Brighton Rock by Graham Greene (spoilers)

This was the first Greene novel I’ve read and certainly won’t be the last. I loved the lyricism of the writing, the plot was gripping and the characters were really well written.  The story is about Pinkie, a young gang leader who tires to seduce and marry a young girl whom he fears will give away his alibi, pursued by Ida, who investigates him and tries to prevent him from marrying Rose.  It’s one of those books I would like to re-read or even study in a bit more depth, but at the same time I found it quite hard writing this review, even though I felt so enthusiastic about it. 

Love this image (link)

 Pinkie is a disturbing anti-hero, yet it is still possible for the reader to feel some sort of sympathy for him given his background and experiences and the fact that everything he tries to do fails. He can be completely cold and feels only repulsion for Rose because of witnessing his parent’s sexual intercourse. He has some twisted ideas about Roman Catholicism, believing that it doesn’t matter how evil he behaves in life, he can still be saved if he repents at the point of death ‘betwixt the stirrup and the ground’. He sees his marriage as a mortal sin, and although he is completely horrified by the idea of sex, he refuses to get married in church as he feels that it will not be a proper wedding if they get married in a registry office. 

Rose could be described as a passive, innocent character in the way that she falls under Pinkie’s attempt to seduce her, but in other ways she seems to realise that she has some power over him and wilfully ignores the signs that he is disgusted by her. There is a sense that she is trying to get away from her parents and takes the only way out that she can find, by marrying the first man who asks her. There is quite a disturbing passage in the book where Pinkie, who needs her parent’s consent because they are both underage, buys her off her parents who don’t seem to care very much about her. He believes that he is taking her in, but she seems to know very well what is happening and why he suddenly pays her attention. She forces him to make a recording for her of his voice so that she can keep it for later, one of the tragic elements of the novel is that she doesn’t realise that although he tells her that he has recorded a loving message, he has really recorded a horrible message for her which she will presumably listen to after his death. 

Ida, is an appealing investigator and almost the complete opposite of Pinkie. Whereas Rose and Pinkie are Roam Catholic, Ida has no real faith, just a belief in the power of ‘Right’ and ‘Wrong’ and a belief in life after death in that she perform séances. She is a sensual woman who enjoys sex, likes a drink and enjoys her food, whereas Pinkie has few pleasures.  

Brighton is vividly described, acting as an appropriately sleazy backdrop to the story, representing heaven and hell.

Pinkie falls over the cliff in the course of trying to escape the police, having failed to convince Rose to commit suicide. It is a bleak ending; Rose seeks absolution from a priest and convinces herself that she has salvaged something from her love for Pinkie through her pregnancy and the love she believes he has confessed on the recording, the reader knows that she has deluded herself. It is left to the reader to fill in the blanks –Is Rose really pregnant? What will happen to her when she listens to the recording?

The Banquet of Esther Rosenbaum by Penny Simpson

Despite being a proud Welsh woman who loves Welsh culture, I admit to not being that well-versed in Anglo-Welsh literature. I think this has come from being more interested in reading better known books in my university days and from having a horror of reading dreary tomes about sheep farms in the valleys or depressed copper smelting families. Which is terribly prejudiced of me, I know.  I’m not about to embark on a project to read Anglo-Welsh novels at the moment, but I came across this one in the library and thought I might give it a go, especially as I enjoy reading about the period when it’s set. 

The Banquet of Ether Rosenbaum is about a seven-foot tall Jewish (female) chef living in Germany during the Weimar Republic. It’s an odd book that I found difficult to rush through despite being quite short. It seemed to be more character driven rather than plot driven, and is populated with a variety of colourful characters including Brecht. The characters are well-drawn, but I found it difficult to engage with them and I didn’t find it that much of an emotional read despite the setting. 

I did think it would be a bit more evocative, but that was not entirely the style that she was writing in. As it was a magic realist book, there was an assumption that the reader would be able to place the period and the historical aspects were pared away. The choice of the period was largely dictated in that it needed to be set against a backdrop of political turmoil and war but also a period of creativity and conflict between creative people and fascists. As a magic realist novel it works well, but I would’ve found it disappointing as a historical novel. 

Esther Rosenbaum was a good narrator, and generally I liked the style that the book was written in. Time is played with, body transformation is representative of the state of Germany at the time and Esther makes elaborate symbolic dishes. The food is not described in that much detail. I suppose I have been spoiled by books such as Like Water for Chocolate, but here the descriptions seem skimmed-over. There is a slight sense of an extended short story rather than a novel. 

Perhaps it suffers a little from the dreaded Curse of the Literary Fiction That is Too Literary where it wins prizes but it loses something at the same time through being a bit too experimental or ambitious. Or maybe I just wasn’t concentrating enough on it. I did enjoy it and thought that it was good, but it was more of a three star than a four star and I was quite glad I got it from the library. I think it’ll encourage me to be less prejudiced about Anglo-Welsh novels though.

Swann’s Way Part 6 – The novel’s close

Ivan Kramskoy painting, Bois de Boulangne

The final part seemed quite short compared to some of the parts I’ve written about. It’s at this point that I began to truly appreciate Proust’s mastery in the way that he completes the novel bringing everything together. I can see some of the themes and the motifs that he has used more clearly here, particularly how each of the characters play different roles throughout the novel, and how Swann’s experience is reflected by that of the narrator. 

The point of view is returned to the narrator who is a young man, on the cusp of adulthood. He has returned to Paris where he lives with his parents and Francois. Although he is not exactly a perfect specimen of manhood, he seems a little more confident and dreams of travelling away from Combrey. Combrey is an important location in the novel which represents different things, for example, it represents a place of security to Swann, a place where he can go to where he can recover from his relationship with Odette, and to the narrator I think it represents his childhood which he is slowly leaving behind him. 

Part of this is the proposed travel plans. The theme of duality is present here in the way that the narrator separates the way he imagines places from the places themselves, pointing out that they are completely different. He opens the chapter describing a room that he has visited in Balbec sometime in the past, but it is not at the moment he is describing, as he is prevented from travelling by an illness and is forced to confine himself to wandering around the Champs-Elysees with Francoise.

Balbec is associated in his mind with storms. Nature is another reoccurring motif in this chapter, and is associated with sex and with the transition into adulthood. The narrator longs to witness the storms as an example of something real and genuine as opposed to created by man. Legradin further improves if by describing its historical attraction, which the narrator asks Swann about. The imagery of fisherman living as they had always lived and of the Gothic church that Swann describes further sparks his imagination, and he day-dreams about taking the train to see Balbec. 

His desire is replaced when his parent offer to take him to Italy. Whereas Balbec is associated with storms, Italy is associated with sunshine and flowers (particularly lilies), and with architecture. The names take on a significance which is not related to how the places that he later visit really are. However, he is too ill to be able to travel, or to be able to do anything that excites him such as going to the theatre. He can only walk around the Champs-Elysee, a place which he cannot imagine anything about. 

On one of his visits he encounters Gilberte, Swann’s daughter. He immediately begins to obsess over her, and tries to meet her at every opportunity. She is not that attached to him at first, it is like she is an Odette in training in the way that his obsession and her indifference mirrors Swan and Odette’s romance. The narrator is already the type of person to obsess over people (hence his obsession with his mother kissing him in the night), now he transfers it to Gilberte. She meets a mysterious older woman who asks about her mother and sits reading the newspaper watching her grandchildren. The woman re-occurs several times in the narrative.

Gilberte doesn’t tell the narrator that she loves him, much to his despair. In fact, she compares him with other boys and can be cold towards him. He finds that the picture he has in his head of her is different to the way she really is. She buys him a marble the colour of her eyes to remind him of her, as well as an out-of-print pamphlet. He experiences a kind of doubling; there is a sense of multiple Gilbertes representing different things.

The narrator encounters her father, who is no longer friendly with “Marcel’s” parents. Whilst Swann is welcome at Combrey, I think his parents fear that inviting him will lead to his wife joining him, and besides, he has a bad reputation in Paris. He is fascinated by M. Swann, who doesn’t really recognise him (however, the narrator is quite embarrassed by his former behaviour in trying to force his mother to come up to see him).

He convinces himself that Gilberte is going to write a letter to him confessing her love and why she can’t tell him, she has to keep it a secret. Like Swann, he dreams of a woman who can be beside him, helping him with his work. He tries to get his parents to talk about Swann and particularly Gilberte’s friend, the mysterious lady. He has assumed that she is upper class (‘…she must at least me an Ambassador’s widow, if not actually a Highness’ p390) but his mother tells him that’s Mme. Blatin, a widow of a bailiff, and his mother had encountered her at his gymnastic lessons, where she kept bothering his mother. “She is, really, a horrible woman, frightfully vulgar, and besides, she is always creating awkward situations.” (ibid). His parents are unimpressed with his attempts to emulate Swann and lack of interest in anything but Swann, and he also becomes obsessed with Mme. Swann.

He witnesses the effects that her notoriety has on her in the way that she avoids speaking to anyone in the street although many men recognise her. She dresses too expensively, and behaves like she thinks she’s the queen, which draws attention to her. She has different faces for different men. She seems to want to be noticed, but doesn’t want to recognise it. People talk about her. 

His burgeoning sexuality is associated with his spying on Odette in the Bois de Boulogne, which in turn is associated with the jungle and other types of wild foliage such as trees and large red flowers. The trees represent women, hence the narrator’s association with the trees and the dryad. There is also something mysterious and sensual about the trees. He later remembers the park and the splendour of the carriages and the way that people dressed, comparing it unfavourable with the modern dress and motor cars. Like Swann, he longs to share a cup of tea with a sympathetic woman, but the houses that he remembers longing to visit have gone. 

The way that the novel concludes is perfect in its symmetry as the older narrator remembers how his younger self obsessed over Odette/Gilberte (I think that these two characters are doubled, as is the young narrator and Swann).

Heading Towards ther Barricade

Marius heads towards the barricade, drawn by the ‘voice of Fate’ (capital ‘F’, p943). He’s devastated and despairing as Cossette has apparently disappeared without informing him. His mood and the emotions provoked by the imminent Revolution is reflected in the darkness, the emptiness of some of the streets and the murmuring crowds in some other streets. The crowds are made up of the working men and the poor. Marius carries on, towards the Les Halles area.

Hugo provides a bird’s eye view of the Les Halles area of Paris setting the tone: ‘The ancient quarter of Les Halles...would have looked...like a huge patch of darkness in the centre of Paris, a black gulf.’ (p945). The street lights have been broken, the windows have been shuttered and everywhere is silent. The city is waiting. Les Halles is like a ‘monstrous cavern’ filled with ‘menacing darkness’ (p946). There can be no draw, only victory for one side, and there is foreshadowing that the Government will be victorious in the way that Hugo describes the future ‘disastrous clamour of the crowd’ and the contrast of the silence with the sound of the bells: 

Only one sound was to be heard, awesome as a death-rattle, sinister as a malediction, the tocsin of Saint-Merry. Nothing could have chilled the blood so surely as did the tolling of that desperate bell crying its lament into the night. (p947).

The crowd are compared to both dangerous animals and to God in the way that Hugo uses animal noises such as ‘sombre growling’, ‘a fearful and awe-inspiring voice in which were mingled the snarl of animals and the words of God’, and ‘coming at once from the depths, like the roaring of a lion, and from the heights like the voice of thunder.’ (947). By using a lion to represent the masses it is clear that Hugo is associating them with nobility.

He ensures that the reader understands the historical significance and gives location information through the historical landmarks such as the copper shaving bowl which was shot at above his head: ‘That punctured shaving bowl was still to be seen on the Rue du Contrat-Social, near the pillars of Les Halles, in 1846.’ (p943). 

Waiting for the battle to begin Marius muses on his father and how he was a brave soldier. That, along with his suicidal impulses prompted by the loss of Cossette causes him to finally grow a backbone. He debates being on the side of the revolutionaries and the morality of civil war, but ultimately chooses to join the revolution. 

Gavroche returns and the flag is shot down from the barricade. Enjorlas looks for someone to undertake the suicide mission of replacing it. Mabeuf volunteers and is duly killed, earning him both a speech from Enjorlas and the use of his coat as a new flag, representing the ultimate brave sacrifice the old man has made.  Hugo links Mabeuf with the Revolution of 1793, it is almost as if the old revolutionaries are handing it over the new order. This is quickly followed by Marius entering the fray, just as Bahorel is killed and Gavroche and Courfeyrac are about to be killed. Marius single-handedly and simultaneously saves them, then is saved himself by a boy in workman’s clothes who gets shot in the hand in the process. Marius threatens to blow up the barricade, but the attackers have run off. Enjorlas nominates him to be the leader. One of the ‘bravest and best’ (p962) revolutionaries, Jean Prouvaire, is shot. 

Marius visits the small barricade and finds the boy in workman’s clothes. It is Eponine, who is dying. She gives him a letter from Cos that she has been keeping to prevent Marius and Cos from being together. She confesses to Marius that she was ‘a little bit in love with you.’ (p966). She can give him the letter now as she expects that everyone will die and she will be re-united with him in death. Eponine doesn’t get really get much of a death scene, but I think that this is a big criticism I have of the book, all of a sudden everybody’s dying and Hugo doesn’t have the resources to write emotional scenes for all of them, despite the length of the book. Also Eponine is a sadly neglected character who has an effect on quite a few plots within the novel. I would’ve far preferred more of her and her life as a male impersonator, daughter of a rogue and in unrequited love for Marius than all that stuff about how much Marius and Cos were in love. In fact, I don’t even know why she is was in love with Marius as up until now he’s been wetter than wet, I suppose she must’ve just fallen for his unobtainability, respectability and handsome good looks. He’s so busy mooning over Cos he hardly notices her, but at least he honours her wish to be kissed on the forehead after she’s died. 

The letter explains that Cos is going to England with her father.  Marius switches from boring despair to boring ecstasy, but fears that he is about to obey Eponine’s dying wish of dying alongside her, so he decides to write Cos a letter to inform her what’s happened and he loves her etc. etc. and to save Gavroche’s life in the process by making him deliver the message. He’s a bit more noble, but still deadly-dull.

A Victorian Gothic Novel Binge

Outside of getting quite behind on Les Mis, I am currently having a bit of a Victorian Gothic Novel Binge, having recently finished The Pleasures of Men (Kate Williams) and The Somnambulist (Essie Fox). I’ve also recently started Hide Me Among the Graves (Tim Powers). I adore Victorian novels as well as Victorian Gothic Fiction, I think it probably has to be my favourite genre and I’d been looking forward to the two I’ve just read (I discovered Tim Powers in the library). This is the ideal time of year for snuggling up with something lurid about creepy secrets. 

Both of them ended up getting three stars. I liked them but neither of the books gripped me and I was glad I borrowed them from the library. I think Kate will probably get much better with her next novel, but at the moment her style is a little too self-consciously literary and the book ended up confusing at times. I ended up feeling like I should be studying it, not reading it for fun. I did like the way that she subverted the idea of the Victorian heroine, with the secretly wicked Catherine, but I think Michael Faber did much better with Sugar in The Crimson Petal and the White. Still, the descriptions of a London where people fear being murdered by the poor were very good. 

The Somnambulist was less self-conscious and contained less description of London, moving instead to the music halls and to Dinwood (Hampton) Court. I have to say I agree with the comments people made about the predictability of the plot at the beginning, but it didn’t really detract from the rest of the novel and I read it quite quickly. The ending was a bit rushed and strange, however. I can see that she wanted to end the book with a kind of symmetry, but it felt like she just stuck it in to finish the book quickly. I think she wanted the reader to be genuinely surprised by events, but I’m not sure I bought it.

Anyway, I shall carry on reading (or trying to read) the Tim Powers, alongside Umberto Eco’s new book which will have to go back to the library soon (it’s not thrilling me) as well as the other books I’m reading.