regshoe | Entries tagged with author: sylvia townsend warner

Mr Fortune's Maggot by Sylvia Townsend Warner (1927). A kind of weird book which I am finding it difficult to say much about. It's about an English missionary, Mr Fortune, in the Pacific Islands; the islanders cheerfully ignore his attempts to convert them, but he makes one apparent convert, a boy called Lueli, and Mr Fortune and Lueli end up kind of loving each other very much while also basically failing to understand each other. STW's books are always completely different from each other and also very distinctively her every time, and this one is no different; but I think the emotional distance in it did not really work for me. Hmm. Townsend Warner admits in the foreword not having done much research about the actual Pacific Islands, which perhaps didn't help; for a story that's generally critical of the typical perspectives of English missionaries it didn't seem to understand or really be very interested in the islanders' own points of view.

Re-read Where Angels Fear to Tread by E. M. Forster (1905). I remembered this book as being good but not grabbing me emotionally the way some of Forster's other books do, and as being what I'd call literarily homoerotic rather than fannishly slashy (whereas I think The Longest Journey is both). I felt the same way this time, pretty much! Definitely worth reading—I love Forster's prose and observational skills, I did like Philip especially, and there's definitely something in Philip/Gino—but not one of my faves. It's sort of similar to Mr Fortune's Maggot in a funny way—they're both about clashes between English culture and a very different foreign one, and both somewhat limited by not really being able to get properly into the perspective of the other culture.

Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel (2009). A fairly famous recent historical novel about Thomas Cromwell, a prominent figure from the reign of Henry VIII; the main plot takes place from the 1520s to 1535, as Cromwell survives the downfall of Cardinal Wolsey and navigates the whole Henry-Katherine of Aragon-Anne Boleyn situation. I found the writing style difficult to get on with: it stays closely in Cromwell's head as the POV character while also being quite indirect about what's actually happening, and it's very much the sort of prose that you have to work to see the story through. Mantel's deployment of pronouns gets confusing at times (she's oddly reluctant to use Cromwell's name in the narration, so you often have to stop and puzzle out whether a 'he' which structurally seems like it ought to refer to another character is actually Cromwell; but then sometimes she does use Cromwell's name after all, and sometimes it's distracting overuse of 'he, Cromwell' instead; etc.), and dialogue tags are frequently insufficient. Apparently this book has been criticised for being too pro-Cromwell and making him too likeable, which rather surprised me; the narrative of this book clearly respects Cromwell and thinks he's worth taking seriously, but I would not have called him a very likeable character. A lot of historical research went into it, and I did enjoy the historical detail and complexity very much—especially the bits about the Reformation, in how they combine Cromwell's personal religious beliefs and the background of early Protestantism with the political complications of everything in England. I already knew something about the sweating sickness—the mysterious disease to which Cromwell's wife and two young daughters, among others, succumbed—what a fascinating historical mystery. Henry is a complicatedly difficult tyrant; the book does not seem very sympathetic to either Katherine or Anne, which—without knowing very much about them, but being aware that more complex interpretations are possible—is a bit disappointing. It ends with the downfall and execution of Thomas More (whom Mantel portrays as an eerily recognisable type of slimily arrogant Catholic—I was not surprised to discover that she was raised Catholic, left and later became highly critical of the Church), and Cromwell arranging for Henry and his court to visit Wolf Hall, the seat of the Seymour family, which has hitherto been curiously absent from a book named after it. Here, one presumes, Henry will meet Jane Seymour, and further drama will ensue in the book's two sequels—which I may read at some point.

Also read Christabel by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1816), a short story-length narrative poem which

flo_nelja recced as being femslashy in a similar way to Carmilla. That's very accurate, it is weird and disturbing and properly femslashy, and I am hoping to request f/f for it in

once_upon_fic. :D

Pickle the Spy and The Companions of Pickle by Andrew Lang (1897 and 1898 respectively). Fairly little of the Jacobite history reading I've done so far has much to say about what happened to BPC and his companions and followers after the '45, and so—currently working on a fic that uses some of the same bits of history Broster used in The Gleam in the North—I was pleased to find these books, which I think must have been fairly important sources for GitN itself.

Pickle the Spy is broader than its title suggests. Partly it is about the spy known as 'Pickle'*, whose true identity remained unknown until Andrew Lang identified him as Alastair MacDonnell, Younger of Glengarry, and his spying and reporting to the Government on Jacobite activities in Scotland and on the continent in the years after the '45; but it also discusses other important Jacobites of this period, covering the later life of Charles Edward himself as well as the Elibank plot, the activities and sad fate of Archibald Cameron, the Loch Arkaig treasure and various other bits and pieces. As I say, I'm sure Broster used this as a source for GitN, in which she fictionalises Glengarry as 'Finlay MacPhair of Glenshian'; virtually all the detail about him that she includes, down to the address of the London chemist where he had his letters directed, is in here. The information about Archibald Cameron's activities prior to his capture and execution is also familiar, and will be very useful for my fic. (Amongst other things I was pleased to learn the identity of Broster's mysterious 'MacPhair of Lochdornie'; he's really MacDonnell of Lochgarry, a relative of Glengarry's). Besides that, Lang explores Prince Charles's movements after the '45, particularly during the years following the Peace of Aix-la-Chapelle when he disappeared from the ken of nearly everyone in Europe (he was, amongst other things, hiding in a convent in Paris where some French ladies helped to conceal him; these ladies, about whom Lang could discover tantalisingly little, are pretty intriguing Jacobite figures). Lang confirms the story—about which I remember some doubt in

cahn's 18th century discussions a while ago—that Charles converted to the Church of England some time in the early 1750s, although it appears not to have been actually during his visit to London in 1750. We also hear about James Mohr MacGregor, another spy (sometimes, before Lang's revelations about Glengarry, suspected of being Pickle), and the later lives of both Glengarry and Charles. Interestingly—with GitN in mind—while Lang does acknowledge the political importance of the battle of Quiberon Bay in 1759, he puts the decisive end of Jacobite hopes in 1754, due to Charles's deteriorating moral character and his quarrels with his friends; while Ewen obviously wasn't privy to these details, that does go along rather nicely with Broster having him accept that his Cause is after its sunset with Archie's death in 1753.

In The Companions of Pickle, Lang explores in more detail the lives of a few prominent Jacobites, many of them spies and traitors of some kind, during and after the '45. Speaking of

cahn's salon, those of you in Frederick the Great fandom may enjoy the first two chapters on the Earl Marischal, whom Lang greatly admires; he's less complimentary about Murray of Broughton and MacDonnell of Barisdale, both of whom betrayed the Prince. (Barisdale was apparently 6'4"; I wonder if he ever met Ewen???). There's more detail on the Loch Arkaig treasure—I get hopelessly confused trying to follow the various accounts of what happened to different parts of the money, but it does seem fairly certain that Dr Cameron did not embezzle from it, and Cluny MacPherson probably didn't either—and the trouble and strife it caused amongst various branches of Clans Cameron and MacDonnell amidst the already deep troubles of the post-'45 Highlands. Lang apparently faced quite a bit of criticism for his identification of Pickle with Glengarry (how dare he claim that such an important, respectable Highland gentleman was a traitor???, say the proud Highlanders of the late Victorian period, apparently), and here he sets out his evidence in more detail, including a list of all the characteristic misspellings shared by Pickle and Glengarry (and faithfully reproduced by Broster; Lang makes much of Pickle's bad spelling, but also points out that Prince Charles couldn't spell either). The final chapter is a meditation on the condition of the Highlands 'then' and 'now', and Lang's thoughts on to what extent the 'good old days' of the Jacobites were really better. Altogether, these two books made fascinating reading, and will be very useful fic research material! Also, Lang was apparently a big fan of Robert Louis Stevenson; he mentions Kidnapped several times, at one point rather charmingly recommending it as further historical reading alongside an actual primary source.

*A pseudonym apparently chosen after Smollett's novel The Adventures of Peregrine Pickle, which I shall certainly read at some point, because that's an incredible way to get a book rec.

The True Heart by Sylvia Townsend Warner (1929). This is a retelling of the myth of Cupid and Psyche set in Victorian Essex: Sukey Bond, raised in an orphanage and sent out as servant to a farm on the marshes, falls in love with Eric (hehe, see what she did with the names :D ), the 'idiot' son of a local clergyman kept at the farm so as to be out of the way. Eric's mother separates them, and Sukey, cast adrift in the world, determinedly sets out to get him back. Now, I say all this without actually knowing the myth itself beyond recognising the names, so it's quite likely I'm missing a lot, but I enjoyed the book regardless... Townsend Warner's writing is always beautiful, and her books are so interestingly diverse, none quite like the others—though the prose and storytelling style in this one is I think more like Lolly Willowes than any of her others that I've read so far. The descriptions of the Essex marshes and of Sukey's thoughts and feelings are both very vivid, and I liked both of them very much; although we see less of Eric or his POV, and I would have liked a bit more, it's also an interesting context in which to see a disabled character get to have a love story and a happy ending against the wishes of society and the powerful people in his life. Parts of it were confusing—the pacing goes a bit funny in places, and the story seemed to have its own powerful logic which clearly makes sense to Townsend Warner but which I couldn't always quite follow; although perhaps it would have helped if I'd been familiar with the original!—but all of it is lovely.

I'm also making steady progress on the initial proofreading for Chantemerle (I have decided that I do actually ship Gilbert/Louis; the pattern of emotionally intense and conflicted hurt/comfort turns up early in Broster's novels!); and I'm nearly halfway through Ronja rövardotter, going at the rate of a page or two a day and improving my vocabulary excellently.

The Flint Anchor by Sylvia Townsend Warner (1954). You can always count on Sylvia Townsend Warner to be interesting, unexpected and always very much herself—every book of hers I read blends the new and familiar so pleasingly. This one is about the life of John Barnard, a rich merchant from the Norfolk coast, and his family, in the nineteenth century: it opens by describing his memorial plaque as it looks in the modern day, and then ranges back over his life, with the life presenting something of an ironic contrast to the conventionally-worded plaque. The whole thing is a fascinating exploration of character, place, duty and memory. John Barnard is not really a bad person—he's well-intentioned and conscientious in his way—and yet the book describes in painstaking detail how he, in trying to live an honourable and upstanding life and do his duty in society, slowly crushes the life out of his family by a constant stern, gloomy oppression. It's pretty horrifying in its quiet way, and a brilliant criticism of patriarchy in the literal sense. I couldn't exactly like John, but I certainly felt for him.

The story meanders along through much of the nineteenth century without any specific plot, and brings in various bits of historical detail—the economic depressions of the 1810s and 1840s and the better times of the 1850s, news of foreign wars, changing fashions, the Tractarian and Evangelical movements. From time to time the oppressive atmosphere of the Barnard household is relieved by passages describing the background of the town of Loseby and the fisher-folk who live there, and it's here that the reason the book came to my attention is brought in. Homosexuality among the fishermen is definitely there and becomes fairly important to the plot at one point, but it's not a large part of the book by any means. The fisher-folk's acceptance of it is presented as one element in their being a people apart, with a separate culture from their inland neighbours—which general fact, interestingly, is something that came up several times while I was doing research for my Yuletide fic 'But Give Me Wings Like Noah's Dove', although I don't know how much historical basis there is for this interpretation of it.

(Also, the Virago edition which I read has a very appropriate classic painting cover image—they tend to be a bit random, but this one is spot-on!)

Some Tame Gazelle by Barbara Pym (1950). Pym's first book—I thought I'd go back to the beginning for some re-reading! Written in the 1930s, it follows middle-aged spinster Belinda Bede, who lives in a geographically-vague country village with her sister Harriet, and across the street from the Archdeacon, Henry Hoccleve, with whom Belinda has been in unrequited love for thirty years. During the course of the book a new curate arrives in the village—much to the excitement of Harriet, who dotes on curates—the Archdeacon's wife goes away on holiday, various other interesting people turn up and cause various sorts of social disruption and a great deal of poetry, some of it unsuitable, is quoted. And there's a lot of emotionally significant knitting! It's the sort of quiet social comedy that Pym does very well, and really enjoyable to read. And it does a lot of things with the portrayal of unrequited love. Belinda's love for the Archdeacon (who, frankly, doesn't deserve it), hopeless as it is, is shown as something meaningful, living, perhaps even fulfilling in its way. It's all terribly poignant, and written with all of Pym's warm sympathy that's always just on the right side of pathetic. And lots more good stuff to read on this one on the Barbara Pym Society website—I knew that Belinda was something of a self-insert, but apparently the main characters were all closely based on people she knew, which is certainly an interesting thing to keep in mind while reading this book.

Tuscan Folk-lore and Sketches by Isabella M. Anderton (1905). Read as research for my Raffles WIP (I was looking for historical writing on Elba that wasn't all about Napoleon—the Elba section of this book is only half about him!). It's a somewhat miscellaneous collection of Anderton's writings put together by her family after her death: it includes fairytales told to her by her Tuscan peasant friends, descriptions of countryside scenes and historical sites and some literary criticism. Anderton herself, a scholar and teacher of literature who grew up in England and lived much of her life in Italy, sounds an interesting sort of person, and I enjoyed her various writings. They've certainly given me plenty of descriptive colour and detail for the fic.

Lolly Willowes by Sylvia Townsend Warner (1927). Revisiting an old favourite, which is just as good as ever. :D This book is a difficult one to summarise, because a large part of the entire point of it hinges on a big twist that happens about two-thirds of the way through—but, without spoilers, it's a very inventive take on the early twentieth-century Problem of Single Women genre, in which a middle-aged spinster breaks free from the 'maiden aunt' role into which she's been pushed without any consideration for her feelings, and finds her own independence and happiness. I love it. I was particularly struck this time by the sort of odd, uncanny creativity of a lot of the description and narrative ideas—thoughts or connections that seem strange are introduced sideways in a very matter-of-fact way with an assumption that they'll make sense, which, in their own way, they generally do. It's one of my favourite things about both the book in general and Laura as a character. Really, really good.

Quest for a Maid by Frances Mary Hendry (1988). This is a historical children's novel set in thirteenth-century Scotland, dealing with the interesting series of events surrounding the life of Margaret, Maid of Norway: daughter of the Norwegian king and heir to the Scottish throne, she was sent to Britain at the age of seven but died on the way. Our main character, Meg, is a plucky young Scottish girl who serendipitously gets sent along on the voyage. The plot is mostly about Meg's largely fictional life, with the big historical things happening off to one side: we see her navigating difficult relationships with her sisters, going to live with the family of the boy she's betrothed to, learning to sail. There's a lovely gentle 'found family' sort of dynamic between Meg, her arranged fiance Davie, her devoted servant Peem, and Marie, as the Maid of Norway here prefers to be called; but the most interesting relationship, for me, was between Meg and her older sister Inge, who (as we learn on the first page) is a witch, and who is quite willing to use her powers for evil... but who nevertheless loves Meg truly. Things between them remain emotionally complicated right up to the end, and the mix of distrust, betrayal, anger, kindness and love in all their interactions is really good. The book also sort of retells the ballad 'Sir Patrick Spens', with Patrick appearing as a side character (Davie is his son), and the voyage to bring Marie to Scotland becoming the doomed voyage from the ballad. I didn't think it really did the ballad justice (and why deny Patrick his knighthood???), but hey, it's one of my faves, I would think that. Other than that, a very enjoyable read. (Also, points for having the most drama-free non-issue of a love triangle I think I've ever seen in a book).

I've been looking forward to this book for something like four years, and it did not disappoint.

Kingdoms of Elfin was Sylvia Townsend Warner's last book, published in 1977. It's a collection of short stories loosely linked together by their common setting of the world of the fairies, or Elfins: we see various fairy kingdoms (so called, although in fact ruling queens are the norm) throughout Europe, as well as one in Persia, and the stories follow various Elfin characters at and outside these societies.

The writing is both descriptively lovely and precise in its detail, and the stories show a very definite vision of Elfin society. It's quite rigidly stratified (fairies have wings, for instance, but using them is something only common fairies do—aristocratic fairies never fly), full of odd rules and rituals that make sense in that kind of twisted-logical way that's so appropriate for Faerie. The fairies have their own philosophical and religious beliefs: the belief that fairies do not have immortal souls is a big deal, so much so that one character gets declared a heretic and exiled from his kingdom for contradicting it. The idea of Faerie as a sort of dark mirror of human society is certainly there in the background. All but one of the stories are written firmly from a fairy perspective, not a human one, putting the fairy way of thinking at the centre of things and taking for granted that it will make sense to the reader. This makes for some really interesting worldbuilding opportunities that are fully taken advantage of; but it was also interesting to see the effect it has on the mood of the book.

The edition I've got has a quote on the front cover from Neil Gaiman, who says that this is 'a book for anyone who has heard the horns of Elfin in the distance at twilight'—a reference to The King of Elfland's Daughter by Lord Dunsany, another excellent book about Faerie. However, the mood of this book really isn't the sort of haunting, ethereal, numinous quality that description suggests to me, and that books like The King of Elfland's Daughter, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell and, indeed, the early part of Lolly Willowes evoke so well. This book presents Faerie as the ordinary world. Instead of vague suggestions, we get quite specific details—sometimes startlingly beautiful, sometimes horrifying, sometimes just plain odd—and the overall effect is unsettling, brilliant and very successfully alien. The imagery is often beautifully vivid, full of strange, perfectly placed details that glitter like shards of broken glass and feel just as potentially dangerous. Sylvia Townsend Warner apparently said of this book that she was 'tired of the human heart, and wanted 'to write about something entirely different. She certainly succeeded.

Speaking of Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, I think Kingdoms of Elfin was very probably an influence on it. The gentleman with the thistledown hair, with his bright whimsy and arbitrary cruelty, would fit right in with these fairies, and there do also seem to be a couple of specific references: the last story (and interestingly, the only one written entirely from a human point of view) is titled Foxcastle, the name of a minor character from JSMN, and Professor James Sutherland of Aberdeen, who introduces The Ladies of Grace Adieu, appears to have been named after its main character.

In conclusion, this is an extremely good book and highly recommended to all fans of fairies, JSMN and fantasy in general!