour me intrigued.

3.) The blog post – Scott is running a ‘Possibly Furrowed Middlebrow?‘ event – a virtual one, anyone. Are there books that you’d long to see back in print? There are a few other criteria but that’s the main one.

 

 

The next club is announced!

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Thanks to everyone who put forward suggestions for the next club year, following #1930Club! Karen and I looked through everyone’s ideas, and two decades were definitely standing out – the 1920s and the 1950s.

In the end, we decided upon the #1920Club – first suggested by Paula. It’s right at the beginning of the period we do club years in, and it’ll be the centenary next year – which feels very appropriate. Maybe we’ll turn to the 1950s next time?

Here’s the badge, and as you can see it’ll be next April. Plenty of warning so get hunting for what you might read!

By the way, for those asking why we don’t do earlier or later years, and who haven’t seen the explanation before – the reason we decided to stop at 1980 was basically personal taste! The reason we don’t go earlier than 1920 is because cheap printing and a wider reading public around that time led to a great deal more books being published – and, in practice, it would be harder to get the same diverse range of books (particularly if we want them widely accessible) if we went earlier. Hope that clears that up!

The fall and rise of a bookshop (a book haul)

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A couple of weekends ago I went to the Bookbarn in Somerset. I’ve been many times, ever since I stumbled across it by accident while getting lost. It used to be an absolutely enormous barn of books – as the name applies – and you could only really look at a tiny section each time. I’d go just looking at authors A-D, say. It was extraordinary.

Then they put most of it into an internet-only section, leaving a smaller, newer ‘barn’ where all the books were £1 each. Smaller but still big. And with lots of unsorted shelves where you could find gems – and a cafe, which was good for long-suffering relatives who didn’t want to look at books for hours at a time.

And then I went a couple of weeks ago…

My first thought was disappointment. And my second thought, and my third. They’d closed off two-thirds of the smaller barn. The cafe was bigger, but there was no unsorted section. There were shelves and shelves of cheap, rubbishy paperbacks. And the books weren’t £1 each anymore. The rubbishy paperbacks were, but anything from before about 1960 was in a ‘vintage’ section, where everything was £4. And I’m talking anything. Out-of-date algebra textbooks. Cheap editions of Milton’s poetry. The sort of thing you’d pay 20p for at a church fete.

But… things got better. I made the conscious decision not to compare it to previous trips to the Bookbarn. I would look carefully at the paperbacks. I didn’t find anything I wanted worth £4 in the ‘vintage’ section (and I did hear one old lady say to a staff member “They’re not vintage; they’re just old”), but did get a lot of the paperbacks.

And then I remembered that you could search their warehouse inventory, fill out slips, and get them to bring books out for you. Obviously that did mean no serendipitous finds – but did mean a handful of books I was very pleased to get my mitts on! And, oddly, at very reasonable prices – some rather less than the £4 they’d slapped on unsellable tat in the front of the shop.

Anyway – a rather long intro to the books I did buy! The last five are the ones I ferried from the warehouse catalogue, and the others are the cheapy paperbacks.

The New York Trilogy by Paul Auster
One of those books – or, rather, three of those books – that I’ve intended to read for a while. I don’t remember where I’ve heard good things about it, other than… everywhere, I guess?

The 27th Kingdom by Alice Thomas Ellis
I’ve still only read one Alice Thomas Ellis novel, Unexplained Laughter, but happy to add another to the shelves – particularly one as intriguing as this.

Chapman’s Odyssey by Paul Bailey
As above – read one novel, the brilliant At The Jerusalem, but at one quid I can definitely add another Bailey to the pile.

Nice Work by David Lodge
I haven’t read any Lodge novels yet, but this is on the list for my book group next year.

Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi
It’s on brand for me to read a book years after everyone was talking about it. Rachel mentioned we could do this one for ‘Tea or Books?’ and then stopped replying to messages, as per.

Linger Awhile by Russell Hoban
This one looks quite trashy and odd, but I loved his Turtle Diary (which was odd but not at all trashy) so will give it a go. Someone falls in love with an actress long after she dies? Something like that?

Thornyhold by Mary Stewart
I’ve never read any Stewart but my friend Kirsty, who was one of the people I went with, had recently read and loved this one and pressed it into my hands.

Behold, Here’s Poison by Georgette Heyer
Perhaps more surprisingly, I’ve never read any Heyer. Whenever someone writes a blog post about her, I say that I intend to try her – and have never even bought any before. Now I have one of her detective novels – hopefully a good’un?

The Color of Evening by Robert Nathan
Nathan is one of those authors I really, really enjoy but don’t remember ever seeing mentioned in the blogosphere (though I have seen The Bishop’s Wife mentioned, a lovely film adapted from his novel of that name). His books are harder to find here than in the US, so was pleased to get this one.

The Bridge by Pamela Frankau
Road Through the Woods by Pamela Frankau
One of the authors I looked up on the warehouse catalogue was Frankau, hoping to find one of her rare, early novels. They didn’t have any of those, but I was also pleased to add these late novels to my Frankau shelves.

Sheaves by E.F. Benson
Paul by E.F. Benson
They did have quite a few scarcer E.F. Benson novels – some out of my budget, but these two were priced relatively low. I was particularly pleased to find Paul, which has intrigued me for a while – and might sneak into Project Names. And onto my overcrowded shelves of unread Bensons.

All in all, I came away with a pile that I was very pleased with – having thought for the first twenty minutes or so that I’d come away empty-handed. Goes to show that even bookshops that have got worse can hold gems, and the intrepid book-hunter shouldn’t be dismayed by initial appearances!

Which year shall we read next?

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What a fun week we’ve had with the 1930 Club! I’m always amazed by the number of people who get involved, and the diversity of books that we manage to read between us. This week we’ve had novels, poetry, essays, non-fiction, work in translation – all sorts. But, for once, no Simenon! Turns out he didn’t publish until 1931.

We’re already thinking about the next club, which will be sometime next April. And we’re turning over to suggestions – anything between 1920 and 1980 is up for grabs, if we haven’t done it already. So if you have any preference for a particular day, please let us know in the comments. Karen and I will draw out of a hat later – or could be won over by any especially persuasive rationale for a year…

Vulgarity in Literature by Aldous Huxley – #1930Club

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I’m sneaking into the final day of the 1930 Club with another 1930 read – albeit a very short one, at 59 pages. It’s one of the Dolphin Books series that I’ve written about before, and which I love. Beautiful little hardbacks covering a wide range of fiction and literary non-fiction. I haven’t been able to find out if they were specially commissioned or what, and I’m sure this essay of Huxley’s will have appeared in other forms, but it’s nice to read it in this original form.

I thought it might be about obscenity in literature, since that was such a raging battle of the period – not long after books like Lady Chatterley’s Lover and The Well of Loneliness had both been banned in the UK. But he quickly dispels this idea, and indeed stands up for writers being able to write about anything:

I myself have frequently been accused, by reviewers in public and by unprofessional readers in private correspondence, both of vulgarity and of wickedness—on the grounds, so far as I have ever been able to discover, that I reported my investigations into certain phenomena in plain English and in a novel. The fact that many people should be shocked by what he writes practically imposes it as a duty upon the writer to go on shocking them. For those who are shocked by truth are not only stupid, but morally reprehensible as well; the stupid should be educated, the wicked punished and reformed.

So, what does he mean by vulgarity? He dances around the topic but is never particularly clear on the point. It can be intellectual, emotional, or spiritual. It seems connected to insincerity or going too far, or misusing form, or… well, Huxley writes well and engagingly, and it is only when you get to the end that you realise it’s all been inconclusive. Fascinating, but inconclusive.

In terms of the ‘in literature’ bit of the title, he only talks in detail about Poe and Balzac, though with references to Dickens, Dostoevsky, and a handful of others. He doesn’t really consider contemporary literature at all, and thus can’t be said to comment on 1930 itself. But it was an enjoyable intellectual exercise, if not the sociological one that I was expecting when I picked it up.

The Secret of High Eldersham by Miles Burton – #1930Club

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The 1930 Club seemed like a great opportunity to take a look at my British Library Crime Classics shelves, which are overflowing with books I’ve not yet read. When they started republishing these intriguing detective novels in beautiful editions, I wanted to get them all. I still want to, if I’m honest, but they stepped up how many they were publishing and I realised it wasn’t very realistic. Still. Plenty there.

And one of them was The Secret of High Eldersham by Miles Burton, reprinted in 2016 and thus maybe one of the earlier reprints. Certainly Martin Edwards’ introduction makes it sound like one of the books he was keenest on getting out to a new public.

High Eldersham is a small and out-of-the-way village. The beautiful cover doesn’t strictly relate to any of the houses in the book, but there are a couple of larger ones – lived in respectively by a doctor and a landowner. Otherwise it’s mostly farm labourers and others that Burton doesn’t seem very interested in telling us about. And there’s a pub about a mile from the village proper, and not on the way to anywhere else. It hasn’t been very profitable for quite a while, because of its distance from anywhere, and the novel starts with the landlord Dunsford asking the brewery owner if he can be moved to a different pub nearby. Off Dunsford goes, with a warning that it might be difficult for the new landlord – not only because of the lack of profit, but because the villagers in High Eldersham are not very accepting of outsiders. Indeed, it almost seems as if ‘foreigners’ – those not born in the village – are cursed when they arrive…

Still, a retired policeman called Whitehead becomes the landlord, and we fast forward a few years. Turns out newbies aren’t very lucky, because he gets stabbed to death. The local policeman feels very ill-equipped to deal with any of this, since he usually just sorts out drunk and disorderlies, and others are brought in. I got a bit confused with who all the police who came are, but the important one is Desmond Merrion – an amateur detective, but with close ties to one of the detectives. And, in turns out, a coincidental relationship with a villager – and a prospective relationship with another…

I spent a while trying to decide whether to include spoilers in this post, and have chosen not to. The thing I was going to write about happens relatively early in the book, and you spend the rest of the novel trying to determine whether or not it actually happened… it plays on themes that were quite big at the time, but also atavistic.

That’s all I’ll say on that, but it is the dominant thread of the novel – and one that makes it an interesting and unusual book to read, but also which separates it from the more down-to-earth books of the Golden Age. Merrion went on to appear in dozens and dozens of other books, and I’d be interested to see how he fares as a detective in more traditional mysteries.

As it is, this one relies heavily on coincidence, and the plotting and detection can be a bit clumsy – but I did read a review that said it was more like a thriller than a detective novel, and I think that’s a good point. What Burton lacks in terms of intricate plotting he makes up for in suspense and excitement – and some engaging distortion of a village idyll. It rattles along and is probably rather sillier than the author intended, but certainly good fun for this year’s club.

Cat’s Company by Michael Joseph – #1930Club

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Firstly, I don’t know who was more self-indulgent – Michael Joseph for writing Cat’s Company, or me for reading it.

This non-fiction book is essentially an ode to how wonderful cats are – both in general and, more specifically, some of Joseph’s favourites. If you’re thinking that this couldn’t fill a whole book then you clearly aren’t the felinophile that I and Joseph are.

(Before I go further, I must also confess that there is some discrepancy with the date, and qualifications for the 1930 Club. My suspicions were first roused when Joseph mentioned the Munich Crisis… it turns out that Cat’s Company was indeed published in 1930, but was edited and updated in 1946. It isn’t at all clear which bits were added – except when they refer to later events, of course.)

How did Michael Joseph get something so self-indulgent published, you might wonder? Well, the answer comes when you see the name of the publishing house… Michael Joseph. I’m very glad he did, because Cat’s Company is a total delight.

In the first chapter, he basically just talks about how great his cats are. Particularly one called Minna, but he has plenty to say in praise of her offspring and for any number of cats past and present – at the time he was writing, he had fourteen in residence.

Other chapters share many anecdotes told to him by friends and strangers about their cats, examine the cat’s intelligence – he puts in a very fine argument about how it is more intelligent to be independent than to be trainable – and famous cat lovers in history. Most controversially, he devotes a chapter to cat vs dog. Joseph is no dog hater, and his household even had one when the book was published, but he recognises the cat’s natural superiority. And adds that not only do cats also know they are superior, dogs seem aware of it too. This cat lover can’t dispute it. This section is from an earlier chapter, because I don’t want to alienate dog fans:

We all like to think our pets exceptionally devoted and intelligent. Every animal lover can tell you, and will tell you if you give him the least encouragement, stories which demonstrate beyond all doubt the sagacity of his animal friends. The innumerable stories told about the loyalty and understanding of the dog have of course overshadowed the claims of puss, who does not parade his qualities for public admiration, and whose wits are generally employed for his private benefit. Only those who have taken the trouble to cultivate and study the cat can realise what an extraordinarily intelligent and responsive creature he is.

In terms of looking at how much this is a portrait of 1930 – well, the cat has not changed. It is amusing when he tries to describe the ‘cat flap’ (a term that didn’t exist until the 50s, according to the OED) and neutering/spaying cats was clearly a lot less common, but otherwise cat behaviour is largely the same, unspoiled by human interaction. And I will always rush towards any writer who is good at writing accurately about cats, in fiction or non-fiction.

Is Joseph biased? Yes, absolutely. He admits basically no faults in cats. Is he right? Absolutely. Am I biased? What do you think… But, yes, any cat lover should get their paws on this one.

 

What was Virginia Woolf up to in 1930?

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Whenever our club years have fallen during Virginia Woolf’s lifetime, I’ve looked into her diaries to share something of her life from the period. And the 1930 Club is no different! Her first entry isn’t very inspiring, but I like this from 11 March. It’s part of the entry, and shows her observational skills and her power with words. And, more sadly, what she thought about her own potential old age – that would never come. Spelling and grammar her own! 

Tuesday 11 March

all because I have to buy myself a dress this afternoon, & cant think what I want, I cannot read. I have written, fairly well – but it is a difficult book – at Waves; but cant keep on after 12; & now shall write here, for 20 minutes.

My impressions of Margaret & Lilian at Monks House were of great lumps of grey coat; straggling wisps of hair; hats floppy & home made; thick woollen stockings; black shoes; many wraps, shabby handbags, & shapelessness, & shabbiness & dreariness & drabness unspeakable. A tragedy in its way. Margaret at any rate deserved better of life than this dishevelled & undistinguished end. They are in lodgings – as usual. Have, as usual, a wonderful Xtian Scientist landlady; are somehow rejected by active life; sit knitting perhaps & smoking cigarettes, in the parlour where they have their meals, where there is always left a diet of oranges & bananas. I doubt if they have enough to eat. They seemed to be flabby & bloodless, spread into rather toneless chunks of flesh; having lost any commerce with looking glasses. So we showed them the garden, gave them tea (& I dont think an iced cake had come Lilian’s way this 6 weeks) & then – oh the dismal sense of people stranded, wanting to be energised; drifting – all woollen & hairy. […] Must old age be so shapeless? The only escape is to work the mind. I shall write a history of English literature, I think, in those days. And I shall walk. And I shall buy clothes, & keep my hair tidy, & make myself dine out.

Turn Back The Leaves by E.M. Delafield – #1930Club

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I hope and suspect that most of us have read one of the books that E.M. Delafield published in 1930 – The Diary of a Provincial Lady. Rather less popular is the title that I picked off my well-stocked Delafield shelves: Turn Back The Leaves. I have quite a few unread Delafields among the many that I have read, and it was good to get one down.

Turn Back The Leaves is a very different novel from The Diary of a Provincial Lady. It is not at all funny, for starters. Often Delafield combines serious topics with some levity, but this is nearly absent in this tangled story of illegitimacy and secrets. And, above all, the tensions of a family maintaining Catholic mores.

The novel starts in 1890 and ends in 1929, though most of it takes place just before and after World War One. But that section needs a bit of back story, and that’s what Delafield starts us with. In brief, a woman with the extraordinary name Edmunda marries a man named Joseph, despite neither of them being enthused by the match. They are both ardent Catholics, and their families are keen for them to marry other upstanding Catholics. It is a loveless match, though neither of them have been and love and don’t particularly miss what they haven’t had. Except then, of course, Edmunda does fall in love with another man – and Stella is born illegitimately. Joseph forgives her; they have four other children; she dies. Stella is left alone in London with a paid governess and nurse, and the others grow up with Joseph and his second wife.

Fast forward a few years – and some rather unnecessarily detailed characterisation of characters we will never see again, along the way – and Stella moves back to live with her half-brother and half-sisters, though none of them know the connection. She is only there as a ‘family friend’. And has been taken in because Joseph and his new wife are keen to give her a ‘good Catholic upbringing’. Only… there are temptations in the way of her and one of her half-sisters. They both fall in love with Protestants. Marrying out of the Catholic church is not forbidden, but it is only allowed if the non-Catholic partner allows their children to be brought up as Catholics – ‘the promises’ – and the prospective husbands won’t allow this.

Delafield’s author’s foreword reads that ‘this book is in no way intended as propaganda either for or against the Roman Catholic faith. It purports only to hold up a mirror to the psychological and religious environment of a little-known section of English society as it has existed for many years, and still exists today’. This is pretty disingenuous. As with quite a lot of Delafield’s novels, particularly the early ones, this is clearly motivated by some distaste for her Catholic upbringing. It isn’t a bitter book, but you never get the sense that the author is ambivalent.

But the Catholic characters are not monsters by any means. Sir Joseph is rather domineering, but others are motivated by their love for their church and their eagerness to do right. And it’s a very engaging, well-written novel, with vivid characters who only slightly lose their vividness by the author’s attempt to have slightly too many focuses. Stella should really be front and centre, but disappears towards the end when Delafield wants us to empathise with the rest of the family too.

I don’t know much about Catholicism, and I don’t know if inter-marrying is still as big a deal, or if the official line is still that no other Christian denomination is properly following Christ. I do know that Protestants still follow the beliefs of the Protestants in this novel – that following Christ is the important bit, not the specific church. As Delafield writes in her foreword, the Catholic angle was a niche point even in 1930 – and many readers might be uncertain that their interest could be sustained in a novel which revolves around the Catholic/non-Catholic angle.

Which would be a pity, because I think Turn Back The Leaves is very good indeed. At her best, Delafield is great at giving a novel momentum as well as psychological complexity and empathetic characters. Her writing is not unduly fancy, nor does it have the hilarious phrasing of the Provincial Lady books, but she does use the quiet, unshowy prose to pull the rug from under our feet. We are suddenly hit by observations and emotional moments, in few and precise words, that we might not be expecting. I think this is the 25th novel I’ve read by Delafield, and it’s up there among the ones I’ve enjoyed most. It feels odd to read one in which she is almost never humorous at all – but perhaps she wanted to make her 1930 output as distinct as possible. And the Provincial Lady this ain’t!