The 27th Kingdom by Alice Thomas Ellis – #ABookDayInMay – Day 14

The 27th Kingdom (1982) by Alice Thomas Ellis sounds like it might be a fantasy novel, and the curious cover to my edition makes it seem like some sort of water-based dystopia. Well, the title is just a reference to the many countries that Aunt Irene’s ancestors have lived in before they land in the 27th – Chelsea. Aunt Irene (she is always called ‘Aunt Irene’ by the narrative) lives there in 1954 with her careless nephew Kyril, a lodger they’re sick of called Mr Sirocco, some feuding occasional domestic help, and a range of eccentric neighbours who regard one another with the usual mixture of goodwill and malice.

Into this world comes Valentine, a postulant at a nunnery for whom a stay with Aunt Irene might well be considered a test. She is sent there by the Reverend Mother for as long as an apple remains ripe in her desk drawer – just one of the many unusual details that are dealt out with a matter-of-factness by Alice Thomas Ellis’s immensely enjoyable narrative.

She read her letter again, and because it made her cross she ate another piece of toast, reflecting that it was always one’s family who annoyed one most and made one fat. Simply that her sister was now called ‘Reverend Mother’ made Aunt Irene cross and inclined to put too much butter on her toast. As far as she was concerned, her sister was a naughty girl called Berthe, with dark flying hair and a dipping hem to her dress. She hadn’t agreed particularly well with that girl, but she had forgotten; and she resented her transformation into the stately virgin in the stiff robes that were so alarmingly clean. Aunt Irene herself was clean, but her clothes were soft and scented.

Aunt Irene is a glorious character in a novel of glorious characters. She is obsessed with the tax man and certain that he is stalking her, she loves eating horseflesh and has an amicable relationship with an underhand butcher, and she has the sort of idiosyncratic Christian faith that is one of many things that reminds me of Muriel Spark’s writing. She certainly believes in God and angels, but largely because she can’t imagine anybody inventing the meringue without supernatural intervention. ‘To Aunt Irene the Ten Commandments seemed almost insignificant compared with the astonishing miracle of what you could do with an egg.’

Valentine is very different from the environment she finds herself in – mixed-race, from an unspecified distant island, and certainly less worldly than the other inhabitants of this unsalubrious part of Chelsea (for such things there were in 1954). I found that I understood her less than the other characters, and she seems more of a catalyst than a character to get to know deeply. But her reverence and good nature do not stop her being blunt and ironic. Alice Thomas Ellis’s dialogue is, again, very Sparkian – people saying exactly what they mean, often at cross-purposes, but with a directness that means even the strangest conversations do seem to be communicative.

And the narrative is my chief joy in The 27th Kingdom. The most unusual things are written with total matter-of-factness – and elegant, even profound, things are delivered pat alongside the everyday. Here are a couple of examples I enjoyed:

On the way home they passed the Bunch of Grapes, Major Mason visible through the open door of the public bar. Aunt Irene pointed him out to Valentine as one of the sights of the district.

Valentine said nothing, but Aunt Irene was suddenly visited by a sensation of the sea, very deep and green and cold, and shivered with the surprise she always felt when reminded that she truly possessed a psychic gift and was not a liar.

and

“It’s time something happened,” said Aunt Irene the next morning. “Something pleasant. Nothing’s happened in ages.”

Valentine was surprised to hear this. It seemed to her that things here happened every moment and she missed the convent where time was afforded the respect befitting one of God’s more subtle creations.

Some of the novellas I’ve read this month have been all about atmosphere over plot. Well, The 27th Kingdom – despite Aunt Irene’s protests – is rammed with plot. It’s equally rammed with characters, any one of whom could have helmed their own novel. We race through, enjoying the brio, and she maintains the same breakneck, bizarre, very funny tone throughout.

I didn’t particularly love the first one or two Alice Thomas Ellis books I read, but I’m so glad I persevered. The most recent two I’ve read – The Inn at the Edge of the World and The 27th Kingdom – have been absolute successes for me. Any favourites among her oeuvre for any Alice Thomas Ellis fans out there?

Finishing A Century of Books with Alice Thomas Ellis

My final slot on A Century of Books turned out to be 1990, and I decided to read The Inn at the Edge of the World by Alice Thomas Ellis, which I bought last year in the Lake District. When I chose it, I hadn’t realised that it is set at Christmas – but what a perfect book to take away for my Christmas break at my brother’s.

Eric and Mabel live unhappily together on a remote Scottish island, running an inn with bar and guesthouse that is largely despised by the locals and only infrequently occupied by visitors. Eric has the brainwave to place an advertisment for people who want to escape the Christmas season – where could be further from the busy commercialism of Christmas than an island where nobody goes outside the summer, bar a handful of permanent residents?

Mabel quickly abandons the island and her husband, and he is left to look after the five people who do decide to take up the offer. There is actor Jessica, best known for commericals; beautiful Jon, a less successful actor who follows her there; Anita, a dissatisfied shop worker; Harry, a depressed ex-military man, and Ronald, a self-important psychologist whose wife has recently left him. Each has their own reasons for going, and each is equal parts ready and tentative to form new connections.

Ever since I read And Then There Were None as a teenager, I’ve loved stories about random (or seemingly random) people coming together. The Enchanted April by Elizabeth von Arnim is another good example, but far happier than The Inn at the Edge of the World – though perhaps Alice Thomas Ellis has something in common with Elizabeth von Arnim when it comes to descriptions of her characters. Both authors love depicting self-deception, and undercutting their characters even while they try to reveal their natures. Here’s Alice Thomas Ellis on Ronald the psychologist.

Ronald was also travelling in second-class accommodation because his wife’s desertion had left him unconfident and fearful that he might, at any moment, find himself penniless. He rationalised his decision by telling himself that, these days, there was very little difference between first and second class. He was right, but he was, nevertheless, slipping unawares into an unfortunate trend towards self-deception.

She slips in such brilliant little moments in passing, helping us to instantly understand not only the people she’s created, but the worlds they inhabit. Jessica the actress, for instance, ‘had a large pleasant face, which she could, when called upon, make beautiful’.

I found much of the novel very drily funny. Alice Thomas Ellis spares nobody and nothing. Here she has the inn’s decor in her sights. (Finlay is the man-of-all-work who seems involved in everything on the island, and his sister-in-law is the totally silent, totally capable woman who gets everything done and looks with evident cynicism on it all.)

When Finlay had gone Eric went to take a final look at the rooms which he and Finlay’s sister-in-law had prepared. The previous owner had had a regrettable passion for stripes. The wallpaper, curtains and counterpanes had all been resolutely striped and several chairs had had tartan-covered cushions on them. Eric had removed all these in his first enthusiasm and replaced them with a pale and restrained chintz he had got cheap when a shop in Glasgow, which had been too pale and restrained for its own good, went out of business.

The Inn at the Edge of the World certainly isn’t going to end up as heartwarming as The Enchanted April, but nor does it feel bleak. An unlikely friendship strikes up between Jessica and Harry, with limits imposed by their dissimilar natures. Eric admires or loathes the guests in turn, sometimes the same person, while Anita sets out to marry Ronald with the singlemindedness of a middle-aged woman exactly the right mix of imaginative and unimaginative. All the while, we remain aware of the wildness of the island – the dangerous sea around it, the possibility of being stranded, and the strange mythologies that are never too far from the everyday.

This is my third book by Alice Thomas Ellis, and I wasn’t entirely sure what I thought about Unexplained Laughter and The Birds of the Air. I don’t have to think twice about this one: it is far and away the best book I’ve read by Alice Thomas Ellis. She is brilliantly witty and a little dark, quietly ridiculing her characters without dehumanising them. Her deep knowledge of human nature never wavers, and though there are elements of the surreal that felt slightly self-indulgent, they don’t seep into the form and logic of the novel as they did in the other two I’ve read.

I absolutely recommend The Inn at the Edge of the World – particularly at Christmas, but it would be a great read at any other time too. I’m so glad I finished A Century of Books on a high – and with a handful of days to go, too.

Unexplained Laughter by Alice Thomas Ellis

One of the things I’ve been occasionally trying to do during A Century of Books is read some of the authors who’ve been waiting on my shelves for years and years. Among those is Alice Thomas Ellis – I have three or four, and I think one of them has been there since about 2003. The one that I chose – Unexplained Laughter (1985) – has only been there since 2009, but it’s quite time that I gave her a go. Here are some quick thoughts about it…

“What was that?” asked Lydia. She was standing in blackness in the middle of a narrow, ice-cold stream. The stones over which it flowed were as slippery as its fish and Lydia was wearing town shoes.

“It’s an owl,” said Betty.

“No, it isn’t,” argued Lydia. “Owls go tu-whit-tu-whoo. Whatever that was was squeaking. It was a mammal – something furry. Something’s eating something furry.”

“Give me your hand,” said Betty irritably. “I’m on the other side. I think I’ve found the path again. And it’s only the tawny owl who goes tu-whit-tu-whoo. All the rest squeak like that.”

“I can’t see my hand,” said Lydia. “Anyway, you’ll have to wait because I’m going to have hysterics. I’m going to stand in this stream and scream.”

That’s more or less the beginning (except for one of the occasional, confusing bits in italics from ‘Angharad’ that I largely ended up skimming). Lydia has retired to the atavistic and wild world of a holiday cottage in Wales, escaping her cosmopolitan life. With her is put-upon friend/companion/dogsbody Betty – who is very much the victim of Lydia’s barbs and selfishness.

Based on this novel, I’d put Alice Thomas Ellis in the category of Muriel Spark, Jane Bowles, and (some) Penelope Fitzgerald – inasmuch as she creates larger than life characters who say exactly what comes to them. Lydia is a monster on a small scale, but it’s very entertaining to read her bluntness and quips. Because of the tone of the novel, we don’t feel too bad for Betty – or any of the villagers who receive the pointed end of Lydia’s observations.

Less successful, to my mind, was the curious supernatural undertone. I don’t have a problem with that being in the novel, but I just felt a bit confused and lost as to what was going on – and what the reader was supposed to be understanding by it.

But I’m a sucker for the late-century brittleness and absurdity, and I’m sure I’ll be back to my shelves to read more of the Alice Thomas Ellis there.