Pipers and a Dancer by Stella Benson

February is drawing to an end, but I’ve managed to get in with a Read Indies post – #ReadIndies being an annual event run by Karen and Lizzy, encouraging us all to read books from independent publishers. In this case, I’ve picked Pipers and a Dancer (1924) by Stella Benson, published by the one-man publishing house Michael Walmer. He has steadily been republishing Benson’s novels, which is just one of many ways in which his excellent taste is helping a new generation of readers discover lost gems.

Stella Benson is probably best known for Living Alone, her novel about a boarding house of witches, and I’ve really enjoyed discovering I Pose, This Is The End, and The Poor Man. I love the eccentric, witty way she writes, often upending expectations and occasionally breaking the fourth wall. Her characters are always odd, and some of that oddness comes in the stark, ironical way they are presented to us. Here, in the first paragraph, we are introduced to Ipsie:

Ipsie suddenly stopped speaking and heard with horror the echo of her own voice saying, “You see, I lost my three brothers in the War.” “How damn pathetic,” she thought, and she reminded herself for the thousandth time that she had determined to be reserved. No man ever told her half as much about himself as she told nearly all men about herself. This was why men were so seldom in love with her. Indeed, she thought, no one who knew her very well ever loved her much. Rodd, with whom she was sitting now on the starlit boat-deck, was not attracted by her. For the first two or three days out of San Francisco he had energetically sought her company, but now he did not seem much interested to learn that she was bereaved and lonely.

Ipsie has a ‘Showman’, which is something of a variation on the ‘I pose’ of her first novel – i.e. a self that she presents to the world, overdramatised for the response she is likely to get. That might be laughter, shock, sympathy or anything really. It is self-conscious but not deceptive. It is a version of Ipsie, even if not the most natural one. And she realised, when talking about moments of grief – she has, truly, lost three much-loved brothers – that the Showman is the one doing the talking.

Her superimposed self may be needed in the future. Ipsie is on a boat to China, where she will meet with her fiance, later to return home. It’s not entirely clear why she makes this arduous journey when he’ll be coming back home almost immediately, but it certainly isn’t for mutually romantic reasons. Even before we meet Jacob, we know that he isn’t going to inspire any warmth in our hearts. Ipsie has hopes that, getting to know each other better, they will have some version of passion between them. Jacob, meanwhile, considers her with ‘indulgent contempt’, hoping ‘she would, when properly trained, make a good little wife’. Marriage is a matter of good sense to him, and nothing more. We, naturally, loathe him.

On the other hand, Rodd is a much more appealing Benson hero. He will be taking on Jacob’s position in China (as a customs official) and becomes bewitched by Ipsie, and keen to change her mind about her forthcoming marriage – and if he happens to be a substitute, so much the better. Like all likeable young heros in this sort of book, he is spontaneous, enthusiastic and passionate. Ipsie is kind and friendly towards him, but her vision of Jacob has yet to splinter. He, in turn, considers her as ‘little Mary’, rather than Ipsie. They will both find their expectations of the other to be thwarted.

The blurb of this edition mentions that it is Benson’s first novel set in China (is there another?), but it could equally well have been set anywhere else. All the principle characters are British or American, and Benson’s sparse, pacey style doesn’t leave any space for dwelling on local colour. There is a major incident that I won’t spoil, which perhaps had to happen in China – but a slight variant of it could have happened in rural America, or somewhere like that.

While a fair amount of this novel has Benson’s characteristic oddness, there is rather less than I expected. Sentences, paragraphs, pages go by without any of her clever wordplay or iconic detachment. People don’t say as enjoyably unnatural things as they often do in her oeuvre. For a lot of the time, this is a heart-on-its-sleeve about a love triangle.

As such, I enjoyed it, but I did miss Benson’s unique style. She can still deliver, of course – I noted down this cultural exchange, as relevant now as then:

Mrs Hinds beamed at Ipsie through pince-nez and bubbled her joy through thin lips, but Ipsie made no reply. Americans see English people always reduced to dumbness on a first introduction; they must think us an oddly inarticulate race. However, I suppose they remember William Shakespeare and Ethel M. Dell and hope for the best.

– and, for any other novelist, this could be a curio. But it is Benson in ‘normal mode’. There isn’t much breaking of the fourth wall, certainly compared to some of her earlier novels, but this was a fun moment:

Sometimes Ipsie would check herself in full pose with a devastating confession. “I was lying when I said that, though I didn’t think so at the moment…” “Make me stop talking – I am only copying the heroine of one of Stella Benson’s novels…”

Ipsie is, indeed, a very Benson heroine – and I enjoy the idea that this is particularly because she has, also, been reading I Pose or This Is The End. Her spirited naivety is great fun, and I enjoyed the novel a lot. I have no idea why it’s called Pipers and a Dancer, on reflection. If it’s my least favourite Benson so far, that’s only because her quality is so high and her style so perfectly and unusually honed. If you already love her, do track it down. If you’ve never read her, maybe this isn’t the place to start.