‘The Paying Guests’ by Sarah Waters

My first encounter with the name ‘Sarah Waters’ was relatively inconsequential. I had never heard of her and her novels, despite her being an international best seller and myself a voracious reader. I am ashamed of this now.  I am embarrassed that I attended a Grazia writing event with Waters on the interview panel and wasn’t filled with admiration and awe. I am embarrassed that, when given the chance to buy her novels at the end of the talk, and have them signed by her, that I did not take up this opportunity. Yes, I could only afford one and I chose ‘Elizabeth is Missing’ by Emma Healy (an incredible novel-I will return to this at a later date) but I am appalled that I didn’t stretch to two. I will write more about that evening at a later date as it was a truly inspirational experience. But for now, Sarah Waters and her sixth novel ‘The Paying Guests’.

 I was originally drawn to the book firstly, because it is set in 1922 and I have a ridiculously romanticized idea of that era (when the world of cinema and fashion finally caught the ‘Great Gatsby’ bug I practically rolled around in a pile of sequin dresses and cried). Secondly because of the blurb line ‘Secrets are confessed, dangerous desires admitted; the most ordinary of lives, it seems, can explode into passion and drama’. Oh golly! As someone who tends to spend most of her spare time curled up on the sofa in pyjamas, I love to live vicariously through characters. And what better way to kid myself that I could lead such an exciting life, full of complexity and fervour? So 1920s setting and the promise of excitement. I grabbed myself a coffee, donned my slipper boots and set to it.

The novel is intoxicating and I can think of no better way to describe it. The protagonist, Frances, and her mother are forced to take in lodgers after the deaths of the males in their household during the first world war.  Surrounding them, Waters depicts a world trying to piece itself back together, and characters who are unsure how to behave now the carpet of long established social norms has been ripped from under them. With the waiting and the subsequent arrival of the 'paying guests', a young, modern and colourful couple Mr and Mrs Barbour, an undercurrent of anxiety is already established. This butterflies-in-your-stomach feeling, a torrent of unanswered questions swirling around inside, sets the tone for a novel that will keep you continuously anxious and utterly consumed in their lives. Questions like- what on earth has Frances let herself in for? And- why the subtle yet sensual description of Mrs Barbour’s lips on page 6? As the novel progresses, the lives of the characters become intertwined, messily and haphazardly, and you are right there with them- peeking out of Frances’ slowly neglected parlour and watching. It is difficult to fully describe the tremendous pull and affinity you feel with these characters without ruining several of the most pivotal moments but I can say this. When you get to those moments, you will be unable to peel yourself away. Those butterflies-in-your-stomach that fluttered away quite happily at the start, will become violent and clawing.

Water’s writing is thorough, tense, consuming and utterly sensual. A game of snakes and ladders takes on a sinister edge and emits a darkness that fails to dissipate. Mrs Barbour, or Lillian as we come to know her as, is vivid and intoxicating. She is voluptuous, like ‘treacle’ and we are made to adore her. Frances is a myriad of attributes; selfless, bold, introverted and brisk, yet fervent. We follow her narrative as if it were our own and swim without shame in her secrets.

The novel took me a week or so to read but every moment I snatched felt intimate and secretive; like I was indulging myself in a way I shouldn’t be. And I haven’t felt that way with a book for a good while. My request to my boyfriend of ‘anything at all by Sarah Waters’ for my stocking fillers should be enough of a testament. So, Sarah Waters. I apologise for overlooking you at the Grazia event. I am now whole heartedly yours.

The author, Sarah Waters

 Page 99 snapshot:

“She offered her arm, meaning the gesture playfully, but Mrs Barbour caught hold of it and let herself be pulled upright, laughing again as she found her balance; it seemed natural, after that, to remain with their arms linked. They went down the steps and into the sunlight, wondering where to make for next. The little encounter with the man had put the polish back on the day.

But they were conscious of the time. Somehow, an hour and a half had passed. They thought of returning to the tennis courts for a final look at the match- but at last, with reluctance, decided that they ought to head home. They climbed the slope of the park, paused again to admire the bluebells; then were back on the dusty pavement.”