Colouring around the facts

I was going through my back catalogue of posts, trying to spark an idea (having started out writing two posts this evening and failing to put my thoughts across coherently) when I discovered a post that I'd mistakenly left languishing as a draft back in 2008.

It does, however, say much which I still believe, so I thought I'd allow it to find it's audience after so long a wait in the wings. I've just spruced it up a bit - the wings can be an awfully dusty place ....


It should be no secret to those that have read this blog in the past to be told that I have always been fascinated by learning how a life was lived long ago. I have been hungry, ever since childhood, to know the most trivial or mundane details and perhaps this is why fiction seems to me to be such a suitable medium for capturing a life. I remember at the age of about eleven getting lost within the pages of 'Legacy' by Susan Kay - a wonderful narrative of Elizabeth I's life that wove the power of her status with the vulnerability of her personal life expertly and created a rich and broad tapestry whose focus seemed to shift with every new reading.

It can be hard for a straight biographer to do the same. Not unless you are Leon Edel or Martin Gilbert and intent on capturing for posterity every movement your subject makes (Henry James and Winston Churchill respectively) will you be able to devote the kind of microscopic attention to detail in a work of fact. The why and wherefore this is demanded as part of the package can drag the work down to the point of dullness. And if Winston Churchill was dull, then I'll take up smoking. This is where fiction allows a greater freedom.

A friend of mine, having read 'Regeneration' by Pat Barker, suggested that the true art of biographical fiction was the ability to 'paint around' the facts. This sums up, for me, the essence of what biographical fiction should be doing, and what - at its best - it does do. Many novels spring to mind which have biography at their hearts, but the ones which stand out to me as 'painting around' their central characters with the finest tools can be narrowed down to a select group.
2004 was, as David Lodge put it, 'the year of Henry James'. Three novels came out within months of each other, and it is 'Author, Author' by Lodge and 'The Master' by Colm Toibin that will always stand out for me, not least because of the way they managed to capture the essence of the man within their stories, although in very different ways.
These novels focus on the almost the same period of time; Lodge taking James' theatre career as the central theme, whilst Toibin uses the feelings of failure that arose from this unsuccessful period of James' life as his starting point. In one, James feels absolutely at the top of his game, ready to conquer the world, only to have his hopes dashed, and a friend (George du Maurier) appear to be much popular than he ever could be. In the other, James is in a world of depression, struggling to cope with the mere fact of his failure, but it is also a darker look at James' sexuality too. Both novels show a certain part of Henry James that perhaps isn't as well known as the figure of an extremely loquacious man that has been made so famous today. I think they are both fantastic - although only one was shortlisted the Booker prize - so perhaps my judgement isn't as sound as I'd like to believe.

In a biography the smaller details that the novels seek to address are sometimes cast aside to make room for larger events. 'Daphne' by Justine Picardie is just such a novel that seeks to throw the magnifying glass on smaller events that go into making a much larger one (in this case the writing of her biography on Branwell Bronte). You all know my enthusiasm for that novel, and I feel the need to borrow from Dovegreyreader, who wrote this (back in 2008) 'It's certainly hard to temper enthusiasm and not plunge overboard without a lifebelt when a book touches your heart.'
'Daphne' is certainly a novel that seeks to 'paint around' the general idea of one writing a book. Justine weaves so many threads into her novel, of deceit, jealousy, passion (both human and for literature), despair, obsession, madness, loss, failure. I could go on. I won't. We are allowed to view a side to Daphne that the public world would never see. A side aware of her own failures in her writing and in her personal life. Something that both Lodge and Toibin (Toibin to a greater extent) wrote about in their portrayals of James.

The point I am trying, inexpertly, to make, is that the genre of fiction is, by it's very essence, a natural way to present a life that has it's roots in reality. The books talked about above are ranked among my favourites, and that is because they are what I sought when younger - they fulfil the fascination I have for filling in the gaps, where the truth is just that little bit dusty.

Books are like busses

It's strange - you read nothing worth talking about and sharing for weeks, and then two books come along at once that make you rush out to tell the world. I have had such an experience, and so I am here to tell you about two books that are highly original, and might make you see life from a slightly different perspective.

Firstly there is 'A Thousand Splendid Suns' by Khaled Hosseini who also wrote 'The Kite Runner'. This is isn't something I would've picked up, were it not my April bookclub choice. I've seen 'The Kite Runner' and was in no way inspired to read the book, and when his second novel came along, I wasn't rushing to the bookstore. I'm ever so glad whoever voted for it, as it's totally beautiful.

The book spans the decades between the sixties and 2003 and traces the many shifts in politics and life in Kabul through the eyes of two very different women, Mariam and Laila, who are connected at first only through the fact that they are married to the same man.
It's a powerful story, beautifully and simply told. Life is not dressed up to resemble anything fine or wonderful - people make mistakes, die before their time, wallow in grief and end up in abusive relationships. It was so interesting to read a novel on that side of the fence, especially through the eyes of women. It's a magical book, and it led me on to the second bus (book).

This was 'The Reluctant Fundamentalist' by Mohsin Hamid. It's written in the style of the dialogues philosophers of old once wrote to express their religious beliefs. One voice, telling a story and commenting on the unseen listener's reactions. A man, Pakistani by birth and upbringing, has come to America to go to Princeton. He tells the story of how he rises in the ranks of American society, but once the September 11th attacks happen he begins to become disollusioned with his adopted country. There is a poetic sense to the way he tells his tale, and there is a distinctive flavour to his words. Normally when I read, I only ever hear my voice telling the story, even if there are different dialects, like in 'Wuthering Heights'. This time, there was a definite lilt to the words, and it was almost as if I were sitting in the Lahore cafe with the man, being told the story myself.

Both books are intensely interesting and offer views on subjects that are constantly before our eyes nowadays, but which we have ceased to truly look at because of the constant stream of information. I want to read more, so I might move on to 'The Kite Runner'!

In other news, as you know I have a penchant for marking the anniversary of births and deaths of my favourite authors, and today is one such moment -- twenty years ago Daphne du Maurier, author of some of my favourite novels, died at the age of 82.

A new haul

I'm sure everyone who reads this blog suffers from a similar problem to me - that of having too many books and yet not being able to leave bookshops well alone.

I thought I had formed the perfect plan, when in January I swore that I wouldn't buy a single book until 10th April. I was doing really well too. I just didn't go into bookshops. However, I thought a test was in order, so I went into the second hand department of Blackwells .... and I cracked.

Six weeks - that's all I managed. Isn't it terrible? And who do you think caused the crack to happen? Yes, Ms Du Maurier once again worked her magic, and I found two of hers that I didn't yet have (which is a feat, I have to say!)

This smallish crack was relatively justifiable, and if I'd left it there, perhaps it could have been papered over, but unfortunately, the crack went deeper than previously thought, and now, my resolve has completely crumbled. The only way to repair the damage is start all over again!

This shouldn't be too hard, for as you can see from the following, my shelves wont need any more adding to for quite a while!

- Eleanor Dark: The Little Company - VMC green cover, second hand
- Philip Roth: The Plot Against America
- Katharine McMahon: Footsteps
- C.W. Gortner: The Last Queen
- Italio Calvino: If on a Winter's Night a Traveller
- Various: In Bed With
- Edith Wharton: Roman Fever - VMC green cover, second hand
- Christopher Milne: The Enchanted Places - second hand
- Winifred Holtby: The Crowded Street - VMC green cover, second hand
- Katie Hickman: The Aviary Gate
- Richard Yates: Revolutionary Road
- Bernhard Schlink: The Reader
- Daphne du Maurier: Golden Lads
- Daphnr du Maurier: The Winding Stair

So, quite a haul really, I think you'd also agree?

Also, as a completely unbookish side note, you will probably be hearing quite a bit about this fellow ... His name is Bailey.

Daphne

I've been putting this off too long in the hope that in by leaving it, I would become a grand wordsmith and write the best thoughts about this, my favourite book of year, and bask in the glory of all the comments that come my way declaring 'Well, by gosh, I am going out right this MINUTE to buy myself a copy!'

I am now quite convinced that this very probably wont be happening, and am so going to content myself with trying to convey what it is that has so captivated me. I am well aware that there are others out there who have done this better than I will do, but here are my thoughts on a book that has truly touched my heart, brain and soul. Ladies and Gentleman, I give you Justine Picardie's 'Daphne'.

Books are funny things. Who knows what it is that is going to attract you and persuade you to read it? Recommendations are all well and good, but if you walk into a literary festival event just by chance then what is it that will make your mind up to buy and read that book? I went to Justine's event in April full of curiosity about Daphne du Maurier, but no intention of buying the book - having spent an awful lot at the festival already.
An hour later, however, I had a copy in my hands, having been so fired up by the conversation that had gone on, that I couldn't let the chance of reading this book pass me by another minute.
Fresh from a Masters in the art of biography, where I'd written an essay on the way fiction can sometimes be used as a way of presenting a portion of a person's life that a conventional biography might struggle with at times, I was understandably excited about this take of one strand of du Maurier's life.
My excitement was more than justified as I wove my way through the trials du Maurier suffered through 1957 and the way she tried to write herself out of the crisis her husband's breakdown had precipitated. If it were just a novel about du Maurier this would be a good book, what makes it great is the intricate threads that are woven through the tale of du Maurier's involvement with J.A. Symington, the mystery of various stolen Bronte manuscripts and how all these things reflect on one young woman, seemingly living the plot of 'Rebecca'.

With so many threads in her hand, one might think that it would be easy to let one or more slack, but each is taut wonderfully crafted. The real reason I love this book is because it draws you into the world of people that you might otherwise not have come into contact with, and whilst it gives a clear picture, there are still enough shadows around the edges to delve into at a later date - some of which are already being delved into by Justine herself, and one (the missing Honresfeld manuscript) which is a mystery she has handed on to her readers.

This is a book that really moved me when I read it. I've been to a few of Justine's talks about it, each of which has shaped the way I've looked both at it, and the woman it's centred around. And as first lines go - 'To begin. Where to begin? To begin at the beginning, wherever that might be.' - well, in my personal opinion, I feel like it's right up there with my two favourite books of all time - 'Pride and Prejudice' and 'I Capture the Castle'. And that's the highest praise I can bestow on anything I read.

Buy a friend a book week

I'm so glad that I've joined in time to celebrate this best of customs ... it's great to share the love!

Consequently, if you would like to enter the Buy a Friend a Book draw, please comment down below before Friday.

I am hoping to get hold of one of the Virago Modern Classic birthday editions (although they seem to have disappeared without a trace ...), but if anyone has a burning desire for something, then please include it in the comments. My limit is £15.

Because I'm feeling generous, there will be a second prize too ... ooh!


In other news I had a dream last night where Daphne du Maurier was sitting on my sofa. I made a reference to Oriel Malet, at which Daphne gave me a piercing look and I blushingly confessed I'd been reading 'Letters from Menabilly'. Then I woke up. Anyone like to tell me what my subconscious is trying to tell me?

Port Eliot Pictures

These are not the best pictures, I'm afraid, as the battery was going. They do convey a sense of the house though, even in the rain, which is evident in some of them!


This is the church - beautiful, and larger than I supposed it would be for the amount of people in the village.


As you walk down the path from the church, you see this view - although hopefully without the rain!

That's the main part of the house.

This is the house from the back. I'm just about to disappear into the trees. You can see the church on the left. The river - before it was damned - used to come up to the steps on the right, so that the monks could have their deliveries right to the door!

And there is Justine signing books, with the mural behind her - see the dragon seemingly coming out of the lamp!

Events both bookish and not

Terribly sorry, but this might sound a bit of a brag.

I am ever so, ever so excited.

On Saturday I am going here ---------^^^ That's Port Eliot, where I will be joining Justine Picardie and DGR for a wonderful garden party in honour of Daphne du Maurier. I've been worrying all week about the weather, how many pairs of shoes to take (heels that sink in the grass just aren't a good look) and which books to bring along for the journey. Something du Maurier related, I have no doubt.

The other thing that's making me excited is this:
That's the Queen Mary 2 - upon which I shall be ensconsed next Sunday. My mother and I are flying out to New York this time next week, where I shall run around the art galleries like a crazy lady and try to get tickets for 'Gypsy'. Wonder of wonders, the ship has internet, so I will be able to keep you updated, at least once in the six days it takes to get back to Blighty.
Apparently there is a library, so that will be where I can be found, most likely.

But I need help! What sort of books are right for this luxury? Can anyone recommend anything?

So there we go - I can behave like Julia in 'Brideshead Revisited'. Or better yet, to tie it in with the Port Eliot event, I can conjur up the spirit of Daphne, who took the original Queen Mary back from America after the filming of the wonderful Hitchcock version of her book 'Rebecca'

Poem of the week

Another World

Last night the other world came much too near,
And with it fear.
I heard their voices whisper me from sleep,
And could not keep
My mind upon the dream, for still they came,
Calling my name,
The loathly keepers of the netherland
I understand.
My frozen brain rejects the pulsing beat;
My willing feet,
Cloven like theirs, too swiftly recognise
Without surprise.
The horn that echoes from the further hill,
Discordant, shrill,
Has such a leaping urgency of song,
Too lound, too long,
That prayer is stifled like a single notes
In the parched throat.
How fierce the flame! How beautiful and bright
The inner light
Of that great world which lives within our own,
Remote, alone.
Let me not see too soon, let me not know,
And so forgo
All that I cling to here, the safety side
Where I would bide.
Old Evil, loose my chains and let me rest
Where I am best,
Here in the muted shade of my own dust.
But if I must
Go wandering in Time and seek the source
Of my life force,
Lend me your sable wings, that as I fall
Beyond recall,
The sober stars may tumble in my wake,
For Jesus' sake.

by Daphne du Maurier, 1947

Caught between the pages

Rain, said the weather forecast, and my God, did it rain this morning! Torrents of the stuff, coupled with a chill wind that made it feel more like March than the end of May! The picture above was taken last July, when Oxford was doing a reasonable impression of Venice. The Punts don't normally sit on the path in the Botanic Garden!

Still, despite having rather wet feet all day, I've read 'Lolita' which was better than I had expected, and followed it up with 'The Great American Mousical' by Julie Andrews, which took all of fifteen minutes!
I am now happily wrapped up with 'The Rebecca Notebook', a part of which I feel like quoting.
Talking about her grandfather, Gerald's, fiction, Daphne du Maurier has this to say:
'Yet these two stories [Trilby and Peter Ibbetson] sounded such an echo in the emotions of the men and women of his day ... that they were read, and reread, and thumbed again, year after year, down to our time; and not only read, but in some inexplicable fashion deeply loved. When a novel can affect the human heart in such a way it seems to mean one thing only: not that the tale is exceptional in itself, but that the writer has so projected his personality on to the printed page that the reader either identifies with that personality or becomes fascinated by it, and in a sense near hypnotised.'

Hypnotised. Yes - I do feel that at times. Compelled to read more as well, certainly. I know exactly what she means.

Moral quandry

Oh no!

I have just found a lovely Daphne event at Port Eliot. It's half affordable, and looks to be exciting. Only trouble is I have to go to a wedding. Hmmm - it's a friend of the family (or rather my mother's) perhaps I can get out of it! Keep your fingers crossed

Blurring the lines between fiction and biography

This evening, I went to a talk at St Anne's with Justine Picardie and Professor Kathryn Sutherland (who wrote, amongst other things, the introduction and notes to A Memoir of Jane Austen by James Austen-Leigh) who were in discussion on some of the bigger themes and ideas that have developed from Justine's novel.

I took a vast amount of notes, and I'll try to write it up as best I can - and I make no apologies for length! I will most probably have missed a few things, having been so interested in what I heard - if Justine is reading this, then perhaps she'll put me right, or even add some more thoughts! Some of the threads are particularly interesting to me, which I will write about in more detail, as they pertain to me, in future posts. For now, I wish to focus on Justine and Daphne.

Introductions are, I think, hard to get right. Not many people can strike the right tone, mainly because the speaker often senses that the audience wish them to finish as quickly as possible. This was not the case with Kathryn. Speaking eloquently, and calmly, she covered the usual biographical details, but also spoke on how there is a fault line between truth and fiction, and that sometimes it blurs. This is often the terms with which an imaginative writer constructs lives.

Justine started by reading the third epigram from the start of her novel, that came from Du Maurier's Second Thoughts on Branwell, where she says "It is impossible, with the Brontes, as with many other writers, to say when fiction ends and fact begins, or how often the imagination will project an imaginary image upon a living personality." She followed with the opening pages of her novel, which set the scene for the rest of the narrative.

As anyone can see (Kathryn said) from looking at the front cover, there is a constructed 1950s materiality to the book. We see a woman who is trying to write herself out of a personal crisis by writing Branwell's biography - although as Justine pointed out, he might not have been the best choice for writing out of crisis! Kathryn outlined the first three chapters, each of which deals with one part of the triumvirate narrative, which, she said, were studies in delusion, obsession and longing.

On being asked by Kathryn whether there was a particular point that had started her on the path to writing this novel, Justine spoke about her long love of both Daphne and the Brontes, and discovering during her time at University that neither was considered worthy to be studied, or even read very much. When asked by Virago to write an introduction to The Infernal World of Branwell Bronte Justine read a letter describing, in detail, Daphne's feelings that were the impetus for the starting point of the novel.

The idea of fact and fiction being mixed together was a major part of the discussion; Kathryn asked why Justine thought that the reviews she had received had been so mixed, if whether some people just didn't 'get' what the novel was trying to portray. Was Justine actually taking a big risk in fictionalising fact, in creating a novel that was strongly factual?
For Justine, she had never considered writing the story as anything other than fiction, that in writing, it was simply her point of view and in researching and talking to various family members and friends, there were at least ten versions of who Daphne was, so in reality, it seemed to be truer to write as fiction. Daphne's upbringing had already blurred the lines between pretence and reality, for she had said herself that she 'was born into a world of make belief and pretence'. She was at ease in a world that encompassed both (as her work shows) and it makes sense that Justine's novel would make use of this point also.

Even biography as we know it, Kathryn pointed out, cannot rely on fact alone. Using the original biography of Jane Austen by her family as an example, she suggested that there are few facts on Austen that we really know. Biographers who wrote after the family memoir cannot stick to the facts alone, and therefore use their imagination to fill in the gaps. The truth is difficult to hold.

From this subject, we moved to the theme of manuscripts, and how the idea of them had been weaved into the novel; how important they were to all three of the main characters. Both Daphne and Symington are drawn into a dark world of trade in manuscripts and it mirrors the world of fact and fantasy in which Daphne moved so comfortably (at least some of the time). Nowadays very few of those who write on works written long ago use the original to refer to. As Justine pointed out, those who now edit editions of Emily Bronte's poetry admit that they use transcripts - transcripts which were, in fact, copied by J.A. Symington, who - by his own admission - couldn't read the handwriting!

We moved on to audience questions, over which, for the most part, I will skim not wishing to try the patience of my readers. The confusion that had been highlighted by Kathryn earlier in the evening, was, I think, evident amongst a couple of those who asked questions, and Justine reiterated her view that she had not intended to write a biography. Lyndall Gordon (who wrote the biography of Charlotte Bronte, amongst others) was in the audience and remarked that there are often gaps in important places of a person's life, and the writer - biographer or not - is therefore able (and indeed required) to use imaginative truth.

The most intriguing question - for me - came when someone asked whether it would be possible for someone to read the novel with no prior acquaintance with Daphne or her work. Justine couldn't imagine the possibility of someone reading the book without having even heard of Daphne. They may not know her work well, but the myth of the author herself is growing (helped indeed by Justine's novel) and it would be quite unusual, if not impossible, for someone to read Daphne without knowing who she was.


These jottings are, of course, merely my own views on what I heard. I hope I have been able to give an accurate picture of the thoughts and views as expressed by Justine and Kathryn, which were both insightful and interesting.

Talk on Daphne

This week has been a particularly interesting one for me. Having found Justine Picardie's blog, and reading about the du Maurier festival, and other bloggers thoughts on both, I have found a world that focuses on the subject I love so much and where the people in it give serious thought to what they read, and write sober and thought provoking posts.

Tomorrow I am going to carry on my 'Daphne' fest by going to listen to Justine Picardie in conversation with Kathryn Sutherland at St Anne's. It's going to focus on the relations of fiction to biography, something which has been much on my mind since reading Justine's novel, and was also a big part of my thinking whilst completing my masters in Life Writing at UEA last year.

Anyway, I'm very excited, and will report more fully tomorrow!