At Freddie's

Just finished Fitzgerald's "At Freddie's". How something apparently so shallow can hide so many depths is beyond me. Set in 1963, it deals with the to-ings and fro-ings of a dramatic school for children, the Temple, presided over by the monumental Miss Wentworth, 'Freddie'. Those to-ings and fro-ings are the stuff of magic.
Where to start with that magic! Her characters, though almost always eccentric, are never grotesque, each hearted with an authentic human soul. Situating them in a perfectly believable world helps immeasurably, and you can practically smell the greasepaint, see the threadbare furniture. Then there is the delicate thread of the story itself, so fragile as to defy easy encapsulation. As cleverly as any piece of Aristotelian stagecraft, the novel integrates its cast completely with its action.
Ultimately what amazes the reader though is just how effortless it all seems. For instance, the final 30 pages are a masterclass in how to ring the bell you spent the previous 130 pages forging. It rings true.
Sheer genius. Penelope Fitzgerald, I wish you were still around to take a bow.

The Day After the Days After

It's really been a boozy weekend. My soon to be married brother was at my parents' house when I visited yesterday, so we all ended up in the local. Nice to chat and it was. I ended up stumbling out after 1 and into a taxi.
Today then was a cinema day: 'In the Loop', then 'Wolverine'. 'In the Loop' is funny and biting, 'Wolverine' is far from the disaster the critics have been painting. Certainly neither was a masterpiece, but they allowed me to recuperate gently over the day. Then I started watching an old 50's thing, 'The Magnetic Monster', but was not unhappy when it froze after 30 minutes. Read instead, enjoying the delicate pleasures of a Penelope Fitzgerald novel, 'At Freddies'. Not quite up to the standard of some of her other treasures, but engaging all the same.

Offshore

The Thames by Night - Fitzgerald's World


A long time back I came across a volume of novels by Penelope Fitzgerald. After reading 'The Bookshop', I knew she was someone special. After reading 'The Gate of Angels', I was putting the book away, keeping the last novel, 'The Blue Flower', as treasure, solace for a rainy day. Sadly that book is packed away now and finding it would be an ordeal. So when I saw a second collection of Fitzgerald's novels in Chapters recently, I treated myself. I finished 'Offshore' last weekend.

Fitzgerald was past 60 when she started to write, and she had an eventful life upon which to draw. One colourful period involved her living on a barge on the Thames, twice, twice being the victim of a sinking. This experience informs 'Offshore', lending it a beautiful authentic air. You can smell the rotten water that forms such a major part of the characters' lives.

The story, such as it is, is slight. A collection of assorted misfits try to keep afloat, literally and metaphorically. There is a mechanical element to the novel that in hands less deft might have been too contrived to work. Each character is referred to by their boat, a kind of alter ego that allows us another insight into the state of their lives. Richard's boat is all proper and shipshape, too much so, and there's something ironic in its name, the 'Lord Jim', for anyone who knows Conrad's novel; Nenna's 'Grace' is messy, but sounder than it appears; Willis's 'Dreadnought' is quaint, but always perilously close to sinking. Living on an ebbing tide means that each character is half on land, half the time on water, between the two elements, unsure and capricious. Even the Thames, cosily snaking through the city, is, unlike the Danube (to which it is compared), subject to the tides of the sea.

Fitzgerald's third fiction book, after 'The Bookshop', it shares that novel's tone and style. Outwardly it seems whimsical and shallow, but do not be deceived; the playful froth on the surface hides an ocean of sadness. And the craft! Apparently effortless, there is artistry in every choice of word. A fabulous writer.