For a long time I thought Mary Renault only wrote historical epics about Alexander the Great and the like, but last year I read her book The Charioteer which is set during WWII (I don't think my obsession with war literature has had a chance to air itself on this blog yet, has it?), and it was a pleasant surprise. When looking up her other more modern works, I was struck immediately by the catalogue tags assigned to this one on the local libary system: Triangles (Interpersonal relations), Bohemianism, Young women, Physicians, Houseboats, Lesbians, Sisters, Bloomsbury (London, England), Psychological fiction, Love stories.
How was I supposed to pass that up? I would have read it on the basis of any one of those, let alone the stunning mishmash of appealing images conjured up by the full list.
How was I supposed to pass that up? I would have read it on the basis of any one of those, let alone the stunning mishmash of appealing images conjured up by the full list.
The book begins by following Elsie, a sheltered eighteen-year-old whose mind is the product of too many of the wrong sorts of books, and who runs away from her emotionally unbearable home situation in search of her older sister, Leo, who ran away in a similar fashion many years earlier.
Although the story purports to set Elsie up as the protagonist, at first, one of the best things about it is that in face Renault is telling the story of five people: Elsie, Leo, Leo's lover Helen, thier neighbour Joe, and Peter, the young doctor who becomes fascinated by all three women. She jumps around between their points of view to reveal the differences between people as they see themselves and as they are seen by others. When thinking about the relationships and the narration and how they interact, I couldn't go past the concept of the Johari window; if you've never heard of it and can't be arsed with Wikipedia, it's sort of a division of an individual's personality traits into those recognised in themselves and those recognised by others. Renault has a deft way of combining close third person and a more impersonal narrative voice to highlight human nature. One of my favourite quotes concerns the misunderstandings that underpin all human interaction by necessity, because we are not telepaths:
Two of the characters are writers; different types of writers, working on different types of books, which means there's a lot of scope for insight (and snark) about the writing process, and creativity, and the publishing industry. Those were some of my favourite parts; I also (predictably) loved the parts set in 1930s London, especially a London seen through sets of eyes that are by turns entranced and bored and interested.
If you're looking for plot, well -- there's really not much of a plot at all beyond the progression and deterioration of interpersonal relationships, and a few progressions of individual character, but I can't say I cared while reading it. It's one of the most character-driven things I've ever read, and isn't pretending to be anything else, and the way it sketches and analyses character makes it all-in-all very enjoyable.
Although the story purports to set Elsie up as the protagonist, at first, one of the best things about it is that in face Renault is telling the story of five people: Elsie, Leo, Leo's lover Helen, thier neighbour Joe, and Peter, the young doctor who becomes fascinated by all three women. She jumps around between their points of view to reveal the differences between people as they see themselves and as they are seen by others. When thinking about the relationships and the narration and how they interact, I couldn't go past the concept of the Johari window; if you've never heard of it and can't be arsed with Wikipedia, it's sort of a division of an individual's personality traits into those recognised in themselves and those recognised by others. Renault has a deft way of combining close third person and a more impersonal narrative voice to highlight human nature. One of my favourite quotes concerns the misunderstandings that underpin all human interaction by necessity, because we are not telepaths:
Thought's secrecy must be one of the most wonderful of the works of God. Everything else is explorable, or violable, or reacts to chemistry, or can be laid open with a knife. But thought can only be given. That's the ultimate dignity of man.(I have perhaps been thinking too much about X-Men and Charles Xavier lately; any kind of commentary about the privacy of thought grabs me.)
Two of the characters are writers; different types of writers, working on different types of books, which means there's a lot of scope for insight (and snark) about the writing process, and creativity, and the publishing industry. Those were some of my favourite parts; I also (predictably) loved the parts set in 1930s London, especially a London seen through sets of eyes that are by turns entranced and bored and interested.
If you're looking for plot, well -- there's really not much of a plot at all beyond the progression and deterioration of interpersonal relationships, and a few progressions of individual character, but I can't say I cared while reading it. It's one of the most character-driven things I've ever read, and isn't pretending to be anything else, and the way it sketches and analyses character makes it all-in-all very enjoyable.
It's a fine piece of work, except for the ending -- with which Renault was dissatisfied herself, later.
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