Book Review: The Paying Guests by Sarah Waters

Sarah Waters's sixth novel returns to the complexities of historical lesbian romance, set this time in the years following the Great War. While some people complained that her last novel The Little Stranger didn't have any lesbian characters, I rather enjoyed it. However, I did appreciate the intricacies of The Paying Guests and I put off reading it for quite some time to prolong the pleasure. I always remember one comment on Fingersmith saying that there are some books you envy people for not having read yet - I think this is another one from Waters.

Frances Wray and her widowed mother are forced to take in lodgers when their once-majestic home on Champion Hill becomes unaffordable. These 'paying guests' are Lilian and Leonard Barber, injecting life into the house that Frances and Mrs Wray find difficult to deal with. Against expectations, Frances and Lilian strike up a friendship. This, however, leads to complications which, in turn, leads to something so unexpected that I almost put the book down to applaud before going back to marvel at the foreshadowing.

To say I enjoyed this book would be an understatement and I don't want to say too much about it. What I will say is that the atmosphere built in this novel teeters on the right side of claustrophobic and the characterisation is brilliant, from the protagonists down to the incidentals. The Paying Guests is a sumptuous novel and, yes, I do envy those yet to read it.

This book was read as part of the 'Women' reading challenge, details here.

Book Review: Inseparable: Desire Between Women in Literature by Emma Donoghue

This fascinating non-fiction book examines the representation of desire between woman in literature in six section: 'Travesties', 'Inseparables', 'Rivals', 'Monsters', 'Detection' and 'Out'. While it's full of detail and so will please any scholars interested in the subject, Inseparable is also an easy, sometimes amusing, read for non-academics. Donoghue infuses her non-fiction analysis with the same edge of humour that I enjoy so much in her fiction. Though, for me, this subject could never be dry and boring, she ensures it isn't so.

The 'Travesties' section looks at cross-dressing within texts from 990 onwards, including brief discussions on Shakespeare, Margaret Cavendish and Theophile Gautier amongst others. It examines the recurring depictions of 'The Female Bridegroom' and 'The Male Amazon' in a chapter that looks at the causes and consequences of cross-dressing and its heyday in the drama of the seventeeth century.

'Inseparables' begins with the Biblical account of Ruth and Naomi and covers the representation of love based on similarity. As this is one of my areas of interest, I perhaps found this chapter the most interesting, particularly the discussion on Charlotte Bronte's Shirley. It also highlighted some works I want to read, both for pleasure and study - as every chapter did.

'Rivals' is a fascinating analysis of what happens when a woman and man compete for the same love. It starts with Sappho and goes through Shakespeare, Richardson and some rather brilliant-sounding French texts before moving on to discuss what happens when the rivalry bubbles over. It examined some texts I was already familiar with, such as The Rainbow and The Fox, but, again, the ones I found most intriguing were the ones I've yet to read, most notably The Bostonians.

Perhaps the chapter on 'Monsters' contains the themes most familiar to observers of fiction about desire between women. It's interesting to see the texts these stereotypes stemmed from then we take a short tour through Dickens, Hardy and others. This is quite an uncomfortable chapter, though I particularly liked the section on ghost stories.

The fifth chapter on 'Detection' provided me with plenty of books I want to read somewhere down the line. Again, desire between women is a theme pretty familiar to readers of the crime genre and it looks at writers including Ruth Rendell, Agatha Christie and P.D. James. Given my sensation fiction roots, I was also pleased to see a discussion of The Woman in White in this chapter followed by an examination of two novels by Sarah Waters.

'Out', the final chapter, looks at the 'awakening' motif in texts from George Moore onwards. It's a nice shift in tone from the other chapters, looking at declared love instead of coded texts, but it also highlights the complexities of modern life. There's a section here on 'first love' which covers several texts I was already familiar with and, once more, a number of works mentioned in this chapter are now begging to be read.

Ultimately, Emma Donoghue has written a book that is both informative and fascinating. Her subject knowledge is exemplary and her style engaging. I've already referred back to Inseparable for academic work and I have no doubt I'll be doing that again fairly frequently. Highly recommended!

Venturing Into Victorian Tone

There's a huge difference between reading Victorian fiction religiously (or methodically, as my PhD has dictacted I do) and attempting to write fiction set in the period. For numerous reasons, I have avoided it. Historical fiction scares me. I'm something of a perfectionist. I would want to get as little as possible inaccurate and my usual sore point about "getting it wrong" would probably be turned into a gaping wound. That explains why I haven't attempted it in the past. So what explains my sudden enthusiasm for a project I started months ago, worked at for a day, then discarded to rest with the dozens of "bad" ideas your average writer has?

I've read many enjoyable pieces of authentic Victorian fiction in recent years. I'm referring to Wilkie Collins, Elizabeth Gaskell, Emily Bronte and Edmund Yates. I've also come across less well-written but equally enjoyable novels by other authors such as Mary Elizabeth Braddon, Ellen Wood and Charlotte Riddell. However, I'm now venturing into the depths of Victorian sensation literature. I'm learning precisely why posterity has not treated James Payn or Charles Gibbon with much kindness. I know what it's like to read a "bad" novel so, it stands to reason, I should know what areas need to be avoided.

Well, perhaps. What was "good" about the novel in the Victorian period cannot wholly be replicated in contemporary fiction. I think our readers are impatient: they want the illusion of Victorianism without the boring bits. I think the extended boat trip in Payn's A Woman's Vengeance would have to be cut out of any novel written today. It is clever in places, yes, but it's dreary and fails to further the plot as much as it could. In a rapidly-moving world we want our fiction to move as well: whatever era it's set in.

When I think of historical fiction set in the Victorian era, the first name that springs to mind is Sarah Waters. Perhaps because she was the first I read - and is still my favourite after all this time. What comes across in her work is a sense of knowledge: she isn't blagging, she's done the research and it shows. For potential writers this seems to be the biggest problem. You don't have to get everything right but you need to be right a lot more than you're wrong. Some readers might not care about historical inaccuracy but some will. Here's the more important point: if I was the author of such a work then I'd care.

Developing a voice that's Victorian enough to pass the test but still appealing to a modern reader is possibly the scariest part. I reread the 1500 words I'd written during my enthusiastic spurt and realised that, actually, they weren't that bad. I could definitely picture them in one of the musty books I'm currently perusing for my PhD. Individual words will need to be checked for authenticity later on, but my extensive Victorian reading has already given me a headstart in that department.

There is so much research to be done but, if I am to continue with these scribblings, I know it's important not to get too bogged down with it all before I start. If I did that I'd hate the thing before I even started writing. As long as my over-arching plot is plausibly Victorian (which I hope it is) then I know that everything else can be fixed in the redrafting stage. That gives me hope.

Television Review: The Night Watch

I love Sarah Waters. I've watched the adaptations of Tipping the Velvet, Fingersmith and Affinity and enjoyed them all. In the case of Affinity I think I preferred the adaptation to the book. However, The Night Watch struck me as a completely different animal. How do you dramatise a book that begins at the end and works backwards? Thankfully, the concept worked better than I thought it would on screen and a good story was backed up by some outstanding performances.

Credit has to go to Paula Milne for a terrific script and to director Richard Laxton. They brought a difficult novel to life and the bomb scenes in particular were haunting. The barest dialogue in those was enough. Of course, an excellent script and direction only count if you've got a great cast and The Night Watch certainly had that.

Anna Maxwell-Martin was known to me for her recent role in South Riding. I have to say, I wasn't sure she was right for the role of ambulance driver Kay but she fit the part very well. I couldn't warm to her immediately but - as with most characters - as we moved backwards I understood her more. It's difficult to pick my favourite Kay scene but her breaking down in the rubble when she thought her beloved Helen was dead was painful to watch - along with what happened directly after that.

Claire Foy as Helen did very well with a character whose motivations aren't as clear-cut as those of other characters. Equally, Anna Wilson-Jones as Julia was alluring, manipulative and guarded - sometimes all in the same scene. As for Jodie Whittaker playing Viv...well, I think I've found one of my favourite actresses for years to come. She was by far my favourite character in the adaptation when I felt indifferent to her during the novel at times. Harry Treadway as Duncan, Viv's brother, was something of a revelation to me since I wasn't expecting to like him. Duncan's a pretty complex character but, to my surprise, the layers were there without the necessary explanation. I particularly liked the prison scenes, especially when he started crying in the visiting room. That was another of those haunting scenes this adaptation did so well.

I could list almost every scene if I began talking about the ones I liked but I'll settle for a select few: Julia and Helen's conversation in the rain; Viv's first encounter with Reggie on the train; Kay's decision to lie for Viv as they travelled to hospital; the bombs falling on the prison... Honestly, the list goes on and on.

As with the book, you really need to watch this again to get the full effect of it. Did I like it? Yes. More than the book? No. But I think that's true of most adaptations. It certainly stands on its own feet though.

The Dangers of Duality.

Something I've come across in my studies is the explicit use of duality in the fiction I'm reading. Characters are put in direct contrast to each other in order to make a point as well as to further the plot. The novel I'm reading at the moment (a little-know story by Edmund Yates, The Silent Witness) initiated the introduction of the two female characters by contrasting them in every way. One was fair haired, the other dark. One was a prattler, the other was full of sense. It may be wise to point out that the dark-haired intellectual quickly lost those traits when she was separated from the woman she was deliberately set up as opposite to.

Duality was a common tool of Victorian writers. It helped inform the reader using various simple distinctions: fair/dark, bright/dim, strong/weak and, of course, that old favourite pretty/ugly. It was used to great effect in Victorian fiction; think of Marian/Laura in The Woman in White or Mina/Lucy in Dracula.

It's an effective tool for any writer really and one that's still evident in every walk of fiction today. My favourite novel, Sarah Water's Fingersmith sets up a contrast between Sue and Maud from the beginning. The Harry Potter books are especially verbose in this kind of method: think Harry/Draco, Harry/Cedric, Hermione/Pansy, Neville/just about anyone.

It's a simple way of differentiating between characters. The idea of hair colour is one that seeps into even the best writer's conscious: if A has blonde hair then let's make B's dark so we can spot the difference. It's a handy marker but there are several pitfalls.

Firstly, if you create a character in response to another then the second character won't be as rounded and three-dimensional as the first. Not if all you've done is create an opposite for your protagonist. Some Victorian novels, especially sensational ones, suffer with this. The title character of Lady Audley's Secret is evil, for want of a better term. Her opposite in the novel is arguably Clara Talboys who, apart from having a desperate desire to find her missing brother, is an ineffectual human being. This had the desired effect of making the audience root for Lady Audley instead of Clara but it didn't do much for the depth of the novel.

A second problem with duality is that it can hinder character progression. If, as a writer, you're so intent on maintaining a distinction between various character then you can ignore the potential (or in some cases, necessity) for character evolution and change. This is extremely evident in serial television more than anything else. This is how the villain keeps going for years on end without being touched in any way by their deeds: think Tracy Barlow in Coronation Street, Don Beech in The Bill or Janine Butcher in Eastenders. What these characters loop back to is a desire to cause trouble, whatever brief epiphanies they may experience. They are there as the token villain and heaven-forbid they turn over a new leaf.

Finally, I'd say that duality can quickly become predictable and boring if not in the right hands. Some descriptions, especially in the Victorian books I'm reading at the moment, are cringeworthy in their attempts to set up a distinction between two characters.

The thing about contrast is that it should work on a primarily subliminal platform. If you have to point it out then you're not doing your job properly.

Classic Openings: The Little Stranger by Sarah Waters

The Little Stranger is the latest offering from Sarah Waters, the reigning queen of period fiction as far as I'm concerned. Although I've noticed that fans of Waters either love or loathe it I found it an entrancing read. As it was shortlisted for the 2009 Man Booker Prize I think the critics are in agreement!

The Little Stranger by Sarah Waters

I first saw Hundreds Hall when I was ten years old. It was the summer after the war, and the Ayreses still had most of their money then, were still big people in the district. The event was in Empire Day fete: I stood with a line of other village children making a Boy Scout salute while Mrs Ayres and the Colonel went past us, handing out commemorative medals; afterwards we sat to tea with our parents at long tables on what I suppose was the south lawn. Mrs Ayres would have been twenty-four or -five, her husband a few years older; their little girl, Susan, would have been about six. They must have made a very handsome family, but my memory of them is vague. I recall most vividly the house itself, which struck me as an absolute mansion. I remember its lovely ageing details: the worn red brick, the cockled window glass, the weathered sandstone edgings. They made it look blurred and slightly uncertain - like an ice, I thought, just beginning to melt in the sun.

1. First point, Waters introduces the main character here - though it may not look like it. Hundreds Hall is so central to the novel I don't hesitate in calling it a primary character. It is described, analysed and utilised more than any person really. And, to that end, Waters must focus on it in her first paragraph. By describing it through the eyes of a child she can portray it simplistically - but also with the value of hindsight. It's always important for an author to get retrospective viewpoints at just the right level between childish inference and adult interpretation but Waters has always been an expert at that.

2. Offering snippets of background. In this opening paragraph Waters overtly gives backstory to the reader about the Ayreses but it reads so smoothly that the reader doesn't notice. The voice is so easy to slip into that exposition doesn't feel so taxing. This is partly down to Waters' style but it's also due to good characterisation - Dr Faraday's narrative voice is there from the start.

3. Waters brings out the details. As Dr Faraday remembers the details of the house so he impresses them on the reader. It's an effective way of fixing something on the audience - they'll remember through a memory. At this stage, also, the reader is lapping up details. By picking up certain details on the very first page Waters can be confident they may be remembered. And, in this novel, everything seems to have an emotion attached.

Buy it here.

All In The Chemistry

Last night I was watching one of my all-time favourite films, Victor/Victoria starring Julie Andrews, James Garner and Robert Preston.

For anyone who doesn't know the plot this is it in a nutshell: Victoria (Andrews) is a down-and-out singer in Paris, 1934. While trying to get a free dinner (by letting a cockroach loose in the salad, of course) she makes the acquaintance of Carol 'Toddy' Todd (Preston), gay and recently unemployed himself. When Victoria's clothes shrink in the rain Toddy gets the chance to see her dressed as a man and has a wonderful idea - if she can't make it as a female singer she'll make a splash as a female impersonator instead. It's simple really: a woman pretending to be a man pretending to be a woman. All goes well until Victoria falls for tough nightclub owner, King Marchand (Garner).

The best thing for me in this movie (apart from the exquisite score) is the palpable chemistry, not between Andrews and Garner but between Andrews and Preston. Some relationships in films just work, whether they're romantic or not, and this one most definitely did. But it got me thinking: chemistry in film is so easy to spot... but what about chemistry on the page? Writing fiction where the characters seem like more than cardboard cut-outs speaking opposite each other is a difficult task.

One definition of chemistry is 'a natural mutual rapport'. It's easy to see why it's more complicated to spot in a novel: actors have the benefit of gazing into each other's eyes whereas when an author writes something to that effect nine times out of ten it comes across as cheesy and contrived. So are there any methods of inducing chemistry to join your work?

One thing I'm trying at the moment is looking at character models and finding their polar opposites because, after all, opposites do attract. The book I'm referring to as far as archetypal models go is 45 Master Characters by Victoria Lynn Schmidt. It's a good, no-nonsense book about mythic models with references to examples for each type. For instance, the Seductive Muse archetype is documented with examples such as Sally Bowles (Cabaret), Samantha Jones (Sex and the City) and Scarlett O'Hara (Gone With the Wind). The beauty of this book for me is that it gives you real references to work from. I can often imagine who my character is like but having a model on hand to consult usually helps me round the character out a little more.

Then comes the chemistry bit. Schmidt suggests that the natural pairings to the Seductive Muse are the Woman's Man, the Messiah, the Recluse and Mystic, or the Amazon. All have different qualities of their own and depending on what your particular story requires you pick the relevant option. It might seem a little too character-by-numbers and constrained for some people but remember it's only a starting point.

If you have two characters who have some relationship in that they either contradict or compliment each other then you have the basis for chemistry I think.

As for a couple of examples about the chemistry I've spotted in novels: Lily Bart and Lawrence Selden in Edith Wharton's The House of Mirth, Maud and Sue in Sarah Waters' Fingersmith, and Walter Hartright and Marian Halcombe in The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins are a few of my favourites.

The fact that only one of those couples ended up together is incidental. Victoria didn't end up with Toddy, after all, but their rapport still remains the highlight of the film each time I watch it.