Simonetta

No, today's title doesn't suggest a foray into the world of female impersonation (for the record, Simone is my preferred equivalent) but rather the beginning of what I will whimsically call Hesperus Week!

Hesperus have been mentioned a few times on here before, but it's worth doing again. A while ago they sent me four books, and I gobbled up Jerome K. Jerome's The Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow very speedily, loving every word. It's taken me a while to read the other three, since I decided I'd finish them all before I wrote about them individually. Before I get onto the first of those, I'll remind you a little bit about Hesperus Press. They specialise in reprinting the neglected works of famous authors, and also translations of modern foreign novels. It is the former in which I am especially interested, with authors including Austen, Woolf, Bronte, Alcott, Pope, Balzac, Dickens, Defoe... etc. etc.

On the train to London I read L. P. Hartley's Simonetta Perkins. My first experience with LPH was The Go-Between, which I read last year and was a very close contender for my favourite ten books of 2007. Simonetta Perkins was also an absolute delight, told with panache and a wry wit. The novella opens with Lavinia Johnstone perusing a book in Venice, a book which makes bold statements such as "Love is the greatest of the passions; the first and the last". She cannot agree, having turned down several suitors and felt little more than irritation towards them. It is not long, however, before the romance of Venice persuades her otherwise - but she is attracted in an inconvenient and unsuitable direction. Through this slim volume Hartley explores a hypothetical relationship of unequal power, obsession and self-exploration. Think the scenario of Lady Chatterley's Lover in the hands of an author who is Lawrence's opposite.

What of Simonetta, you ask? Well, she takes a while to appear in her own novella, but is quite significant and intriguing when she does.

Hartley's work is subtle, sensitive and, above all, extremely funny. We can laugh at Lavinia because she laughs at herself, and not compromise pathos. For example, Lavinia's proper, dignified, insensitive and gently xenophobic mother warns her against letting any situation, especially of the male variety, get the upper hand of her: '[Lavinia] sighed, realising from past experience how improbable it was that any situation would put itself to the trouble.'

Do go and enjoy Simonetta Perkins - there is a wonderful novella waiting for you.

Back from Londontown

I've just had a very enjoyable and busy weekend in London, seeing a few friends who have migrated there from university. The downside is that I've lost my glasses - last seen on a table in the coffee bar at Tate Modern. Perhaps they will become an exhibit. Very irritating, and blearily made my way home - and had to cancel my driving lesson. Oh dear. But, aside from this, had a wonderful time in the Big City. Too many bookshops around, which wrought temptation... So, thanks to Lorna, Ashini, Matt, Joy and Becky for providing such a fun couple of days!

Postjudiced

It seems Mrs. Darcy has been a busy woman, paying calls on more or less every blog in the neighbourhood, and Stuck-in-a-Book is no different. In fact, despite Diana Birchall (whom I know from an online literary discussion list) contacting me a while ago, her book Mrs. Darcy's Dilemma has been hither and thither, all around Oxfordshire and most of the departments of the Bodleian. Hallowed company indeed. Finally she landed at my doorstop (or, more precisely, the janitors' desk) and I read this lovely novel in little under a day.

I have a healthy scepticism of prequels and sequels and so forth, if not written by the original author, and no author comes more sacred than our Jane. Advocacy has bordered on obsession ever since the earliest days of general access to her writings, and though national Jane-addiction comes in peaks and troughs, it has never truly been absent. I came to Pride and Prejudice in 1995 along with so many others, through the BBC TV version, when I was nine or ten. Though I’ve only read the novel once, I have listened to an unabridged cassette and watched a fairly faithful television version probably some hundred or so times. There is not a book in the world I would less like to see sullied.

Lucky Diana Birchall feels the same, isn’t it?

What shines from every page of Mrs. Darcy’s Dilemma is a love of Jane Austen, a respect for her great craft, and a deep affection for every single one of her characters, whether likeable or not. We have moved on twenty-five years, the wedding which concluded Pride and Prejudice has become a lengthy marriage and produced three children – Fitzwilliam, Henry and Jane. When Lydia’s progeny, Bettina and Cloe, come to visit their Aunt, Uncle and Cousins, romance, scandal and a sororal reunion cannot be far behind.

Within the first few pages, I had to make a decision – as will any reader, and it is the only way to read a sequel, I think. That decision was to read Mrs. Darcy’s Dilemma as a exercise in hypothetical speculation; a diverting game of “what if?”, not “and then…” For there were a hundred times when I thought “No! She wouldn’t have ended up like that”, or “Surely they would have…” and so forth. I am certain that Diana would welcome such a response – she is not laying down Mrs. Darcy’s Dilemma as a definitive continuation of Pride and Prejudice, but rather a skilful and witty piece of fantasy. If I were writing (or, rather, plotting) a sequel, then I’d have been kinder to Lydia and Kitty, certainly given Jane a pleasing and humble daughter, and maybe even… no, you see, each reader has her/his projections, affinities and affections.

To return to the novel. It has been many months since I read something so addictively, so keen to dedicate all my spare time to reading it. Yes, it even entered read-whilst-walking-to-work territory, which only happens once or twice a year. This was helped by the fact that Diana cleverly divides the narrative focus between revisiting old characters, and exploring the antics of their children. Most of P&P’s characters appear, or are at least mentioned. We see Lizzy and Lydia making the same mistakes as their father and mother respectively, and watch the good ‘uns and bad ‘uns (as usual in Jane country, the bad ‘uns are foolish more than wicked) from the next generation make a mess of things, and, of course, sort themselves out.

Naturally, Diana Birchall isn’t as good a writer as Jane Austen – it would be an odd coincidence if she were, since nobody else has achieved that in the last two centuries – but I can think of no finer hands into which to place this playful task. Playful in theory, of course, but I daresay terribly difficult in practice. Diana gets the tone so right: witty and ironic and moving and very, very Austen. I think the greatest compliment I can pay Mrs Darcy’s Dilemma is that I was left not mourning the handling of beloved characters who appeared, but wondering what she’d have done with the ones who did not.

Client Updates

I'm delighted to announce that WASHINGTON IRVING by Brian Jones will be featured in The New York Times City section this Sunday, March 9th.

Here is the new cover art for David Oppegaard's THE SUICIDE COLLECTORS (December 2008). Pretty cool, right?

Finally, we got a great blurb in for Ed Wright's DAMNATION FALLS (August, 2008) from Ken Bruen, author of The Guards, The Dramatist, and Priest.

“Damnation Falls will garner a second Shamus Award for Edward Wright. Imagine if Pete Dexter, the best writer on journalism, got together with Joe Lansdale to write the ultimate P.I. novel and an exposition of the New South, you'd have...Damnation Falls. Never was a novel so aptly titled or beautifully and heartbreakingly rendered.”

Booking Through Thursday : The Other Side of the Coin

Last week we discussed our favourite female characters... well, Booking Through Thursday have done the sensible thing and evened up the balance - who are your favourite male lead characters?

I found this much more difficult. Most of the novels I read, certainly most of my favourite novels, tend to be written by women and have female protagonists. The empathy lies with the woman, often in the first person, and so the male characters become obstacles or love interests or in some way affect the female. Difficult to treasure a character without empathy. Especially since a lot are in the Rochester / Mr. de Winter model (i.e. quite irritating and bafflingly attractive to women) or Heathcliff model (wholly loathsome) or Mr. Darcy model (ok... but mostly there to track the development of the heroine.)

I'm not getting very far, am I? Would Eeyore count, I wonder? I'm very fond of Norman, the narrator of Miss Hargreaves, but he pales in comparison to Miss H herself. I think I might have to plump for the anonymous narrator of Jerome K. Jerome's Three Men in a Boat, alongside the loveable Mr. Bingley. Why do I have to look so far back to find any male characters who are kind without being pathetic, or witty without being crude? C'mon, novelists, we boys need some role models...

My Last Post on this Stuff

I'm burned out talking about Love and Consequences, so this will be my last post on the matter unless additional news breaks.

First, has anyone noticed how inconsistent the newspaper coverage has been? You would think that on an issue like this they would make sure they fact-checked themselves, but I've caught quite a few misstatements and misrepresentations in their articles about the publishing industry.

Next, I have to admit that there is a good chance that Jones would have hoodwinked me as well. I've met the agent in question a few times, but I know her more by reputation, and she is by all accounts considered a very good and ethical agent. This is actually not an easy thing - I'm sure you could find a few people who would have a bad word or two to say about me.

Anyway, if one of my clients referred a writer to me, and that writer sent me their project and provided letters and photographs to support their story, and then introduced me to actual people who claimed to be the writer's foster siblings, I could imagine myself believing the story and not digging further.

Finally, a number of people have asked about the whole fiction v. memoir angle. Rachel Donadio addresses this rather well here, even if her article title was taken from me (j/k).

Blinking, Bells and Butterflies

Doing well on yesterday's challenge, people - keep up the good work!

I read another Oxford Book Group book today - in fact, had to request it to a reading room and read it all in my tea breaks. Luckily it was quite short. That's what happens when the entire book is dictated by the winking of an eyelid.

I don't know how familiar people are with Jean-Dominique Bauby's The Diving-Bell and the Butterfly? A film is coming out soon, so perhaps that has helped it leap to the public eye. It is basically the selective autobiography of an editor-in-chief of Elle magazine who has a major stroke and is left with locked-in syndrome. As he points out, the first (and he suggests, only) character in literature to have this condition is Noirtier in Dumas's The Count of Monte Cristo. He can no longer move any of his body, except his left eyelid, but retains total cognitive ability. The French term for it, "maladie de l'emmuré vivant", literally means walled-in alive disease.

How does one make a book out of this? Well, if it weren't true, it could only be used as a tasteless or lazy gimmick in the background of another narrative - as it is, Bauby writes an honest but witty account, heart-rending but not chest-beatingly gloom. Alongside day-to-day occurences, like the visit of his two children, Bauby intersperses nostalgic recollections, ironies, witty musings and a very human frustration and spirit. He is able to see the humour in a desperate situation - one of my favourite bits, which had to be translated for the version I read, was when he asked for his glasses, only to be stopped early and asked why he wanted the moon (lunettes; lune). And in some ways (forgive me if I stretch a point) that is what The Diving-Bell and the Butterfly performs - the mundane alongside the extraordinary; the glasses alongside the moon. Though a slim volume, Bauby has created a beautiful elegy to living and a pathos-filled account of life as an observer rather than participant. You will finish this autobiography recognising the fragility of existence, but laughing at the pomposity of any such idea in the face of Bauby's humour and stubborn refusal to let even the most extreme situation crush him.