Book 20 - Margery Allingham, The Fashion in Shrouds

Now here’s an interesting question: when reading something written in a different era how do you adjust to the social attitudes? I have remarked before about the charm of suddenly being made aware of period details, for examples the different skills required to drive a car in the 1940s: little descriptions that make you aware of how much the world has changed . But what do you do with the honking klaxon that sounds for attitudes that are now beyond the pale.

“her voice, a jews’ harp with a Croydon accent, came as a shock to some of them” Not nearly as much of a shock as the obvious anti-semitism in the description was to me. I lifted my head from the page and couldn’t quite believe what I was reading. The character in question was a model whose only redeeming feature was her looks, so this phrase was part of a put-down and cannot be redeemed (I will leave aside the slur against Croydon, the place my mother’s family comes from,). But after thinking about it for a short while I thought it useful to be reminded how antisemitism was in the inter war years. How it was a strain in very many polite middle class attitudes. How there was quite a lot of support for Hitler in upper class circles in the 30s. In many cases it might have been more of a distaste rather than hatred but the War to show where hatred led and so the public expression of anti-semitism became much more unacceptable.

We shouldn’t try to clean things up. We should read what was written at the time and know what was of its time. You have to take your authors worts and all.

But that phrase was a detail in the book. There was something else that caused far more intellectual turmoil.  Throughout the book there is a strand about the role of women and proscriptive passages about what is masculine and what is feminine. An underlying theory is that men women have been bred and trained for certain thought patterns for centuries and that these are hard wired. After fifty years of the women’s movement this idea comes as a shock.

Now we should not be so naive as to assume that opinions voiced by a character have any necessary relationship to the views of the author but in this case things there doesn’t seem to be much distance.  Anyway some things are explanatory description e.g. “She was a clever woman who would not or could not relinquish her femininity, and femininity unpossessed is femininity unprotected from itself, a weakness and not a charm”

But it was the capitulation of Albert Campion’s sister, a highly successful career woman, that was particularly disturbing. How else can you look the acceptance of this proposal as anything other than surrender?

I love you, Val. Will you marry me and give up to me your independence, the enthusiasm which you give your career, your time and your thought? That’s my proposition. It’s not a very good one, is it? I realise that I’ve made a fine old exhibition of myself with Georgia Wells, which has
hardly enhanced my immediate value in the market, but I can’t honestly say that I regret the experience. That woman has maturing properties. However, that is the offer. In return – and you probably won’t like this either – in return, mind you (I consider it an obligation), I should assume full responsibility for you. I would pay your bills to any amount which my income might afford. I would make all decisions which were not your province, although on the other hand I would like to feel that I might discuss everything with you if I wanted to; but only because I wanted to, mind you; not as your right. And until I died you would be the only woman. You would be my care, my mate as in plumber, my possession if you like. If you wanted your own way in everything you’d have to cheat it out of me, not demand it. Our immediate trouble is serious, but not so serious as this. It means the other half of my life to me, but the whole of yours to you. Will you do it?

But as I said: that was then and this is now. When you read the book you have to take them on their own terms. You can then enjoy the tight plotting and very sharp character description. Reading Margery might be an awkward pleasure but it is a pleasure nevertheless.

First published
1939

Link to last book
Obviously the same author but I read it because I wanted to read one of her straight forward detective novels.

Book 19 - Margery Allingham, Traitor's Purse

There is no need to write anything more about this book as this piece from A.S. Byatt says all I could and more. It is a brilliant appreciation and is well worth your time.

First published
1941

Link to Last Book
Simples. The last book was an example of current detective fiction so this time I thought I would go back to one of the writers from the 'golden age of crime'

Book 18 - Peter May, Extraordinary People

“Paris St Germain or PSG as they are affectionately known to their fans” Affectionately! That word really bothered me - it is so sloppy. Paris St Germain are known as PSG in the same way that the Scottish Nationalist Party is known as the SNP - it is not an affectionate name it is a more convenient name. Not only that affection is a pretty feeble way of describing the relationship between a fans and their teams - the emotion is more intense than that. I know that one word in a book is statistically insignificant and no basis on which to make a judgement (I could not throw that stone as I, in common with most people, have often written words that are not quite right) but sometimes such things can bring me up short and make me wonder if what I’m reading was written in too much haste. Maybe it was or maybe it something else that happens in some thrillers - a tendency to over-explain background details.

This might be a weakness it can also be a strength . Thrillers can often deal with current issues and use them them as a frame for stories of wrong doing and corruption. In so doing they have a duty to explain what is happening and the forces guiding peoples actions. As such they can be vehicles for state of the nation novels hiding under the guise of formula fiction (in so doing they can tackle bigger themes than more lauded literary novels but that is a debate for another time). But you have to be skilled at digesting your research and knowing how many ’T's to cross and ‘I’s to dot to make the story sing. Sometimes that doesn’t happen and describing what is current at a particular time can leave the book dated. I mean that in a precise sense - not old fashioned, as such, just something that can be precisely dated.

‘Extraordinary People’ was written ten years ago and the plot revolves around a lot of internet searching. Now ten years equals several generations in computer lifetimes. What we now take for granted was not so then. Google for example still had slightly cult status (I do not want to press this too hard and suggest it was hardly known - it was of course widely used in 2005 but it was still a thing of wonder. Remember that kids: Google was once new and exciting. The algorithm that allowed it to rank hits according to relevance - something far superior to anything that went before - was indeed revolutionary. It is thus perfectly plausible for someone to ask in 2005:  “What search engine do you use?” “Google” “Good. The same as me” Nevertheless reading this in 2015 gives you a bit of a jolt as you realise how much of our mental world has changed in a relatively short time. Google is now so much part of the modern world, you don’t even think about it. Today you would not spend much time describing searching on the internet but in this book that happens. As I say things can be dated.

That is not a criticism by the way, I actually like things to be rooted in a particular time and place. At the moment I’m reading ‘Traitors Purse’ by Margery Allingham where there is this short passage “She drove very well, with confidence and with unusual sympathy for the machine. He appreciated that. So many people approach the petrol engine as if it were something vindictive, to be mastered with a firm hand.” That, of course, bears no relation to driving today instead it is a small reminder of how things were 80 years ago. Those details in the fabric of a text are just as revealing as signposts that say 2005 or 1940. However, comparing the two texts, I think that describing cars and driving rather more interesting than trying to explain what  happens in a Google search.

Be that as it may i get the feeling Peter May has done his research and has firmly rooted it, with a sense of place. The central character, Enzo Macleod, is a Scottish forensic scientist who gave up his career for love and relocated to France. Peter May is also a Scotsman living in France and that congruence gives me faith in the way he describes the place. I must also declare a personal interest: for years I have holidayed near Cognac and have a love of the countryside of Southwest France. When reading the book I could picture the places, the town streets, and the heat. Nevertheless there is still the hint of undigested research. The first two sentences of the book are: “The Rues des Deus Ponts cuts across the centre of the Îles St. Louis, from the Pont Marie straddling the Seine on the north side, to the Pont de la Tournelle on the south. The island is no more than two hundred metres across and, side by side with the Île de la Cite, stands at the very heart of old Paris”. It could almost have come from a guide book.However these are details, mere quibbles. 

It is nevertheless it is remarkable that I have written this many words yet mentioned nothing about the plot or the action that animates it. My bad.

The central conceit is a bet made by Enzo Macleod that he could  solve some open historical cases because of advances in forensic science. This is actually quite a neat devise because it sets up a framework for a series but also offers the possibility of playing one period of time against another (though this does not happen to any great extent in this story). 

The first case (this book) is that of a high ranking public official, turned media personality who disappeared. There was no proof proof that he was dead let alone murdered There is no proof that he was dead let alone murdered but as this is a detective story we all know it was foul play. After some rather improbable guesswork bloodstains are found seeped into the some flagstones in a church. DNA, the big forensic advance since the original investigation,  identified the blood as that of the missing person. After some more  guesswork  part of the body is found, in a cask with cryptic clues about where other parts of the body could be found and one of the people responsible. Lots of Googling to interpret the clues and a whiteboard to draw the links and the chase is on and the set-up is repeated a couple more times. That is all I am going to say because I don’t want to give away anymore of that actual plot, except to say it ends with an inevitable showdown with the psychopathic killer.

You will note from the brief description that it is a high-concept novel and also that it is a slightly false prospectus. Apart from DNA to identify the body the investigation owed little to advances in forensics. it was basically Hercule Poirot solving crossword clues.

So the question is did I enjoy it? Yes I did. I read it quite quickly. Did I think it was good? Hmm. Not so sure. That is a totally different question. Some of the action is preposterous and the characters are rather sketchy, i.e. outlined with a broad brush. But that is the interesting thing about detective series there is scope for the central character to evolve as more details are added to the back story. So I will have to reserve judgement until I have read some more.

First published

2006

Link to Last Book

The last book was a psychiatrist unearthing the stories his patients, discovering what was important and what was bothering them. Acting a bit like a detective. So I though I would read some genre detective fiction.

Book 17 - Stephan Grosz, The Examined Life

Some books are both fast and slow.

It is terribly easy to gallop through these short vignettes, wanting to know what happened, find out about a person’s troubles and the lessons we could learn. It is easy because they are short and you can read them in those small gaps in life, such as waiting for a bus, or for a meeting,on the other hand you can stretch out for an evening. So you don’t have to put aside long stretches of time but if you do the cumulative effect of the stories becomes more compelling.  In the end I read this as a couple of snacks and two longer meals. Then it was gone.

Now it has actually been some time since I finished it (my idea of writing one of these posts a week fell by the wayside a long time ago) and so coming back to it I had to remember what I had read. With one exception I had forgotten most of the details. I could remember various incidents and some of the conclusions, but the details were gone. This meant I had to reread but this time I didn’t rush. I thought more about each encounter, tried to align what I was reading with my own experiences and therefore paused and thought. It was a more considered experience and so the book was both fast and slow.

Doing this I remembered something I learnt at school. It is an odd thing that the main lessons I have taken from school have nothing to do with the subjects but were little things that came out of conversations between teachers and the class. It was always slightly to the side of the curriculum, when they talked about their own experiences, passed on a bit of wisdom, or just something they found amusing.  In one such session an english teacher said that the way he got inside a book was to read it quickly, first, as an overview, to get out of the way the question of what happens next. Then comes the main, careful read, paying attention to what had been missed. Afterwards there is a final flick through, picking out random passages, remembering how they fitted in and the incidents surrounding them. Now this is not unusual advice (in fact it’s pretty standard) but it has stayed with me because I believed he was passing on something from his own experience.

And this is what this book is about - the passing on of experience. A therapist extracting enough information from people so they could make sense of their stories. The chapters are short, just a few pages, so that they can focus on a single story with a clear lesson or theme. With 30 stories there are many lessons but only, of course, if you remember them and as I found out it is quite easy for them to merge.

But this brings me back to the chapter I remembered most clearly when I first read the book. It was unusual in not being based on a therapy, instead it was more abstract about the use of praise or criticism in childhood development. But like every other chapter it is anchored by stories of people’s behaviour. It starts with Grosz remembering a nursery assistant giving too much, unwarranted praise to his child and him being at a loss as to how to explain that he would prefer it if she didn’t praise so much. This is at odds with the current climate, which seems to demand the scattering of praise, thinking it makes a child feel good about themselves and is therefore encouraging. But if it is given without thought empty praise, like thoughtless criticism, is an expression of indifference. This point is illustrated with the observation of an 80 year old remedial teacher. 

“I once watched Charlotte with a four year old boy, who was drawing. When he stopped and looked up at her - perhaps expecting praise - she smiled and said, ‘There’s a lot of blue in your picture.’ He replied ‘It’s a pond near my grandmother’s house - there is a bridge.’ He picked up a brown crayon and said ‘Here, I’ll show you.’ Unhurried she talked to the child, but more importantly she observed and listened. She was present.

Being present builds a child’s confidence because it lets the child know that she is worth thinking about. Without this, a child might come to believe that her activity is just a means to gain praise, rather than an end in itself. How can we expect a child to be attentive if we have no been attentive to her?”

Who knows why I remembered this particular passage out of all the others but it is a good example of the virtues of the book and the way it moves from the personal to the general, from observation to context and finishes with an insight. All in a very gentle way. Just like Charlotte Stiglitz, the remedial teacher the book is the result of a lifetime spent paying attention.

First Published

2013

Link to Last Book

Most of the stories are about recovering memories and then making sense of them.

Book 16 - The Medieval Craft of Memory: an anthology of texts and pictures, Mary Carruthers and Jan M. Ziolkowski (eds)

This from Hugh of St Victor was from one of the essays:

Child, knowledge is a treasury and your heart its strongbox. As you study all of knowledge store up for yourself good treasures, immortal treasures, incorruptible treasures, which never decay or lose the beauty of their brightness. In the treasure house of knowledge there are various sorts of wealth, and many filing places in the storehouse of your heart. in one place is put gold, in another silver, in another precious jewels. Their orderly arrangement is clarity of knowledge. Dispose and separate each single thing into its own place so you may know what has been placed here and what there. Confusion is the mother of ignorance and forgetfulness, but orderly arrangement illuminates the intelligence and secures memory.

I have nothing to add the quotation is complete in itself.

Publication Date

2003, University of Pennsylvania Press

Link to last Book

The Memory Chalet was the application of medieval memory techniques

Book 15 pt 2 - Tony Judt, The memory Chalet

It was one of those stories that for a few days was everywhere. Young backpackers, for the dare, for the experience, for the memories, for the excitement, for the anecdote, strip off on top of a sacred mountain in Malaysia. Thoughtless of anything except the fun of being socially free whilst enjoying the hit of cold air on bare flesh, there would have seemed little danger of consequence. Instead after the picture was posted on Facebook  there was an earthquake. They were blamed for upsetting the gods with their act of disrespect and they certainly outraged the sensibilities of the locals. Like many thoughtless youngsters they paid no heed to the opinion or feelings of others. They were not malicious. It just didn’t cross their minds. It could have happened to anyone but fate singled them out and they were arrested, spent time in prison and were deported.

On a personal level I am sympathetic as I know we all do stupid things and being thoughtless does not make us morally deficient. I am sure they are good kids. But it does illustrate a wider point of cultural imperialism and how we in the economically favoured West can see the rest of the world as our playground and that we are entitled to arrive with our own values and beliefs and carry on as normal, without heed of local sensitivities.

This chimes with an anecdote in ‘The Memory Chalet’ dating from the late 70s, when as associate dean at King’s College Cambridge, Tony Judt had to a mediate between students who had cavorted naked on the college lawns and a bedder who had been offended by their immodesty. The bedder was upset not only be the nakedness but  because there were girls in the group, they had made no effort to pretend or cover up, and they had laughed at her discomfort. She thus felt humiliated.

This was a breakdown of social understanding. The students unused to the idea servants and service (the antecedent of the Cambridge system of bedders) thought of her as a paid employee and misunderstood the requirement for forbearance and respect. They thought that in an age of equality the institution was a throwback to indentured servitude. She ought to have been better paid and in return not have the right to call-out their bad behaviour. The purely commercial transaction would  release them from the obligation of consideration.

“But, as I think back, it was the bedder who showed a more subtle grasp of the core truth of human exchange. The students, unbeknownst to themselves, were parroting a reduced and impoverished capitalist vision: the ideal of monadic productive units maximising private advantage and indifferent to community or convention. Their bedder knew otherwise. Semiliterate and poorly educated she might have been, but her instincts bought her unerringly to an understanding of social intercourse, the unwritten rules that sustain it, and a priori interpersonal ethics on which it rests. She had certainly never heard of Adam Smith but the author of ‘A Theory of Moral Sentiments” would surely have applauded.”

That was well over 30 years ago and since then the hold of that economic reductionism has increased and understanding everything in terms of self interest has become so embedded it is not even noticeable. So of course you can go to a sacred mountain and take your clothes off.

Book 15 - Tony Judt, The Memory Chalet

I’m reading this on the 758 Greenline bus from Hemel Hempstead to London. This would be inconsequential except for the fact that I’m reading about the young Tony Judt riding the Greenline buses to school. He describes the difference between them and the normal red buses and how, because they served the outer areas, they were slightly more middle class, and how class differences were still quite marked in the 50s. Their routes crossed London from one side to another, with limited stops so they were like long distance coaches and so they had a little extra glamour. I can remember those buses from my childhood and how they felt, in some strange way a little more exotic than the normal double decker. Any romance is long gone and all that remains is a service, now run by Arriva, which merely retains the name. There are a few routes from outlying towns into Victoria and I’m lucky that one serves my town. I can get into London easily but don’t really think much more about it. Nevertheless it is an immediate connection with what I am reading but not the only one. I’m only a few years younger than the author and share his sense of the times, even if our life experiences are different.

This is a strange little book, written near the end of Tony Judt’s life, full of discrete memories, each 8-10 pages in length. (Feuilletons he calls them - I had to look the word up. Apparently it comes from the section in French political papers set aside for lighter articles of gossip or reviews). Physically small it feels bigger in the mind because I frequently pause and relate what I have read to what I might know.

The circumstances of its writing make it heroic. He was reaching the end stages of a degenerative disease, ALS, which had rendered him quadriplegic. He described the progress of first losing the physical ability to write, then the voice and then being condemned to long hours of silent immobility - but with a clear mind. For someone, whose life had been built on the ability to communicate, I cannot begin to understand the frustration and despair. Yet his life up to that point had stocked his mind full and this book is the result of sifting through that store, through the sleepless nights. He ends the introductory chapter by saying he is grateful that his life had left him with such a rich seam to mine and that despite the illness he still considered himself lucky. “It might be thought the height of poor taste to ascribe good fortune to a healthy man with a young family struck down at the age of sixty by an incurable degenerative disorder from which he must shortly die. But there is more than one sort of luck.”

It is here I pause and wonder how I would cope with such incapacity. I find it hard to imagine how I would cope with being so trapped, so incapacitated. So here I am just a few pages into the book and in the space of a few, economical words, stumped and staring into space, trying to think how I would maintain a sense of self and what I would value. As I said earlier my progress through the book is frequently interrupted.

I am not yet beyond the introductory chapter. Take this about feelings of frustration with unproductive nights:

“ To be sure, you can say to yourself, come now: you should be proud of the fact that you have kept your sanity - where is it written that you should be productive as well? And yet I feel a certain guilt at having submitted to fate so readily. Who could do better in the circumstances? The answer, of course, is a “better me” and it is surprising how often we ask that we be better versions of our present self - in the full knowledge of just how difficult it was getting this far.”

He transferred these feelings into a character: the alm-uncle, who glowers from beneath furrowed brow and is not a happy man. A perennially dissatisfied alter-ego, who “sits there smoking a Gitanes, cradling a glass of whisky, turning the pages of a newspaper” “Damn” I thought “apart from the smoking that’s me pretty much nailed down”. I think I need to take stock.

And that is what this book is about: taking stock. What I like best about it is that it is sticky, like burrs that attach to you clothing during a country walk.


P.S.
The idea of a memory chalet follows the mnemonic technique of early ages where events could not easily be recorded on paper. He mentions the work of Frances Yeats and Jonathan Spence describing how people from medieval times would create memory palaces whereby thoughts and images were placed in different places in the envisioned rooms so that the person could close their eyes and walk through their story. Judt did not choose a palace, instead he fixed upon a particular chalet, a small pensione, in the village of Chesières, Switzerland, home to some fond childhood memories. As he explains “In order for the memory palace to work as a storehouse of infinitely reorganised and regrouped recollections, it needs to be a building of extraordinary appeal.”

I have heard of this technique before but have never tried to use it. Instinctively it feels a difficult skill to master but Judt sees it as the easiest of devices, almost too mechanical. Perhaps I need to find out more.

Link to the last book

Both CLR James and Tony Judt are famous scholars who have written semi-memoirs. James organised his around cricket, particularly West Indian cricket but a lot of it is about his own story. Judt has no great organising theme (apart from his chalet) but to my mind there is a link.

Publication date
2010