The Skin Chairs – Barbara Comyns

Barbara Comyns has deservedly seen a revival of sorts in recent years; quite a few of her books have been reissued by Virago, NYRB Classics, Turnpike Books, and Daunt Books. And yet, there are a couple of her titles that are still incredibly hard to find. The Skin Chairs is one of them; I had been looking for it for the longest time but to no avail. I finally found a reasonably priced copy and am so glad that I did because this is an absolutely brilliant novel. I do hope it also gets reissued soon for a wider audience.

In the earlier pages of the novel, Esmé implores her ten-year-old sister Frances (our narrator) to take her to the General’s house in the village because she is curious to see the “skin chairs” that Frances had earlier talked about. Frances isn’t keen on the idea, but Esmé persists. Thus, on a dreary, overcast day which also happens to be ominously dated Friday the 13^th, the two sisters set off for the General’s place. Those chairs both fascinate and repel Frances; she is told that they were made from the human skin of men during the Boer War, and now some of that fascination has rubbed off on Esmé too.

One chair certainly was lighter than the rest and I carefully sat on it, expecting something strange to happen; but it was exactly like sitting in any other uncomfortable chair. My bare arms touched the back and, remembering what it was made of, I stood up and wiped my arms with my handkerchief. With a feeling of awe I gazed at the chairs thinking of the poor skinless bodies buried somewhere in Africa. Did they ever come to see what had happened to their skins or had they forgotten all about them? How had the General brought the skins back?

The girls quietly steal into the house, and Esmé’s curiosity is quenched on spotting those chairs (“There were the chairs just as I remembered them, heavy, dusty and sombre, looking as if they had been there for ever”). But a bigger shock is in store for them. In one of the rooms, they see the General lying on the floor, quite motionless; is he dead drunk or just plain dead?

There was something very red and white inside – most likely a hassock, I thought, or even a huge cherry pie. Then we saw it was the General’s head lying there by the door, and one eye was open and the other shut. The open eye saw us and he sort of gurgled and slightly moved one freckled old hand. We thought he was lying on the floor like that to frighten us; perhaps he was suddenly going to grab one of our legs.

Barbara Comyns’ The Skin Chairs, then, is a marvellous tale of family, abject poverty, and the bewildering, ghoulish world of adults seen through the eyes of a beguiling 10-year-old girl, a story that has all the elements of Comyns’ trademark offbeat worldview.

When the book opens, ten-year-old Frances is sent to stay for a few days with her ‘horsey’ relations, the Lawrences. Growing up in a family of five siblings (Frances has three sisters and two brothers), we learn that the mother often packs them off to various relatives so that she can have some respite and time for herself.

Once parked at the Lawrences much against her will, Frances and the reader are introduced to the strictly conventional and interfering Aunt Lawrence, her relatively benign but old-fashioned husband Uncle Lawrence, and their children: the much adored Charles who’s hardly around, and the daughters Ruby and Grace about whom Frances has mixed feelings. Grace, Aunt Lawrence’s favourite daughter, is prone to teasing and embarrassing Frances in front of the adults, while Ruby is a tell-tale as she strives to earn her mother’s attention and find a place in her good books. After having more than her fill of the Lawrences, Frances longs to go home, but alas fate has other unnerving plans in store.

Frances’ father dies unexpectedly and with this sudden development, the family is plunged into poverty after having led a life of comfort. The mother, having been entirely dependent on the father in all practical matters, finds this colossal change of circumstances too much to handle. Aunt and Uncle Lawrence step in to take charge of their niece’s (Frances’ mother) affairs and persuade her to settle in a rather depressing house in the village befitting their whittled status; a house called The Hollies. Frances, with her mother and siblings in tow, soon shifts in, and they must somehow make do within their limited means which barely allows them to hire a maid. They are also required to attend the customary Sunday lunch at the Lawrences, a ritual that the children abhor. Frances’ mother, particularly, finds this transition difficult to endure. She possesses no aptitude for downsizing or economising and that burden therefore falls on the shoulders of her eldest daughter, Polly.

Displaying an utmost sense of responsibility, Polly takes charge of the household, keeping track of the daily budget and ensuring that the family does not outstep the boundaries that she has set for them much to their chagrin and terror. Polly’s efficiency irritates the mother, but she does not vehemently oppose her given that she has no appetite for managing herself. Occasionally, in a fit of defiance, the mother ventures into the kitchen to prepare elaborate meals, but Polly soon puts an end to that when the finances go haywire.

Despite their poverty and restricted existence, Frances’ life is not without incident; she is an inquisitive, affectionate child and makes some unusual friends. One of them is the young widow Vanda and her baby daughter Jane. Often Frances tags along with Ruby to visit Vanda and the two take on the duty of babysitting Jane when Vanda desires to spend time with the Major for whom she clearly has feelings. Vanda, though, is incredibly volatile and prone to mood swings, and these are often influenced by the frequency of the Major’s visits and the attention he heaps upon her.

Frances and Ruby enjoy looking after Jane, Frances’ maternal instincts specifically come to the fore as far as Jane is concerned. But more importantly, visiting Vanda becomes the perfect opportunity for both girls to get away from the unhappiness at their respective homes for a few hours. An outlet for solitude also reveals itself to Frances in the form of a secret place – an attic with mud walls to which she often escapes when the home environment gets too claustrophobic.

Quite near to Vanda’s farm, I discovered a ruined barn with the mud walls that appealed to me so much. A rickety ladder made from wood with the bark still on it led up to the loft, and I liked to sit up there reading and eating plums or any odds and ends of fruit I’d been able to smuggle from the house. I’d taken two wooden boxes I’d found below and used them as a chair and table…Often I would just sit on my box chair thinking and looking out of the window, which was really a squarish hole in the wall. I very much wanted a broom to sweep the floor, which was littered with straw, and I thought a small rug would make it look more furnished. If only I could find one that no one wanted. At first I’d been afraid to leave my things there, but when nobody ever appeared near the place, I lost my fear. I did not mention my loft to the family, but thought I might share it with Esmé when she returned for the holidays.

Later on, an eccentric, older woman called Mrs Alexander, driven by a personal tragedy, takes a fancy to Frances, often sending a yellow motor car to The Hollies to pick her up, although Frances dreads these visits. Mrs Alexander keeps monkeys at her home for experimenting which greatly distresses Frances, and the only solace for Frances in that house is in the underground music room where Mrs Alexander sometimes plays the piano. Frances finds these hours spent at Mrs Alexander’s incredibly sad and oppressive and has no idea how to extricate herself from them until a ghastly incident finally drives her away.

Despite the horror of their existence and the patronizing poverty that seems relentless, things take a turn for the better led by a new arrival at the village and the fortunes of the family begin to transform, while the holier-than-thou Aunt Lawrence finally gets her comeuppance.

The Skin Chairs, then, has all the hallmarks of a characteristic Comynsian world – a child or child-like narrator whose unique, distinct voice manages to belie the hopelessness of the circumstances and take some edge off its horrors making the story not just easier to bear but also incredibly compelling. With her off-kilter yet instantly recognizable vision, Comyns cleverly and subtly blends the macabre with the everyday, and ten-year-old Frances is a spot-on protagonist in that sense – as a child, Frances takes things as they come, absorbing a stream of disturbing events that unravel as a matter of course (although she is also subconsciously upset by these happenings), but as readers, the horrific aspects of her narrative are not lost on us. These allusions to the macabre take on a slew of avatars – the skin chairs for one, her younger sister Clare born with only one hand, a girl Frances knew so badly beaten by her parents that she starts walking close against the walls, and many other asides casually thrown in throughout the narrative.

The characters are so brilliantly etched – the caring Frances, tormented by nightmares, but still resolute in the face of insurmountable odds; her poor sister Polly who needs much colour in her life and a break from the tedious responsibility thrust on her; the terribly unhappy Ruby who yearns for her own stamp of happiness; Frances’ mother who stands up for her children against the occasional accusations hurled at them by Aunt Lawrence; the lonely Vanda who is too young to be a widow; and last but not the least the smug, unlikeable Aunt Lawrence who deservedly gets her just desserts. Comyns is also superb at creating a sense of atmosphere and arresting imagery; there’s something sinister about the worlds she crafts that adds to the tension in certain set pieces in the novel – for instance, the General’s decrepit house with those morbid skin chairs, Mrs Alexander’s unsettling obsession with her monkeys who are always on the verge of violence, and a serious accident befalling Vanda’s child Jane that deeply affects Frances.

A wide array of themes is woven into the narrative of The Skin Chairs, offering the readers a glimpse into Frances’ world as she navigates the complexities of family and society while growing up and trying to overcome her demons. The most obvious is the debilitating impact of poverty and the challenges of navigating through it but also ultimately resilience and survival; a recurrent theme seen in her novels Our Spoons Came from Woolworths and Mr Fox as well. This crippling poverty pushes Frances’ family to the fringes of society, their world shrinks and they are at the mercy of patronizing relatives, but they find an inner strength to adapt and survive.

The book also touches upon the daily perils of domestic life from a feminist perspective, and the challenges of motherhood – Frances’ mother is faced with the difficulty of raising her children in considerably reduced circumstances, while Vanda struggles being a single mother at a very young age, and is judged for neglecting her baby. The women in the book are also forced to grapple with the burden of societal expectations with respect to parenting, motherhood, womanhood, and family, when they would rather be independent living life on their own terms, and in this aspect, the tide does turn for each woman (Frances’ mother, Ruby, Vanda, Polly) in different ways.

In a nutshell, The Skin Chairs is Comyns at her best with her striking original voice and ability to explore complex themes through unconventional narratives. To me, it is top-tier Comyns and in the same league as her other brilliant novels, The Vet’s Daughter and The Juniper Tree.

Female Friendship in Fiction: Ten Favourite Books

Earlier this month, I wrote a themed post on Sisters in Literature, where I showcased ten books that featured two or more sisters either as central characters or as part of an ensemble cast. I wanted to do something similar in this piece, and so here I am highlighting some of my favourite books in fiction that explore female friendship. These friendships either constitute the central storyline in the books in question or feature on the side. Some of these literary friendships are enduring but tumultuous, some are unsettling and eerie, while others are immensely therapeutic.

So without further ado, here are the ten books. You can read the detailed reviews on each by clicking on the title links…

EX-WIFE by Ursula Parrott

Encapsulating the heydays of the Jazz Age, Ex-Wife is a wonderful, whip-smart tale of marriage, relationships, freedom, and women’s independence set in 1920s New York.

The book begins with Patricia, our narrator, telling us that her husband left her four years ago making her the ex-wife of the title. Through Patricia’s reminisces, we learn of her marriage to Peter at a very young age, the events leading up to their separation, and how her life pans out thereafter post that tumultuous period. Luckily, Patricia is not completely down and out; she has her job after all, and a new friendship with Lucia, another ex-wife five years older than her. The two women decide to rent an apartment together and thereby Patricia is flung headlong into a world of freedom, endless partying, men, and one-night stands. Slowly and surely, after many hiccups, Peter recedes into the background.

Ursula Parrott’s writing is sassy, wise, and sharp – snappy one-liners, easy camaraderie, and an air of irreverence are abundant and belie some of the darker moments in the book marked by heartaches, tragedies, disappointments, and wistful yearnings. Patricia’s narrative is laced with the wisdom of hindsight and there’s much humour in her retelling as there is poignancy and understated sadness.

THE ICE PALACE by Tarjei Vesaas (Translated from Norwegian by Elizabeth Rokkan)

The Ice Palace is a haunting, unsettling tale of two Norwegian eleven-year-old girls, Siss and Unn, both as different as chalk and cheese but drawn to each other to form an unlikely friendship. Tarjei Vesaas’ prose is as clear as ice and as brilliant as a diamond in a narrative where things are implied, never explicitly stated. There is a dreamlike quality to the narrative that explores the themes of loss, friendship, redemption and recovery, and the power of nature.

THE HEARING TRUMPET by Leonora Carrington

If you thought a story centred on a 92-year-old protagonist was bound to be dull and depressing, think again. Leonora Carrington’s The Hearing Trumpet is a delicious romp, a stunning feat of the imagination, and an iconoclastic book if you will that refuses to be pigeonholed into convenient definitions and genres; and in Marian Leatherby, the nonagenarian in this superbly off-kilter tale, Carrington has created an unconventional heroine who is charming, feisty and memorable.

The book begins in a quiet, residential neighbourhood on the outskirts of an unnamed Mexican city where Marian Leatherby, our narrator, resides with her son Galahad, his wife Muriel, and their 25-year-old unmarried son Robert. Marian is not welcome in the house and with the aid of a hearing trumpet gifted to her by her charming loquacious friend Carmella who has a penchant for conjuring up unrealistic and improbable schemes and ideas, Marian learns of her family’s plot to park her in an old age home.

The old-age home is unlike anything she had imagined, and Marian soon begins to settle in, gets introduced to her fellow residents, finds herself entangled in various adventures, and is caught up in the fascinating life of an abbess. The Hearing Trumpet could be considered an extension of Carrington’s identity as Surrealist artist; the novel is a unique montage of styles and genres that resist the laws of conventional narration to brilliant effect. Just superb!

DEATH AND THE SEASIDE by Alison Moore

Death and the Seaside is a terrific tale of failure, of being easily influenced, death, and writing that unravels in a rather unexpected way. Our protagonist is Bonnie Falls, a young woman about to turn 30. Bonnie’s life so far has been without any direction or purpose and she has not much to show for her half-hearted efforts. She is a college dropout having abandoned a degree in literature, which rather limits the job opportunities available. But she is an aspiring writer with potential and has already penned the beginning of a story that is dotted with sinister happenings.

Lost and adrift, Bonnie moves out of her parents’ home to a rented flat, where she becomes pally with her landlady, the mysterious Sylvia Slythe, an unlikely friendship that also seems eerie. Sylvia is unusually interested in Bonnie, especially in the story Bonnie has written, and arranges a seaside holiday for the two of them.

Why is Sylvia so deeply interested in an unremarkable person like Bonnie? Is there something sinister lurking behind Sylvia’s motives?  This remains a mystery to the reader until it all becomes clear as the novel progresses and reaches its dark conclusion.

A VIEW OF THE HARBOUR by Elizabeth Taylor

A View of the Harbour is a beautifully written, nuanced story of love, aching loneliness, stifled desires, and the claustrophobia of a dead-end seaside town. The main plotline revolves around Beth Cazabon, a writer; her husband Robert, the town’s doctor; and Beth’s friend Tory Foyle who lives next door and is divorced. However, like the wonderful The Soul of Kindness, this is a book with an ensemble cast where the lives of the other members of the community are interwoven into that of the Cazabons. This is a drab, dreary seaside town where for desperate want of drama and excitement, the lives of its residents become fodder for speculation and gossip.

Taylor is great at depicting the small dramas playing out in the lives of these ordinary people with her characteristic flair for astute insights into human nature. This is a community struggling to feel important, where an annual innocuous, humdrum festival becomes an event to talk about given the lack of entertainment otherwise, and where the inhabitants’ lives never go unobserved. This is one of her finest books, simply top-tier Taylor.

THE ENCHANTED APRIL by Elizabeth von Arnim

The Enchanted April is a delightful, charming novel centred on four women from different walks of life who decide to spend a month in summer holidaying in Italy. These women come from completely different backgrounds, but there’s one common thread binding them: they are disillusioned with the sameness of their days and are desperately seeking an outlet that will bring some colour to their lives along with the much-needed rest and solitude.

Once ensconced in the Italian castle, the four women begin to interact with each other and it is these exchanges that make The Enchanted April so delightful – the awkward dinner conversations, the various machinations to claim the best rooms and views for themselves, and their opinions of each other. The Enchanted April then is a gem of a novel with much wit and humour to commend it. Arnim’s writing is lovely and evocative and all four women in the novel are brilliantly etched, they come across as fully realized characters. This was a perfect book to read in April with a particularly feel-good vibe in these trying times.

JANE AND PRUDENCE by Barbara Pym

Jane and Prudence is another wonderful, poignant read from Barbara Pym’s oeuvre. Jane Cleveland and Prudence Bates, despite the gap in their ages, are friends. But the two could not have been more different. Jane, having married a vicar, has settled into her role of being the clergyman’s wife, although she’s not really good at it. Having studied at Oxford, Jane had a bright future ahead of her with the possibility of writing books, but that ambition fell by the wayside once she married. Prudence, also having graduated from Oxford, is elegant, beautiful, and still single with a flurry of relationships behind her. Prudence is getting older but has lost none of her good looks, and is an independent woman working in a publisher’s office in London.

As was evident in Excellent Women and Some Tame Gazelle, Pym excels in describing the eccentricities of parish life, its small-time politics, how a woman meeting a man can set tongues wagging, and how rumours of people’s lives fly thick and fast. She also raises the point of how in an era when women were destined for marriage, being single and living independently can bring its share of rewards.

DUSTY ANSWER by Rosamond Lehmann  

Dusty Answer is a gorgeous, evocative novel of childhood friendships, thwarted love, and the intensity of hopes and expectations of youth. We follow Judith Earle, our protagonist, from her childhood to young womanhood, and the transformative relationships that leave a deep impression on her. 

Through a stream of flashbacks reflecting Judith’s reminisces, the first few chapters move back and forth between the past and present, at first mostly dwelling on Judith’s childhood, particularly her fascination with the Fyfe children – Mariella and her four cousins, Charlie, Martin, Julian, and Roddy.

After the death of her father, Judith goes to Cambridge where she meets the charismatic and enigmatic Jennifer Baird. Judith is utterly enchanted by Jennifer to the point where her time in Cambridge is entirely defined by this more than platonic friendship and evenings spent with their coterie of friends. Judith is mesmerised by Jennifer and reciprocates her feelings, there’s a sense that her love for Jennifer doesn’t succeed in quelling her all-consuming passion for Roddy. Once she is out of Cambridge, the Fyfe men fill up Judith’s world again. This is such an exquisitely written, melancholic novel as the characters navigate the rough terrain of early adulthood filled with heartbreak, tenderness, joys, and disappointments.  

MY BRILLIANT FRIEND by Elena Ferrante (Translated from Italian by Ann Goldstein)       

Ferrante’s Neapolitan Novels took the world by storm when they were published, and My Brilliant Friend – the first book in the quartet – is where it all started. Set in a poor and violent neighbourhood in Naples, these novels chart the friendship between two women – the fiery and fiercely intelligent Lila Cerullo and the clever and hardworking Elena Greco. Their story begins in My Brilliant Friend when the girls are eight years old and ends with the last novel The Story of the Lost Child when the two women are in their sixties. Intense, frenetic, cinematic in scope with richly drawn characters, all four books are fabulous. I came very late to these books, but it was essentially high-quality binge reading!

THE LEVANT TRILOGY by Olivia Manning

My perennial favourites and featured in quite a few of my themed posts, both of Olivia Manning’s stunning trilogies – at the core a brilliant portrayal of a marriage against the backdrop of war – helped me navigate some challenging times in 2019.

The first one i.e. The Balkan Trilogy highlights the chaotic lives of Guy and Harriet Pringle – British expats in Bucharest and subsequently in Athens during the Second World War. In The Levant Trilogy, we follow the Pringles to Cairo in Egypt, followed by Damascus and then Jerusalem amid the raging Desert War.

In both the trilogies, Manning superbly brings to life different cities and their citizens during wartime – the increasing uncertainty of having to flee is nerve-wracking, and yet at the same time there’s this sense of denial that maybe the conflict will not impact day to day life after all. 

While Guy and Harriet Pringle are the central characters with their marriage a focal point of these books, the supporting cast is great too…particularly Yakimov, an aristocrat fallen on hard times, and the wealthy, irreverent Angela Hooper who is forced to grapple with a personal tragedy. Angela’s friendship with Harriet in The Levant Trilogy, particularly, becomes important as the Pringle marriage is severely tested.

And that’s it! I had fun compiling this list, and plan to write more such themed pieces in the future. Happy reading!

Dusty Answer – Rosamond Lehmann

I read Rosamond Lehmann’s Olivia Curtis novels Invitation to the Waltz & The Weather in the Streets back in 2020 and loved both wholeheartedly; the latter particularly found a place on My Best of 2020 list. It was time to try another Lehmann novel and I decided to start with her first – Dusty Answer.

Dusty Answer is a gorgeous, evocative novel of childhood friendships, thwarted love, and the intensity of hopes and expectations of youth.

We follow Judith Earle, our protagonist, from her childhood to young womanhood, and the transformative relationships that leave a deep impression on her. When the book opens, Judith is eighteen years old and excited at the prospect of her childhood neighbour and friend Mariella returning to her house just after the war. Mariella is barely in her early twenties, but she is now a widow and a mother to her baby Peter, her husband Charlie having been killed in the war. 

Through a stream of flashbacks reflecting Judith’s reminisces, the first few chapters move back and forth between the past and present, at first mostly dwelling on Judith’s childhood, particularly her fascination with the Fyfe children – Mariella and her four cousins, Charlie, Martin, Julian, and Roddy.  Judith is an incredibly lonely child of well-to-do parents who are barely present and living in a large house in the countryside. Having led a secluded life and schooled mostly at home by an army of tutors and governesses, Judith hasn’t had the space to form meaningful friendships, and for the most part, her faithful companion is her vivid imagination that highlights a rich inner life.

And yet Judith is not entirely without company. Her neighbours cast a spell over her; they fill her thoughts for days on end.

In earliest childhood it was plain that nobody else realized the wonder, the portentous mystery of faces. Some patterns were so pure, so clear and lovely you could go on looking at them forever.

That interest is mutual, and while Judith becomes a part of their lives, there’s a sense that she remains a tad outside their circle, she’s always invited in and yet there are aspects of their lives and personalities that remain a mystery to her.

We glean a bit more about her neighbours. Mariella is beautiful but seemingly vacuous, just going along with the flow. Judith has a secret crush on Charlie, a tremendously good-looking boy, but vain and attention-seeking. Then there’s her second favourite Roddy, another mysterious, unfathomable character, who plays with Judith’s feelings and emotions and often hurts her with his cruel indifference.

It was no use trying to bring Roddy out of his labyrinthine seclusion with personal advances and pretensions to favouritism. Roddy had a power to wound far beyond his years; he seemed grown up sometimes in his crushingness.

Charlie’s elder brother Julian is the intelligent one in the group but morose, cynical, and prone to sarcasm, although he relishes his chats with Judith. And last but not the least is Martin, a simple, good-natured boy with no airs or graces about him who adores Judith. She humours him but cares for him the least.

These cousins, then, flit in and out of Judith’s solitary life, and despite their often lengthy absences, Judith hasn’t forgotten them, they haunt her dreams and memories, and she finds solace in embellishing their imagined encounters. She remains entranced by them wondering whether she has similarly registered a presence in their lives.

In the long spaces of being alone which they only, at rarer and rarer intervals, broke, she had turned them over, fingered them so lovingly, explored them so curiously that, melting into the darkly-shining enchanted shadow-stuff of remembered childhood, they had become well-nigh fantastic creatures.

After the death of her father, Judith’s mother chooses to travel abroad, and Judith goes to Cambridge. There Judith meets the rather repulsive, seemingly studious Mabel Fuller, a pathetic creature without any friends; but ultimately it’s the charismatic and enigmatic Jennifer Baird who lays claim to Judith; Judith is utterly enchanted by Jennifer to the point where her time in Cambridge is entirely defined by this more than platonic friendship and evenings spent with their coterie of friends (“Late into the night they sat about or lay on the floor, smoked, drank cocoa, ate buns, discussed–earnestly, muddle-headedly–sex, philosophy, religion, sociology, people and politics; then people and sex again”). That relationship has doom written all over it and when it’s time to leave Cambridge, Judith is struck by the missed opportunities her association with Jennifer leaves in its wake – the blossoming of new friendships and the chance to pursue varied interests.

There had been Martin ignored and neglected because he disliked Jennifer. And there had been books, far more books in far more libraries: and new poetry, new music, new plays,–a hundred intellectual diversions which you had but brushed against or missed altogether by secluding yourself within the limits of an unprofitable dream.

Once Judith returns from Cambridge, the Fyfe men fill up her world again (“After all these years of thinking about them, seeing them so passionately, nursing in her imagination their unreal and dream-like existence, that they should all at once quite casually be there!”). Her passionate feelings for Roddy take centre stage even as the other two men Julian and Martin express their love for her. Ironically, it would be the empty, frivolous Mariella who would make a profound statement about the state of affairs between them all – “everybody loving someone who loves another person.”

One of the striking features of the novel is its vivid, evocative imagery – idyllic picnics and carefree swimming, midnight canoe rides on the lake (“The paddle fell now and again upon the water with a light musical clash, like the sound of the shattering of thinnest crystal. Now and again the moving blade woke the water to a rich and secret murmur; as if a voice half woke out of sleep to speak a tender word; then swooned into sleep again”), and other lavish descriptions of the natural world complete with golden sunsets (“She saw the sky beginning to blossom with evening. The sun came out below flushed clouds and all the treetops were lit up, sombrely floating and rocking in a dark gold wash of light”), mysterious twilights (“Across the river the fields looked rich and wistful, brimming with sun, cut with long violet shadows. The river ran a little wildly, scattered over with fierce, fire-opal flakes”), misty evenings et al that only heighten the atmosphere of the set pieces but also effectively convey the mood and inner feelings of its characters.

Chill mornings wrapped in bluish mist broke softly towards mid-day, bloomed into shining pale yellow afternoons, died early, wistfully, in mists again, in grey dews shimmering upon the leaf-strewn lawn and the fallen apples, in motionless massed pomp of foliage burning softly beneath sunsets of muffled crimson, in moonrises strange with a bronze light.

The novel in many ways is a montage of character studies not only of the women (Judith, Jennifer, and Mariella) but also of the men (Roddy, Julian, and Martin). Judith’s romanticised view of the world fuelled by her solitary upbringing sometimes makes her come across as overwrought, particularly in her conversations with Roddy. Mariella’s smooth outward persona raises questions of whether she’s capable of deep, complex emotions (“Amazing, terrifying, admirable creature–thought Judith–who, when life pressed too heavily upon her, could resolve life into airy meaninglessness; could pause, as it were deliberately, and re-charge herself with vitality”).

Roddy is elusive and inscrutable incapable of serious commitments (“Being himself, was Roddy more likely or less likely to fall in love with a person he never took seriously?”); Julian is intellectual but judgemental (“He always hoped to find people more intelligent, more interesting than they were, and he would not let them alone till he had discovered their inadequacy and thrown them away”); Martin is the kindest of the lot, but the perception of safety he offers is hardly alluring to an impressionable young woman like Judith who is attracted to Roddy’s dashing persona. Even Jennifer’s dynamic personality hides insecurities within.

Dusty Answer, then, is a novel about the intensity of feelings so characteristic in one’s youth, the power of defining friendships, the aches of unrequited love, the potency of memories, and the journey of self-realisation molded by experiences that life throws along the way. The happiness and innocence of childhood are also stunningly rendered in the earlier chapters – those halcyon days filled with fun and games, feasts, and shared confidences.

Just like in The Weather in the Streets, the modernity of the themes is on full display here giving us a glimpse of how Lehmann was ahead of her time; for instance, if abortion was touched upon in The Weather in the Streets, then queer love and bisexuality find a place in Dusty Answer; taboo topics that were probably considered shocking in the 1920s and 1930s. Jennifer’s relationship with Judith and later Geraldine gives a hint of lesbianism, while Judith is equally mesmerised by Jennifer and reciprocates her feelings, there’s a sense that her love for Jennifer doesn’t succeed in quelling her all-consuming passion for Roddy.

This is such an exquisitely written, melancholic novel as the characters navigate the rough terrain of early adulthood filled with heartbreak, tenderness, joys, and disappointments.  

There was sadness in everything—in the room, in the ringing bird-calls from the garden, in the lit, golden lawn beyond the window, with its single miraculous cherry-tree breaking in immaculate blossom and tossing long foamy sprays against the sky. She was sad to the verge of tears, and yet the sorrow was rich—a suffocating joy.

Lehmann’s prose is gorgeous – the lush language and sensual images have a wondrous effect akin to being lulled by a heady wine on a languid summer afternoon. This is an impressive debut displaying Lehmann’s astonishing maturity, particularly notable because she wrote it in her twenties. As far as my reading experience is concerned, Judith’s time with the Fyfe clan was to me the most interesting part of the novel; while the Cambridge milieu was expertly portrayed, at times I felt those chapters dragged a bit. And yet overall, I ended up loving this book.

Despite the tinge of sorrow that pervades the novel and the twin heartbreaks that come her way, there’s the dawning realisation that Judith has emerged wiser. Her childhood innocence may have been lost, but with youth still on her side, hope flickers for Judith at the idea of moving forward complete with the prospect of new experiences it will bring.  

The Devastating Boys – Elizabeth Taylor

I have read and loved several of Elizabeth Taylor’s novels – A Game of Hide and Seek, Mrs Palfrey at the Claremont, A Wreath of Roses, The Soul of Kindness, and A View of the Harbour – but The Devastating Boys is my first foray into her short stories, and she is as glorious at penning a short story as she is in writing a full-length novel.

The Devastating Boys is a gorgeous collection of stories showcasing Elizabeth Taylor’s unmatched talent and remarkable range both in terms of the worlds she creates and her piercing gaze into the hearts and minds of her characters.

We begin with the title story in the collection – “The Devastating Boys” – a stunning story so subtle and beautifully written, setting the tone for the brilliance of what is to follow. Laura and Harold are a well-to-do, middle-aged couple settled comfortably in a large house in the countryside. The story opens with Laura on the railway platform, apprehensive and agitated, awaiting the arrival of two boys from London. This arrangement is Harold’s idea, in response to a scheme announced in the newspapers encouraging children from London to spend their summer holidays in the country. What also catches Harold’s eye is the ‘coloured’ status of some of the children; a fact that appeals to Harold’s left-leaning ideals. While Laura initially agrees to the plan, when the time is upon them to host the children, she is flustered. Thus, in a matter of a few pages, we get a glimpse of not only Harold and Laura’s marriage but also into their individual personalities. Harold likes to think of himself as a liberal and yet is a dominating husband; Laura is a meek woman low on confidence and self-esteem. There’s also a sense of emptiness that pervades her, Laura’s whole life and identity revolved around her children who flew the nest long ago (“Her children had been her life, and her grandchildren one day would be; but here was an empty space”).

When the two boys (both black and working class) finally arrive, Laura is at first confounded by the ordeal of spending two weeks with them, but the days fly by, and despite the chaos and ruckus that ensues, there are also unexpected positive vibes that emerge. Harold makes an effort to spend time with the boys; Laura finds herself enjoying their company complete with their remarkable flair for mimicry. Despite the sharply contrasting backgrounds of the English couple and the two London boys, the humour and noise the boys bring everywhere also provide a welcome boost to their marriage which had hitherto fallen into a rut; both Laura and Harold begin to see each other in a favourable light.

A success for them? She could not be quite sure; but it had been a success for her, and for Harold. In the evenings, they had so much to talk about, and Harold, basking in his popularity, had been genial and considerate.

This is a lovely story of a marriage, of how doing things out of the ordinary holds the promise of joy and renewal.

“An Excursion to the Source” is a story about a diffident young woman Polly and her overbearing guardian Gwenda and the unexpected circumstances that confront them on a holiday. Gwenda is a widower, her husband having provided poorly for her and when Polly’s mother (also Gwenda’s godmother) dies, she fulfills the mother’s request of looking after Polly. Struggling to make ends meet after her husband’s death, this change of circumstances is a welcome relief to Gwenda especially since Polly is comfortably provided for. Yet, old habits die hard and Gwenda remains set in her money-pinching ways much to Polly’s frustration, who is unable to rebel. Things take a turn when the two go for a holiday to a French village, a holiday Polly is not enthused about particularly when she is keenly made to feel the absence of life-altering experiences in her life.

Ensconced in a depressing hotel, Gwenda is hell-bent on planning an excursion to the source of the river, recreating a journey that she had last undertaken with her husband a few months before his demise, a journey that she keeps tom-tomming about little caring for Polly’s opinions. Once in their hotel, Gwenda, as is her controlling nature, finds stuff to grumble about but Polly begins to settle in and is particularly enamoured by the hotel staff member Jean, a bumbling young man who irritates Gwenda greatly. A chance for love blooms which transforms Polly but this deliciously new experience not only heightens the tension between her and Gwenda but also sets the scene for a tragedy.

It was she now, she decided, who had something exclusively her own, and it seemed to her that Gwenda had nothing – for even her memories were threadbare.

This is a dark but wonderfully composed story of control, unlikely alliances, and quiet rebellion.

One of my favourites, “In and Out the Houses”, is a cleverly constructed tale focusing on the petty jealousies of village life complete with the unspoken disappointments and the secret tinge of envy that mark the lives of its inhabitants. Kitty Miller is a schoolgirl, running errands around the village during her school holidays; visiting each household and helping in performing various tasks. As she dons on the role of the ultimate gossip girl and flits from one house to another, she unabashedly reveals snippets of “news” and other secrets of the families to one another, disturbing the calm and stirring up emotions.

The news of the Vicar’s cold is conveyed to Mrs De Vries, while Mrs de Vries’ exotic culinary skills are casually mentioned by Kitty to Mrs Glazier who also learns of the resignation of her own cook from Kitty. Meanwhile, Mrs Glazier prides on her solid English cooking, meals prepared to suit her husband’s palate but secretly scorned by her neighbours; but her desire to outdo them compels her to try her hand at something new one day for lunch much to her husband’s disapproval and her bitter disappointment. This story is brilliant in the way it not only captures the narrowness of village life where nothing goes unnoticed but also an unhappy marriage subtly embedded within it.

Glumly, Mrs Glazier washed the dishes, and suddenly thought of the Prouts sitting peacefully beside their fire, cracking walnuts, playing cards. She felt ill-done-by, as she stacked the remains of dinner in the fridge, but was perfectly certain that lie as she might have to to Kitty in the morning, the whole village should not know that for the second day running the Glaziers were having soup, and jugged hare, and apricot mousse.

“Flesh” is another superbly crafted story of loneliness and the tragicomedy of middle-aged romance. Phyllis, a barmaid, is on a holiday by herself in a rundown Mediterranean seaside resort, sent by her husband to recuperate from a hysterectomy. Stanley is a widower, still bereft from the death of his wife, and a lonely soul. Both being heavy drinkers, they slide into an easy friendship on their evenings in the hotel bar, aloof from the other holidaymakers.

What the sun had done for her was to burn her brick- red, and offer her this nice holiday friend. Stanley Archard, retired widower from Hove.

She enjoyed herself, as she usually did. The sun shone every day, and the drinks were so reasonable they had many a long discussion about that. They also talked about his little flat in Hove; his strolls along the front; his few cronies at the club; his sad, orderly and lonely life.

Phyllis is loud and showy, and Stanley is a quiet man but the two decide to have an affair that poignantly does not turn out the way they envisaged.

In “Sisters”, we meet the smug, holier-than-thou Mrs Mason, who has led a dull, conventional existence for the most part until an unexpected visit from a stranger throws her life into disarray.

On a Thursday morning, soon after Mrs Mason returned from shopping – in fact she had not yet taken off her hat – a neat young man wearing a dark suit and spectacles, half-gold, half-mock tortoiseshell, and carrying a umbrella, called at the house, and brought her to the edge of ruin.

Mrs Mason is now a widow leading an unremarkable but settled life as is “expected of women in her position.” She has her bridge parties, coffee mornings, and committee meetings for charities and “seems to have been made for widowhood.”  But one day, her safe and cozy world is intruded upon by a literary detective inquiring about her long-forgotten sister and celebrity writer Marion, and a stream of memories floods Mrs Mason’s mind, memories that she has deliberately buried deep in her subconscious. We learn of Marion’s writing career, her alleged embellishment and romanticizing of their childhood which Mrs Mason primly dismisses as false, her bohemian ways in Paris, her unconventional lifestyle, and her scandalous live-in relationship with a man that shocks Mrs Mason’s sense of propriety. So intent is she on keeping up the outward veneer of respectability that Mrs Mason has no wish to be reminded of her sister who is now dead, and yet inadvertently she lets slip a statement, the possible consequences of which fills her with fear threatening to rip up the fabric of her well-arranged life.

“Hôtel du Commerce” is about marital disharmony and the poisonous festering of unspoken thoughts between couples. Melanie and Leonard, honeymooning in France, are rudely awakened one night in their hotel by a particularly nasty quarrel of another couple in an adjacent room. The strains of this heated exchange come floating through the thin walls, and the varying degrees of response shown by Melanie and Leonard expose the fragility of their own relationship.

Disquieting memories made him frown. He tried to lay his thoughts out in order. The voices in the next room, the nightmare of weeping and abuse; but worse, Melanie’s cold voice, her revelation of that harboured disappointment; then, worse again, even worse, her impatience with him. He drove her nearly mad, she had said. Always? Since they were married? When?

In “Tall Boy”, we meet a West Indian, who leads an utterly desolate life in a bedsit in London but finds a pocket of happiness on his birthday with his office colleagues, while “Praises” is a story about a saleswoman who has just entered retirement, the bittersweet emotions evoked by this significant change in her life after having enjoyed the fruits of a long career and a job well done.

“Miss A. and Miss M.” dwells on two schoolteachers – one flamboyant but manipulative and the other docile but steadfast – who catch the fancy of a teenage girl on her annual holiday, while “The Fly-Paper” is a masterclass of the macabre that shines the spotlight on a dull, deeply lonely schoolgirl, who is motherless and friendless, and tormented by the music lessons she is forced to take every week until one day she is thrown off-guard by a sinister encounter.

We see a wide assortment of people in this marvelous collection – quarreling couples, observant little girls, lonely individuals both within a relationship and outside of it, proud shop assistants, awkward young women, warring sisters, holidaymakers & honeymooners, and so on. Themes of loneliness, rifts in marriages, suburban respectability, unraveling of buried secrets, the joy of unexpected connections, and momentous changes in career and relationships are astutely and sensitively explored.

Loneliness manifests itself in various forms, and her characters respond to it in their unique ways – in the “Tall Boy”, the central character finds meaning in the little gestures of generosity and camaraderie; in “Flesh”, Phyllis immerses herself in steady drinking, while Stanley latches on to her for companionship. We can sense Laura’s loneliness in her married life in “The Devastating Boys”, as well as Polly’s isolation in the unnerving possibility of being stuck forever with Gwenda in “An Excursion to the Source.”

Holidays become a fertile foundation either for novel friendships and out-of-the-ordinary experiences as seen in “Flesh” and “Miss A. and Miss M.” or for disquieting developments witnessed in “Hôtel du Commerce” and “An Excursion to the Source.”

The Devastating Boys, then, is an exquisite collection of stories, one that showcases the sheer artistry of Elizabeth Taylor’s writing, her sharp perceptive eye, her keen insights into human nature, and her remarkable ability to convey the essence of her characters in the space of a few sentences. Indeed, her mastery of characterization is on full display here; deft sketches that reveal multitudes. For instance in “Flesh”, we are told about Phyllis who “was always one of the first to come into the hotel bar in the evenings, for what she called her aperitif, and which, in reality, amounted to two hours’ steady drinking”; in the title story we get an inkling of the dynamics between Laura and Harold in the very first sentence – “Laura was always too early; and this was as bad as being late, her husband, who was always late himself, told her.”  In “Praises”, Miss Smythe, so used to being heartily admired, ponders whether “she had too much praise all her life, and nothing else. Or might have been praised so much, because she had nothing else.”

In a nutshell, The Devastating Boys shows Elizabeth Taylor at the top of her game; a brilliant collection where each story is a joy to savour and treasure.

Sisters in Literature: Ten Excellent Reads

A sister can be your best friend or your worst rival. Sisters may have grown up in the same household and yet they evolve into adults with different and distinct personalities. The bond between sisters can be either complex or straightforward but no one can deny its importance in one’s life. It’s certainly a rich source of material in books and literature and in this piece, I highlight ten excellent books that feature two or more sisters either as central characters or as part of an ensemble cast.

You can read the detailed reviews on each (barring one book) by clicking on the title links…

WE HAVE ALWAYS LIVED IN THE CASTLE by Shirley Jackson

Such a fabulous book – an unsettling tale about an ostracized family sprinkled with doses of dark humour and one of the strangest and unforgettable narrators ever – the eighteen-year-old Merricat Blackwood. Jackson is great at creating an atmosphere that is seeped in gothic elements – the creeping sense of dread as we read about the fate of the Blackwood sisters in their large home – even if there are no actual ghosts present. 

INVITATION TO THE WALTZ by Rosamond Lehmann

Invitation to the Waltz is the first of the Olivia Curtis novels. When the book opens, Olivia has turned seventeen and there is a family gathering to celebrate and present her with gifts. The novel charts the emotions of a young girl on the cusp of womanhood – the anxiety as well as the excitement of making a good impression at the dance, hopes for a schedule full of dance partners alternating with the fear of being left alone.

The novel is divided into three sections – the first two portray Olivia and her elder sister Kate’s anticipation and preparations for the dance, while the last section is entirely devoted to the ball. Lehmann’s prose is lush and beautiful and I was immediately struck by her impressionistic writing style.

SOME TAME GAZELLE by Barbara Pym

Barbara Pym’s world of the parish, curates, and garden parties is a real delight and there were dollops of this in Some Tame Gazelle. The book revolves around the memorable Bede sisters – Belinda and Harriet – who are spinsters. Harriet is outspoken of the two and is more interested in the young curates who come to work in the village, even though she continuously receives marriage proposals from an Italian count. Belinda, meanwhile, has been carrying a torch for the Archdeacon in the village who has been married to another woman for quite some time. But things get shaken up a bit with the arrival of Mr. Mold and Bishop Grote. Both these men disturb the peace of the village and leave the sisters wondering if they’ll ever return to the order of their daily routines.

Pym’s comic timing is superb and there are some wonderful conversations between the characters particularly between the two sisters. Each character is wonderfully etched and even within the narrower contours of village life, Pym has a flair for bringing out the subtle differences in human nature.

THREE SUMMERS by Margerita Liberaki (Translated from Greek by Karen Van Dyck)

Bursting with vibrant imagery of a sun-soaked Greece, Three Summers is a sensual tale that explores the lives and loves of three sisters who are close and yet apart given their different, distinctive personalities.

First published in 1946, the novel’s original Greek title when literally translated means The Straw Hats. Indeed, like the first brushstrokes in a painting, the first image presented to us is of the three sisters wearing their newly bought straw hats – Maria, the eldest, wears a hat adorned with cherries, Infanta has one with forget-me-nots perched on her head, while the youngest and also the book’s narrator – Katerina – has donned a hat with poppies “as red as fire.”

Gradually as the novel unfurls, the varied personas of the three sisters are revealed to us – the sexually bold Maria, the beautiful and distant Infanta, the imaginative and rebellious Katerina, also the narrator of the story.

Three Summers, then, is a lush, vivid coming-of-age story that coasts along at a slow, languid pace…it drenches the reader with a feeling of warmth and nostalgia despite moments of piercing darkness. With its rich evocation of summer and luscious descriptions of nature, the narration, in keeping with Katerina’s personality and penchant for telling stories, has a dreamy, filmic, fairytale-like vibe to it.

NOTES FROM CHILDHOOD by Norah Lange (Translated from Spanish by Charlotte Whittle)

Notes from Childhood is a unique, inventive memoir filled with evocative vignettes that capture the innocence and essence of childhood; the fears, anxieties, love, and simple moments of happiness that children experience. These snapshots of family life and domesticity are filtered through our narrator’s (Norah herself) childhood memories.

She dwells on her sisters and their personalities – the brooding and intense Marta, whose peeled hands “looked like the pages of a well-loved book whose edges curl backward.” There’s Georgina with her immaculate, poised figure, always ready to help with anything and the apple of their mother’s eye. Then there’s Susana, younger but closer to Norah in age so they bond better coupled with the fact that both have flaming red hair. 

It’s a gorgeous book exploring the realm of childhood, the light and darkness within it; intimate portraits that sizzle with strangeness, wonder, beauty, and sadness.   

A SUNDAY IN VILLE-D’AVRAY by Dominique Barbéris (Translated from French by John Cullen)

This is a dreamy, disquieting novella of missed opportunities, a particular yearning for that ‘something else’, set over the course of a languid autumn afternoon when the light is quickly fading. 

The book begins when our narrator Jane, one Sunday, decides to visit her sister Claire Marie, who resides in Ville-d’Avray in the western suburbs of Paris. Comfortably settled in her well-appointed home with her husband Christian and her daughter Melanie, Claire Marie many a time assists Christian in his medical practice by stepping into the shoes of a receptionist. Jane, on the other hand, is settled in the centre of Paris with her partner Luc – both prefer the hustle and bustle of city life, its culture and entertainment to the quiet existence in the outskirts.

On that particular autumn afternoon, as the sisters finally sit down for a chat, Claire Marie makes a dramatic revelation of a chance encounter in her life several years ago, a confession that startles Jane considerably. Does Claire Marie have it in her to disrupt her carefully constructed idyll at home for the sake of an out-of-the-box experience that marks a break from her everyday routine?

The themes touched upon in this wonderfully evocative novella are the consequences of a path not taken, the weight of unfulfilled desires, and the wish for a unique experience. It’s a novella that throbs with dreamlike vibes, fraught melancholia and wistful longing and is perfect for any quiet, cosy afternoon with a hot mug of tea.

THE GREENGAGE SUMMER by Rumer Godden

The Greengage Summer is a gorgeous coming-of-age tale of love, deceit, and new experiences, a beguiling mix of light and darkness set in the luxurious champagne region of France.

Our narrator is the charming Cecil Grey, aged thirteen and at the cusp of womanhood. Cecil has an elder sister, the beautiful Joss aged sixteen, while the younger siblings are Hester and the Littles (Will and Vicky). Fed up with their continuous grumbling, the mother whisks them off to France to see the battlefields hoping that some kind of exposure and knowledge about other people’s sacrifices will open their eyes to how self-absorbed they are. But all their best-laid plans go awry when the mother falls ill. Thus, once at the hotel, the children are largely left to their own devices and latch on to the mysterious Elliott who takes them under his wing much to the chagrin of his lover and the owner of the hotel, Mademoiselle Zizi. This is a beautiful book with evocative descriptions of a languid French summer. Despite the joys of new experiences, there are darker currents with hints of violence, death, and sinister happenings.

SOMEBODY LOVES YOU by Mona Arshi

Mona Arshi’s Somebody Loves You is a beautifully written, poetic, coming-of-age novel on family, mental illness, immigrant life, and the trials of growing up. Comprising a series of vignettes (the kind of storytelling I’ve come to love), this novel is mostly from Ruby’s point of view who from an early age decides to become silent on her own terms, refusing to speak.

Ruby is the youngest member of her family which comprises her parents and her older, more voluble and fiery sister Rania. Her father is an “untidily put together man with a mild temperament.” Her mother is prone to bouts of depression which entails days and months of absence from home until one day she never comes back. 

These myriad snapshots coalesce to paint a picture of a family struggling to come to terms with their inner demons and the demands of the world outside. While the tone is often melancholic, the sheer beauty of the writing and a unique way of looking at the world makes Somebody Loves You an astonishing read.

WILL AND TESTAMENT by Vigdis Hjorth (Translated from Norwegian by Charlotte Barslund)

Vigdis Hjorth’s Will and Testament is a powerful, gripping, masterfully constructed novel about family feuds, abuse, trauma, and a woman’s fight to be believed and her story acknowledged, where Hjorth cleverly uses the set-up of an inheritance dispute to examine the deeper fissures that run in a dysfunctional family.

The novel opens with the news that Bergjlot’s dad died five months ago, a development that only exacerbates the ongoing property dispute between the four children and the mother. Bergjlot initially chooses to stay out of this clash and the modern reader will immediately discern the reason for this – she was abused by her father as a child and the scars from that incident made it easier for Bergjlot to completely sever ties with her family for more than 20 years to maintain her sanity. And yet she remains tormented by her mother’s digs and insults about her behaviour and her sisters’ refusal to accept her version of the past. 

At its core, Will and Testament is about a victim of abuse fighting back to be heard, about the legacy of abuse that can run down generations, and how it can irreparably damage relationships. The prose has a feverish quality that is compelling, the characters are brilliantly drawn and overall this is really a superb novel.

AN I-NOVEL by Minae Mizumura (Translated from Japanese by Juliet Winters Carpenter)           

An I-Novel is a gorgeous, lyrical meditation on language, race, identity, family, and the desire and deep yearning to go back to your roots, to your own country. The novel is a semi-autobiographical work that takes place over a single day in the 1980s. Our narrator is Minae, a young woman studying French literature at a prestigious university on the East Coast, close to Manhattan. When the novel opens, it is deep midwinter, and Minae is alone, struggling to grapple with apathy and loneliness as a deepening pall of gloom pervades her apartment. The intensity of stasis afflicting Minae is rooted in her unwillingness to take any decisive action regarding her future. After having lived for two decades in the United States, Minae has an aching desire to relocate to Japan, her home country.

But Minae is plagued with guilt and foreboding – If she goes back to Japan, her elder sister Nanae will be compelled to fend for herself, all alone in America. Moreover, with their family now torn apart (the father is in a care home, and the mother has left him for a younger man in Singapore), Minae and Nanae rely on each other for emotional support, having become quite close despite their varied personalities. An I-Novel throbs and pulses with big ideas presented in Minae Mizumura’s stylish, understated and elegant writing.

Finally, I’ll leave you with a quote about sisters from Christina Rossetti’s Goblin Market and Other Poems…

“For there is no friend like a sister
In calm or stormy weather;
To cheer one on the tedious way,
To fetch one if one goes astray,
To lift one if one totters down,
To strengthen whilst one stands”