LIZA OF LAMBETH - Book review

Somerset Maugham’s first novel Liza of Lambeth was published in 1897; my edition is 1978.

Almost all of the dialogue is in the vernacular of the period, a bold decision for a first book. Maugham uses the omniscient point of view, which was probably appropriate at the time of publication due to the story’s controversial nature. ‘That is not precisely what she said, but it is impossible always to give the exact unexpurgated words of Liza and the other personages of the story; the reader is therefore entreated with his thoughts to piece out the necessary imperfections of the dialogue’ (p10). ‘Oh, you - ! she said. Her expression was quite unprintable, nor can it be euphemized’ (p12).

Liza Kemp is a nineteen-year-old factory girl who lives with her ailing often drunk mother in fictional Vere Street in Lambeth. Her best friend is Sally, who is being courted and is eventually wed: Sally had ‘an enormous mouth, with terrible square teeth set wide apart, which looked as if they could masticate an iron bar’ (p22). The Blakeston family has just arrived in the street – Jim, his wife and five children.

 Liza is popular with everyone, especially Tom who wants to court her. She likes him, but not that much: ‘Na then, she repeated, tike yer ’and away. If yer touch me there you’ll ’ave ter marry me’ (p33). She’s quite outspoken yet ingenuous at the outset. ‘Neither modesty nor bashfulness was to be reckoned among Liza’s faults’ (p40).

On a hot day, during a jolly street outing that entailed the quaffing of much beer, they all have a good time. ‘The ladies removed their cloaks and capes, and the men, following their example, took off their coasts and sat in their shirt-sleeves. Whereupon ensued much banter of a not particularly edifying kind respecting the garments which each person would like to remove – which showed that the innuendo of French farce is not so unknown to the upright, honest Englishman as might be supposed’ (p34). It is during this outing that Jim makes a pass at Liza, which has a stirring effect upon her. ‘Her heart seemed to grow larger in her breast, and she caught her breath as she threw back her head as if to receive his lips again. A shudder ran through her from the vividness of the thought’ (p49).

There is quiet humour, ribaldry, and black humour – notably when there’s a discussion about a corpse seemingly too large for his coffin. The grimness of the life in the slums is conveyed without layering it on with a trowel. Apparently, when first published this book received a mixed reception due to its subject matter, working-class adultery and its consequences and its tragic end, and yet it sold out within three weeks and was reprinted. Maugham was a medical student by day and wrote at night, qualifying shortly after the publication of Liza. While a student he encountered the poorest working-class, ‘life in the raw’ as he put it.

Maugham’s Liza is a vividly revealed character – as is her mother (‘me with my rheumatics, an’ the neuralgy!’ (p73)). It’s a moral tale, delivered with empathy, told by a twenty-three-year-old observant writer who quit medicine and relied on his writing for the rest of his life.

Editorial comment (for the benefit of writers):

 ‘he lifted her off her feet and threw her to the ground’ (p106). Unfortunately, this happens indoors, so ‘ground’ should properly read ‘floor’.

A PLACE IN THE HILLS - Book review

The novel A Place in the Hills is Michelle Paver’s second book, published in 2001.Though 523 pages, it’s a quick read. It’s a time-slip novel paralleling lives in Rome in 53 BC and in France in the 1980s.

It begins in 53BC in Rome during the festivities of the Day of Blood: ‘The air was thick with the smell of balsam and trampled roses, and the salty, metallic undertow of blood’ (p12). Among the crowds are a Roman officer, Gaius Cassius Vitalis, who is also renowned as a poet. His eye has caught the attractive figure of a young woman, Tacita, daughter of Publius Tacitus Silanus, one of the oldest clans in Rome. There is a mutual attraction, though a relationship is quite impossible due to their different stations in society. ‘One long look and I was brought down. She entered my blood.’

Then we briefly shift to 1972 in the French Pyrenees where Toni, eight-year-old daughter of archaeologist Charles Hunt is being bloody awkward, unlike her sister Caroline. Charles is determined to locate clues to back up his theory that the poet-soldier Cassius lived here, at the so-called Source. A book quotes Cassius writing ‘I know a place in the hills where the gods walk the earth’ (p334). In a lucid moment Toni realises that the only way she can win her father’s devotion is by becoming an archaeologist herself.

Next, we move to 1988 and meet a poor American, Patrick McMullan, who is joining his rich university friend Myles Cantellow. Myles is with Antonia Hunt, working on an archaeological site with her father, Charles. Also on the site is eight-year-old Modge (short for Imogen) and Antonia’s half-sister Nerissa.

Myles is not a likeable character. He ‘belonged to the fast set, which took hard drugs, was far too cool to do any work...’ (p51).

Against her father’s wishes, Antonia wanted to prove that Lycaris – the woman Cassius referred to in his love poems – ‘was not some dry poetic construct, but a living woman whom he had loved with all his heart’ (p365).

The dig is claustrophobic, passions are in conflict, there’s a love triangle, a misguided Modge who has a crush on Patrick, an intransigent father, and a tragedy that changes everything, and all seems lost for almost fourteen years.

The parallels between the past and the book’s present are mainly quite subtle – whether that’s a love-bite on Cassius’s neck, a piece of broken pottery in Tacita’s hand, or the convoluted relationships of the characters.

Perhaps there was too much gratuitous swearing. Despite that, the characters’ emotions and the (admittedly all-too brief) slices of ancient Rome are well realised. The writing style is good and Paver’s descriptions put you in many a scene.

And there’s a satisfying end.

 

Writing – fiction - Aristotle’s point of view

Aristotle’s analysis of tragic drama, epic poetry and stylistic devices such as metaphor has spoken to writers down the years, and still has relevance today. The following notes are based on his On the Art of Poetry; by poetry he means drama (tragedy and comedy) as well as lyrical poetry; my observations are in square brackets.

The word ‘drama’ means literally ‘a thing done’, ‘an action’ in effect; the writer aims at the representation of life. [Note, a ‘representation’ – that’s an impression, an approximation – hence eschewing all the uninvolving boring bits. Writers approximate life.]

Thought and character are the two natural causes of actions and it’s on them that all people depend for success or failure. The representation of the action is the plot of the tragedy; what Aristotle means by ‘plot’ is the ordered arrangement of the incidents. Character is what enables us to define the nature of the participants, and thought comes out in what they say when they’re proving a point or expressing an opinion – reacting, in other words.

His view is that the most important element is plot, since tragedy is a representation of action and life, of happiness and its reverse, bound up with the action. It is their characters that make people what they are but is by reason of their actions that they’re happy or not.

Incidents and the plot are the end aimed at in tragedy, and the end is everything. [Not every writer provides a satisfactory ending, I find; and some labour it instead of getting out of the story when the natural ‘end’ has been reached.]

Reversals and recognitions are the two most important means by which tragedy plays on our feelings, both being constituents of the plot.

The plot has a beginning, a middle and an end. Plots must be of a reasonable length, so that they may be easily held in the memory. [Sagas with multiple plot strands naturally break away from this injunction! The point is, don’t complicate or obfuscate or risk losing audience interest.]

Everything within a story – or plot – should be pertinent. The best way to test this is to ask if any aspect were be removed, would the effect of wholeness be seriously disrupted. If the presence or absence of something makes no apparent difference, it is no real part of the whole. Many writers are skilful in complicating their plots but clumsy in unravelling them; a constant mastery of both techniques is what is required.

Tragedy is the representation not only of a complete action, but also of incidents that awaken fear and pity, and effects of this kind are heightened when things happen unexpectedly as well as logically, for then they will be more remarkable than if they seem merely mechanical or accidental. [For example, cause and effect should stem from the world-view of the story, its characters’ motivations and also be as a result of their established traits.] The unravelling of the plot should arise from the circumstances of the plot itself, and not be brought about ex machina. [Don't fall for a contrived ending!]

 
Drama involves change of fortune – a reversal or discovery. Discovery is a change from ignorance to knowledge, and it leads either to love or to hatred between persons destined for good or ill fortune. These changes should develop out of the very structure of the plot, so that they’re the inevitable or probable consequence of what has gone before.
 
Besides the elements of reversal and discovery, there’s a third – suffering or calamity. Our pity is awakened by underserved misfortune, and our fear is generated by that of someone just like ourselves – in short, we empathise with the character.
 
There’s emphasis on making your characters lifelike, consistent and appropriate.

In putting together his plots and working out the kind of speech to go with them, the writer should as far as possible keep the scene before his eyes. In this way, seeing everything very vividly, as though he were himself an eyewitness to the events, he will find what is appropriate and will be least likely to overlook inconsistencies.

As for the stories, the writer should first plan in general outline, and then expand by working out appropriate episodes. [This is not the only method, of course, but it is one I advocate in my book Write a Western in 30 Days – with plenty of bullet points!]

Irrationality and depravity are rightly censured when there is no need for them and they are not properly used. [In other words, they have their place!]

The greatest virtue of diction is to be clear without being commonplace. [I wish modern movie directors paid attention to this instead of allowing their actors to mumble; of course, here he is also suggesting the avoidance of cliché; make sure too that the dialogue is clear and not abstruse.]

The most important thing to master is the use of metaphor. This is the one thing that cannot be learned from anyone else, and is the mark of great natural ability, for the ability to use metaphor well implies a perception of resemblances. [This often separates good story tellers from literary authors – the latter are recognisable by their use of metaphor.]

Hopefully this overview of an ancient work of literary criticism will ring a few significant bells regarding the modern approach to writing of fiction. These comments merely skim the surface and by dint of length omit considerable additional insights. Recommended.

***

Aristotle was born at Stagira in Macedonia 384BC; in 342 he was appointed by Philip of Macedon to tutor his son, later Alexander the Great. After Alexander’s untimely death, Aristotle fled to Chalcis in 322 where he died.

Apparently, the three Aristotelian rules – unities of time, place and action – were not propounded until a 1570 translation.

 
Aristotle does not advocate rigid rules but outlines the most effective practice of best dramatic writers. And even after all this time he still has many useful and relevant comments for writers of fiction of all types.
 

***

 

 

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BULLETS FOR A BALLOT – AND STILL VOTING!

My book Bullets for a Ballot was published as an e-book in March 2012 and, surprisingly to me, is still picking up review comments. This is thanks to David Cranmer, I suspect, offering the book at a bargain price. David created the two main characters, Cash Laramie and Gideon Miles in the short story ‘Cash Laramie and the Masked Devil’ featured in the anthology A Fistful of Legends I edited in 2009. At the end of 2011 he commissioned me to write a novel about these characters; other writers were also being given this opportunity. I was flattered and honoured and started to plot-plan a storyline. I had to be aware of what had already been written as well as salient facts in the Cash Laramie ‘bible’ – i.e. dates of birth, first kill etc.

This might be a good time to address a couple of issues that were raised in a few reviews. There are two instances of adolescent sex – neither gratuitous and the plot to a certain extent hangs on both. Neither is depicted graphically or for titillation. Yet they brought comment. I wasn’t surprised; yet a western, if it’s going to be truthful to its period, must depict what happened at that time. While we rightly deplore it, children as young as twelve were sold into marriage, or into bordellos, and young boys became men able to shoot and kill and do what men do at an early age. It isn’t salacious, it’s a fact – it’s history. Furthermore, having decided on my plot, I was constrained by two dates – Cash’s date of birth and the successful woman’s suffrage in Wyoming, Cash’s home state.  To balance the criticism, others were comfortable with it – ‘Loved Cash’s backstory’, for example.

 

I was aiming at a western tragedy tale and happily this was picked up on by a number of readers. As one put it, ‘I've been trying not to give anything away but this is a very exciting tale - with a bitter-sweet ending.’ While another reasoned, ‘…Bullets for a Ballot follows Aristotle's idea of a Greek Tragedy…’ Not that it was all serious – there are some puns to be groaned over, and allusions to a famous 1953 novel - and one reviewer almost spotted this.

When your book is published, in many ways it ceases to be your property. (As a writer for hire in this case, that is doubly true, as the rights belong to David). It has to go its own way – and stand or fall by the comments and opinions of the readership. Few writers do it for fame or big money, they do it to be read – and that’s where feedback is invaluable.

Reviews are wonderful. Any review is good, if it shows that the reader has actually read the book. Naturally, a particular storyline or set of characters may not appeal to all readers – that would be most odd. We all bring our prejudices, whether good or bad, along with expectations when we begin a book. Everyone is entitled to an opinion, they say, though I’d prefer to think that the opinion would be informed.

On Amazon.com the book has (to date) 17 five-star reviews, 3 four-stars, 4 three-stars, and 3 two-stars.

On Amazon.co.uk it has 6 five-star reviews and 1 four-star (six of these are the same as seen in Amazon.com).

On Goodreads the reviews break down to 5 five-star, 4 four-star, and 2 three-star; 1 one-star! (Again, some of these reviewers are repeats)

With regard to movies, when I read some critics’ reviews, I often wonder if we watched the same film! So it is with book reviews. A 3-star review says it was ‘a quick read – maybe I read it too quickly’ while a 2-star comment states ‘the book drags – didn’t even get halfway…’ You clearly can’t please all the people all of the time.

Another says, ‘A simple and basic plot although rather predictable, it's an interesting enough story…’ while another states, ‘The characters in the book were interesting. The story kept moving with unexpected twists and turns…’ You pay your money and make your choice.

A 3-star reviewer says, ‘Could definitely tell the author was a male.’ Another 5-star reviewer stated, ‘Morton should be commended for giving us an action-packed tale which also contains an undercurrent of feminism. I'm sure you'll agree that it's a western that's hard to put down.’ And a 4-star reviewer: ‘It was great to see a genuine female character in a setting where it easy to ignore them.’ I hasten to add that the reviewer who realised I was male stated she would read my work again - her 3-star review says, ‘…Would read this author again, think he has great storytelling ability.’

It’s always pleasing when a book receives a lengthy review, and this book has garnered several; one particular entry concludes, ‘Morton's pages share with L’Amour’s the authentic feel of western adventure and the relentless, irresistible narrative drive. I don’'t know another author with Morton’s range of time and geography. (Try his A Sudden Vengeance Waits for an exciting crime story set in contemporary England). But wherever he goes, he carries a torch for justice and a talent for pulling the reader into a compelling story.’ [A Sudden Vengeance Waits is now out of print, alas!]

And another long review says, among other things, ‘It is the characters and the settings that make a Western, ultimately they are set in a time, that no person currently living has a reference point for, other than what they have read in other books or seen in movies. Therefore to bring to life something without tangible direct history is an art, and Nik Morton is a master artist in this instance. From the taste and smell of the old west to the feel of the era violence, this is another five-star adventure for Cash Laramie and Gideon Miles… The tale unfolds, as page by page, Cash Laramie is relentless in his pursuit of justice. We learn more about the Marshall, as this story reveals more of the man's character, who he is and why he is driven to do the work of a lawman. The story also exposes just how the west was run, where principles are all very well, but where money also speaks, as do more baser urges.’

I’m not inserting excerpts from these reviews to bolster my ego, but to illustrate that here we have fine examples of informed and considered opinion in reviews. In my own reviews I strive to do that for fellow authors; because authors are readers too.

 

In the final analysis, like all writers, I hope to entertain readers and possibly supply occasional insights into the human condition along the way, and the readers must be the judges and their verdict is what ultimately matters. So be it.