Lady Into Fox

Some of the books I’ve read this year do seem to be rather odd – and David Garnett’s Lady Into Fox is the most peculiar of all. Basically, it tells the story of Mr Tebrick and his wife Silvia, who is transformed into a fox while they are out walking.

Hearing the hunt, Mr Tebrick quickened his pace so as to reach the edge of the copse, where they might get a good view of the hounds if they came that way. His wife hung back, and he, holding her hand, began almost to drag her. Before they gained the edge of the copse she suddenly snatched her hand away from his very violently and cried out, so that he instantly turned his head.

Where his wife had been the moment before was a small fox, of a very bright red. It looked at him very beseechingly, advanced towards him a pace or two, and he saw at once that his wife was looking at him from the animal’s eyes. You may well think if he were aghast: and so maybe was his lady at finding herself in that shape, so they did nothing for nearly half-an-hour but stare at each other, he bewildered, she asking him with her eyes as if indeed she spoke to him: “What am I now become? Have pity on me, husband, have pity on me for I am your wife.

Mr Tebrick is distraught, but he still loves his wife, despite the fact that she is now a vixen, so he takes her home, dismisses the servants, and shoots the dogs, so they cannot attack her. At this stage Silvia still has human feelings and sensibilities, and Mr Tebrick continues to treat her like a woman.  She does not wish to be naked, so he dresses her in a little jacket; he sits her on cushions on an armchair and feeds her with bread and butter, toast and jam, and eggs and ham. Each morning he sponges and brushes her, using scent ‘very freely’ to mask her rank smell. She even plays cards and shows him how to do the housework.

But gradually the fox’s animal nature takes over, and when Old Nanny returns Mr Tebrick moves into her isolated cottage, where there is an enclosed garden and his vixen can run about in safety. However, the animal is desperate to escape, and eventually he lets he go because he cannot keep her against her will. Still, he puts food out every night, and roams the woods hoping to catch a glimpse of her.

 Every one of her foxey ways was now so absolutely precious to him that I believe that if he had known for certain she was dead, and had thoughts of marrying a second time, he would never have been happy with a woman. No, indeed, he would have been more tempted to get himself a tame fox, and would have counted that as good a marriage as he could make.

When the fox finally returns, she has her cubs with her, and initially he is jealous. Nut he becomes resigned to her condition, and realises she must now be judged as a fox, not a woman. He finds happiness playing with the young animals, hunting with them, and finding food they might not otherwise have.

 The ending is shocking but inevitable, for there can be no happy ever after between man and vixen. Garnett’s story is like a subverted fairy tale – one of those where a beautiful maiden restores an enchanted prince to his human shape with a kiss, but there is no restoration here. And there are echoes of the metamorphoses in ancient Greek and Roman myths, where men and women are transformed into other creatures (or even trees and plants), as a punishment, or to avoid some worse fate. Then, of course, it could be read as an allegory to show the difference between men and women, or knowing and accepting a person’s true nature, or to explore what it is that makes us human. I do wonder how I would view the story of it were written by a woman – Angela Carter perhaps, or Michele Roberts.

It’s difficult to tell what Garnett had in mind when he wrote this, and he offers no explanation, though there are hints of something unnatural in Sylvia’s family. Before her marriage she was a Miss Fox, has always been scared of hunting, and Old Nanny says she was always a little wild. Then there’s the story that one of her forebears kept a fox chained in the inner courtyard of their home...

David Garnett painted by Dora Carrington in 1919

 I don’t know that enjoy is really the right word to describe Lady into Fox, but I liked it the same way I like fairy tales, myths and legends, and I shall be more than happy to reread it. Like all good fairy tales, parts of it sent a shiver down my spine, and parts are quite dark (especially the scene where Mr Tebrick gets drunk and decides if his wife is a beast, he may as well behave like a beast too). His love for his wife/vixen is obsessive, and leads to some very strange behaviour – I can see why people think he is mad. But his feelings for the fox, and her cubs, are very tenderly described.

I downloaded my copy from Project Gutenburg, so I’ve illustrated this post with wood engravings by RA Garnett, who I assume is the artist Rachel (‘Ray’) Marshall, who was his first wife. 

Blooming Wonderful Bloomsbury!

YAY! I now have my very own copy of Miss Hargreaves (which I reviewed here), because it is such a wonderful book, and how can I read it again unless I have it on a shelf, within easy reach whenever I want it... besides, it is my birthday next week, and I deserve a treat... and it was very cheap. I ordered it through Abebooks on Saturday night, and it arrived this morning, in mint condition – either the previous owner had never read it or else they were a very careful reader, unlike me. I regret to say that my books are always dog-eared, with broken spines. Even worse, I sometimes scribble notes on them and I have been known to turn down the corner of a page if I can’t find a suitable bookmark (by which I mean a bus ticket, receipt, letter, length of wool or something similar).

I really adore these books in The Bloomsbury Group. I’m not sure how many there are – ten I think – all ‘lost’ classics from the early 2oth century, and all suggested by readers. Whether Bloomsbury Publishing have plans to produce more I don’t know, but I think they should: it’s a collection that’s well worth expanding. The novels are all interesting (though I didn’t like Mrs Harris Goes to Paris by Paul Gallico), and they are beautifully produced, with lovely understated period designs on the front (not a headless woman or view through a door in sight, thank goodness). Best of all, each has an Ex Libris page so I can inscribe name, in my very best handwriting, in my latest acquisition. It’s also quite refreshing that there are  brief notes on authors, but no introductions, prefaces, afterwords, notes etc (although a couple include forewords by the writer, explaining how they first came to be published).

Anyway, browsing through the library, I came across three other titles from The Bloomsbury Group, which I had't read, so here’s a little bit about them.

A Kid For Two Farthings, by Wolf Mankowitz, is a kind of fairy tale. Written in 1953, it’s set in London’s East End, in the heart of the Jewish community (where Mankowitz himself was brought up). Six-year-old Joe’s father is in Africa and his mother works trimming hats, so he spends his days with old Mr Kandinksy the trouser maker and his assistant Shmule. Entranced by the old man’s stories, Joe wants a unicorn, so he goes to the animal market and returns with a little, white unicorn, which he believes will bring good luck and make his dreams come true.

He builds Africana a ramshackle shelter in the yard, but despite his efforts the creature fails to thrive – hardly surprising since it is really a sickly, deformed, baby goat, with budding horns which grow so close together they look like one. But Joe’s belief in the magical powers of the ailing kid remains steady. In the end, his faith is justified because, amazingly, dreams do come true: Mr Kandinksy will get a steam press to improve his business and his health; Shmule wins his wrestling matches and will marry his girlfriend (without the engagement ring she yearns for), and Joe and his mother will be reunited with Joe’s father.

It’s a touching little story, simply told, and Mankowitz paints a wonderful picture of the East End, but it’s the people who bring the novel to life: warm, wise, loving, they all need a little magic in their lives as they struggle to make ends meet, but they’re never too busy to talk to a lonely boy trying to make sense of the world around him. And all of them, even the minor characters, like the shop girls and wrestlers, are drawn with care, so each emerges as an individual who could never mistaken for anyone else.

The world portrayed in EF Benson’s Mrs Ames couldn’t be more different. The town is packed with upper middle-class families, who may be keeping up appearances as they are less wealthy than previously, but they still have cooks, parlour maids, gardeners and chauffeurs. Social position is everything, and Benson has a wonderful time taking a pop at the snobbery, pretensions and hypocrisy which are rife in this insular society.

Gossip makes the day go round. Take Mrs Altham who ‘often professed superior distaste for gossip, but when she met her friends going in and out of shops, it was but civil and reasonable that she should have a few moments’ chat with them’. While the women shop and gossip, the men relax over drinks and papers at their club, but they are as avid for local news as their wives. Social gatherings are important, but times are hard, and leftovers from an evening repast are recycled into a new menu for lunch the following day – with different guests attending.

The eponymous Mrs Ames (Amy) is Queen Bee: she dictates style and taste, through her connections with the local landed gentry. She is not, however, a stylish woman, for she looks ‘something like a small, good-looking toad... she was small for a woman, but good-looking for a toad’. She keeps a tight grip on her position and has seen off all contenders. But that changes when she invites husbands to dine without their wives, and wives without their husbands, for among the guests is Millicent Evans, the pretty, blonde wife of the doctor. When Millie steals Mr Ames’ heart and organises a fancy dress ball, it seems Mrs Ames could lose her husband and her social crown...

It may sound petty and silly, but it is a beautifully written comedy of manners, and I was interested with the Suffragette storyline. Even if the issue is not taken seriously it was very topical when the book was written in 1912.

Mrs Tim of the Regiment, by DE Stevenson, was a joy from beginning to end. Mrs Tim is Hester Christie, wife of an Army officer, who keeps a diary recording the trials, tribulations and triumphs of  daily life. She’s another of those self-deprecating English women who cope so humorously with domestic disaster, family, friends, tradesmen and servants.  I knew I was going to enjoy this when I read the first entry: “Tim wakes up very peevish after last night’s celebrations in Mess (how strange the after effects of enjoyment on the human frame!).” His aunt Ethel is due to arrive, but he won’t help with preparations. “He can’t think of food in any form this morning, as his head is like a boiler room, and what on earth are the children doing – there might be half a dozen of them from the noise.”

It’s as good a description of a hangover as you are likely to find. The observations on family life have a ring of truth, probably because Stevenson, an Army wife, adapted her own diaries to give a friend’s daughter an idea of what lay ahead when she married an officer, and was urged to publish her work in 1932.

The book follows Hester’s struggles to move the family to a new home when Tim is posted to Scotland and her holiday in the Highlands. Along the way we meet her children, Betty and Bryan; her friend Mrs Loudon, and her husband’s colleagues, including Jack and his new we race, and Tony Morley, a wealthy senior officer who refuses to take life seriously and appears to develop a passion for Hester – but who turns out to be a good friend for the whole family.