Miss Carter and the Ifrit by Susan Alice Kerby

When I was offered some review copies of the new Furrowed Middlebrow titles from Dean Street Press, top of my list was Miss Carter and the Ifrit (1945) by Susan Alice Kerby – and not just because it qualifies for #ProjectNames. It’s just the sort of premise I absolutely love – and, as it turned out, also a novel that I loved.

Possibly my favourite genre of books is the fantastic – books set in this world, but with an element of fantasy of them. It’s the sort of book I did my DPhil on, but I hadn’t heard of Kerby or her novel – thankfully it was published a bit too late to match the focus of my thesis, or otherwise I’d have been anxious about leaving it out.

To look at Miss Georgina Carter you would never have suspected that a women of her age and character would have allowed herself to be so wholeheartedly mixed up with an Ifrit. For Georgina Carter was nearing fifty (she was forty-seven to be exact) and there was something about her long, plain face, her long upper lip, her long, thin hands and feet that marked her very nearly irrevocably as a spinster. That she wore her undistinguished clothes well, had a warm, human smile, was fond of the theatre and had never occasioned anyone a moment’s trouble or sorrow, were minor virtues which had never got her very far.

That’s the opening paragraph, and that’s the Miss Carter who is the mainstay of the narrative. She has lived a quiet, unassuming life. As it’s wartime, she is working for the government’s censorship department – blacking out bits of letters – but, otherwise, she has spent years in middle-class isolation. She has one good friend, and that’s about it. The rest is propriety, boredom, and a little loneliness.

Into this life comes the Ifrit – whom she names Joe. He emerges from wood that she is burning on her fire, freed from a curse of centuries. And he is to obey her every whim. (I had heard the word ‘ifrit’ somewhere before, but didn’t know exactly what it was – the OED says it’s an alternative spelling of ‘afrit’ – essentially a genie.)

What I loved about Kerby’s novel was how she takes this fantastically unlikely scenario and makes every subsequent step believable. Joe is enthusiastic and bombastic, and is gradually taught to behave in a way more befitting the 1940s. The extent of his fantastic abilities is rather elastic and not always coherent – he can shape-shift and conjure up any foods required, but he has to dart around the world at lightning speed to gather clothing.  But it doesn’t really matter – if anything, it makes the reader feel as enjoyably dizzied as Miss Carter.

And Miss Carter is a wonderful character. Kerby starts with the isolated spinster trope, and gives us added dimensions – of ‘might have beens’ and ‘maybe still could bes’. She is sharp but uncertain – independent but unsure of this strange new thing happening to her.

It’s such a fun book, and Kerby handles the absurdities and humour well alongside a genuine pathos. I heartily recommend it, and if the other new Furrowed Middlebrow books are this unusual and winning, then we’re all in for a treat.