'Modern Reviewing' by H.G. Wells

Now and then I like to share interesting findings with you, so you can reap the benefits of my trips to the library and research for my DPhil.  I thought this brief article by H.G. Wells - published in a magazine called The Adelphi (edited by Katherine Mansfield's husband John Middleton Murray) in July 1923 - might be of interest.  Not only is it about Lady Into Fox, which a few of you have read or want to read, but it comments on the whole business of reviewing.  And things in the world of reviewing have changed surprisingly little in 90 years!

'How many people have read Lady Into Fox by David Garnett?  Most of us round and about the professional literary world have done so, but has it got through yet to the large public of intelligent readers beyond?  I very much doubt it.  Our critical reviewing people are cursed by a sort of gentility that makes them mumble the news they have to tell; busy doctors, teachers, business men, and so forth, have not the time to attend to these undertones.  No doubt Lady Into Fox has been praised a good deal in this mumbling, ineffective way.  But has it got through?  In the newspapers we ought to have more news about books and less hasty essay writing by way of reviewing.  A book, bad or good, gets its two or three or four or five inches of "review" in the papers and then no more about it.  You cannot tell from most book reviews whether the book matters in the slightest degree, whether it has any significant freshness in it at all.  The good things are hustled past public attention in a crowd of weary notices, weak blame, weak praise, and vague comment.  Newspapers don't treat tennis or golf in that fashion.  A new golfer is shouted about.  Why was there no shouting about Stella Benson's The Poor Man or Gerhardi's Futility - shouting to reach the suburbs and country towns?  Both these are wonderful books and only quite a few people seem to have heard of them yet. Lady Into Fox is the most amazingly good story I have read for a long time.  I don't propose to offer criticisms.  I accept a book like this; I don't criticise it.  I have nothing to say about how it is done, because I think it is perfectly done and could not have been done in any other way.  It is quite a fresh thing.  It is as astonishing and it is as entirely right and consistent as a new creation, a sort of new animal, let us say, suddenly running about in the world.  It is like a small, queer, furry animal I admit, but as alive, as whimsically inevitable as a very healthy kitten.  It shows up most other stories, all these trade stories that fill the booksellers' shops, for the clockwork beasts they are.'

A Man in the Zoo - David Garnett

I spent a day this week in the Reading University Special Collections reading room, going through Chatto & Windus review clippings books, looking at dozens of early reviews of David Garnett's Lady into Fox and A  Man in the Zoo.  This was incredibly interesting - looking at the initial response to these books, which was pretty positive, and seeing how their consensus over Lady Into Fox as a future classic have rather died a death.  David Garnett has become rather a footnote in the history of the Bloomsbury Group (most famous, perhaps, for marrying Virginia Woolf's niece Angelica - having previously been the lover of Angelica's father Duncan Grant.  Messy.)  But if anyone has heard of his literary output, it is for the 90-page novella Lady into Fox, where a lady turns into a fox (surprise surprise), which I wrote about briefly here.  It was a big bestseller in 1922, and lots of newspapers were eager to see what his follow up would be...

Hop forwards to 1924 and A Man in the Zoo, often found in tandem with Lady into Fox, since they only make up 190 pages between them.  Garnett has dropped the Defoe-esque (apparently) style of Lady into Fox, but he's still in person-as-animal territory - although this time there is nothing fantastic at play.

John Cromartie and Josephine Lackett are visiting the zoo, and are in the middle of an argument.  John has proposed, but Josephine doesn't want to leave her ailing father - and John believes that she simply doesn't love him enough.  They're having quite the contretemps, when Josephine says:

“I might as well have a baboon or a bear.  You are Tarzan of the Apes; you ought to be shut up in the Zoo.  The collection here is incomplete without you.  You are a survival – atavism at its worst.  Don’t ask me why I fell in love with you – I did, but I cannot marry Tarzan of the Apes, I’m not romantic enough.  I see, too, that you do believe what you have been saying.  You do think mankind is your enemy.  I can assure you that if mankind thinks of you, it thinks you are the missing link.  You ought to be shut up and exhibited here in the Zoo – I’ve told you once and now I tell you again – with the gorilla on one side and the chimpanzee on the other.  Science would gain a lot.”

She is venting, but... he takes her at her word.  John offers himself as an exhibit for the zoo - and, mostly to annoy a troublesome member of the committee ('it was not, however,until Mr. Wollop threatened to resign that the thing was done') they agree.

So he moves in.  He is housed between an orangutan and a chimpanzee, and draws quite the crowd - to the envy of his animal neighbours, and to Josephine's horror.  He is given a private bedroom and a library, and simply sits reading, ignoring the visiting public.  (It's starting to sound a little blissful, isn't it?  All that time just to read!)

For the rest of this short novel, Garnett shows Josephine and John's reactions to the situation, and (most adorably) gives John a pet caracal.  I hadn't looked one up before - but they're rather beautiful, aren't they?

(photo source)

As some of the early noted, Garnett doesn't entirely take full advantage of his scenario.  It could be used in all manner of different directions, but he doesn't explore very much - and the addition of another man (a black man, rather crudely drawn) feels a bit like Garnett is clutching at straws in an already extremely brief novel.  Lady into Fox was so brilliantly done, so logically worked out from the metamorphosis onwards, that A Man in the Zoo feels rather scattergun in comparison.  And the comparison certainly comes up time and again in those early reviews - as might be expected.

Taken on its own, without any reference to Lady into Fox, it's an enjoyable little book.  Garnett's style is pretty plain on first sight, but writing about passionate people without sounding ridiculous or hackneyed is difficult, so he deserves credit for that.  I suppose, with an extraordinary conceit at the centre of a narrative, the style shouldn't be over the top - so his gentle, straight-forward writing makes the tale seem almost rational.

I'd definitely recommend seeking out a copy which has both of these short novels together - not least because they are likely to have all the woodcuts by Garnett's then-wife Rachel Garnett, which have wonderful character to them.  Those for Lady into Fox are remarkable in the way she captures the fox's movements, as well as the human soul disguised in the metamorphosis.  The woodcuts help the fable-like quality of these two novels.  I don't know what message he might have been trying to give - they aren't simply Aesopian tales with morals - but an intriguing 1920s take on the strange and unusual, given a matter-of-fact treatment.

After the Fox

Just to prove I have read *something * this month...

Quite a while ago I wrote about second-book-syndrome. By that I meant the second book you read by an author, after you've loved one. You might be reading them in order they were written, might be completely different - but it's so difficult for the second book to live up to the first. I wrote the first blog post about Frank Baker's Before I Go Hence, which was good, but nowhere near as good as Miss Hargreaves, which is one of my '50 Books'. I haven't read another novel by Baker since, though I have a few waiting on my shelves. Today's post is about another '50 Books' author, and the second book I've read by him - Aspects of Love by David Garnett.

I bought this in a secondhand bookshop in London a while ago, and read most of it on the train home - then a lull, and read the rest last week. I was attracted to it, other than by Garnett's name, by its brevity. The blurb says:

'Alone in a villa in the South of France, a penniless French actress and a star-struck English boy enjoy an idyll which they thought could not last. The years prove them wrong. Their entanglement endures, changing slowly, bringing in others - all of them concerned to keep the taste of life on the tip of their tongue.'

Well, that was quite misleading. I was anticipating a beautiful love story, but nuanced by Modernist whirls, as it were. Lady Into Fox, though it put some people off with its metamorphosis, was at heart a moving love story, told with a spectacular linguistic skill. Aspects of Love was like reading a rollercoaster - dramatic event after dramatic event whisked past me, before I had time to work out what was happening. When the blurb says the central relationship is 'changing slowly', they mean she goes off with his uncle; he shoots her, she has a daughter with the uncle, who falls in love with him... I usually love short novels, as they give the opportunity for something simple and polished, portraits of characters which shine like gems. Aspects of Love had some good points, but should either have cut out half the plot or doubled its length. I don't know what Garnett was trying to say, but whatever it was didn't convince me - I am rather disappointed, and can't say I recommend this novel. The odd sentence was beautiful, but you some sentences do not a great novel make. Shame.

And now the question is... will I bother with a third book by Garnett?

Foxy Lady

Today I'm going to multi-task, and address a new entry on '50 Books You Must Read But May Not Have Heard About', while chatting about one of the books I read on holiday. Smooth, no?

UPDATE: a longer and better review has been done by Simon S here!

The first, to become no.13 on the list of books you should read, is Lady Into Fox by David Garnett, published in 1922. Don't really know how renowned this novel is already, but I didn't know anything about Garnett when my piano teacher mentioned Lady Into Fox. This is the lady who recommended Miss Hargreaves, so I was confident that the novel would find favour. The fact that Garnett was Virginia Woolf's nephew-in-law could only be a bonus.

Lady Into Fox - can you guess the plot? Sylvia (clever name) suddenly turns into a fox - the novel follows Mr Tebrick, her husband, as he witnesses Sylvia increasingly lose her human nature, and degenerate into vixenhood. What could be quite an absurd narrative is dealt with cleverly, and the fantasy never takes over. Instead, Garnett delivers a gentle tale with strong and genuine emotions, which becomes an admirable story of pathos.

Sylva (which presumely sounds like the precious metal, and makes referring to the novel audibly rather tricky) was written in 1962 as a response to Lady Into Fox, though I didn't know that when I bought the book. Interestingly, I bought it because I'd just read Garnett's novel. Gosh. Anyway, this novel is actually a French one, by 'Vercors' (Jean Bruller), though of course I have a translation. It acts as 'Fox Into Lady', if you will, reversing the central conceit of Garnett's work, and making it all a little grittier. Drug abuse is thrown in along the way, but Vercors' novel is mostly interesting as a study of development and psychology - Sylva's progress is intended to resemble that of mankind, but the centuries are condensed into weeks. A few too many ponderous expostulations, but enough charisma in the characterisation to make up for it. Both fun novels, but with thoughtful backgrounds and premises, and it's always interesting to read books in a pair like this. Who'd have thought foxes could be so entertaining?