A Book A Day in May – Days 17, 18, 19

I’ve not been blogging, but I have been keeping up with my reading. One of these (the middle) I read entirely outside on a sunny Saturday. The first and last of the trio were books I mostly listened to as audiobooks, then finished off 180 and 140 pages (respectively) in the paper copies. It’s quite fun to mix and match that way. Let’s race through some quick thoughts about the three books…

Day 17: Tipping the Velvet (1998) by Sarah Waters

I’d read all of Waters’ other novels, but somehow not got around to her first. As you’ll probably know, it tells the story of Nancy. She grows up in a Whitstable family whose living is made by selling oysters – and by all the messy process that precedes selling them. This was back in the days when oysters were eaten by the bucketload by all and sundry, not reserved for fancy restaurants – because we are in Victorian times. The 1890s, to be specific.

Nancy is content with fairly simple pleasures, until one time she attends a variety show. There, she is beguiled by Kitty Butler – a singer and male impersonator. Night after night, Nancy goes to watch the show – impatient for the other acts to finish so she can watch Kitty. Eventually they meet, and Nancy gets past her starstruck-ness to form a friendship with Kitty – and then follows her to London, to work as her dresser. Along the way, they have developed a romantic relationship.

I shan’t spoil all the turns of the novel, but suffice to say this isn’t Nancy’s last lesbian relationship in the book. Indeed, Tipping the Velvet is very episodic – often, for whatever chaotic reason, a period of Nancy’s life will end and she is catapulted into another. It will come with a whole new set of characters (a wealthy dominatrix, for example, or a charitable brother and sister), leaving the previous set behind. Almost every woman she meets seems to be a lesbian, or at least bisexual.

Of all the Waters novels I’ve read, this is probably my least favourite. She’s obviously a very good writer, excellent at character and turns of phrase. And goodness knows Tipping the Velvet became a huge seller, so my opinion scarcely matters – but I did find the plot to be quite weak. She is renowned for her clever plotting and twists now – this novel doesn’t have any twist or really any plot. It’s just a series of things that happen to Nancy, with very little to link them, and a new cast of characters whenever things start to pall. I’d certainly have preferred a much shorter novel that concentrated on a smaller number of them. But, yes, by gosh Waters can write. I often thing her masterpiece is ahead of her – to be honest, I don’t think her editor (editors?) have done her a service. Her novels always, in my opinion, are very good but fall short of what they could be. The perfect Waters novel is still to come.

Day 18: The Housekeeper and the Professor (2003) by Yoko Ogawa

Rachel and I will be discussing this on the next episode of Tea or Books? so I won’t write about it now – but I did really like it.

Day 19: By Nightfall (2010) by Michael Cunningham

Now that I’ve read all of Cunningham’s novels – yes, even the first one that he disowned – I’m having to re-read to get my fix of Cunningham. He is up there with my favourite living writers, though admittedly I don’t read a huge amount of living writers – but I don’t think there are many I prefer.

When I first read By Nightfall, in 2017, it was my third of his novels. I still wasn’t sure whether I loved him or if I just loved The Hours and now, rereading, I can see why By Nightfall didn’t help me quite make up my mind.

I shan’t repeat everything I wrote in that earlier review, but I found the focus of the novel – art dealer Peter living a privileged life in New York and worrying about his wife and daughter, annoyed and attracted by his sexy young drug addict brother-in-law – to be a bit eye-rolly. Were the passages about art, culture and society deliberately pretentious or a satire? I’m still not sure, and I think it’s probably somewhere between the two. And Peter, too, has probably adopted this lifestyle with an initial irony that quickly became unironic.

I stand by what I said earlier – that the pacing is all off. Too much is left to happen in the final third of the novel, and it feels like it ends too suddenly. But I forgive all this much more willingly now. Because I just love, love, love Cunningham’s writing. When his sentences are so sublime, I can forgive anything slightly too arch or abrupt. Nobody is better than him on beauty – its attractions and its limitations. Few equal his ability to depict self-consciousness – assessing everyone while constantly questioning how other people are assessing you. And I’ve never been to New York, but it still feels like Cunningham knows and depicts it intimately, with the censure and celebration of an insider.

When I unnecessarily ranked Michael Cunningham’s books, By Nightfall came in 7th out of 9. I think I stand by that. But it’s a healthy #7 – I still admired and enjoyed it a great deal. Rather more than when I first read it – and perhaps the next time I’ll like it even more.