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Posts Tagged ‘Marghanita Laski’

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I first encountered Marghanita Laski at the old Castle Bookshop in Hay on Wye – outside bookshelves and an honesty box on the wall. I was known to go a little mad there and bought bedraggled copies of Jane Eyre in order to save her from the rain. On one visit a mighty twelve years ago, I found a book called The Village by Marghanita Laski (1952)– the name rang a faint bell – and the pretty green paper cover urged me to buy it. When I returned home, I realised I had bought an old 50s edition of a book now re-issued by Persephone books. I absolutely loved The Village – and later bought a Persephone edition to go with it. It is very much over-due a re-read. I went on to read all the other Laski novels re-issued by Persephone as well as her first novel, that they haven’t. My interest in re-reading The Village is now even greater having finished with huge enjoyment Persephone’s latest Laski issuing, Tory Heaven or Thunder on the Right.

Like Love on the Supertax (1944) – a novel Persephone haven’t re-issued – and I suspect may not – Tory Heaven is a social and political satire. However, where Love on the Supertax is at times a little too Mitfordesque – Tory Heaven is merely sharp, wonderfully so. Here too Laski turns her observing eye on the British class system as she did in both The Village and Love on the Supertax. Those who come in for particular criticism (indirectly of course) are those members of upper class English society who resented the changes to their world and way of life that the Second World War particularly brought about. The world was changing forever, and they didn’t like it, and no doubt expressed their views loudly to anyone who would listen. This novel, it seems is Margahnita Laski’s reply.

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In his preface to this Persephone edition David Kynaston writes how in the immediate aftermath of the war and the election of Clement Atlee’s government many in the middle classes began to feel great discontent, no longer able to afford things they had taken for granted. They began, Kynaston tells us to want a return to the old sure Tory ways, that they had grown up with, with its strict social hierarchy.

The novel opens in 1945, five Britons have been stranded together for some years on an island in the Far East. They are a mixed bag, but have rubbed along fairly well together, despite a few petty jealousies and resentments. They manage to listen to the results of the 1945 General Election on the radio – and learn that a Socialist government has been elected. James, a traditional upper class young man is utterly horrified, as is Ughtred an elderly former civil servant, they can only imagine the world they will eventually arrive home to. Martin, a middle-class academic is delighted. Alongside these three are Penelope, the daughter of an Earl and Martin’s girlfriend, and Janice, a blonde beauty whose background no one seems to know much about. Having once managed to secure herself a double room at the Raffles Hotel, she generally comes up smelling of roses. James has had his eye on Janice – but she has made it quite clear she doesn’t return his interest. James offers up a kind of prayer that the dreaded socialists might be done away with.

‘“God, let it be as it might have been. Alter the clock, fix the election, do it any way you please, but let me see the England of all decent Conservatives’ dreams.”

The group are rescued and taken home to England by ship. Here is where Laski has played around with what actually did happen in the mid-1940s after the war – imagining not just a Tory victory but a whole new regime based upon returning the country to what certain sections of society would see as the ‘Good old days’ (ha! Any bells ringing?).

The Socialist government having collapsed almost immediately, a new hard-line Tory regime is in place as the five return to England.

Everyone in Britain has been graded along social lines, A, B, C, D, or E. Those granted coveted A status – are given everything they would want, bags of gold sovereigns, beautifully furnished rooms, complete with attentive butler. Bs are the middle classes, Cs the servants of A, including hairdressers and domestic servants, waiters etc, Ds are trade unionists, who don’t cause trouble as strikes are now illegal, Es are the odds and sods and hated intellectuals.

“‘The intellectuals.’ Ughtred continued, ‘apparently went delirious with organisation. They cut out the Light Programme of the BBC and substituted continuous editorial comment by Mr Kingsley Martin. They turned all the strip cartoons into illustrations of intellectual activity. They organised WEA lectures in every village hall and showed foreign films in every cinema…’”

When James is handed an A disc he is bemused at first, but over the next few days comes to realise what a wonderful world he has returned to. Fabulous, recently unheard-of food, enough credit to order his dream car, the promise that should he want a wife – one will be found for him. In the immediate chaos of his return to England James loses sight of his fellow island dwellers. However, in the company of Ughtred – another joyful A, James is destined to run into Martin, Penelope and Janice – and through them, and members of his own bemused and frightened family he is eventually forced to see things as they really are. On a visit to is parents his mother – always anxious that their butler/spy shouldn’t hear – explains…

““The Government want all ladies in my position to do a lot of charity, visit the poor with blankets and calves’ foot jelly and send them coals for the winter; in fact they issue us with special coals for the purpose. Well, of course, we’re only supposed to do charity to C’s, and there aren’t nearly as many C’s around here as there are A’s. We’re all supposed to go once a month and the consequence is, all the C’s are getting more blankets than they could possibly use. And as for the calves’ foot jelly – they just won’t touch it now they’ve tasted Heinz’s tomato soup.”

Knowing how many people will be reading this book in the coming months – I won’t say anymore about the plot. Laski is wonderfully witty, she makes her point without any need of a sledgehammer.

It is extraordinary how relevant a novel published in 1948 can still seem. I just hope no one buys Tory Heaven for Jacob Rees Mogg – it could very well give him ideas.

 

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love-on-the-supertax

I’m sure that it is only because of Persephone books that Marghanita Laski is remembered now at all. Born into a family of intellectuals in Manchester in 1915, Marghanita Laski went on to become a journalist, novelist and radio panellist. During her lifetime, she produced several novels, biographies, satires and plays, and edited some works of stories and poems. In 1999, Persephone re-issued The Victorian Chaise Longue, following it with Little Boy Lost, The Village and To Bed with Grand Music. Without Persephone books, I wonder how many people would have heard of Marghanita Laski? So many great writers lost to the vagaries of literary fashion, and so many of them women.

I have read all four of those novels – they are each quite different – and in their way, each quite brilliant. I was looking round for more Laski – and I remembered reading reviews by other bloggers of another Laski novel – not re-issued by Persephone – with a quite memorable title. Love on the Supertax.

“This is a story of the spring of 1944. But it does not tell of that jocund season as you know it in Finsbury and Hoxton, where, after their day’s work is done, clear-eyed, confident men and women meet to discuss the Trades Disputes Act or to visit the latest exhibition of paintings by Left-Wing artists at the Klassical Kinema; nor of spring where the first warm rays of sun strike down on the bountiful barrows of Bermondsey, the colourful backyards of Shoreditch. This is not a story of that spring of 1944 as it came to strong vigorous citizens with an ample present and an assurance of the future, but of spring as it came to the needy and the dispirited, to the fallen and the dispossessed, spring as it came to Mayfair.”

My fragile 1940s edition, came courtesy of eBay, and as I now realise it was Laski’s first novel (Wikepedia describes it as a comic novel – I would say it is more satire) I’m very glad I have read it. I certainly liked it, although it wouldn’t be my favourite of hers, and I think, I can understand why this one has not been re-issued. Whether it will be of course in time, I don’t know, but I somehow doubt it (she says sticking her neck out). That isn’t to say I was disappointed, I wasn’t at all. I thought there was a lot in the novel that is in fact quite clever, savagely witty. There were moments when it felt a little Mitfordesque. Characters and the society in which they live, examined with Laski’s critically observing eye. I can’t help but wonder whether modern readers would entirely ‘get it.’ Laski uses language very cleverly in this novel – her characters are from two different and distinct backgrounds, the upper classes and the working classes. However, Laski uses the language we more usually associate with the description of poorer working class households to describe her upper-class characters’ lives.

“Shivering with cold, Clarissa pulled on her scanty ragged underclothes, her laddered stockings and her last tweed suit that she would have sent to the cleaners weeks ago if they wouldn’t have kept it for months. She splashed her face with cold water and, with a final look of disgust at the grubby untidy bedroom, dragged herself down to the basement.”

Upper class Clarissa and her parents, the Duke and Duchess are portrayed as ill-prepared, for the world they find themselves in. Struggling valiantly to hold on to their world and its values – they are figures to be pitied.

Her working-class characters, are intelligent, worldly, have opportunities to earn wartime wages that are denied the struggling, upper classes. Social mores were changing in the 1940s and Marghanita Laski’s first readers must have read her novel with a wry smile, and a good deal of understanding for what she was saying.

The plot itself – is simply told. Clarissa and her parents are impoverished aristocracy. One son is serving abroad, the other involved in shadowy exploits of the black-market kind. Their country home has been requisitioned by the army, and they live in a kind of genteel squalor in their London home, with no servants, they are frequently hungry and cold. Their fortune; mismanaged by the Duke has disappeared and the Duchess has taken to selling some of her clothes to a dress agency. Clarissa and her parents, struggle to make ends meet, juggling shillings and coupons, and trying to save face with the traders who make their living off the backs of their upper crust customers. They find themselves rather envying the working classes who can take advantage of ‘war wages’ and who are all doing rather well.

Around the same time that Clarissa’s brother introduces her to handsome (and rather slimy) Sir Hubert Porkington, Clarissa meets Sid. Sid is from an altogether different background, he is highly politicised a member of the communist party, and Clarissa has her head turned immediately. Sid sets out to teach Clarissa a thing or two about the world, and Clarissa is enchanted, desperate to prove herself worthy of becoming part of his world. Sid takes her to parties, to lectures, she meets people, with something to say, who open her eyes, and Clarissa convinces herself she can become part of this world, throwing off the inconvenience of her embarrassing background.

It is, perhaps inevitably Sir Hubert (who never gets any nicer to my mind) who tells Clarissa how she can’t just throw off her class like she can her clothing, insisting she should be working to save her class, not working against it. Clarissa has fallen in love with Sid, but when he takes her to tea with his family, she begins, sadly to see, how difficult it will be to convince Sid’s friends and family that she is worthy of a place in their world. But is she? Could Clarissa work in a factory, join the communist party and forget her upbringing?

I really enjoyed Laski’s witty social commentary in this short novel – it lacks the brilliance of To Bed with Grand Music or Little Boy Lost, and she is not quite as funny or as sharp as Nancy Mitford, but still this is an enjoyable little read which fans of Laski’s other books might enjoy.

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This disturbing – but compelling little novel, is one I hadn’t thought I wanted to read. I knew however, that I liked Marghanita Laski’s writing, her female characters particularly are very real, flawed and believable, and her novel Little Boy Lost is one of the most poignantly heart-rending novels I have ever read (that’s not a criticism). So, I decided to give it a try – after all it’s very short.

The Victorian Chaise-Longue is generally described as a horror story. The horror lies in the way the story plays upon the reader’s fears of entrapment and loss of control and confusion of identity. That nightmare thing of trying to get people to believe the unbelievable, of having no way out of a situation with only one possible horrifying conclusion.

This is a novel about which it is difficult to write without potential spoilers, and so while I am intending to keep this short – I can’t promise the following won’t be a tad spoilery.

It is worth keeping in mind that I am just about the last person to ever read a horror story, and yet I really enjoyed it (though it is rather shuddery). The Victorian Chaise-Longue isn’t really a horror story by modern standards. It is instead, a quietly disturbing novel, cleverly psychological, it also has something to say about women’s lives and their positions in society during the two periods in which it is set. In the hands of a modern writer, I suspect everything would have gone a little OTT and been drawn out for 400 pages, Marghanita Laski is wonderfully subtle, and restrains herself to not revealing everything. The Victorian Chaise-Longue is far more powerful, in my opinion, for such handling.

Melanie Langdon is a young 1950s wife recovering from TB. She constantly seeks reassurance of her doctor that she won’t die, pretty and a little spoiled, she is constantly indulged by those around her. She was pregnant when the TB was discovered, and despite concerns, her doctors had allowed the pregnancy to continue. Her son Richard was born seven months earlier – since when Melanie has barely seen him. Her days are spent in bed, where she looks forward to her husband Guy’s visits, the nanny coming to hold Richard up at the door for her to see, and the continuing good reports from her doctors. Melanie has everything she could wish – apart from her health, which appears to be slowly returning, her life is one of privilege.

With her condition improving, her doctors agree she can leave her bedroom in the afternoons, to lie in the sun in the drawing room. The drawing room is where the Victorian Chaise-Longue has been put. A large, old fashioned piece of furniture, rather ugly with a scrolled back and cross-stitch embroidery cover.

“Through the open window the spring poured in. From her couch, bathed in the soft sweet air, Melanie could not see the canal that lay beside her home, but it flowed through her imagination, dark and still and beautiful. From the water on the far side, a rough bank rose steeply to a bombed, still desolate waste, and from one of the brambles that sprawled all over it, a branch curved high and free to lie across the blue sky. Suffused with sunlight faintly swaying across the pale blue sky. Drowsy, Melanie looked at the flowers and the sky, and the noises of the city – the soft continuous roar of traffic, the whine of the milkman’s electric cart that stopped and started in the street behind – died away with her slow beatific loss of immediacy.”

Melanie had bought the chaise-longue in an antique shop the day before she received her TB diagnosis. On that day, Melanie had been aware of a fleeting memory which swept over her as she first came into contact with the chaise-longue. At first, the reader takes this memory at face value, though it seems vaguely out of place – which in time we realise it was.

On the afternoon, that Melanie is carried by her husband to lie on the Victorian chaise-Longue in the afternoon sun, she falls asleep, and when she wakes up, nothing is what it was.

“She opened her eyes and it was dark. I am still asleep, she thought, and she shut her eyes again; but soon she realised that it was not now the delightful chaos of sleep still imposed on her brain. Now, this time, I am really awake, she said, and again it was dark, darkness charged with a faint foul smell.”

Melanie has woken up in the body of another woman, a woman who lived in the Victorian era – the 1860s – and like Melanie is lying on the chaise-longue, a victim of TB. Melanie finds herself in the body of Milly Bains, with the thoughts and longings of Melanie. The room is unfamiliar, yet known, the people around her unknown and yet gradually familiar. There are things which have happened to Milly in the past which neither we nor Milly can be sure of, some disgrace she has brought to the family, a reason why her sister is so coldly disapproving. It is like we have stepped into the middle of a story having entirely missed the opening chapters. Like Melanie, the reader isn’t always sure what is going on, this is particularly clever as it heightens the sense of claustrophobic uncertainty. Melanie – tries to believe she is in a nightmare – for as long as she can, before the true horror of her situation becomes apparent.

I was surprised actually, at how much I enjoyed this novella, and while it won’t be my favourite Marghanita Laski novel, it has renewed my appreciation for a gifted novelist who wrote several very different novels.

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