Attic Term: Readthrough, Chapters 5-8
Feb. 19th, 2015 05:25 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
lilliburlero.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
trennelsEarly this week, since I might not have reliable online access tomorrow.
Nicola's surprise at having actually looked fetching in Miranda's dress provides a neat lead-in to Ginty's misery over Monica. Despite her being one of the more emotional Marlows, Ginty's 'version of being in floods' is still restrained enough to only be recognisable to family. I'm amused by Monica's aptitude for Geography giving her, in Nicola's eyes, the virtual gift of immortality. Monica's absence both unsettles Ginty in itself, and removes her steadying influence, paving the way for later ill-judged actions. Despite their conflicts over Patrick, Nicola is reassuring and practical here, and Ginty perks up temporarily. I don't much like the sound of a 'crusted' bath and loo (like scabs, or like port), but I supposed the relative privacy is welcome.
Tim has finally got some recompense for having to come back early in Aunt Edith's company, which allows her to make a very Timmish entrance in Chapter 7. How do people regard Ginty's loss of nerve? It provides a notable contrast with her physical courage, and it's a plausible depiction of the illogic of panic: both wanting and not wanting to know the truth, the sense of wanting to disclaim the responsibility of finding out. I do think it's still rather a cheek of Ginty to deputise Nicola, especially after a summer presumably spent being rather dismissive of her, but Forest does a good job of suggesting how anxiety defeats attempts at overmastering it: Nicola recognises that her sister simply can't--another instance of Nicola's growing interpersonal awareness and kindness. In contrast to Lawrie's cry of 'not fair!', Nicola's shown to recognise that childhood doctrines of fair exchange don't suit every situation: and here she's very appealing in going the extra mile for Ginty despite not having much reason to want to do her a good turn. Lawrie's line on discovering the existence of the fire escape is funny, but also ties into a theme of disaster that seems unlikely--until it happens: like Marie Dobson's death or Monica's accident.
Nicola's fear of 'wild' dark is another coughing bear. I'm mildly surprised that she thinks of climbing into the secretary's office through the window as less than 'madly lethal': admittedly, Nicola's school career has been more full of incident than many, but it's the sort of thing I think at 14 I would have thought very likely to lead to considerable trouble. The tidiness contrasts with the spread exam. papers which will later cause such bother. I've had a look at some sources on telephony in Britain, but I can't find anything about which, if any, places were still without STD in 1971. Evidently Wade Abbas is one, anyway, though it seems a late date to still have to be connected via operator. News about Monica is good--anyone with better medical knowledge or experience than I care to comment on how heavy bruising might have been mistaken for a crushed pelvis?
Misson accomplished, Nicola returns to the dorm. Ann has reverted to slightly aggravating type in offering the thanks that she was too preoccupied to give Nicola earlier. Ginty's relieved 'I'll do the same for you sometime' is with hindsight, ominous. I'm touched by Nicola taking the bath salts as her due--and by school's provision of hot water being luxurious compared to home--baths and hot water availability are a bit of a theme in this book. Having been reassured about Monica, Ginty immediately starts becoming anxious about her friendship with Patrick--Nicola's having done her a favour perhaps stirring her conscience about excluding her sister, or just a case of all that adrenaline having to go somewhere? It's a lovely moment of psychological realism, anyway.
This short chapter nonetheless gives us lots of nice detail: about the Marlows' former Hampstead home, with that intriguing little turret room--no substitute for a priest-hole though! Patrick's gloom at having to return to London, expressed in a spartan attitude to personal accoutrements. What would Patrick find to approve of particularly in Pius X?
Patrick's room is Giles' and Peter's old one, again, a satisfying detail: with his conscious thought that he feels less of an intruder in the brothers' former room Forest manages to convey, I think, his suppressed or unconscious desire to be in Ginty's--which, with some rather delicious awkwardness, could have been Nicola's too. (I'm assuming a 4-bedroom house and the girls sharing in 3s, here, though other configurations are possible.) 'Whistle and I'll come to you my lad' does rather suggest that Patrick expected Ginty to be at his beck and call over the summer, as he fantasises about her being here. As well as the Burns song, I'm sure Forest meant to allude to the M.R. James story, which gives it a fine uncanny touch.
Back at Kingscote, and Tim's belated arrival is the opportunity for some exposition. I enjoy Tim, in a rare moment of tact, censoring herself over Jean's suitability for prefect, only for Lawrie obliviously to supply the tactless comment. Latimer's very different form-mistressing style is expressively and economically noted. Another Christmas Play would indeed be 'too much of an an--what was it', and Forest neatly gets herself out of that one. Tim's and Lawrie's respective reactions to Lawrie having acted the Shepherd Boy for the last time are a characteristic delight, as is Tim's immediate, but expected bid for the form to do something obscure and eccentric for the Carol Service. Miranda finds herself only dubiously included yet again, though this is a nice set-up for Tim and Miranda's later compositional conspiracy. And Nicola's doubly ironic refusal to sing solo provides a natural point to switch to Ginty's story.
Monica's absence is really hitting her hard, we learn: to the point where she is genuinely rather feeble and cowardly over the 'requester'--but still in character, I think: in not her wanting to face Mrs Lambert's disapproval we see her dread of a row, of public humiliation, which again, with hindsight, takes ironic colouring.
The Kingscote attitude to voluntarism is on display in Fergus's disapproval of those who give up Music Appreciation: Ginty and Monica's disdain for 'holy hush gush' reminds us, perhaps of their sharing, rather shyly, passions for Vaughan Williams and Housman in an earlier novel: such enthusiasms, should--in Forestworld--be kept private.
Mrs Lambert's faded good looks and chilling manner are, as it turns out, rather intimidating. Ginty's mixed emotions--irritation, surprise that Mrs Lambert must once have been young and attractive, indignation--demonstrate her interior turbulence, and of course, she drops her clanger just as she thinks she's found a mode in which her charm might--as it has failed hitherto to do--work on the Lambert. Her bewilderment and belated realisation of the nature of her offence always make me squirm--another to add to Ginty's list of sheet-kicking moments. But Mrs Lambert intrigues me too: this has been your regularly scheduled fic prompt.
Sara Crewe does sound like a rather fab room to be in: rather liking a good window-rattling storm or clear starry night myself, I agree with Nicola. Though not on Vanity Fair, which I adore. Any reason why she might not like it? I would have thought she would. I don't know Henry Esmond: what might she have been seduced by in that?
More indications of the conflicts between Ann and her family: what a pity charities hadn't thought of those proxy gifts in 1971, which is a slightly less drippy way to do the Good Cause idea that Ann suggests. The suggestion of false eyelashes, and Nicola's enthusiasm for it, is funny, but I can't help feeling rather sad for Ann, stuck with such an incompatible bunch of siblings. Has anyone read Sayers' Plays? Will Ann like them, do you think? Lawrie's sublime conviction that anything with copious religious reference in it will go down well is amusing nonetheless. and presumably we're meant to infer that Lawrie is not really interested in reading any play in which she is not about to appear. (Forest really refers to Sayers quite a lot, doesn't she? There's a Notes & Queries type piece in that one, I feel. Or more fic!)
The selection of books in the Oxfam shop again reminds us of Forest's slant relationship to the school-story genre, but there's a fine old-fashioned coincidence in Nicola finding Sara Crewe. I like the little theme of hereditary knowledge--Miranda's joke about Nicola's navigational instincts (and charmingly, Nicola's first concern is for the reputation of the Navy, not her own pride) and then her abashed moment of 'showing off' about cabinet-making. The latter has always stuck with me, perhaps because I had quite a lot of teenage experience of being rebuked for taking pleasure in specialist knowledge: even Miranda seems to have internalised a bit of Kingscote poppy-lopping.
What do people make of Changear? I rather like the portrait of the young hippie, even if Forest's command of youth culture and slang is a little uncertain, there's something quite drawn-from-the-life about his lazy movements and gestures. I like the idea of Nicola, fan of The Flight of the Heron, looking forward to dressing up in 'madly Bonnie Prince Charlie' tartan, and love the phrase 'Mummy's-friends-to-tea-dismals'. My experience is limited, but I have never known a drug dealer trust his deliveries to total, visibly naïve strangers, but in a world in which they're prepared to trust them to pigeons, I'll suspend my disbelief. I wonder how much Nicola has been told about the events of Thuggery, given she doesn't seem to think of it here. Just how many secrets are the Marlows keeping from each other and the outside world at this stage? The strain must be appalling. I recognise Miranda's little account of the progression of typical parental warning from Stranger Danger to Drugs from my own experience (and often gave, a little more disingenuously than Miranda does, more or less the same response as she), but it of course jolts Nicola back to RMF. The analogy with boys' school stories always amuses me: Nicola seeing drugs in modern schools primarily as a way of contextualising her childhood reading. Miranda's premonition of doom is of course accurate, but it all takes a rather unexpected form. There is constant play with ideas of foiled expectation in this novel: I'm really impressed by how smoothly and unobtrusively it's done. Forest is still on form, I think, though I think I remember others saying that they feel she goes off a bit in this one. The casuistical interpretation of rules against public consumption of food in school uniform (I remember flagrantly disregarding these, but they have surely gone the way of all flesh now) always makes me laugh.
And so, back to school, and with the ominous chagrin of UIVB at being left out of the flash gear racket (someone--my apologies for forgetting who--suggested a few weeks back that UIVB perhaps have more of a propensity to bullying than their A counterparts? This has been your regularly scheduled &c.) we come to an end for this week.
Over to you!
Nicola's surprise at having actually looked fetching in Miranda's dress provides a neat lead-in to Ginty's misery over Monica. Despite her being one of the more emotional Marlows, Ginty's 'version of being in floods' is still restrained enough to only be recognisable to family. I'm amused by Monica's aptitude for Geography giving her, in Nicola's eyes, the virtual gift of immortality. Monica's absence both unsettles Ginty in itself, and removes her steadying influence, paving the way for later ill-judged actions. Despite their conflicts over Patrick, Nicola is reassuring and practical here, and Ginty perks up temporarily. I don't much like the sound of a 'crusted' bath and loo (like scabs, or like port), but I supposed the relative privacy is welcome.
Tim has finally got some recompense for having to come back early in Aunt Edith's company, which allows her to make a very Timmish entrance in Chapter 7. How do people regard Ginty's loss of nerve? It provides a notable contrast with her physical courage, and it's a plausible depiction of the illogic of panic: both wanting and not wanting to know the truth, the sense of wanting to disclaim the responsibility of finding out. I do think it's still rather a cheek of Ginty to deputise Nicola, especially after a summer presumably spent being rather dismissive of her, but Forest does a good job of suggesting how anxiety defeats attempts at overmastering it: Nicola recognises that her sister simply can't--another instance of Nicola's growing interpersonal awareness and kindness. In contrast to Lawrie's cry of 'not fair!', Nicola's shown to recognise that childhood doctrines of fair exchange don't suit every situation: and here she's very appealing in going the extra mile for Ginty despite not having much reason to want to do her a good turn. Lawrie's line on discovering the existence of the fire escape is funny, but also ties into a theme of disaster that seems unlikely--until it happens: like Marie Dobson's death or Monica's accident.
Nicola's fear of 'wild' dark is another coughing bear. I'm mildly surprised that she thinks of climbing into the secretary's office through the window as less than 'madly lethal': admittedly, Nicola's school career has been more full of incident than many, but it's the sort of thing I think at 14 I would have thought very likely to lead to considerable trouble. The tidiness contrasts with the spread exam. papers which will later cause such bother. I've had a look at some sources on telephony in Britain, but I can't find anything about which, if any, places were still without STD in 1971. Evidently Wade Abbas is one, anyway, though it seems a late date to still have to be connected via operator. News about Monica is good--anyone with better medical knowledge or experience than I care to comment on how heavy bruising might have been mistaken for a crushed pelvis?
Misson accomplished, Nicola returns to the dorm. Ann has reverted to slightly aggravating type in offering the thanks that she was too preoccupied to give Nicola earlier. Ginty's relieved 'I'll do the same for you sometime' is with hindsight, ominous. I'm touched by Nicola taking the bath salts as her due--and by school's provision of hot water being luxurious compared to home--baths and hot water availability are a bit of a theme in this book. Having been reassured about Monica, Ginty immediately starts becoming anxious about her friendship with Patrick--Nicola's having done her a favour perhaps stirring her conscience about excluding her sister, or just a case of all that adrenaline having to go somewhere? It's a lovely moment of psychological realism, anyway.
This short chapter nonetheless gives us lots of nice detail: about the Marlows' former Hampstead home, with that intriguing little turret room--no substitute for a priest-hole though! Patrick's gloom at having to return to London, expressed in a spartan attitude to personal accoutrements. What would Patrick find to approve of particularly in Pius X?
Patrick's room is Giles' and Peter's old one, again, a satisfying detail: with his conscious thought that he feels less of an intruder in the brothers' former room Forest manages to convey, I think, his suppressed or unconscious desire to be in Ginty's--which, with some rather delicious awkwardness, could have been Nicola's too. (I'm assuming a 4-bedroom house and the girls sharing in 3s, here, though other configurations are possible.) 'Whistle and I'll come to you my lad' does rather suggest that Patrick expected Ginty to be at his beck and call over the summer, as he fantasises about her being here. As well as the Burns song, I'm sure Forest meant to allude to the M.R. James story, which gives it a fine uncanny touch.
Back at Kingscote, and Tim's belated arrival is the opportunity for some exposition. I enjoy Tim, in a rare moment of tact, censoring herself over Jean's suitability for prefect, only for Lawrie obliviously to supply the tactless comment. Latimer's very different form-mistressing style is expressively and economically noted. Another Christmas Play would indeed be 'too much of an an--what was it', and Forest neatly gets herself out of that one. Tim's and Lawrie's respective reactions to Lawrie having acted the Shepherd Boy for the last time are a characteristic delight, as is Tim's immediate, but expected bid for the form to do something obscure and eccentric for the Carol Service. Miranda finds herself only dubiously included yet again, though this is a nice set-up for Tim and Miranda's later compositional conspiracy. And Nicola's doubly ironic refusal to sing solo provides a natural point to switch to Ginty's story.
Monica's absence is really hitting her hard, we learn: to the point where she is genuinely rather feeble and cowardly over the 'requester'--but still in character, I think: in not her wanting to face Mrs Lambert's disapproval we see her dread of a row, of public humiliation, which again, with hindsight, takes ironic colouring.
The Kingscote attitude to voluntarism is on display in Fergus's disapproval of those who give up Music Appreciation: Ginty and Monica's disdain for 'holy hush gush' reminds us, perhaps of their sharing, rather shyly, passions for Vaughan Williams and Housman in an earlier novel: such enthusiasms, should--in Forestworld--be kept private.
Mrs Lambert's faded good looks and chilling manner are, as it turns out, rather intimidating. Ginty's mixed emotions--irritation, surprise that Mrs Lambert must once have been young and attractive, indignation--demonstrate her interior turbulence, and of course, she drops her clanger just as she thinks she's found a mode in which her charm might--as it has failed hitherto to do--work on the Lambert. Her bewilderment and belated realisation of the nature of her offence always make me squirm--another to add to Ginty's list of sheet-kicking moments. But Mrs Lambert intrigues me too: this has been your regularly scheduled fic prompt.
Sara Crewe does sound like a rather fab room to be in: rather liking a good window-rattling storm or clear starry night myself, I agree with Nicola. Though not on Vanity Fair, which I adore. Any reason why she might not like it? I would have thought she would. I don't know Henry Esmond: what might she have been seduced by in that?
More indications of the conflicts between Ann and her family: what a pity charities hadn't thought of those proxy gifts in 1971, which is a slightly less drippy way to do the Good Cause idea that Ann suggests. The suggestion of false eyelashes, and Nicola's enthusiasm for it, is funny, but I can't help feeling rather sad for Ann, stuck with such an incompatible bunch of siblings. Has anyone read Sayers' Plays? Will Ann like them, do you think? Lawrie's sublime conviction that anything with copious religious reference in it will go down well is amusing nonetheless. and presumably we're meant to infer that Lawrie is not really interested in reading any play in which she is not about to appear. (Forest really refers to Sayers quite a lot, doesn't she? There's a Notes & Queries type piece in that one, I feel. Or more fic!)
The selection of books in the Oxfam shop again reminds us of Forest's slant relationship to the school-story genre, but there's a fine old-fashioned coincidence in Nicola finding Sara Crewe. I like the little theme of hereditary knowledge--Miranda's joke about Nicola's navigational instincts (and charmingly, Nicola's first concern is for the reputation of the Navy, not her own pride) and then her abashed moment of 'showing off' about cabinet-making. The latter has always stuck with me, perhaps because I had quite a lot of teenage experience of being rebuked for taking pleasure in specialist knowledge: even Miranda seems to have internalised a bit of Kingscote poppy-lopping.
What do people make of Changear? I rather like the portrait of the young hippie, even if Forest's command of youth culture and slang is a little uncertain, there's something quite drawn-from-the-life about his lazy movements and gestures. I like the idea of Nicola, fan of The Flight of the Heron, looking forward to dressing up in 'madly Bonnie Prince Charlie' tartan, and love the phrase 'Mummy's-friends-to-tea-dismals'. My experience is limited, but I have never known a drug dealer trust his deliveries to total, visibly naïve strangers, but in a world in which they're prepared to trust them to pigeons, I'll suspend my disbelief. I wonder how much Nicola has been told about the events of Thuggery, given she doesn't seem to think of it here. Just how many secrets are the Marlows keeping from each other and the outside world at this stage? The strain must be appalling. I recognise Miranda's little account of the progression of typical parental warning from Stranger Danger to Drugs from my own experience (and often gave, a little more disingenuously than Miranda does, more or less the same response as she), but it of course jolts Nicola back to RMF. The analogy with boys' school stories always amuses me: Nicola seeing drugs in modern schools primarily as a way of contextualising her childhood reading. Miranda's premonition of doom is of course accurate, but it all takes a rather unexpected form. There is constant play with ideas of foiled expectation in this novel: I'm really impressed by how smoothly and unobtrusively it's done. Forest is still on form, I think, though I think I remember others saying that they feel she goes off a bit in this one. The casuistical interpretation of rules against public consumption of food in school uniform (I remember flagrantly disregarding these, but they have surely gone the way of all flesh now) always makes me laugh.
And so, back to school, and with the ominous chagrin of UIVB at being left out of the flash gear racket (someone--my apologies for forgetting who--suggested a few weeks back that UIVB perhaps have more of a propensity to bullying than their A counterparts? This has been your regularly scheduled &c.) we come to an end for this week.
Over to you!
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}