Candleford Green – Flora Thompson

So I come to the end of my relationship with Flora Thompson. This third entry follows Laura’s life as assistant to the postmistress at Candleford Green. Though  Laura – now in her middle teens – is a more distinct personality, one with opinions, she’s still mostly an observer of others. In these vivid portrayals, through all three books, we learn not just about individuals, but how they fit into society. That society provided for basic human needs, such as a sense of community and pride of craftsmanship. It’s presented without sentimentality, but its virtues still emerge. Thompson ends the trilogy with a thought-provoking chapter entitled “Change in the Village.” The influence of the Industrial Revolution was reaching into rural England, altering people’s way of life. All begins to change: the way they farm, the houses they live in, the clothes they wear. And, most importantly, their values. Some of these changes are for the better, but, for me, a strong sense of loss prevailed. As, it is clear, it did for Flora. She would always be bound to the world that would vanish – it formed who she was – and when she was in her sixties she felt the need to recreate it. That she did it so well is her lasting tribute. *

In Pursuit of the English – Doris Lessing

The action begins when Doris leaves South Africa for London (the time is 1950) and rents a flat in a rundown rooming house. Three characters stand out: Flo and Dan, a married couple who own the house, and one of the tenants, Rose. All are vivid, mostly emerging through the words they speak; Lessing catches the working class vernacular exceedingly well. It’s Rose who is the most developed, and she’s a very appealing character; on one level, the book is about the friendship that develops between her and Doris. But, though the book is in the first person, Doris stays in the background; we learn little about her. She has a son – eight years old, I believe – who lives with her, but he’s mentioned, in passing, maybe a half dozen times; he’s basically non-existent. I don’t see Lessing as a negligent mother; she was just not writing about herself or her role as mother. She’s primarily a recorder of the words and actions of others. At about the halfway point the mood of the book changes. It had seemed rambunctious, often humorous, with a sense of comradery prevailing. Then it grew grim, even sordid. What was colorful became murky. The humor was still present, but it involved such human emotions as meanness and greed. Problems lurking in these lives gained dominance, and it took an effort for me to adjust. I can’t imagine that Lessing thought she was describing the English people as a whole (as the title implies); she was dealing with a strata of society. Since her bio corresponds to the events in the book (which in some versions is given the subtitle of “A Documentary”), were her characters real people she got to know? If so – since many are depicted in a highly unflattering way – what about a libel suit? She actually addresses this concern in a dialogue near the end in which an odious fellow proposes that she write a book in which he’s a thinly disguised character, and she has him doing odious things. He would then sue her publisher for libel, and, he assures her, their insurer would settle out of court. They would pay up, and he and Doris could split a hundred nicker. Hmm. Maybe Lessing thought that no one in the book was likely to read it. As was, apparently, the case with the people at Popular Library, which put out the paperback version. They managed to get everything wrong. The cover photos are wildy misleading, their description of what the book is about is way off base, and the text itself is a mess, with many typos and misspellings and wrong words substituted for the right ones. I wonder if Lessing would care. This was a phase in her writing she would turn away from, and go on to more ambitious undertakings (and a Nobel Prize). A shame, for this waywardly structured book delivers a look at life that kept me interested and involved.

The Lemur – Benjamin Black (pen name)

A crime novella that’s a dud and ends with a thud. It’s literary in style, set in New York, and full of the trappings of extreme wealth. This probably was an effort to appeal to its original audience – it was first serialized in the New York Times Magazine, whose sophisticated readers no doubt recognized the brand names of ultra expensive watches, clothes, etc. But enough about this inconsequential book – let’s talk about John Banville, the guy behind that pen name. He’s an esteemed author, the winner of numerous awards, including the Booker. I haven’t read anything by him, but apparently he’s difficult (he’s described as “the heir to Proust, via Nabokov”). So why is he slumming in the crime novel genre? Most likely for the money. Crime novels sell, literary ones don’t. And I see, in his Wiki entry, no mention of his teaching at a MFA program, where most literary writers wind up. In his back cover photo Mr. Black looks grim and tough, though it may be depression. The book was never published in hard cover, just a Picador paperback. I’m always amused by typos. Here’s a sentence: “You’ve certainly upset, Granddad.” Of course, there should be no comma; the speaker is not addressing his Granddad, he’s talking about him. But, in this book, who cares?