One of my ongoing, unsuccessful (and, to be fair, fairly inactive) battles is to convince Rachel that we should read The L-Shaped Room (1960) on the Tea or Books? podcast. It’s one of my favourite books, and I’ve read it a fair few times – and it’s not often I’ll re-read a book at all, let alone more than once. In the end, I decided just to re-read it (again) myself. And, rather than write another review of it, I’ll take you through the experience I had…
Taking the book off the shelf
As someone pointed out in an Instagram comment, my copy is definitely falling apart. The spine went a long time ago, there are tears in some pages, and the whole thing might just crumble into dust at this point. It was in pretty bad condition when I paid 10p for it in a charity shop in Pershore, Worcestershire, buying it on the strength of having loved The Farthest-Away Mountain and The Indian in the Cupboard as a child.
But I can’t get rid of this copy. Maybe one day I’ll have to buy another, if this one gets too fragile to hold, but I love it too much to throw or give it away. Not because of the design or feel, but because it has been with me for so long, and was one of the first adult novels I loved.
Starting the book
There wasn’t much to be said for the place, really, but it had a roof over it and a door which locked from the inside, which was all I cared about just then. I didn’t even bother to take in the details – they were pretty sordid, but I didn’t notice them so they didn’t depress me; perhaps because I was already at rock-bottom. I just threw my one suitcase on to the bed, took my few belongings out of it and shut them all into one drawer of the three-legged chest of drawers. Then there didn’t seem to be anything else I ought to do so I sat in the arm-chair and stared out of the window.
This is the first paragraph and I’m instantly so happy. This description of a room isn’t exactly paradisiacal – it’s meant to be the opposite – but I feel like I’m coming home. No, my home isn’t remotely like this – but the world of the novel is one I love so much that it feels like coming to home to be back in that block of flats, and back in the L-shaped room.
The l-shaped room
Speaking of – once we’ve seen a bit of Jane’s background (in the theatre, then in a café, then being forced to leave home because she’s got pregnant – rattling through the premise, sorry) we’re in the room. And I realise that I have never paid any lasting attention to the description of the layout that Lynne Reid Banks gives. I’ve blogged before about how I can’t visualise descriptions in books – and it’s definitely true of layout. Try as I might, I can’t put those pieces together in my mind. So, for me, her room is laid out exactly as it is on the book cover.
The discriminatory language…
When I first read the novel, in 2002 or thereabouts, I wasn’t happy about the racism and discriminatory language used about gay people. I’m still not happy about it, of course – even if it’s largely put in the mouths of characters we’re not supposed to agree with. Jane herself is rather racist as the novel starts, though perhaps because I know she’ll change her mind later in the book, I can get through these pages. But there are some sentences that are really tough to read.
Toby and Jane
It is very, very rare that I care about a will-they-won’t-they couple in a book. Reading about romance tends to bore me rather, and I’m much more interested in reading about a couple who’ve been married for thirty years than by young suitors. But Toby and Jane might be that couple. Even though I can’t actually remember whether or not they end up together – either at the end of the book or at the end of the trilogy. Despite all those re-readings, and my love of them, that detail has disappeared. But Toby is great. He comes along, rattling away about his writing and his life, and Jane wants nothing to do with anyone. But you know from the first moment that he’ll wear her down, and they’ll become friends and comrades if nothing else. As her friend Dottie says, “First of all I thought he was just some
little fledgling that had fallen out of its nest, but I very soon realised there was more to him than that.”
What did I remember?
My terrible memory is bad for many things, but good for re-reading. While the atmosphere of a book stays with me, the details usually flit from my mind pretty quickly – and, even after four reads, I’d forgotten pretty much everything that takes place at Jane’s workplace. It’s not as prominent as the block of flats, but there is quite a fun dynamic with her brash but friendly boss. She does the PR for a hotel, and there is an extended scene of her trying to manage a staged meeting between a comedian and a diva, and it’s very amusing. As I read it, it all came back to me – but if you’d asked me before I started this re-read what Jane did for a living, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you.
Was it as good as I remembered?
Of course. This many times in, I know it’s a reliable joy. Seeing Jane grow to love the people she is surrounded with, and deal with the enormous life changes facing her, was as wonderful as always. Perhaps this novel wouldn’t have captivated me in the same way if I’d read it a few years later, but I know it’s now down as one of my all-time favourites and will never be dislodged from there.
Will I read the sequels next?
As always, I ended the novel bereft that I was leaving their company – leaving the l-shaped room and the house and the experience of reading the book. And it’s very tempting to go onto The Backward Shadow and Two Is Lonely, that continue Jane’s story. This time, I probably won’t. They’re both good, but they leave the flat behind – and I miss the flat terribly when I’m reading those books. So I’d certainly recommend them, and I’ve read them three times each, but I only give in to the urge to read them (and feel slightly disappointed) every other time I read The L-Shaped Room.
I first read the L Shaped Room in 1976 and went on to read the others immediately. Unusually I passed the books on to my husband ( a big SF fan) and to my mother and they both loved the books too. What has always stuck in my mind is the bed bugs, and how to deal with them using a bar of damp soap to catch them. Luckily I have never had to put that technique into action!
Yes, that is a very vivid moment, isn’t it!
I sometime think about rereading favourite books, but hardly ever do it. I get in a panic about all the books I haven’t read! I’m also afraid I might not love it now the way I did the first time.
I like the way you write about the process of rereading as well as the book – how your relationship with the book has developed over time.
Thanks Kate! And yes, I’m the same usually – I seldom re-read, except for podcast/book group etc., but it can be such a rewarding experience.
What a lovely account of re-reading. You’ve made me want to go back to this novel again. I hadn’t thought of it as a favourite, but reading your account reminds me of how often it is brought to mind when I’m discussing other books.
Thanks Cath :) And how nice – I hope you love it this time around too.
Simon, I frequently share your inability to visualize descriptions, especially layouts, in books. This is especially true of those Golden Age mysteries which go into great detail about the scene of the crime. :)
It’s always good to find others who share this! And yes, if a murder plot depends on you knowing where a door is in relation to a cupboard etc etc then I’m lost.
I’m very bad at visualizing action scenes in books. I’m OK with landscapes or interior scenes though. I still haven’t read this, but was happy to find that the army library system does have a copy — will put it on hold as soon as possible (only 5 holds allowed at a time, harrumph.)
I hope it does! I don’t know how big the book was outside the UK, but fingers crossed.
I have a copy of Anne of Green Gables which is falling apart. Each time I read it another few pages slips loose from the binding. Finally I treated myself to a 1920s hardback but the paperback still stays on the shelf.
But of course, it has to!
I couldn’t remember what job she did either and I’ve read this a few times. I do love hearing about people’s re-reading experiences so thank you for sharing this. I do vividly recall the awful racist nouns and that’s made me worry about reading it again recently.
Yes, it’s hard to get past those…
‘The L-Shaped Room’, ‘The Backward Shadow’ and ‘Two Is Lonely’ are three novels I found life and perspective-changing. Like you, Simon, I find the discriminatory language highly troubling, not just the homophobia and anti-black racism but also the antisemitism that peppers the book. All three are interestingly followed through and challenged in nuanced ways by the author in the subsequent novels. We also have to remember that these books are of their time, and the paint such a vivid and horrifying picture as to the dangers of the world for anyone not male, not white, not straight etc etc.
But what I love most about the trilogy is Jane’s journey and how she matures, coming face to face with her flaws and shortcomings and into contact with those who challenge them, including her little boy. Unlike you I have no time at all for Toby who I find weak, arrogant and a fantasist. He remains that way throughout the trilogy. I can’t bear how he and Jane relate to John in ‘The L-Shaped Room’, they little more than use him for his kindness and talents and barely see him as a person. He is as much a part of Jane’s survival as Toby and I find it difficult that he is not also represented on the front cover of the first edition.
Like you The L Shaped Room was one of the first adult novels I read. I think it was in the curriculum at school as I have no idea how I would have discovered it. It made an immediate impact that I still remember to this day. (40 years ago). I just searched for it as I want to read it again and found your re read review. I also found the film too which im curious about but don’t want to spoil the book, so I may see that afyer reading the trilogy. I didn’t even realise there were 3 books, so thank you. I will find these too.
I saw the film a couple of times and enjoyed it before reading the book. Lynne Reid Banks’ novel is vastly superior. Much more detailed with all the back stories. And the main character is fully fleshed out. I’m not surprised Banks was unhappy with the film adaptation. Forbes missed the point of Jane Graham’s journey through the book and brought out a potted story of an unmarried mother without giving us Jane’s exact experience and development as a character.
I have one gripe with the book. I was a child of the 1960s and my parents let bedsit rooms out to lodgers in our Victorian semi-detached in a west London suburb. Not unlike landlady Doris with her L shaped room. Towards the end of the book, landlady Doris visits Jane in her room just before the end of her tenancy and is astonished to see how Jane has transformed it with the redecoration. The implication is that the landlady had not been in the room during the seven months Jane had been renting it.
This just would not have been the case. There was a gas meter in the room which we’re told Jane regularly fed with coins to heat the room and cook food. That meter would have needed emptying once a month. I know because it was my task to empty the gas meters in my parents’ bedsits. So willy nilly Doris would have been up there on a regular basis.
There is also no way John and Toby could have stripped the wallpaper off the L shaped room walls and painted them white without landlady Doris being aware of what was going on. Doris lived in the house and at the very least would have seen them tramping up and downstairs with paint pots and discarded paper.
A minor detail, but it shows Lynne Reid Banks never had first hand experience of living in a London bedsit.
Excellent points that had never crossed my mind, yes! Even with Doris being quite negligent, you’re right that she wouldn’t have been negligent about collecting the coins.
Not only that, but once the meter was full of coins Jane would not have been able to get any more gas until it was emptied. She would have had to ask Doris to come up and empty it otherwise she’d be without heat and unable to cook. My parents’ lodgers invariably told them when the meters were full.