4. ‘The Light Years’ by Elizabeth Jane Howard
I took this one away with me to Turkey last August (this and
literally about 10 others. Cue angry boyfriend cramming several in his hand luggage
when my suitcase wouldn’t close. Only at these times does a Kindle seem like
the best damn idea on earth). On yet another book shop visit in preparation for
the holiday, I stumbled across this gem and the cover called to me- understated
and most importantly, scattered with floral, with the subtitle ‘The Cazalet
Chronicles: Volume One’. As an avid fan of ‘Downton Abbey’ and someone who
seems to read a shocking number of novels set in beautiful manner houses of the
past, the opportunity to follow a family and all their eccentricities across
not just one but five (five!) novels
seemed almost like a dream come true. Ridiculous, I know.
The novel is set in ‘the heart of the Sussex countryside’ in
1937-38. It follows the Cazalets, an upper-middle class family, through their
everyday lives. Another war is looming and as the Cazalet households
prepare for their summer pilgrimage to the family estate in Sussex, we meet
Edward, in love with but by no means faithful to his wife Villy; Hugh, wounded
in the Great War; Rupert, who worships his lovely young bride Zoe; and Rachel,
the spinster sister. Along with this generation of characters, we also
follow the lives of not only their children, but also their parents and all of
the servants. The novel has an unusual narrative technique in that the
point of view is distributed more or less evenly over more than a dozen
characters so that the story is brought to us in a series of snippets. And keeping track of the characters is
desperately hard at first. But it is wonderful. Lying by the pool in the
sweltering Turkish heat, I was thoroughly absorbed.
I am ashamed to say that I have bought the second book in the series, ‘Marking
Time’, but have yet to read it. I will remedy this as soon as. The absence of ‘Downton
Abbey’ on a Sunday evening is beginning to affect my well being and the
Cazalets are an excellent alternative.
Page 99 Snapshot:
Once a month he went home and Mum made a fuss
if him, but his sisters had gone into service, and his brothers were much
older, and Dad kept telling him how lucky he was to learn the trade under Mr
McAlpine. After a few hours he didn’t know what to do with himself and he
missed his friends who were all working in different places. He had been used
to doing things in a crowd: at school there’d been a gang of them who’d gone
fishing, or picked hops in the season for cash. Here there wasn’t anyone to do
things with. There was Dottie, but she was a girl so he never knew where he was
with her and she treated him like a boy when he was doing a man’s job- sort
of0- earning his living, anyway, same as her. Sometimes he wondered about going
to sea, or he might drive a bus; the bus would be better because ladies took
buses; he wouldn’t drive,he’d be a conductor, so’s he could see all their
legs...
5. ‘The Yellow Wallpaper’ by Charlotte Perkins Gilman
God I love this book. I first read it when I was at school after being
given it by an English teacher of mine and, although I felt its unsettling tone
creep under my skin, I didn’t grasp the full significance of the story. I have
now taught this text twice to my sixth formers, a year 12 class and a year 13,
and I have barely been able to contain myself when reading it. The ending still
sends shivers along my spine- clichéd but 100% true. And if a text can do that
to you during a five period teaching day surrounded by twelve or so seventeen
year olds gaping at you, you know it must be good.
The short story is a tale of a woman driven to the brink of insanity by
the ‘rest cure’ prescribed after the birth of her child. While she is isolated
in a crumbling mansion, in a nursery with bars on the windows, the tortuous pattern
of the yellow wallpaper winds its way into the recesses of her mind. Based on
the author’s own experiences, it is a thought provoking and chilling comment on
the roles and expectations placed on women, and the damaging consequences such
oppression could have.
Pioneered by Dr. S. Weir Mitchell, the ‘rest
cure’ was prescribed in the late 1800s as a treatment for ‘hysteria’. The
treatment usually lasted six to eight weeks and involved almost complete
isolation from friends and family, and enforced bed rest. The patients were
sometimes prohibited from talking, reading, writing, sewing or any activity
that would involve even the slightest mental or intellectual stimulation. Many
of those to be prescribed the ‘rest cure’ were women, usually those who were
outspoken, creative or independent. It is thoroughly shocking that such a
premise existed and ‘The Yellow Wallpaper’ concerns itself with the gradual
decline and disastrous consequences of the treatment. Narrated from the point
of view of the female protagonist, the style creates a controlled tension, and
we are with her every step by tiny step as she ‘creeps’ slowly towards madness.
Page 9 snapshot (there are only 32 pages to the narrative!):
I wish I could get well faster.
But I must not think about that. This paper looks to me as if it knew
what a vicious influence it had!
There is a recurrent spot where the pattern lolls like a broken neck and
two bulbous eyes stare at you upside down.
I get positively angry with the impertinence of it and its
everlastingness. Up and down and sideways they crawl, and those absurd,
unblinking eyes are everywhere. There is one place where two breaths didn’t
match, and the eyed go all up and down the line, one a little higher than the
other.
6. ‘Birdsong’ by Sebastian Faulks
Another text that I have taught my year 12s
this year. They are currently writing their coursework on it so you think I
would be sick to death of it by now but I adore it. It’s beautiful. I read it
first on holiday (another pool side read!) when I was away with the girls about
5 or so years ago. And I cried. By the pool. I’ve also seen the stage show and
it was astounding. Thoroughly recommend it.
The novel is set before and during WWI and
follows the life of the protagonist, Stephen Wraysford. Beginning in Amiens,
France, in 1910, Part One of the text involves a clandestine, furtive, and fervent
love affair, immediately confusing your expectations of a war novel. This tranquil setting and intimacy serves to
create a jarring upheaval for the reader when we are transported in Part Two to
the centre of the front line in 1916; a device meant to mirror the experiences
of the young men whose lives were so callously uprooted. With the use of
narrative prolepsis (flash-forward to the 1970s), Faulks manages to create both
an intimate tale of Stephen and those he encounters, but also highlights for
the reader the importance of remembrance and respect on a national scale- for
all of the thousands who lost their lives. Especially with last year being the centenary,
it seemed a fitting choice.
Page 99 snapshot:
‘What’s happening?’ she said. ‘Why is everyone shouting?’
Stephen felt a rush of pity for the girl. He turned speechlessly from
her and ran to Isabelle’s room. She had put on a coat and a green hat with a
feather. She looked touchingly young.
‘All right?’ said Stephen. ‘Shall we go?’
She took his hand between hers and looked into his grave face. She smiled
and nodded and picked up her case.
Each space and unexpected corridor beneath the plunging with its
conflicting angles was alive with voices and the sound of feet, heavy,
hesitant, running or turning back. The door to the kitchen banged and rolled
repeatedly on its hinges as Marguerite and the cook shuttled back and forth to
the dining room under the pretext of clearing the dinner, then lingered,
listening, in the hallway. At the top of the stairs Stephen appeared with his
arm around Isabelle, guiding her past the stricken looks and questions.
