Barbara Noble - Doreen

It doesn’t take a parent to understand that parenting is hard, choices are made, trade-offs are inevitable, and sometimes there are ethical dilemmas. And, what does doing what’s best for your child mean, anyway? And, how do you make these decisions against the backdrop of World War II?

These are the topics that Barbara Noble tackles in her 1946 book, Doreen. The titular character is nine years old and lives in London with her mother during the Blitz. At the time, the British government enacted Operation Pied Piper to get children safely out of the city to the countryside. But, Doreen’s mother Mrs. Rawlings, a proud intelligent cleaning woman, doesn’t know anyone in the countryside, and worries incessantly about her daughter’s safety through the frequent nightly strikes.

As luck would have it, when she unloads her troubles to an office worker while cleaning the bathrooms, a potential solution emerges: the office worker’s brother and wife live out in the countryside, and they would be willing to take the nine-year-old girl in. The couple, Mr. and Mrs. Osborne are childless, but not out of choice.

And, so, the “timid little rabbit” that is Doreen heads to the countryside without her mother to a brand new life. For the first time, she has her own bedroom, a garden to play in, a toolshed, and a doting couple of substitute parents in Geoffrey and Francie Osborne. Even Geoffrey, previously indifferent to the prospect of having a child in the house, takes to the mild-mannered polite girl, and a friendship between the two blossoms. Doreen does her best to blend in, and not show herself to be uneducated or ignorant, but the quality of life between her London life and new life are apparent. But, her foster parents don’t care about that and focus on raising the child to the best of their ability, be it teaching her new things, introducing her to new experiences, or providing for her. Doreen returns the affection. They are also careful not to overstep by giving her gifts her mother would not be able to afford.

Yet, the undercurrent of tension exists.

Doreen’s mother visits her daughter over Christmas, and the Osbornes have an entire conversation about where she should eat her meals: in the kitchen or with them (Mrs. Rawlings chooses to have her first meal alone in the kitchen). The office-worker who set up the arrangement with Doreen worries that by turning the child to their “class”, they are fundamentally giving her a disadvantage to the world that is waiting for her when the war ends—and it’s unfair to her mother Mrs. Rawlings.

When Mrs. Rawlings visits, she doesn’t try to fit in with the family like Doreen, but is “particular” and proper, knowing that her place isn’t with the family. She resents her daughter’s affection for the Osbornes, though. She visits again a few months later when Doreen is ill, and realises that her daughter’s comfort levels with these strangers make her increasingly uneasy, “arguing, rationalising the pain in her heart.”

"It was only now, since she had realized the place Doreen occupied in this household, had watched her with the Osbornes and measured their concern for her, that she understood at last how serious their rivalry had become. This discovery was terrifying to her.”

The solution? Doreen should return with her to London, a clean break from the Osbornes. The child doesn’t have a say in this, nor do the Osbornes.

To me, the solution is insane. In the countryside, the Doreen is happy, healthy, safe. In London, one of the child’s dearest friends died in one of the attacks. The stakes aren’t just about the child’s quality of life, but the child’s life itself. And, for her mother’s fears about the child getting ideas above her station to trump the safety of the child seems insane. But, Mrs. Rawlings is a proud, sensible woman, and one can’t help feeling sorry for her situation either. These aren’t easy decisions, and these aren’t easy times.

Marghanita Laski - Little Boy Lost

So, you start a book which is meant to result in emotional upheaval, and you keep your distance to begin with, but then the book sucks you in, and you feel your emotions getting the better off you, while the writing itself remains simple and straightforward, with almost no sentimentality. And as you keep turning the pages, you just want the happy ending; the fairy-tale happily ever after. And then the book ends, and you're just sitting there holding it, stunned into disbelief by the response evoked by a book less than two-hundred-and-fifty pages long.

It's Christmas Day, 1943, when Hilary, a poet and an intellectual, learns that his little boy, John, is lost. Lisa, his wife who was involved in the Resistence, was killed in Paris by the Gestapo, but before her death, she had asked a friend to look after her baby, who Hilary had seen but once. But on that fateful Christmas Day, a stranger (a Frenchman named Pierre) knocks on the door of Hillary's English home, informing him that his son has disappeared without a trace, and he would like to help Hillary find the boy.

Post-war, Hillary reluctantly heads to Paris upon Pierre's request, in order to commence the search for the lost boy - a search that has already been initiated by the resourceful Pierre. But Hilary is not prepared for the war-ravaged Paris that greets him.

Yes, it was familiar again - until the bus creaked past the bombed factory, the makeshift bridge, the shattered rusting locomotives, and the English in the bus shamefacedly whispered to each other, "Do you think we did that?" and then wondered if there could still be friendship between the destroyer and destroyed.

Simply, eloquently put.

Hilary starts following the trail which could potentially lead him to the son he lost about two years ago - almost unwillingly - for, with time, he's made himself invulnerable to emotions, and is content to live in his memories. The search leads him to a convent in a small town in France, where a boy who might be his son lives. It's not definite, but the age and blood type match. The hope is that on seeing the boy, Hilary would recognise his son.

Hilary visits the boy (called Jean) in the convent, and starts spending a couple of hours each day with the boy, his affection for the slowly mounting, but the uncertainty as to whether the boy is actually his son not really diminishing. The first meeting is confusing, as at first glance, he thinks that's his son, but on second glance, he stares at the child in horror and repulsion, certain that the child isn't his...

...and thus begins the journey of trying to determine if he's found his little boy...

...But then, Hilary is detached, pragmatic and almost like an icicle at times, that one just wants to physically shake him into finding his human emotions - diametrically polar to some other moments where he buys the child expensive gloves, and gauges his reactions, without the child having to say much, if anything at all.

As the relationship evolves during the course of the week, the child transforms from a shy nervous boy to an excited happy one around Hilary. You can make out that he doesn't want to disappoint Hilary, and when Hilary comes across as impatient, the boy withdraws into himself. There are moments where, as a reader, you just hate Hilary, for how can someone be so heartless?

Hilary said nothing. He stood there watching the child, feeling only hate for the creature who had put him in this predicament, through whose interventions he had made a fool of himself. The little coward, he was saying, the little coward.

Jean whimpered, "I want my red gloves back."

You're finding out you can't buy happiness, thought Hilary coldly. Aloud, he said, "You can't have them back. Once you've given a present, it's a present forever."

Jean stopped whimpering, only stood there shaking and staring. You're finding out what desolation means, thought Hilary savagely [...].

But - but it's the absolute last line of the book that makes it so... touching and heart-rending. Just the last line. Honestly, words cannot describe the impact they make.

While the heart of the book is about the father looking for his lost son, Laski pays attention to the rampant corruption existing in Paris at the time, and the black market, which emphasised the difference between the haves and the have-nots, and the whole "survival of the fittest" philosophy. She also highlights the slight disconnect between the locals, as they attempt to determine on which side their counterparts stood during the Occupation.

"But at least the Occupation showed each man what he was capable of. Don't you think it was something to be able to find out?"

"No, why?" said Pierre. "Some found they were better than they thought, some worse. We are finding that out all the time in our everyday lives."

"But we're not conscious of it all the time," argued Hilary. For some reason, this point seemed of vital importance to him. "Surely occupation or battle or something like that brings the whole thing to an inescapable point - a sort of judgment by ordeal?"

If you haven't yet, please do read this book.

I've read two books by Laski so far, and have two more to go (which have been printed by Persephone) - her writing is amazing, and I can't wait to read the others.

Marghanita Laski - To Bed With Grand Music

I've been meaning to read a Laski for a long time, and I finally picked this book out of my shelf, just to help me return to the world of reading - one of my many loves that I've been ignoring recently. And on finishing it, I was gently reminded as to why I love reading so much. I've spent the past couple of months literally obsessing over things, and trying to make a life-changing decision (career-wise). However, while reading (and on finishing) this book, I almost immediately started focusing on the points it raises and the questionable character of this book's protagonist. Annoyingly, I can't seem to make my mind up about where I stand.

On the eve of Graham's departure to Cairo for an office job in the midst of the War, his wife (Deborah) and he are lying in bed talking. Graham is likely to be away for a few years, and right up front, he tells Deborah that while he doesn't think abstinence is likely, he will promise not to fall in love with anyone else, thereby remaining faithful to his wife. Deborah, the model wife, on the other hand, promises to be faithful on all fronts, and devote her time to looking after their baby, Timmy. Yet, within days, Deborah is bored to death by the banalities of life as a mother and home-maker, and it only takes minimal persuasion from her mother for Deborah to abandon life in the small Hampshire village, and head to London for an office job.

Her first day in London results in a drunken one night stand, which she is disgusted by, and returns home and devotes herself to Timmy. In general, she has a better temperament, much to the relief of her mother as well as her housekeeper, Mrs. Chalmers. However, she returns to London soon after, and shares an apartment with her college friend, Madeleine, leaving Timmy in the capable hands of Mrs. Chalmers. Initially, she spends the evenings alone in the apartment, despite Mady's best efforts to coax her into the life of glamour: going to parties and having fun, adamant that she should not even be tempted to be unfaithful to her husband. At this point, I sympathised with her, despite her abandoning her son, and looking for a more exciting life in London during the war.

Her adamance crumbles though when Joe, a married American, knocks on the door of her apartment, and convinces her to go out for dinner. While Graham promised Deborah that he would not fall in love,  Joe's promise to his pregnant wife was the inverse, i.e. he would not cheapen his relationship with his wife by sleeping with cheap women. They both appear to be on the same page when it comes to their marriage and their thoughts on infidelity. They do sleep together though, which they justify by saying they are still faithful to their respective spouses, as they are not in love. Many expensive presents and dinners and drinks later, the line between love and companionship blur, and Deborah is very much in love with Joe. Yet, when he has to leave the city, Deborah accustomed to a life of glamour and ostentation, finds another lover and then another - which is all too disturbing. It gets sickeningly worse when she asks men to visit her at the her cottage in Hampshire over the weekends, and it's evident that she's lost all her moral standards and naivety when she requests one of the men to teach her how to be a good mistress - only because it's a trait that Mady possesses, and Deborah envies that. The way she convinces herself that she's not in the wrong and justifies each and every action of hers is mind-boggling, for initially she does come across as someone with high principles and moralities. One can account for a weak character easily being dispossessed of all their virtues, but someone who is as uptight and "holier-than-thou" as Deborah morphing into a greedy tart almost seems to defy logic.

Overdrawing from her bank account, moving from man to man, to the extent that one man introduces her to another, and manipulating men at will to buy her fancy things and take her to restaurants and clubs which Graham would never be able afford seems to business-as-usual for her, and this hedonistic superficial lifestyle is all she cares about. Even her son takes second place. Yet, she manages to justify it.

"You're at least the third person," she said, "who has asked me if I mightn't be better if I went home to my chee-ild. Well, darling, that's just one of the things I've really thought out for myself and I know it's better to be happy than unhappy, and not only for me but for my baby as well. I like this sort of life, in fact, I love it, and seeing as how I'm hurting no one and doing myself quite a lot of good, I rather think I'll carry on with it. I've come to the conclusion that conventional morals were invented by a lot of unattractive bitches to make themselves feel good."

One does wonder though: is it the aftermath of war that prompts people to abandon their principles? Or, is war just an excuse for people to let loose their inner inhibitions an do what they want? If Graham hadn't been called up, would things have turned out differently, or was Deborah only looking for the easiest way out of a life of commitment and stability only to plunge into glamour and deceit? And, how exactly is it, that people who initially come across as so prudish are so quick to turn themselves into the "anti-prude", driven by envy and hedonism, and then, even justify it? Or, does the need to justify the actions arise from the prudishness, or the need to believe that they haven't done any wrong?

I was very much in love with Graham when I married him, conceded Deborah, who was determined not to be one of those low girls who denied a love as soon as it was over, but there's no reason why the person who suited you at twenty should still be the right person for you at twenty-five, when you've both developed and changed and in different directions too.

But honestly - the way Deborah's character spirals downwards is scary, and just... worrying. The transformation from naive and innocent to vice is so rapid, that I couldn't help but feel slightly overwhelmed and contemplative. Is it only a matter of circumstance? Can circumstance really justify this sheer selfish extravagant hedonism? And with no regrets? Actually, I lie - Deborah did end up regretting the fact that the war had ended, and she would be forced to go back to the mundane life of hers, and leave behind the thrills of London.

According to the introduction, this book is not entirely fictional, but an account of someone Laski knew who did transgress similar to Deborah. Initially, it was written under the pseudonym Sarah Russell, as, according to Laski's daughter, Laski was "fascinated and upset at seeing what the war had done to this person" but didn't want the person to figure out that she was the anti-heroine of the book. The person Deborah's character was inspired by managed to get a divorce from "Graham" and she re-married a rich man - probably one who was able to afford her extravagant way of living, and who liked showing off his trophy wife (the last bit's pure conjecture on my part).

I loved this book, and I really do want to read some more books by Laski. There are four published by Persephone, so I guess I have three more to go. Which would you recommend next?

Monica Dickens - Mariana

I bought this book back in January, simply because the blurb likened it to I Capture The Castle, and ended up "saving" it for the Persephone Reading Week (hosted by Verity and Claire). I had great expectations from this book (if you may excuse the totally unnecessary pun), not only because of the blurb comparing it to one of my favourite books from last year, but also because the writer is Charles Dickens' great-granddaugher, and I wasn't disappointed. The title of this book is inspired by Tennyson's Mariana:

She only said, "My life is dreary, He cometh not," she said; She said, "I am aweary, aweary; I would that I were dead!"

and it's the story of a young girl, Mary, reflecting on her life as a child, teenager and finally, an adult. In the opening chapter itself, Mary hears the news that a British Destroyer has sunk, and the next-of-kin of those departed have been informed. There are some survivors. There's a storm outdoors, the telephone lines are down, and there's nothing she can do in that point in time to find out whether she's going to be the recipient of good news, or bad; whether her dearest has survived or not.

While she restlessly awaits the morning to go into town, she reflects on her life - from the time she was eight years old until now. The idyllic visits to her grandparents' estate in Chabury during the vacations, the stress of school, her hilarious experience at a school for drama, her fantastic year in Paris (being courted by the romantic Pierre) and of course, the "happily ever after" before now.

I don't know what it is about the name "Mary," but the characters are oft' quite contrary (as in the nursery rhyme). The protagonist of the Dickens' novel is no different. She's spoilt, wants her own way most of the time, and her mother normally gives in.

"You're so utterly wrapped up in yourself that you have no interests outside your own egotism. You've obviously been accustomed to having your own way all your life - someone to do this and that for you, to listen to your complaints and pander to your moods -"

Despite that, I found myself rooting for Mary through the book - her naivety coupled with her innocence and idealism make her quite a charming character. There were times she was annoying, and deserved to be put in place, though, and at some points she just seemed very weak-minded and self-pitying. Was it the childhood romance gone wrong? Or, the indulgent Uncle who lived with her and her mother? Or, just a part of growing up, struggling with identity and desiring independence?

The writing is humorous, and the book an easy, "fun" read. It's not like one giant reflection on her life. Instead, it's like numerous continuous flashbacks, with no nod to the present.

I thoroughly enjoyed the book, and half-wish I'd read it when I was still a teenager. While I had no trouble relating to Mary now, I think I'd've loved her much much more when I was sixteen.

Have you read any other Monica Dickens? Would you recommend them?

And how's your Persephone Reading Week coming along?

Persephone Reading Week #2

Claire & Verity are hosting Persephone Reading Week#2 this week (yep, am a day late with my post). I missed out on this last year, but was quite looking forward to reading a couple of Persephone books this year. In fact, I'd even picked out a couple of books and kept it aside for this week.

I'm not going to commit to anything, but I do want to read both of them this week. If not both, definitely the one.

Look forward to all the Persephone-related posts in the blog'o'sphere, and adding some more books to my to-be-read collection.

Are you joining in in Persephone Reading Week#2? What are your reading plans?

Winifred Watson - Miss Pettigrew Lives For A Day

Miss Pettigrew Lives For A Day is a delightful book centring around a middle-aged prudish governess, who has no money and desperately needs a job to click. One morning, a serendipitous incident sees her knock on the door of a beautiful young cabaret singer, instead of a household abound with ill-disciplined children, for a job. However, she never gets an opportunity to state her purpose, but gets caught up in the dramatic life of Miss LaFosse instantaneously. Miss LaFosse and Miss Pettigrew are as different as night and day - the former has numerous lovers, a frivolous lifestyle and many-a-friend, whereas Miss Pettigrew is alone, and in her own words, some day she would be, with no home, no friends, no husband, no children. Yet, as they say, opposites attract, and that certainly holds true for these two women who might as well have come from totally different planets. Caught up in the wonder of Miss LaFosse's lifestyle, Miss Pettigrew allows herself to be "made up", wears fancy gowns, and goes to a cocktail party as well as a night club - each second of the day lifts her morale and confidence a little bit more. She thinks quickly on her feet, resolves tiffs, freely gives relationship advice, and ends up seeming a whole lot worldlier than she actually is.

The book, spanning twenty-four hours, literally describes how Miss Pettigrew "lives for a day," and how she's resigned to her fate of misery and loneliness.

Oh, if only for once the Lord would be good and cause some miracle to happen to keep her here, to see for one day how life could be lived, so that for all the rest of her dull, uneventful days, when things grew bad, she could look back in her mind and dwell on the time when for one perfect day, she, Miss Pettigrew, lived.

This is one of those feel-good books, where you just have a giant smile on your face while reading it. The dialogue is witty, the writing clever, and the words literally lift off the page and dance in front of the reader. Miss Pettigrew is not a typical hero, but, you just want her to have her day!

While this book was written in the 1930s (1938), the environment and narrative seems relatively modern. The women have a flair for the dramatic, and their enthusiasm and frivolity (for lack of better words) is contagious.

It's no use, we women just can't help ourselves. When it comes to love we're born adventurers.

Still, you do wonder about quotes like the below (which is probably the most blatant hint that the book was published pre-World War II):

I wouldn’t advise marrying him. I don’t like jumping to conclusions but I think there was a little Jew in him. He wasn’t quite English.

Rating: A-