Journal

progressed through the book.
Right up front, before we even come to the ‘something real’ line, we are taken
inside the authorial tent. ‘Not of late years are we about to speak; we are
going back to the beginning of this century’. And here’s a famous and more
extended example – and I have not otherwise said much about the Curates,
an omission which would be a bit of a blemish in any talk about Shirley.
You shall see them reader. Step into this neat garden-house on the
skirts of Whinbury, walk forward into the little parlour – there they
are at dinner. You and I will join the party, see what is to be seen, hear
what is to be heard. At present, however, they are only eating; and
while they eat, we will talk aside.
It’s all at once cosy, and cinematographic – I was reminded of Franklin D
Roosevelt’s fireside chats; this is modern stuff, albeit with many antecedents,
to have the author in your lounge-room, not just invisibly embodied in text,
but there for a chat.
Drawing attention to the fact that this is a novel though is another way of
saying that the novel is a ‘self-conscious’ one, and we can all associate the term
‘self-conscious’ with the idea of awkwardness. So even this well-meaning
effect can be two-edged – because it lacks confidence. Some of this lack of
confidence I did find irritating, although I accept that it can be conspiratorial
and fun. Going back to the Peter Rabbit example, how would your childish
faith in things have been affected when you were four, if the opening had
been: ‘Once upon a time there were four little Rabbits, and perhaps their names
were – Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-tail, and Peter’. And here is just one example
that I had quite a bit of trouble stomaching:
It was eight o’clock. The mill lights were all extinguished; the signal
was given for breakfast; the children, released for half an hour from
toil, betook themselves to the little tin cans which held their coffee,
and to the small baskets which contained their allowance of bread.
Let us hope they have enough to eat; it would be a pity were it
otherwise.
And I’m obtrusively reminded of the fact that, buddy, you’re the author. And
I may be unreasonable, but I expect you to know whether they have enough
to eat or not. And it’s a foolish speculation anyway because you’re controlling
every word as it hits the page and if you really feel that strongly about it then
you can fill those kids up with hot dogs and fizzy lemonade.
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