Madame de la Rougierre

I'm only a quarter of the way into Uncle Silas, the 1864 suspenseful and sensational work by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu. I originally bought this as side-reading for my thesis but I've had so much primary and secondary reading to crack on with that I haven't had the chance to read it before now. I shunted it over to my TBR pile and picked it up yesterday.

So far I'm astounding by the creepiness. I blogged last year about Wilkie Collins's ability to perturb modern readers and I reviewed his particular success in The Haunted Hotel around the same time. However, Le Fanu's atmospheric and claustrophobic novel is so far surpassing that success. I'm petrified and we haven't even been introduced to the title character yet!

Madame de la Rougierre is the protagonist's governess. The reason she was initially engaged and her past are both mysterious at this point but what isn't mysterious is the impact she is supposed to have on the reader: we're not simply to think of her as unpleasant - she is evil and manipulative. Le Fanu adds more anxiety to the protagonist with almost every scene involving her and the governess. The suspense and mystery doesn't let up for a moment. It's disturbing enough reading this in the electric glow of a modern bedroom; I can't comprehend how unsettling it would've been being read by candlelight when it was first serialised in the Dublin University Magazine. It's interesting from a writer's perspective to watch how Le Fanu builds up the tension. From the first moment we meet Madame de la Rougierre we know the protagonist should be careful:

On a sudden, on the grass before me, stood an odd figure - a very tall woman in grey draperies, nearly white under the moon, courtesying extraordinarily low, and rather fantastically. I stared in something like a horror upon the large and rather hollow features which I did not know, smiling very unpleasantly on me; and the moment it was plain that I saw her, the grey woman began gobbling and cackling shrilly - I could not distinctly hear what through the window - and gesticulating oddly with her hands and arms. (Chapter Four)

That's a taster of the language used to describe Madame de la Rougierre throughout the portion of the novel I've read so far. It's creepy stuff and it only builds as time goes on. The combination of facial descriptions, adjectives used about her and her French accent all work to create a sensation of foreboding. This is Katina Paxinou portraying the character in the 1947 film adaptation which I'm now quite desperate to see:

Doesn't she look alarming?

I think I'd kill to be able to invoke the kind of feeling that Le Fanu does in Uncle Silas. And I'm looking forward to seeing how the character's evil personality impacts the rest of the novel. What I am not anticipating, however, is peaceful slumber, neither while I'm reading the book nor when I'm finished with it.

Book Review: Dani's Story by Diane & Bernie Lierow with Kay West

Thank you to Penguin Books and @Francesca_PR who supplied this book to me for the purpose of reviewing.

Dani's Story documents the true tale of how a girl, desperately neglected in the first years of her life, came to find a place in a family when the odds were stacked against her. What could have been a run-of-the-mill human tragedy story was distinguished by the sheer despair of Dani's situation and the persistence of the Lierow family in continuing with their quest to adopt her. Also notable about this book is the fact that the Lierows shied away from media attention. When they were eventually approached by a magazine they only agreed because they were persuaded their story could encourage more people to adopt. As they write in the epilogue, "If we had not told Dani's story, then all of her suffering, all of her struggles, and all of the strength she somehow found to survive would have been for nothing. If telling her story helps other children in the foster care system find a home, then her ordeal may be the catalyst for a positive outcome."

Diane and Bernie Lierow had five children between them when they decided to add to their family and adopt. They saw a picture of Dani at an event and were instantly drawn to her case, an interest that wasn't extinguished by finding out that Dani had severe special needs. She had existed primarily on a mattress in a dark room surrounded by rubbish. She couldn't speak, she hadn't been toilet-trained and she evidently hadn't experienced a day of love in her life. Social workers didn't think it was possible that she could ever find a 'normal' home because of her problems. Enter the Lierows.

This book doesn't shy away from the grimness of Dani's early life. It isn't included to sensationalise; it serves to highlight the remarkable achievements in her later interactions with the Lierows. Many of the important moments in her development are documented but perhaps not as many as I expected. The book focuses on Dani but also on the impact she has on her new mother, father and brother Willie. I got the impression that very little was ironed out in the presentation of the family unit - they come across as a remarkable family though they would argue that they are nothing special.

A couple of final things about Dani's Story: it is a heart-warming read but it could also make you quite angry at the two opportunities that were passed up to remove Dani from her birth mother's care. It isn't any consolation to realise that child protection services can get it as badly wrong in America as they can here in the UK. My last point is highly personal to me and doesn't detract from the essence of the story the Lierows are telling: as an English atheist it was sometimes difficult to connect with, firstly, the American slang and, more importantly, the reliance on religion that permeates the book. It's sometimes tricky for me to comprehend the importance that God plays in this family's life and it isn't something I'm completely on board with.

Nevertheless, this book was an enlightening read that demonstrates the worst in human nature then combats it by showing the unconditional love human beings can offer. Find out more about Dani at this website.

Amusing Summaries

As part of my PhD research I'm reading lots of sensation novels and trying to write a brief summary of events so that I don't get too muddled when trying to recall details of any particular book. Characters and plot melt into one mass of confusion if I'm not careful. It's just a document with a little about the progression of the plot and I include at the end quotations of contemporary reviews. However I just wrote a summary sentence for the past history of a character and snorted. 

• David Lloyd's Last Will, Hesba Stretton, 1870: "It’s mentioned that Mark lost a fiancé a decade ago when she fell off a cliff and he renounced marriage after that."

Is it just me or did anyone else snort? It makes it all sound so ridiculous. Yep, she fell off a cliff. In fairness to my summary, it sounds as stupid in the actual text. But, as a writer who struggles with writing synopses for her own work, I'm petrified of my plot sounding as contrived and melodramatic as that one. I've located a couple of these humorous summary sentences in my notes on other books.

• Robin Gray, Charles Gibbon, 1869: "Twenty years earlier McWhapple had been signed over property from Hugh Sutherland who it was suddenly rumoured had joined a conspiracy to overthrow the government."

• A Woman's Vengeance, James Payn, 1872: "Helen returns from the grave, confesses her sins then promptly dies." 

If I ever write anything like that in a synopsis I want to hang up my writing cap immediately and retire to a life of solitude with cats. I may yet do that anyway, to be fair. One final unrelated note garnered from my novel notes: don't change the sex of a baby half-way through a book.

• A Life's Assize, Charlotte Riddell, 1871: "Joy gives birth to a baby girl (text later suggests it’s a boy)."

Book Review: Of Human Bondage by W. Somerset Maugham

One warning before I kick off this review: Of Human Bondage is an exceptionally long book. The copy I've got (from the Vintage imprint) runs to exactly 700 pages and the type isn't exactly large either. However, I felt a unique sense of satisfaction when I finally closed it and I wouldn't say it was a monotonous chore to read.

The novel is known as Maugham's most autobiographical work. I don't know much about Maugham's life but a cursory glance at some biographical facts suggests much of the childhood portion of the book was based on his own experiences. In the novel the uncle who lives at Whitstable in real life becomes the vicar of Blackstable and the city where he received his education, Canterbury, becomes Tercanbury. I was aware of these similarities as I was reading and it helped create a sense of location. I don't think any knowledge of Maugham's early life is necessary to an enjoyment of this book, although it's interesting to see what things fit in and what is invention.

Of Human Bondage follows Philip Carey from his boyhood loss of his mother up to around the age of thirty. He packs quite a lot into life in this time. After the death of his mother he moves in with his uncle and aunt and goes to school in anticipation of becoming a clergyman. However, Philip was born with a club foot which makes integration at school difficult and, indeed, haunts him for much of his life. He frequently comments that whenever he is involved in a disagreement his disability is the one thing that people use as a low blow against him. It shapes the way he perceives the world and the way the world treats him.

Philip travels to Germany to finish his education and he also spends time in London then in Paris, looking for something he is suited to. He finally settles on his father's profession as a doctor for his career but this is beset with financial problems, primarily impacted by his relationship with a waitress called Mildred. I have to say, his dealings with this woman very nearly had me throwing the book against the wall. It occasionally defied belief that he took so much from her but, I suppose, seen through the eyes of his disability, it makes a little more sense. Still, Philip behaves in a somewhat pathetic manner and his self-sacrifices for the sake of Mildred are painful to read about. Each time she appeared I let out an audible sigh.

I don't think this novel is remarkable for character. Not only does Philip's character infuriate sense at times, other characters seem wooden on occasion. This could be symptomatic of the scope of the novel: so many people pass through the pages that fleshing them all out would be a difficult - and perhaps pointless - task. I found that some characters serve a purpose, or put across a point of view, before vanishing. Some, however, stuck in my memory a little more. Philip's aunt, Mrs Carey, struggles to demonstrate her affection for her nephew in the face of indifference from her husband. One of the most touching scenes of the book for me was the moment she pressed her life savings into his hands to make up for not being a 'proper' aunt to him during his youth. Another female character, the tragic Fanny Price, is notable for the end of her story. Perhaps it was that end which kept her in my mind but it could also have been the desperation to preserve appearances and self-belief which did it.

What Of Human Bondage seems to do best is impart ideas an philosophy. In Germany, for instance, Philip finds the religious doctrines he has followed all his life being challenged as he examines the differences between the Protestant religion he knows and the Catholic religion practised in Europe. When you consider this book was published in 1915, the conclusions are a little startling:

The fact was that he had ceased to believe not for this reason or the other, but because he had not the religious temperament. Faith had been forced upon him from the outside. He put off the faith of his childhood quite simply, like a cloak that he no longer needed. At first life seemed strange and lonely without the belief which, though he never realised it, had been an unfailing support. He felt like a man who has leaned on a stick and finds herself forced suddenly to walk without assistance. It really seemed as though the days were colder and the nights more solitary. But he was upheld by the excitement; it seemed to make life a more thrilling adventure; and in a little while the stick which he had thrown aside, the cloak which had fallen from his shoulders, seemed an intolerable burden of which he had been eased. (p130)

What Maugham does very well throughout the novel is examine the ideas of religion and morality, along with the meaning of life. It's interesting to see Philip's uncle, the vicar, struggling towards the end of his life with a painful thought that he may not be in for eternal peace after all. Along with religion, Maugham uses Philip's time in Paris to discuss art and philosophy. Many of the characters Philip encounters there become merely mouthpieces for ideas Maugham wants to impart.

I enjoyed this book, although I wanted to hit Philip. I think it's worth reading for the ruminations on humanity but don't go to it for character. Go to it for the sheer ease of storytelling or go to it for the intricate scenes Maugham depicts throughout the pages. It may not be an enthralling read but I did come away with knowledge I'm not sure I recognised before.

I Like Bonnets

I was listening to a little debate on the Radio 2 Jeremy Vine show yesterday. It basically asked whether people were fed up of 'bonnet dramas' and suggested that we need to stop living in the past. Some of the discussion was sensible but some of it was hostile in a way that rather infuriated me. People just wanted to ditch Downton Abbey and things of that ilk, never mind the fact that almost 10 million people tuned in to watch the opening episode of series two on Sunday. Those viewing figures, in today's television climate, are astronomical. If something is that popular why would you get rid of it just because it's a 'bonnet drama'?

Some of the criticisms were pretty spot-on. They ran a spoof of clichés usually encountered in period dramas; they questioned the sentimentalisation of history that prompts more sympathetic characterisation in situations which otherwise would reflect badly on them by modern standards. A Downton Abbey example of this would be Mrs Patmore's failing eyesight which is benevolently rectified by the Earl of Grantham in the first series. There is a danger that we're imposing our values on a society that wouldn't recognise them because we feel uncomfortable with the reality of our past. Nevertheless, I think the inaccuracies are overwhelmed by the sheer quality of the drama.

I wrote a piece last year about why Downton Abbey is a master-class in story-telling. I stick by that wholeheartedly. It doesn't matter what period a television series is set in: what matters is how the story is told and who the characters are. Downton Abbey had excellent scripts, an exceptional production team and a cast perfectly suited to their roles. Critics may sneer at the success but isn't it all a matter of taste?

Some commentators in the discussion yesterday claimed that there is too much of the 'bonnet drama' on television. Well, I'm sorry but that irritates me. There is plenty on television for people who don't enjoy drama: reality television viewers, soap addicts, chat show devotees are all catered for. Drama, if anything, is woeful in this country at the moment.We commission small runs of things, therefore leaving huge gaps in the schedules which is - in my own personal opinion - filled with dross. Saturday nights have become the home of reality television. I'm sorry but what about the rest of us who would only watch it if you tied us up and nailed our eyelids open? I'm forever frustrated by the pandering to reality television that channels do. The BBC is considering taking an axe to sections of their best channel BBC4 but are happy to shell out millions on a new reality import about choirs. What am I missing?

People who complain about the abundance of 'bonnet dramas' are within their rights to complain, of course. However, their criticism that we should focus more on modern society misses the richness of our heritage. I am happy to watch modern drama, I thoroughly enjoy some of it. But I don't appreciate the implication that just because a drama is about something old it's nothing to be interested in. That kind of mentality has thrown us into a fame-solves-all mentality where much of the youth in this country believes that if they get famous then they can live comfortably without having to do much. Watch some period drama; have your interest in a historical time or event piqued and go research it for yourself. We have precious few ways of connecting ourselves with our past but period dramas can become that connection.

But, most of all, I would ask people not to criticise something that is obviously filling a vacuum in British society. We like 'bonnet dramas'. So what? Your nectar may be my poison but I have to suffer. If you don't like it, don't watch. It's simple. 

Performance Time

Last night I attended a showcase of work by writers, directors and actors which celebrated work in this region. I was lucky enough to have a piece included: a ten-minute play called 'Shards' which revolved around a woman's inability to communicate with her dementia-suffering mother following the death of her father. The problem is exacerbated by the woman she deems responsible for her father's death becoming friends with her mother. Honestly, it takes longer to explain the piece than to watch it!

I was pleased with the way mine looked on stage. I don't think there's anything that quite matches the sensation of hearing words you've written come out of other people's mouths. The three actresses involved in my piece were excellent. I saw a rehearsal on Wednesday evening and the first thing I said afterwards was that the actress playing Eliza was scary. The director pointed out that I'd written her that way but words on a page can sometimes be so subdued and the effect has to be seen to be enjoyed. Judging from the audience reaction, I think my play went down quite well and - when I remembered to breathe - I found I enjoyed it too.

The other twelve pieces were very varied. However, my father did point out afterwards that a running motif seemed to be death. That probably says a lot about the preoccupation of writers at the moment, feeding off the gloomy atmosphere and worrisome news stories. The comedies were very good though and provided some much-needed laughter in the midst of all the death and pain.

It was an excellent night all round and I'd like to thank my family for coming to support the hyperventilating writer and the various friends who have kept me calm over the last few weeks - Claire, Sal, Laura and Nicola included! Well done to everyone involved in the performances and I hope I get to work with some of them again in the future.

Some Words On Satisfaction From W. Somerset Maugham

In the foreword to Of Human Bondage I found some words from Maugham which seem to sum up the writer's predicament:

Though authors are touchy about their productions and inclined to resent unfavourable criticism they are seldom self-satisfied. They are conscious how far the work on which they have spent much time and trouble comes short of their conception, and when they consider it are much more vexed with their failure to express this in its completeness than pleased with the passages here and there that they can regard with complacency. Their aim is perfection and they are wretchedly aware that they have not attained it.


We strive for an excellence we'll never achieve but where do you draw the line? When do you give up on perfecting something and settle for what it actually is on the page? Anybody who's serious about their craft knows that the first draft contains a myriad of errors. You have to resolve these to your satisfaction. But then you may think that your second draft is as incomplete as your first. So you try it again and again. You could spend your life trying to perfect one manuscript but if you manage to get it up to your exacting standards on one draft you'll become disillusioned with it on the next.

You have to let go. I'm terrible at this. I have two manuscripts I've redrafted four times apiece. I'll concede that they are a lot more coherent and structured than they were in the first draft. I'll admit they make me smile, want to cry and also ache in appropriate sections. My characters are much more rounded and realistic than when I first started and, for the most part, I think they sound more individual too. Yet I'm still not happy. I'll never be happy. I want to rework them a million times. If I allow myself that luxury there's no chance they'll see the light of day.

A good way of fighting this is passing your writing onto other people who will give you relatively honest criticism. If you let go long enough to allow one person to take a peek then you might be ready to face the hurdle of submission. I'm almost there. Actually, I am there. Maugham reminded me that absolute perfection is unattainable and you have to compromise with yourself sometimes.