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Guard Your Daughters – Diana Tutton

I seem to be in the mood for some Persephone books at the moment having recently read and loved Harriet by Elizabeth Jenkins, followed by Guard Your Daughters by Diana Tutton which turned out to be another excellent book.

First published in 1953, Diana Tutton’s Guard Your Daughters is a lovely, charming novel about childhood, family, sisterhood, and the implications of an unconventional upbringing.

Morgan Harvey, our narrator, and three of her sisters live with their parents in an English countryside, away from the hustle bustle and the enticements of London. Morgan, an aspiring pianist with a vivid imagination, is the middle child in a household of five daughters. The eldest Pandora has flown the nest, opting for married life and a home in London, followed by Thisbe, a sharp-tongued, budding poet with a flair for biting observations. After Morgan comes eighteen-year-old Cressida, the prettiest of all the sisters, but also annoyingly (to them) prim and proper and a tad conservative, while Teresa, the youngest at fifteen, is a romantic mostly buried in her books.

Their father, a successful writer of detective fiction, is mostly absorbed in his work and deeply devoted to his frail, melancholic wife. The girls, too, adore their mother and are mindful about not disturbing her fragile sense of calm, respecting their father’s wish in this regard.

As a result, the Harvey daughters have had an unusual upbringing – unschooled, sequestered from the wider world, with no real friends except each other for company. The sisters don’t really mind this – and that is one among many alluring charms of this novel – they are content in their little world, dabbling in their hobbies, managing the household chores, cooking, and spending quality time with each other and the parents. There are occasional quarrels and clashing opinions, but no deep-seated rancour or lingering resentment.

The discord around their upbringing, in many ways the central theme of the novel, is palpable in the earlier pages when Pandora visits them for a few days. Having embarked on a new life in London as a married woman, Pandora is quick to discern how their upbringing and education differ from what is considered ‘normal’ in society, a point of view she expresses to her sisters, aware that she will be met with resistance. One bone of contention is Teresa’s education; Pandora insists she should attend school rather than rely on their patchy home education. A frank exchange between Pandora and Morgan follows – while Morgan listens, she gently disagrees, knowing that school would distress not just Teresa, but also their emotionally fragile mother.

I sighed. I knew where all this was leading. Pandora had decided in her gentle and inexorable way that poor Teresa ought to be at school. It was a shame, I thought. I said: “Dearest, being married is making you very conventional. You never used to worry about our education.”

“I didn’t realize quite what anachronisms we all were. It’s so extraordinary that you all submit to this this captivity.”

“But we’re all frightfully happy,” I said. “I can’t see that it matters. Have you talked to Thisbe like this?”

“Yes, last night. She came back into my bedroom. She agrees.”

I was furious. “Blast Thisbe!” I said. “Look, Pandora, if you go and upset Mother trying to improve our lot, which we’re perfectly satisfied with—“

“Don’t be cross, dearest,” said Pandora. “But do try and face facts a little. You’re all living in a completely unreal world, and you can’t do that forever.”

When Pandora broaches the subject with their mother she is distressed so much so that their father and sisters quickly silence any further discussion.

And yet, traces of the outside world do manage to seep into the insulated world of the Harvey household. It begins with a young man named Gregory seeking help; when the novel opens, Morgan spots his car parked outside their gate and learns that it has broken down. She invites him home and for the Harvey sisters, the sudden appearance of a man in their secluded lives is a rare and thrilling novelty, one that instantly captures their collective attention.

Morgan believes Gregory is attracted to her, even as Thisbe and Cressida show interest in him too. When Gregory invites Morgan to a play in London, she is elated – not just at the prospect of seeing him again, but at experiencing the city and staying with Pandora. Her parents, however, forbid the trip. Morgan is deeply disappointed but she’s not the type to sulk for long and life in the Harvey household chugs along.

Another man enters their lives soon after – Patrick True – whom Morgan and Teresa meet by chance in a tea shop. With his charm and quick wit, he captivates the sisters, Teresa is especially taken with him. When Morgan recounts that chance encounter to Thisbe and Cressida, they attempt to devise a plan to invite him home without upsetting their parents. The mother hates the idea of her daughters fawning around men, but it appears that Patrick is an aspiring writer, and if somehow they can make it seem that he wishes to meet the father, inviting him home won’t pose a problem. Patrick, meanwhile, is a cousin of the wealthy, sophisticated and seemingly uppity Suzanne Malfrey who makes a brief but important appearance later in the novel.

To the reader it becomes increasingly clear that the mother dominates the household not through her strengths or a forceful personality but rather through her weaknesses and passive aggressive nature. It is never quite clear initially what ails her – does she suffer from depression or some other mental illness which compels the family to tread on eggshells while around her? Yet, Pandora manages to marry, leave home, and begin afresh in London. What made the mother acquiesce in her case when she is so fearful of her other daughters leaving home?

Despite their sheltered, shut-off existence, the sisters come to accept their way of living, displaying no desire to thwart the wishes of their mother whom they deeply love. For much of the novel, we are immersed in the intimate rhythms of the close-knit Harveys, delighting in their unorthodox yet joyful way of life. Whether it’s educating Teresa, cooking and having meals, enjoying walks in the countryside, and celebrating birthdays – their mother’s for instance, where the sisters lovingly write and perform a play for her – there is a sense of happiness and an appreciation of the essence of family life that leaps off the pages. It naturally raises the question: If the Harveys are content within their secluded world, even if it’s off the beaten path, is it necessary that they go out in the world like the rest of their peers? There’s even a small, subtle reference to this point in the novel when Cressida is sent to live with Pandora for a short time. While that experience imbues her with a new perspective, there are other aspects that she bemoans – the lack of character and space in London’s suburbia, a sharp contrast to the vastness and sense of freedom in the countryside.

While the father and four daughters generally cater to their mother’s whims, she is not entirely without opposition. There is, of course, Pandora who has long asserted her independence, but also Uncle Gregory, the widower of her beloved late sister Agnes, whom the mother holds in high regard out of enduring loyalty to her. The girls detest Uncle Gregory, particularly for his disdain toward the arts, yet when the mother forbids them from attending a soirée at the Malfreys, it is Uncle Gregory who unexpectedly comes to their defense. In a rare moment of solidarity, he insists that the girls should be allowed to broaden their horizons – with new friends and fresh experiences – beyond the narrow contours of their home.

For a novel that largely brims with laughter and light, slivers of darkness do emerge that enhance its richness and texture, particularly in the book’s later sections. One of the girls rebels precipitating a crisis that will upend their lives, forcing the family to look at the past in a different light, while compelling them to consider and embrace a completely different, yet ultimately hopeful future. That something irrevocable has occurred is vaguely apparent from the book’s opening lines, where we find Morgan in London, preparing to recount the story of her childhood, family, and a way of life that has perhaps vanished forever. But the precise details – the why and the how – only unfurl later.

I’m very fond of my new friends, but I do get angry when they  tell me how dull my life must have been before I came to London. We were queer, I suppose, and restricted, and we used to fret and grumble, but the one thing our sort of family doesn’t suffer from is boredom.

Warm and funny, Guard Your Daughters, then, is a thoroughly engaging novel that paints a portrait of an idiosyncratic family whose unconventional living radiates intimacy, contentment, and a resistance to widely accepted societal norms. There are some wonderful comic set pieces and imagery that pepper the novel – such as the girls earnestly attempting to teach Teresa French cricket (as per their father’s improvised curriculum), or Thisbe’s attempts to remove her hair rollers one by one when Gregory is not looking, and so on. Each sister’s personality emerges distinctly, as do the quirks of their well-meaning but flawed parents.

Through Morgan’s candid and often wryly humorous narration, what begins as a light-hearted depiction of an eccentric household gradually gives way to darker undercurrents showing what it means to grow up sheltered, and what happens when that protective cocoon begins to fray. Tutton never condemns the Harvey family’s way of life, but she subtly highlights a poignant truth – that no matter how loving or self-sufficient, no home can remain untouched by change. I loved how Tutton allows us to savour both the warmth and the quiet tensions of this unusual home, all the while leading us gently to the realisation that growing up often means navigating a delicate tension between the comforts of safety and the thrilling, sometimes frightening immensity of freedom, and that at various points, we are all called to choose between the two.

I lay smiling in the dark. There were wonderful things ahead, and I would not look back or regret what was gone. “But,” I thought with a pang, “We shall never really be a family again. That part is done, and it was everything while it lasted.”

Highly recommended!

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During the Reign of the Queen of Persia – Joan Chase

During the Reign of the Queen of Persia is one of those NYRB Classics that has been languishing on my shelves for a pretty long time, and which I finally pulled out to read thanks to Kim’s wonderful “NYRBWomen24” reading project. And what an absolutely terrific read it turned out to be!

First published in 1983, Joan Chase’s During the Reign of the Queen of Persia is a stunning, heartrending tale of family, sisterhood, childhood, love and loss spanning three generations of women and set on a rural farm in Ohio in the 1950s.

At the heart of this tale is the indomitable, feisty matriarch Lil Bradley known as Gram to the family, a tough-as-nails, resilient woman who has led a difficult life but rules over her household with an iron fist. This household comprises her daughters and her granddaughters (“Gram had survived more battles than we had dreamed of, a regular old war-horse, Uncle Dan called her”).  We learn that Gram has five daughters – May, Elinor, Grace, Libby, and Rachel – who over the years come and go from the house depending on circumstances and how their lives take shape, the house a refuge from the trauma they would endure.

The story is told by Gram’s granddaughters, this unique narrative voice is one of the most striking features of the novel – a collective “we” featuring Celia and Jenny (Libby’s daughters) and Anne and Katie (Grace’s daughters), a quartet of cousins whose individual experiences are blended into a unified perspective; through their eyes, we witness the joys, tensions, and heartbreaks of their childhood unfolding in a household of strong-willed women and violent men.

Most of the time it was as though the four of us were one and we lived in days that gathered into one stream of time, undifferentiated and communal.

Divided into five parts, each section focuses on a different family member, encompassing a different period, yet taken as a whole reveals a composite picture of the entire family. The novel opens with the chapter called “Celia” and takes place after the death of Grandad (Gram’s husband) and Aunt Grace. Here, the spotlight is on Celia, who has now blossomed into a striking woman, her good looks a magnet to the boys who flock to her like moths to a candle flame.  Celia lives with Gram, her parents Dan and Libby, and her sister Jenny in Gram’s farmhouse, often frequented by their cousins Anne and Katie during the summers. Jenny, Anne, and Katie are fascinated by Celia’s blooming sexuality, envious that she is now in the thick of the action when they are mere observers.

Anxiously we tried for Celia’s attention, wanted fiercely to be included. But it was no use, that desire; we could not reach her, or be content without her. So we watched her life ravenously while waiting for her to make some slip.

Celia is at the cusp of womanhood, and at that stage of experimenting with boys, irreverently flitting between relationships. Her frequent outings with a string of men put her on a warring path with Aunt Libby, who remains distressed about her daughter to the point that she often experiences stomach pains. Despite her marriage to Uncle Dan who appears to be the only steady man in the novel, Libby nevertheless is wary of men and the hardships women experience as a consequence, having witnessed the deteriorating marriage of her parents, and based on the tumultuous experiences of her sisters. Yet, she hopes for Celia to marry well so that her mind is at ease. When Celia starts dating Phillip an older, sophisticated boy with good career prospects, it’s a match Libby approves of, happy at the chance her daughter has of finally settling down…but will she?

The subsequent chapters rewind to the past to an earlier period in the cousins’ childhood, dwelling on Gram’s history and that of her five daughters.  Particularly, in the second chapter titled “Grandad”, Gram who was otherwise a peripheral character in the previous section has the spotlight shine on her in this chapter as more of her character and history is fleshed out. It’s a tale of a gritty, hardened woman who navigates loss, poverty, neglect, and abuse, single-handedly raises her daughters, and unexpectedly comes into an inheritance that will give her financial independence and prosperity, and set her free from the dominance of her husband, Jacob Krauss. We are told of how Gram loses her parents at the tender age of eleven and is forced into domestic labour caring for the children of a tuberculosis-afflicted woman. Ensconced at her sister’s place, Gram is desperate for a change of fortune, to be away from her sister’s home, to chart her own life.

When Jacob Krauss, a farmer enters the scene, Lil/Gram is entranced as is he, yet marriage massively disappoints Gram as she suffers Jacob’s abuse, heavy drinking, and anti-social behaviour. Despite not being keen on motherhood, giving birth to five daughters gives her the impetus to carry on, caring and providing for them when marriage has failed to provide much by way of companionship or money.

It satisfied Lil to do so well without Jacob and for him to see it plain when he came home. Their girls were nicer than there was reason to hope for. They helped her, were bright in school, and all of them were good-looking. And they were with her, set against Jacob, ashamed of his ways and determined to better themselves.

Unwilling to relent, Gram relies on sheer hard work until an out-of-the-blue development dramatically alters her fortunes and the trajectory of her life. Gram becomes an independent woman owning considerable land, with ample means to educate her daughters and ensure that they always have a home to come to when they in turn struggle with their respective marriages and motherhood.

The third chapter “Neil and Grace” focuses on Grace’s tenuous, off-and-on marriage with Neil, an utterly despicable character who leaves no stone unturned in rousing Gram and the sisters with his brand of sarcasm laced with hidden meanings, but it is the fourth chapter titled “Aunt Elinor” that is the finest of the book completely centred on Grace’s cancer, its emotional impact on the family and her eventual death. In this chapter, Chase’s writing simply soars as she captures the devastating final days of Grace life’s – her immense suffering fuelled by the cruelty of the disease, her wish to be released, while Aunt Elinor, harping on the tenets of Christian Science, eggs Grace to hold on and not give up creating considerable tension between the two sisters.

This is such a richly layered tale with a slew of brilliantly imagined characters. First is the choral quartet, the cousins Celia, Jenny, Anne, and Katie who despite telling this story collectively, are nevertheless individual personalities. Celia is the sensual, redheaded beauty, increasingly remote to her cousins and mother Aunt Libby once she blooms into a woman, yet also displays a sensitive nature particularly when she comes into contact with unfortunate people or animals. Jenny is the sensible, pragmatic girl, a blessing to Aunt Libby, while Anne and Katie are wild and fiery, often engaged in fierce verbal and physical fights, they are the unfortunate pair of the lot having to endure an emotionally abusive father and the death of their mother Grace.

The book’s vital force is, of course, Gram, the Queen of the title, mistress of the den, the matriarch around whom the fates and the fortunes of the family will revolve. Right from the very beginning Gram displays a hardened resolve, and unwillingness to readily accept defeat at the cards dealt to her by Fate. When neglected and abused by Jacob, Gram is determined to show her indifference (“She wouldn’t ever give Jacob the satisfaction of showing that she cared, that he could hurt her”), her refusal to bow down, and when she finally comes into money makes sure that Jacob is put in his place in the household – he no longer holds any authority over the house and Gram. Having endured loss, hardships, and the trials of marriage and motherhood, Gram now is fed up with cooking, cleaning, and caring, and is fierce about her independence and living life on her terms. Impervious to what her family thinks of her activities, Gram unfailingly plays Bingo every evening, even the unravelling tragedies in her daughters’ lives will do nothing to deviate her from this – armed with her pocketbook and pile of cash stacked under her beloved Persian rugs, Gram does what she wants and tells things as she sees them. Yet, despite that tough exterior, there’s a sense that Gram loves her daughters, and ensures that the farmhouse is always a place they can return to when they are grappling with their own burdens and problems.

Elinor becomes one of the central figures in the fourth chapter, the stylish, chic, New York-based sister with a penchant for cheese, salads, and Christian Science, a way of life she tries to push on the family with varying results. The young girls are fascinated and even inspired by the positivity of her religion in the face of insurmountable odds, but Gram is having none of it. She is unimpressed with what she calls her daughter’s “airs”, although Gram herself had no qualms about inheriting money from her rich uncle who was also from the big city, even pushing Elinor to take on piano lessons at the time. Particularly when confronted with Grace’s terminal illness, one wonders whether Aunt Elinor’s focus on her newfound religion is more of a coping mechanism and a shield for her refusal to accept the inevitability of Grace’s death. This comes to the fore in a particularly poignant, beautifully depicted scene where Grace, in immense pain, wishes to die and end her suffering and lashes out at Elinor for not accepting this hard reality.

Of all the sisters, Libby seems to have fared better in marriage; Uncle Dan despite his career not having panned out as envisaged still seems happy and easy-going and dotes on his wife. Then, there’s the eldest sister May, a widower with a daughter, a gentle person with a motherly disposition who Grace turns to in her dying days. And last but not least is Aunt Rachel, who having divorced her first husband with whom she has a son, finds herself in a relationship with a married man, a development that infuriates Gram.

The men in the novel are largely characters on the fringes, outsiders to the women, unable to break into their close-knit circle and in large part fuelled by their despicable behaviour – Grandad and Neil are particularly the epitome of ghastliness, consumed with violence and alcoholism, and venting out on the women and children.

Sex is a potent force in the novel, the first chapter particularly laced with the trimmings of desire when Aunt Libby talks incessantly about sex, love, and betrayal and the girls lap it up with rapt attention; Celia’s sensuality and preoccupation with men light the kindling of desire in the other three girls too.

She spoke to us incessantly of love. Endless betrayal, maidens forsaken, drowned or turned slut, or engulfed by madness. Most chilling were the innocent babes—stabbed with scissors and stuffed into garbage cans, aborted with knitting needles. In all this, love was a blind for something else. For sex. Sex was trouble and when a girl was in trouble, sex was the trouble.

Then, the foundation of Gram’s marriage to Jacob Krauss lies in the intense desire they feel for each other rather than compatibility. But sex and desire come tinged with danger taking on the garb of domestic abuse, violence, and even rape.

This is a novel about childhood explored through the lives of the four girls growing up in a family with all its messy complications and moments of innocence and joy while trying to fathom the murky world of adults. But it’s also a novel that explores sisterhood – five sisters who share an unbreakable bond, part of a tight circle, and are always there for each other despite the different trajectories their lives would take. And of course, the complexity of mother-daughter relationships, particularly seen in Celia’s relationship with Libby which oscillates between intense outbursts and shared confidences, and in Gram’s turbulent relationship with her five equally headstrong daughters. Themes of death and loss permeate the novel – the loss of a child, the toughest loss of all, the loss of a mother and a sister and a wife – as well as endurance and the relentless suffering of women…

Looking around, who had it any better? It was the lot of women. Who among them wasn’t stuck with something she couldn’t abide?

Always in the background but unmistakable all the same, we witness the subtle transformation of the American Midwest – the rural landscape paving the way for waves of commercialisation and development, which towards the end of the novel Gram with all the land at her disposal is more than happy to capitalise on.

As mentioned earlier, Chase tells the story using the first person plural where the “we” adjusts throughout the book in a fluid, effortless storytelling style that is simply superb. One could say that all four girls are narrating the tale together, or that one or two of the girls acts as the speaking voice for the rest of the group based on certain peculiarities that stand out – for instance, the narrating group refers to Gram’s daughters as “Aunt Libby” and “Aunt Grace” and yet each woman is a mother to at least part of the group of cousins, and while Celia is part of the chorus for much of the book, it is obvious that she’s outside of it in the first chapter where she is the central figure.

Particularly, in the chapter that focuses on Grace’s illness and death, Chase’s writing reaches new heights – her sensitive, pitch-perfect portrayal of the process of dying makes this a deeply sad and heartbreaking section accentuated by the tensions between the family members and their response to the finality of Grace’s death. But it’s also a section laced with vivid imagery – the wintry vista speckled with driving snow and hard frost against which Grace’s death unfolds is dreary and mysterious but also a symbol of serenity when Grace breathes her last.

The house had become surrounded again by unbroken snow and seemed mysterious and melancholy. Right then the granite sills at the window, the solid walls of maroon brick and the towering spruce at the back gave it the appearance of an ancient asylum, as if once committed we wouldn’t get out.

In a nutshell, in During the Reign of the Queen of Persia, Joan Chase masterfully weaves a tale of complicated familial bonds and relationships – tragic yet incredibly immersive and rendered in a wonderfully evocative, singular prose style. Highly recommended!  

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Sisters in Literature: Ten Excellent Reads

A sister can be your best friend or your worst rival. Sisters may have grown up in the same household and yet they evolve into adults with different and distinct personalities. The bond between sisters can be either complex or straightforward but no one can deny its importance in one’s life. It’s certainly a rich source of material in books and literature and in this piece, I highlight ten excellent books that feature two or more sisters either as central characters or as part of an ensemble cast.

You can read the detailed reviews on each (barring one book) by clicking on the title links…

WE HAVE ALWAYS LIVED IN THE CASTLE by Shirley Jackson

Such a fabulous book – an unsettling tale about an ostracized family sprinkled with doses of dark humour and one of the strangest and unforgettable narrators ever – the eighteen-year-old Merricat Blackwood. Jackson is great at creating an atmosphere that is seeped in gothic elements – the creeping sense of dread as we read about the fate of the Blackwood sisters in their large home – even if there are no actual ghosts present. 

INVITATION TO THE WALTZ by Rosamond Lehmann

Invitation to the Waltz is the first of the Olivia Curtis novels. When the book opens, Olivia has turned seventeen and there is a family gathering to celebrate and present her with gifts. The novel charts the emotions of a young girl on the cusp of womanhood – the anxiety as well as the excitement of making a good impression at the dance, hopes for a schedule full of dance partners alternating with the fear of being left alone.

The novel is divided into three sections – the first two portray Olivia and her elder sister Kate’s anticipation and preparations for the dance, while the last section is entirely devoted to the ball. Lehmann’s prose is lush and beautiful and I was immediately struck by her impressionistic writing style.

SOME TAME GAZELLE by Barbara Pym

Barbara Pym’s world of the parish, curates, and garden parties is a real delight and there were dollops of this in Some Tame Gazelle. The book revolves around the memorable Bede sisters – Belinda and Harriet – who are spinsters. Harriet is outspoken of the two and is more interested in the young curates who come to work in the village, even though she continuously receives marriage proposals from an Italian count. Belinda, meanwhile, has been carrying a torch for the Archdeacon in the village who has been married to another woman for quite some time. But things get shaken up a bit with the arrival of Mr. Mold and Bishop Grote. Both these men disturb the peace of the village and leave the sisters wondering if they’ll ever return to the order of their daily routines.

Pym’s comic timing is superb and there are some wonderful conversations between the characters particularly between the two sisters. Each character is wonderfully etched and even within the narrower contours of village life, Pym has a flair for bringing out the subtle differences in human nature.

THREE SUMMERS by Margerita Liberaki (Translated from Greek by Karen Van Dyck)

Bursting with vibrant imagery of a sun-soaked Greece, Three Summers is a sensual tale that explores the lives and loves of three sisters who are close and yet apart given their different, distinctive personalities.

First published in 1946, the novel’s original Greek title when literally translated means The Straw Hats. Indeed, like the first brushstrokes in a painting, the first image presented to us is of the three sisters wearing their newly bought straw hats – Maria, the eldest, wears a hat adorned with cherries, Infanta has one with forget-me-nots perched on her head, while the youngest and also the book’s narrator – Katerina – has donned a hat with poppies “as red as fire.”

Gradually as the novel unfurls, the varied personas of the three sisters are revealed to us – the sexually bold Maria, the beautiful and distant Infanta, the imaginative and rebellious Katerina, also the narrator of the story.

Three Summers, then, is a lush, vivid coming-of-age story that coasts along at a slow, languid pace…it drenches the reader with a feeling of warmth and nostalgia despite moments of piercing darkness. With its rich evocation of summer and luscious descriptions of nature, the narration, in keeping with Katerina’s personality and penchant for telling stories, has a dreamy, filmic, fairytale-like vibe to it.

NOTES FROM CHILDHOOD by Norah Lange (Translated from Spanish by Charlotte Whittle)

Notes from Childhood is a unique, inventive memoir filled with evocative vignettes that capture the innocence and essence of childhood; the fears, anxieties, love, and simple moments of happiness that children experience. These snapshots of family life and domesticity are filtered through our narrator’s (Norah herself) childhood memories.

She dwells on her sisters and their personalities – the brooding and intense Marta, whose peeled hands “looked like the pages of a well-loved book whose edges curl backward.” There’s Georgina with her immaculate, poised figure, always ready to help with anything and the apple of their mother’s eye. Then there’s Susana, younger but closer to Norah in age so they bond better coupled with the fact that both have flaming red hair. 

It’s a gorgeous book exploring the realm of childhood, the light and darkness within it; intimate portraits that sizzle with strangeness, wonder, beauty, and sadness.   

A SUNDAY IN VILLE-D’AVRAY by Dominique Barbéris (Translated from French by John Cullen)

This is a dreamy, disquieting novella of missed opportunities, a particular yearning for that ‘something else’, set over the course of a languid autumn afternoon when the light is quickly fading. 

The book begins when our narrator Jane, one Sunday, decides to visit her sister Claire Marie, who resides in Ville-d’Avray in the western suburbs of Paris. Comfortably settled in her well-appointed home with her husband Christian and her daughter Melanie, Claire Marie many a time assists Christian in his medical practice by stepping into the shoes of a receptionist. Jane, on the other hand, is settled in the centre of Paris with her partner Luc – both prefer the hustle and bustle of city life, its culture and entertainment to the quiet existence in the outskirts.

On that particular autumn afternoon, as the sisters finally sit down for a chat, Claire Marie makes a dramatic revelation of a chance encounter in her life several years ago, a confession that startles Jane considerably. Does Claire Marie have it in her to disrupt her carefully constructed idyll at home for the sake of an out-of-the-box experience that marks a break from her everyday routine?

The themes touched upon in this wonderfully evocative novella are the consequences of a path not taken, the weight of unfulfilled desires, and the wish for a unique experience. It’s a novella that throbs with dreamlike vibes, fraught melancholia and wistful longing and is perfect for any quiet, cosy afternoon with a hot mug of tea.

THE GREENGAGE SUMMER by Rumer Godden

The Greengage Summer is a gorgeous coming-of-age tale of love, deceit, and new experiences, a beguiling mix of light and darkness set in the luxurious champagne region of France.

Our narrator is the charming Cecil Grey, aged thirteen and at the cusp of womanhood. Cecil has an elder sister, the beautiful Joss aged sixteen, while the younger siblings are Hester and the Littles (Will and Vicky). Fed up with their continuous grumbling, the mother whisks them off to France to see the battlefields hoping that some kind of exposure and knowledge about other people’s sacrifices will open their eyes to how self-absorbed they are. But all their best-laid plans go awry when the mother falls ill. Thus, once at the hotel, the children are largely left to their own devices and latch on to the mysterious Elliott who takes them under his wing much to the chagrin of his lover and the owner of the hotel, Mademoiselle Zizi. This is a beautiful book with evocative descriptions of a languid French summer. Despite the joys of new experiences, there are darker currents with hints of violence, death, and sinister happenings.

SOMEBODY LOVES YOU by Mona Arshi

Mona Arshi’s Somebody Loves You is a beautifully written, poetic, coming-of-age novel on family, mental illness, immigrant life, and the trials of growing up. Comprising a series of vignettes (the kind of storytelling I’ve come to love), this novel is mostly from Ruby’s point of view who from an early age decides to become silent on her own terms, refusing to speak.

Ruby is the youngest member of her family which comprises her parents and her older, more voluble and fiery sister Rania. Her father is an “untidily put together man with a mild temperament.” Her mother is prone to bouts of depression which entails days and months of absence from home until one day she never comes back. 

These myriad snapshots coalesce to paint a picture of a family struggling to come to terms with their inner demons and the demands of the world outside. While the tone is often melancholic, the sheer beauty of the writing and a unique way of looking at the world makes Somebody Loves You an astonishing read.

WILL AND TESTAMENT by Vigdis Hjorth (Translated from Norwegian by Charlotte Barslund)

Vigdis Hjorth’s Will and Testament is a powerful, gripping, masterfully constructed novel about family feuds, abuse, trauma, and a woman’s fight to be believed and her story acknowledged, where Hjorth cleverly uses the set-up of an inheritance dispute to examine the deeper fissures that run in a dysfunctional family.

The novel opens with the news that Bergjlot’s dad died five months ago, a development that only exacerbates the ongoing property dispute between the four children and the mother. Bergjlot initially chooses to stay out of this clash and the modern reader will immediately discern the reason for this – she was abused by her father as a child and the scars from that incident made it easier for Bergjlot to completely sever ties with her family for more than 20 years to maintain her sanity. And yet she remains tormented by her mother’s digs and insults about her behaviour and her sisters’ refusal to accept her version of the past. 

At its core, Will and Testament is about a victim of abuse fighting back to be heard, about the legacy of abuse that can run down generations, and how it can irreparably damage relationships. The prose has a feverish quality that is compelling, the characters are brilliantly drawn and overall this is really a superb novel.

AN I-NOVEL by Minae Mizumura (Translated from Japanese by Juliet Winters Carpenter)           

An I-Novel is a gorgeous, lyrical meditation on language, race, identity, family, and the desire and deep yearning to go back to your roots, to your own country. The novel is a semi-autobiographical work that takes place over a single day in the 1980s. Our narrator is Minae, a young woman studying French literature at a prestigious university on the East Coast, close to Manhattan. When the novel opens, it is deep midwinter, and Minae is alone, struggling to grapple with apathy and loneliness as a deepening pall of gloom pervades her apartment. The intensity of stasis afflicting Minae is rooted in her unwillingness to take any decisive action regarding her future. After having lived for two decades in the United States, Minae has an aching desire to relocate to Japan, her home country.

But Minae is plagued with guilt and foreboding – If she goes back to Japan, her elder sister Nanae will be compelled to fend for herself, all alone in America. Moreover, with their family now torn apart (the father is in a care home, and the mother has left him for a younger man in Singapore), Minae and Nanae rely on each other for emotional support, having become quite close despite their varied personalities. An I-Novel throbs and pulses with big ideas presented in Minae Mizumura’s stylish, understated and elegant writing.

Finally, I’ll leave you with a quote about sisters from Christina Rossetti’s Goblin Market and Other Poems…

“For there is no friend like a sister
In calm or stormy weather;
To cheer one on the tedious way,
To fetch one if one goes astray,
To lift one if one totters down,
To strengthen whilst one stands”

Posted on by Radz Pandit · 9 Comments

Will and Testament – Vigdis Hjorth (tr. Charlotte Barslund)

Will and Testament was my first novel by Vigdis Hjorth and it was just amazing. I now have Long Live the Post Horn to look forward to as well as her latest Is Mother Dead, a copy of which is already on its way to me. But in the meanwhile, this novel will 100% find a place on my best of the year list.

They say that to find a solution to a problem you need to admit that there’s a problem in the first place. How can you find ways to resolve the issue if you are not willing to accept the existence of the very issue that needs resolving? It’s the same with family and relationships. Families can be complex and complicated. Arguments, deep seated resentments and differing points of view can cause cracks in the familial structure that maybe hard to fix. While reconciliation is always a preferred option and healthy communication between various parties is one way of achieving this, what if there are certain instances where this is definitely not an option? Especially, in a scenario where a serious crime in the family has been committed and differing versions of it exist, where the victim’s version is not acknowledged because it challenges the other family members’ sense of self and makes them uncomfortable?

That is the central theme that underlines Vigdis Hjorth’s Will and Testament – a powerful, gripping, masterfully constructed novel about family feuds, abuse, trauma and a woman’s fight to be believed and her story acknowledged, where Hjorth cleverly uses the set-up of an inheritance dispute to examine the deeper fissures that run in a dysfunctional family.

Our protagonist is Bergljot, working as a magazine editor in Oslo writing theatre reviews. Bergjlot is now in her late fifties or earlier sixties with three grown up children (Soren, Ebba and Tale) and grandchildren, is in a relationship with a man called Lars and close to her friends Klara and Karen always pillars of support whenever a crisis erupts and she desperately needs someone to talk to.

Will and Testament opens with the news that Bergjlot’s dad died five months ago, a development that only exacerbates the ongoing property dispute between the four children and the mother. Before his death, the father had made a will leaving the two family cabins at Hvalar to his youngest children Astrid and Asa at very low valuations, a fact that angers Bard the eldest child and only son.

Bard vehemently challenges the terms of the inheritance but he is pretty much contesting a lone battle when the mother, father, Astrid and Asa refuse to budge from their position. Bergjlot initially chooses to stay out of this clash, having severed contact with the family more than twenty years ago. The modern reader will immediately discern the reason for Bergjlot’s refusal to get entangled – having been abused by the father as a child, the subsequent ordeal and the scars from that incident made it easier for Bergjlot to completely cut contact with her family in order to maintain her sanity.

Which is one of the reasons she does not wish to get embroiled in the feud; she thinks if she hasn’t bothered keeping in touch with her family, she cannot expect to be entitled to any inheritance. And yet the unfairness of the entire affair given how inextricably it’s linked with her past, persistently nags her compelling her to finally join the row siding with Bard; the two elder children against their mother and younger siblings.

Bard, a victim of neglect and physical abuse himself, argues about the principle of the matter, that the disagreement over the inheritance is not so much about money as it is about acknowledging the trauma inflicted upon them by their father, a view Bergjlot also shares. Isn’t it fair that he gets entitled to a half of one of the cabins as a form of compensation for a very difficult childhood?

The fractured family dynamics rub off on their children too. Bard’s daughters refuse to have anything to do with their aunts and grandparents, a development that causes the mother much heartache as she fears losing them completely. It’s the same with Bergjlot’s children who also remain ambivalent. Her daughter Tale refuses to attend family gatherings, but Soren and Ebba attend these get-togethers to keep up appearances although these occasions leave them uneasy.

While distribution of the property is a bone of contention in the present, much of the drama takes place in Bergjlot’s past, the root of all the discord in subsequent years. Through much of her growing up years and even post marriage, the abuse remains repressed in Bergjlot, life continues as if it never happened. But what is repressed is bound to resurface later and Bergjlot finally confronts her family only to be stonewalled. Branded as a liar by her mother, the father’s denial and lack of support from Astrid and Asa who choose to remain silent; Bergjlot is finally compelled to cut all contact.

One of the striking aspects of Will and Testament are the superb character studies, Hjorth brilliantly captures the flawed personalities, fears and insecurities of not only Bergjlot but also those of the mother (Inga) and Astrid who are as damaged by the father’s actions but unwilling to admit them.

Bergjlot, particularly, is a richly drawn character struggling to be believed by a family that staunchly refuses to do so. Unsurprisingly and understandably Bergjlot’s scars run deep and manifests in the chaotic way her personal life pans out – she divorces her wealthy, “nice” husband when her children are young because she is deeply in love with an unscrupulous married man, a relationship that also ultimately sours prompting her to finally opt in for psychoanalysis as a step towards healing. Bergjlot’s severing of all ties with her damaged family works to her advantage, but she remains tormented by her mother’s digs and insults about her behaviour and her sisters’ refusal to accept her version of the past. She is deeply conflicted about a family that desperately tries to silence her while at the same time makes her feel guilty about her actions. She is flawed but vulnerable and it’s her dogged insistence on fighting back, on telling her story that lends the novel much of its power.

The mother is also a damaged individual, a woman with only looks to her credit with no money or prospects of her own, at the mercy of her husband, and unable to stand up for her children. Bergjlot’s mother has suspicions of her husband’s crime, but she chooses to look away. Having loved another man herself, that affair comes to nothing, and somewhere deep down she resents Bergljot for taking charge of her life which she considers a rebuke to her own inability to do so. Hjorth often refers to the Norwegian dramatist Ibsen in her depiction of the mother – in Ibsen’s The Doll House, Nora finally decides to abandon her husband and family in an attempt to begin life anew, a path the mother does not have the guts to embark on.

Mum didn’t feel good about herself. Mum was pretty, but had no education, no experience, no money, Mum was Dad’s possession, Dad was proud of his pretty possession, Mum radiated fear. Mum was innocent in the sense that she was inexperienced and naïve. Many men prefer and are attracted to inexperienced and naïve women, simple, childish ones who are easy to impress, awestruck, devoted, sincere, needy, those who don’t use irony, who don’t hold back. Mum was inexperienced, childish and chose to remain a child. If Mum had chosen to grow up, her reality would have become unbearable. 

Astrid desires the best of both worlds; she wishes her family to reconcile but without acknowledging the event that caused the rupture in the first place. She projects herself as a good person who wants to keep up appearances, and adopt a diplomatic approach towards the matter at hand, without accepting that there are times when you need to take a stand however unpleasant and even if it means a further rift in the family.

That was her mistake, Astrid’s mistake. She claimed to be neutral, but deep down she wasn’t because sweet-talking everyone isn’t being neutral if one party has hurt the other, only she didn’t factor that in or she didn’t believe it. She didn’t seem to understand or be willing to accept that there were conflicts which couldn’t be resolved in the way she would like them to be, that there are situations which can’t be balanced out, talked over and round, where you have to pick a side.

Deep down, Astrid and Asa resent Bergjlot because they perceive her to be their parents’ favorite child given the attention they showered upon Bergjlot little realizing the nature of that attention. As grown-ups, Astrid and Asa maintain a strong relationship with their parents, a bond that also results in them benefitting financially, but their closeness with the parents and silence on the ‘unmentionable’ matter makes it very clear to Bergjlot whose side they are on even if they have not explicitly stated it. Asa, interestingly, is not much of a presence in the novel as Astrid, but that is because she does not care about mending relations in the way Astrid desperately does.  

At its core, Will and Testament, is about a victim of abuse fighting back to be heard, about the legacy of abuse that can run down generations, how it can irreparably damage relationships. This is a first person account; Bergjlot is the narrator where the repetition of events and episodes reflects her anxious, feverish state of mind as she struggles to come to terms with what has happened to her. The frenzied internal monologues capture Bergjlot’s distress to brilliant effect, the mounting dread and anxiety she experiences every time she is required to come face to face with her family. The tension palpable in Bergjlot’s voice, a product of her fretful personality lends an intense, gripping quality to the narrative propelling it forward.

If Bergjlot has deliberately abandoned her family, why should she bother what they think? If she has long ago given up the idea of any inheritance, why change her stance? Can such a fractured family ever reconcile when they are so intent on denying her reality and are busy brushing things under the carpet? These are the questions that repeatedly swirl in Bergjlot’s mind and raise pertinent questions about the limits of forgiveness in a family which repeatedly denies the existence of a grave crime.

Was it any wonder that I had felt troubled and ambivalent towards someone who wanted proof and reconciliation at the same time? That was the impossibility, the untruth which had lain unspoken underneath all our conversations, which now turned out to have been nothing but lies.

I thought this was an absolutely fantastic novel, timeless in its themes, and especially relevant given how difficult it is for abused women to come forward and be believed even in the current #MeToo era.

Posted on by Radz Pandit · 3 Comments

Somebody Loves You – Mona Arshi

Mona Arshi’s Somebody Loves You first came to my attention when it was shortlisted this year for the Goldsmiths Prize, always an interesting prize to follow…and it turned out to be an excellent read.

The day my sister tried to drag the baby fox into our house was the same day my mother had her first mental breakdown.

Thus begins the second chapter in Mona Arshi’s Somebody Loves You, a beautifully written, poetic, coming-of-age novel on family, mental illness, immigrant life and the trials of growing up.

Comprising a series of vignettes (the kind of storytelling I’ve come to love), this novel is mostly from Ruby’s point of view who from an early age decides to become silent on her own terms, refusing to speak.

The first time I spoke out loud at school I said the word sister and tripped all over it. I tried a second time, and my tongue got caught on the middle-syllable hiss and hovered there. The third time? A teacher asked me a question, and I opened my mouth as a sort of formality but closed it softly, knowing with perfect certainty that nothing would ever come out again. I was certain about this the next morning and even more certain about it the day following that. I uttered absolutely nothing. It became the most certain thing in my life. 

These myriad snapshots coalesce to paint a picture of a family struggling to come to terms with their inner demons and the demands of the world outside.

Ruby is the youngest member of her family that comprises her parents and her older, more voluble and fiery sister Rania. Her father is an “untidily put together man with a mild temperament.” Her mother is prone to bouts of depression which entails days and months of absence from home until one day she never comes back. During these days called Mugdays (“Mugdays start with unpredictable and approximate mornings”), when the mother’s melancholy moods take centrestage and performing simple tasks becomes a challenge, the burden of responsibility falls on Rania and Ruby who are compelled to do the heavy lifting.

Gradually we are given a glimpse into Ruby’s circle of friends, family members and neighbours. As far as the extended family goes, there’s Biji, the maternal grandmother, who relies on potions and superstitions to ward off the cloud of despondency that has descended upon Ruby’s mother as well as various ills that afflict Ruby in her early years; Auntie Number One, who Rania and Ruby dislike because “she almost always appeared when there was some crisis or other in the family”, her presence a constant reminder that things at home are not well. Biji derides Auntie Number One for her modern outlook, remarking that she is “tainted by the bitterness of unmarriage and the foul bile that builds up in a barren womb.” But there’s something about their aunt that also impresses the girls…

Rania and I knew the truth about Auntie Number One; we had come across her once on The High Street. We knew she lived with a man; we caught sight of her putting up posters for the Labour Party with someone who wore a leather jacket; they kept leaning into each other and sharing a kiss and a roll-up cigarette. Rania was impressed. ‘Look, Ruby, he’s not even bad-looking – good for Auntie Number One. She actually seems happy!’

We learn of Ruby’s friendships with a boy called David, who is nonjudgmental and accepts her for who she is (“he was complicated and sensitive and had been adopted”); her best friend Farah who longs for a normal life and to be accepted by her peers only to be estranged from Ruby when her wish is granted.

The next time I see her at school she’s been adopted by her classmates again and is becoming prettified. This time the makeup sticks and the clothes hang spectacularly on her long body. She is spectacular. Her little teeth are glinting in happiness. When I am in the library, I meet her in the doorway; her eye makeup is in three different shades and matches her jumper, good for her. This is Farah. The other Farah is dying softly in another room.

Racism, violence against women, mental illness, loss, sisterhood are some of the themes woven into the fabric of this novel that make it such a haunting, elegiac read. As their mother’s moods become increasingly unpredictable, and the father struggles to cope, the sisters appear to share the kind of bond that helps them tentatively navigate challenges at home, school as well as the heartaches of plain growing up. One gets the feeling that Rania is the stronger sibling, protective of her younger sister, and those roles get reversed later when a traumatic event compels Rania to seek solace in Ruby’s companionship, Ruby’s silence is a balm to the clamour in Rania’s heart.

The spectre of racism looms large – when Ruby is born, her mother is attended “by a health visitor who was suspicious about Indian mothers and their baby-mother-habits”; a pen friend is forbidden by her father to write letters to Ruby (“I’m not allowed to be your pen friend anymore because he found out you’re a Paki”). Hints of violence against women disturbingly abound, Rania will go on to face the worst of it as the novel progresses.

Mental illness and its impact on a family unit is a core theme, particularly, explored. For Ruby’s mother suffering from chronic depression, gardening becomes a hobby that sustains her – the positive vibes from plants and flowers growing and blossoming with tender loving care adds that extra spring to her step, even if her family does not share her passion. However, the menacing approach of winter when most activities in the garden cease is a portent of darkness once again enveloping the mother’s mind. 

When the garden’s asleep for winter, when there’s nothing to nurture, nothing to fight for or revive on the borders, when my mother has put away her tools and potting soil in our shed, that strange look of blank hunger takes up residence.

Employing a style that is episodic and non-linear, this is a sensitively written novel – quietly devastating and lush with vivid imagery and poetic descriptions. For instance, the very first vignette has shades of a dream logic, where Ruby puts a blue egg into her mouth which transforms into a slew of birds filling the room “with their iridescent turquoise feathers and clamour of yellow-black beaks”; the word ‘agony’ to Ruby is the worst of all the ‘a’ words because “there was a sliver of glass in the middle of the brittle ‘o’.”

Ruby might be silent but her voice is unforgettable as she tries to comprehend and cope with various forces at play often resisting the growing pressure to blend in (“’Are you listening?’ Farah persists. ‘Because sometimes I think you are drifting further and further from what is normal’”).  While the tone is often melancholic, the sheer beauty of the writing and a unique way of looking at the world makes Somebody Loves You an astonishing read.