Love, Leda by Mark Hyatt

It's always fascinating to read a re-discovered piece of queer writing. Though Mark Hyatt actively brought out poetry in the English bohemian scene of the 1960s, his novel “Love, Leda” has only been published posthumously this year. It's a fascinating snapshot of gay London life from that period in the time leading up to the Sexual Offences Act of 1967. The book's eponymous hero Leda has no fixed abode and bounces between male and female lovers while earning a bit of cash from low paid jobs in metal work and kitchens. He's estranged from his family and for good reason – when he feels obliged to visit with his parents and siblings there's a horrifically violent encounter with his disapproving father. The narrative veers from moments of raw emotional confession “Sometimes I find that I am humiliated by myself, and my thoughts get out of hand, becoming absolutely evil, and immediately I am nothing” to frivolous fantasies “during the long time of waiting for the train I appoint myself as Jesse James in full drag waiting for this very train and about to steal all the cash belonging to the G.P.O.” Moreover, it's fascinating following him as he navigates the back streets of Soho putting flowers in his hair and dabbing perfume behind his ears while dipping into the lives of outcast artists, dissidents and bored housewives. All the while he consumes countless cups of coffee and frequently lapses into poetic reverie.

There's something refreshing about reading a novel that's so organic and unpolished. That's not to say the book isn't sophisticated because it contains some absolutely beautiful lines, vivid descriptions and thoughtful commentary. But I can imagine the narrative would receive a complete overhaul in a contemporary creative writing class because it's quite chaotic. Some of the passages and lines of dialogue feel disorientating with their convoluted logic. Perhaps if Hyatt had the chance to work with an editor these would have more clarity. But, on the whole, I think it's better that the text has been preserved in its raw emotional form. The fascinating forward and afterward explain how Hyatt came from a working class background and received very little formal education. Learning how drawn the author was to suicide, it's hard not to read the story as autobiographical. There are frank passages describing his sense of alienation. He laments at one point that “I am far too feminine to be living in a man's world.” In another section he reflects how “My own experience tells me that more love goes into the thought of homosexuality than the practice.” Though he may have heated and powerful hookups, none lead to a loving connection.

This leaves him adrift and while he certainly possesses a melancholy streak, he also emits catty asides and biting humour along his journey. He even emanates a pissy arrogance when walking down the street and when someone bumps into him he indignantly muses “Why don't people look where I'm going? Walking into me like that.” There's a wonderful extended tragi-comic scene towards the end of the book when he's charged with looking after two little boys on a seaside trip. It's hilarious how indifferently he tends to them while they consume enormous amounts of sugar and cause havoc. But there's also a sadness to this as he's feeling so estranged from life: “I think I live without knowing myself and I laugh at the world to kill my pain. I cry because I can't understand it and I am constantly in dreams that somehow I hope time will not cure.” It's extremely touching reading such insights from a man so frankly discussing his queer experience from decades in the past and it's wonderful being immersed in this bygone urban landscape of Lyons' tea shops.

The Fraud by Zadie Smith

Zadie Smith's new book “The Fraud” is many things. It's a historical novel primarily set in 19th century London and Jamaica; it's a courtroom drama; it's about an unusual love triangle; it's about the ambition of novelists with some delicious appearances by Charles Dickens who makes bad jokes; it's about the end of slavery in Jamaica; and it's about what happens to truth when viewed through the lens of politics, the media, public debate and the craft of fiction. The story concerns a now semi-obscure historical novelist William Harrison Ainsworth (some of his titles outsold Dickens at the time) and The Tichborne Case, a famous trial that ran from the 1860s to the 1870s concerning a man who claimed to be a missing heir. Though this legal battle captivated the public at the time it's also now nearly forgotten. Between the author and the trial there is this novel's central character Eliza, a widow who is in some ways financially dependent upon Ainsworth. She is his housekeeper and reader. She's an abolitionist who forms a bond with Andrew Bogle, a man born into slavery who is one of the trial's key witnesses. Also, Eliza is fond of a long walk during which she observes Victorian London in tantalizing detail.

Eliza is a shrewd observer sitting in on discussions amongst prominent literary circles and watching the statements made in the courtroom by men whose demeanour often says more than their words. In this way we get a sly view beyond the surface of these interactions and the male dominated society surrounding her. However, as the novel progresses Eliza becomes a figure of intrigue herself. Between her intimate bond with William's deceased first wife Frances, a one-time intimacy with William himself and her late husband's illegitimate family, we get flashes of the truth Eliza either can't or won't openly accept. As the novel moves backwards and forwards in time we follow her journey towards acknowledging the reality of her personal life as well as the larger politics of her society. However, it's challenging to do this when there is so much unconscious misunderstanding and wilful deception surrounding her. She observes how “We mistake each other. Our whole social arrangement a series of mistakes and compromises. Shorthand for a mystery too large to be seen.” With so much confusion concerning what's true about other people's lives, acting in an ethical way can be extremely difficult.

In part, the novel is about how fiction comes to eclipse reality and how public consensus can eclipse truth. William writes historical novels which are based more in his imagination and stereotypes than facts. In this way readers come to know figures from the past through his distortion of the truth. Equally, “The Claimant” at the centre of The Tichborne Case achieves a large following that believes and partly funds his legal defence. Their faith in his claim is partly supported by Andrew Bogle's staunch conviction that “the Claimant” is the heir who went missing at sea. But how can Andrew's understanding of the truth be comprehended without knowing his own backstory or the legacy of slavery that was part of the British colonial empire? Eliza becomes the lynchpin towards seeing through the sensationalism of the case – partly because she has empathy enough to try to get to know Andrew himself. As his fascinating backstory is divulged, Smith shows the more complex personal realities at play within the more prominent public debates.

I had the pleasure of interviewing Smith about her new novel at a pre-publication event.

It's intriguing how this is a historical novel which seems to be critiquing historical novels themselves, the profession of writing and literary circles in general. At the beginning of one chapter, Eliza hilariously reflects: “God preserve me from novel-writing, thought Mrs Touchet, God preserve me from that tragic indulgence, that useless vanity, that blindness!” She sees how William's ambition to write removed him from being more fully involved with his family life (his first wife and his daughters) and his romanticisation of historical events distorts many people's understanding of history. Sitting in on their literary salons she's also privy to the pretensions and backstabbing which occurs amongst authors. In particular, Dickens is shown in quite a critical light. Smith seems highly attentive to the shortcomings of her profession and colleagues while also attempting to show in this novel what the best kind of fiction can do: expand readers' empathy and broaden their point of view to see the larger complexity of things. It's a tricky tightrope to walk and, for the most part, she gets the right balance.

Though Eliza is a highly sympathetic character who exhibits a lot of goodness, by the end of the novel it's shown she has her own shortcomings and areas of blindness. I enjoyed the way the story even gives a rounded view of such side characters as Sarah (the second Mrs Ainsworth) and Henry (Andrew Bogle's son). Their lives are fully fleshed out in many different scenes with witty dialogue and sharp observations. However, the structure of the novel is perhaps a bit too ambitious as it covers a lot of ground over a long period of time. It comes to feel a little unwieldy as the reader is continuously pulled into the past while the narrative also tries to delineate the complex events of the present. However, overall the story contains many moments of pleasure and it's a tale which leaves the reader with a lot to ponder. Like all the best historical fiction, it sparks a curiosity to want to read and understand more about some forgotten corners of the past.

Zero-Sum by Joyce Carol Oates

I'm continuously impressed by the creative flair of Oates' writing which fearlessly treads into forbidden areas of our psychological reality. She dares to reveal what we don't want to look at and asks questions which won't permit polite answers. Her new collection moves through three distinct sections from intimate stories of family life and young adulthood to a novella about the collapsing mental health of a modern literary “genius” to dark dystopian tales. There is a group of teenage girls who set a wicked trap for lascivious men, a mother who becomes intent on taking her baby off-grid and a privileged teacher secure in his home while the world outside literally goes to hell. These stories present a sense of uneasy progression where fulfilment seems just out of reach and unspeakable horror may wait around the corner. Oates has a mesmerising way of drawing the reader into her stories and deep into her characters' point of view to show an entirely new perspective. This is fiction which delves into the dynamics of love and personality with courageous intensity.

One story explains “In game theory, a zero-sum game is one in which there is a winner and there is a loser and the spoils go to the winner and nothing to the loser.” Throughout the book this sense of competition plays out between men and women as well as different individuals, friends and spouses. It's expressed as a particularly American sentiment which frequently leads to terrible violence. In some stories the characters recognize a double who might supercede them as only one can be victorious. For instance, in the title story a philosophy student who longs for the favour of her esteemed teacher envies his physically disabled daughter and in 'Monstersister' a growth on an adolescent girl's head develops into a feeble twin who becomes the focus of her family's attention. Yet, throughout these tales there are also hints that contentment can be found when equality is truly achieved and egoless love is offered. An ill-fated academic remarks that “To G___, life was not a game of who might win. Love was certainly not a game.” This suggests that the secret to real success might be in striving for mutual support rather than domination.

In the longest story within this collection the famous writer at the centre is simply referred to as “The Suicide” rather than being given a character name. His draw towards self-immolation as a kind of sacrifice to higher art becomes the defining characteristic of his identity. He struggles with mental illness, bouts of medical treatment and increasing paranoia. In following his manic logic we become increasingly aware of how his supportive wife's identity and health becomes completely subsumed to his own. Oates is scathing in portraying his selfish behaviour but also expresses sympathy for the author's dilemma. His longstanding plan for suicide is wrapped up in his egotism about his reputation as a great writer. This is a veiled portrait of the later part of David Foster Wallace's life. In her previous work, Oates has demonstrated a talent for fictionally paying tribute to revered writers such as Edgar Allan Poe, Mark Twain, Robert Frost, Henry James, Ernest Hemingway and H.P. Lovecraft by simultaneously recognizing their accomplishments as artists while severely critiquing them as fallible men. It seems apt there's reference to Hitchcock within “The Suicide” because the masculine drive of certain artists is also scrutinized by a character much like the actress Tippi Hedren in Oates' story 'Fat Man My Love' from her collection “High Lonesome”.

As well as interpersonal conflicts, these stories also focus on the heartrending internal dilemmas of characters who struggle with a sense of belonging and being wanted. In the very short tale 'Take Me, I Am Free' a child is literally left by the curbside with other unwanted items to be taken by anyone. Alternatively, in 'Sparrow' a woman learns from her mother who suffers from memory loss that she might have been adopted to replace a deceased child. The highly imaginative 'M A R T H E: A Referendum' contemplates a dominant race of computers that debate whether to keep alive the last remaining homo sapien whose life has been artificially extended. It's powerful how these different situations contemplate whether an individual's inherent value can be quantified and the ways that this becomes measured through their relationships with others in the world. Such vibrant storytelling pulses with life and has the ability to haunt the reader with urgent dilemmas that feel all too real.

You can watch me discuss “Zero-Sum” with Joyce Carol Oates here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hL1BB1hKPq4

A Fairly Honourable Defeat by Iris Murdoch

The more I read of Iris Murdoch the more impressed I am by her keen attention to the complexities of friendships and love affairs. In fact, she dynamically shows that these two states can naturally blend into one another. The definition of this closeness comes to feel immaterial against the evolving feelings people have for each other as long as they lead with kindness and honesty. This was true in her novel “The Bell” and it's explored with even more tenacity in her 1970 novel “A Fairly Honourable Defeat” where several friends and family members uncertainly step over the line into romantic love. They are ushered into unfamiliar territory by a mischievous character named Julius King who acts as an agent of chaos meddling in the relationships of several people. These include happily married Rupert and Hilda with their wayward son Peter, Rupert's gay brother Simon and his longterm older lover Axel and Hilda's sister Morgan who is estranged from her husband Tallis. Inspired by A Midsummer Night's Dream, Julius tests their commitment to one another by sending false messages to suggest hidden desire. This provokes a betrayal of trust and jealousy which rattles the harmony of their relationships and inspires deep introspection. The result is a moving tale full of vibrant exchanges and an entertaining plot set in modern London.

Even if it strains credulity, the story functions like a contemporary piece of Shakespearean theatre where big philosophical concepts are tested in real working relationships. One of the central notions explored is that plain goodness is dull and evil actions make life exciting. Certainly Julius could be dismissed as a villain, but Morgan's glib handling of his feelings and other hidden aspects of his life make him into a much more complex character. Conversely a more conscientious figure such as Rupert has untapped desires and insecurities which rise to the surface when his core beliefs waver. An issue such as the characters' uneasy relationships to capitalism are demonstrated in Morgan's compulsive buying habits and Peter's shop lifting. Then there is the relentless bullying and hate spewed from Tallis' father Leonard. The personality and detail Murdoch imbues within each character made me believe and care about them while giving a compelling perspective on a range of weighty issues.

One of the most intriguing bonds which comes under strain is that between Simon and Axel. Murdoch always sympathetically included gay characters in her novels, but the nuance and care she showed towards this couple make them one of the most compelling examples of a long-term homosexual relationship I've ever read. Between younger Simon's promiscuous past and conservative Axel's uneasy sense of inhabiting his queerness, these tensions play out in their dialogue and manner towards each other in an entirely convincing way. What perhaps isn't as persuasive is when Simon's lust for a male Greek statue reaches such a feverish pitch he not only strokes the marble but licks it! It's an image so over the top I can only assume Murdoch meant it to be comic. There's also a frank discussion between Rupert and Hilda at the beginning of the novel which engages with many stereotypes surrounding homosexuals with Rupert's welcome assertions that essentially there's little difference between gay and straight relationships. There's complexity in Simon and Axel's bond which is influenced by either embracing or rejecting a gay identity, but their relationship is also troubled by things which would impact any other couple.

Overall, this is a satisfying and pleasurable read. The relative power imbalance between different couples and the question of how much honesty a relationship can take is teasingly played out in the story. Probably the most sympathetic character is Tallis who is coldly rejected by Morgan, taken advantage of by Peter and continuously scorned by his father Leonard. All the while he diligently tries to earn a living teaching and writing his own work. It makes for quite a contrast with the easy privilege and wealth of Rupert and Hilda. So it's especially interesting how he sounds through as the voice of reason and his interactions with Julius add an interesting layer to this tale. I think this is only the fifth novel I've read by Murdoch so I'm glad there are still many more of her novels for me to discover.

The Vivisector by Patrick White

I've always been curious to read Australian author Patrick White so plunged into his epic “The Vivisector”, the longest of his novels. A few years after it was published White won the Nobel Prize for Literature and this novel was posthumously chosen as one of the six books shortlisted for the “Lost Man Booker Prize” of 1970. It describes the life and creative journey of Hurtle Duffield who is born to a poor Australian household, adopted by a wealthy family and rises to become a highly successful artist. The title refers to his often cruel ability to artistically dissect his subjects and his general emotional distance from people in general. Though he is an often cold and contemplative individual, he encounters a range of charismatic personalities who are vibrantly detailed throughout the story. Some of his most crucial connections are with his adoptive sister Rhoda who has a physical deformity and, later in his life, Kathy Volkov, a musical child prodigy. The story poignantly considers whether it's possible to dedicate oneself to an artistic life while also living as a fully rounded human. In doing so, White captures the perilous loneliness which is endemic amongst those who devote themselves with fervour to a meaning beyond their own circumscribed existence.

It's intriguing how the story initially feels akin to “Great Expectations” as the boy finds an opportunity to make his fortune and rise out of the meagre circumstances he's born into. Though Dickens' protagonist is eminently likeable and “good”, Hurtle is much spikier and I believe the reader is intentionally meant to criticise his demeanour as he ages and establishes himself as an artist. His aloof and haughty attitude is understandably hurtful to many around him who only want to enhance his life and wellbeing. It's as if Hurtle believes that he can't maintain his objectivity and artistic integrity if he allows himself to become emotionally close to anyone (especially those he's most drawn to.) In doing so, he refuses to engage in the common practice of kindly looking past the less savoury aspects of human nature. Instead he lays them mercilessly bare in his artwork. Is this a radical way of confronting the truth of existence or a brutal inability to love people with all their so-called flaws? I don't think the novel seeks to give an answer but offers a sustained meditation on this question. It also poignantly considers the meaning of success since Hurtle takes little satisfaction in his monetary gain or heightened reputation.

One of the most poignant images the novel offers early on is the chandelier Hurtle discovers in the Courtney's grand house. He comes to feel this form of glass and light within himself like an expression of the spirit. Some of the more comedic and enjoyable aspects of the novel come with the wealthy couple who adopt him. Mr Courtney makes him read out smut to test his literacy and despite Mrs Courtney's heartfelt concern for the downtrodden of the world she's unable to take much practical action so frequently feigns busyness. There are some particularly wonderful scenes involving a Planchette which Mrs Courtney believes connects them to the spirit world. While being frequently funny, this couple and their feisty daughter also come across as very sympathetic. The same is true for a prostitute named Nance whose diatribes express her emotionally volatile sensibility. Though he has a longterm affair with her and she serves as an important muse to Hurtle, he's incapable of valuing her beyond this purpose. As his life progresses, the author increasingly keys us into commentary about Hurtle from those around him adding to his sense of isolation. While following this artist's long life I kept recalling Mrs Courtney's remark that “There’s nothing so inhuman as a human being”. It's a chilling sentiment which this novel explores with a hard-edged and sustained dedication.

Mrs S by K Patrick

This novel is awash with so much sexual anticipation and sensuality it perfectly encapsulates the heady experience of falling in love. It's that feeling when passion becomes all consuming it infuses everything and time is measured by encounters with the desired individual. At the beginning of K Patrick's debut novel its Australian narrator has just arrived in England to work as a matron at a rural girls' boarding school. As she gradually acclimates to the environment and traditions of this old institution, she develops a deep attraction for the Headmaster's wife known simply as Mrs S. The story follows their interactions while building tantalizing suspense with the question of “Will they or won't they?” But it's also an excellent invocation of this emotionally charged environment with the budding egos of the girls and cloistered routines. As more is revealed about the narrator's difficult history with her family and her own discomfort within her own body, her yearning becomes movingly layered with a rich level of psychological complexity. Desire is truly shown in a new light which is both very specific and universal.

The writing in this novel shines with straightforward prose which are so precise and perfectly encapsulate the emotion and personality of the narrator. It's also satisfying how classic the story appears in its texture but how revelatory and new it feels in its meaning. The setting of the boarding school is filled with so many antiquated procedures it's groaning with centuries of routine. Details such as radiators which can't be turned off even when it's hot outside and soggy breakfast toast add to the all-consuming atmosphere of this place. There are also uptight figures such as the Nurse and the local Vicar as well as the doddering Headmaster. Everywhere are the tender personalities of the schoolgirls who sometimes cluster into antagonistic groups and other times drift in melancholy isolation. Their fiery energy is directed at boys, each other and sometimes the narrator: “The girls know about humiliation. They trade in it.” Other than Mrs S, perhaps the narrator's only true point of connection is with the Headmistress who becomes an ally in being a confirmed lesbian. However, their friendship is tinged with the resignation of knowing they only really have each other to rely upon being the most outwardly queer people at the school. Rising above all these other figures is Mrs S whose canny wisdom and prestige allows her to freely move throughout this environment. But she also has a mystery and air of dissatisfaction about her circumstances which adds to the total charm she casts over the narrator.

The narrator's infatuation with Mrs S becomes clear not only through the focus placed upon her, but in the way she describes her relationship with time. She details encounters with Mrs S and how she knows she will compulsively mull over them while mourning for any small detail of that experience which has been lost. This reminded me of Annie Ernaux's book “Simple Passion” in which the author recounts being so swept up in the heat of romance she is thrown out of the present. The mind becomes consumed with memories of past meetings and the anticipation of when they might meet next. Also, certain objects become laced with significance. At one point the narrator furtively conceals a portion of a smashed stained glass window depicting the figure of a woman which she makes a gift to Mrs S. This is filled with unspoken meaning about giving someone's independence back to themselves which may be misjudged by the narrator or misunderstood by Mrs S. Throughout the school there are also reminders of a deceased famous author who once attended this institution. Her strong presence is everywhere but she's essentially unattainable.

Though the novel functions as a romance, its deeper impact is about the question of how fully someone can inhabit themselves in such a location. It's a place which is intended to allow individuals to grow but only within the confines of certain borders. Though there's little opportunity for the kind of self expression which would allow the narrator to test out different ways of being she nevertheless finds opportunities to transcend the limitations of how she might be seen. When Mrs S takes her swimming at one point she remarks “If I could choose a different body, I choose this water”. Her expression of self is indelibly linked to her sincere desire and wish to completely envelop Mrs S. Many other characters such as the Headmistress, the girls and Mrs S struggle to find any such outlet so rebel in small and large ways against the constraints of their circumstances. It's a conflict which is thrillingly teased out in this story which is so compelling that reading it becomes its own kind of obsession.

The Story of the Forest by Linda Grant

One of the most excitingly unforeseen results of starting this book blog was being invited to travel to Riga and discover more about current Latvian literature. My great grandfather was born in Latvia and moved to the US to avoid being conscripted into the army during WWI. My family has always been proud of that Latvian heritage and traveling there was a longterm goal so it was a thrill to finally experience life in Riga and connect with a cousin I've never met. I made a video about that experience which you can watch here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J5HHP5AfG1k

All this preamble is to say I instantly felt a strong connection to Linda Grant's new novel which follows the life of Mina Mendel, a girl born in Latvia who emigrates to England in the early 20th century. She's separated from the majority of her Jewish family because of the war and the narrative traces the experiences of the Mendels – the ultimate fates of whom are not all known. In part, it's framed like a fairy tale: a girl goes to pick mushrooms in the forest and her life is irrevocably changed. However, it's clever how the novel is more about the ways in which this family forms a personal mythology. As we follow them through the years and different generations we see the ways in which storytelling is part of what binds this group together no matter how much the stories stray from history and the truth. The novel traces how the family's past intersects with larger socio-political events so their fates are more often influenced by happenstance than by their own free will. From a tight-knit working class Jewish community in Merseyside to the machinations of the film industry, their lives are portrayed in vivid, humorous and loving detail.

At first I wasn't sure about the nature of the story which initially centres around Mina and her brother Jossel's attempt to emigrate to America. It's compelling following how larger events disrupt their plans and cause them to grow new roots in a place where they hadn't planned to settle. Yet I found it initially disorientating reading occasional flashes into the future where we learn about the fates of future generations before the narrative has caught up to them. But gradually this structure developed a poignancy as the story becomes more splintered by the dispersement of family and the uncertainty about the truth of their origins. Names are changed. Connections are lost. History is forgotten. Eventually all the descendants are left with is speculation about their family past and an inherited object which takes the form of a somewhat ugly coffee pot. This feels very true to life and will resonate with anyone who has attended a family reunion where pieces of stories are recounted whilst studying obscure items that have been passed down through the generations.

There was another surprising personal connection I felt with the story when at one point the family receives an anonymous anti-Semitic note through the door. This naturally leads to a sense of anxiety that some of their neighbours harbour resentment towards them and they take measures to try to assimilate. It's no wonder that part of the reason aspects of family history are lost because details are suppressed or altered in different periods for the sake of survival. This also showed how little changes because several years ago my boyfriend and I temporarily moved to an area of North London. Soon after settling in we received an anonymous note through the letterbox urging us to change our homosexual lifestyle and warned that our friends were laughing behind our backs. (We failed to see how many of our gay friends would be laughing at our lifestyle.) Though we tried to laugh this off, it was also unsettling being made to feel like some anonymous individual or few people who lived around us in this new environment were secretly disapproving and hostile towards us.

Grant's novel shows that there will always be intolerant individuals who feel they own certain communities and everyone who inhabits that space should be a mere reflection of them. It's also clever in how it demonstrates the fragile value of ideologies when tested against the full spectrum of society. When Mina is a naïve girl the men she meets in the forest impress her with their Bolshevik ideas and these beliefs ferment in her mind over the course of her life. But she discovers the relative impact of these ideas when discussing them with women in a munitions factory during the war as well as learning about the deadly consequences the Soviet Union has upon her native Latvia. Though this novel is largely set in Britain, it's interesting to compare the historical events portrayed within Latvia in the novel “Soviet Milk” - my review of this book is what eventually led to the invitation to visit Riga. It shows how things come full circle. So I was very glad to read Grant's new novel which comes with a touching author's note explaining her own personal relationship to this tale. Overall, as well as being a poignant meditation on family and the flow of time, “The Story of the Forest” is also a highly entertaining story.