Reading Roundup, Backlog Edition
Dec. 9th, 2023 02:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
phantomtomatoYou know those years when you blink and an entire season has gone by? Here’s some things I read at some point in the second half of the year.
The Harness Room, L. P. Hartley
I like Hartley’s prose. I want to reread The Go-Between, or perhaps watch the 1971 movie. That was such a fascinating book for me because it struck me as incredible queer, but some combination of its mainstream success + the protagonist’s youth seems to have resulted in no one discussing this. (That I can find—correct me if you know something!) But Hartley was gay and it did show up in his work, most notably this last novel which is about a homosexual relationship between a teenage boy and his slightly-older servant. I wanted to read this to see how a man born in the Victorian era, a contemporary of so many other famous queer British authors who usually restricted themselves to homoerotic subtext, wrote a textually gay novel. The foreword in the edition I pirated (I bought the original printing, but that’s not an ebook) calls the prose unlovely, but acknowledges the importance and… frankly, weirdness of someone of Hartley’s generation surviving and continuing to write through and past the era which legalized homosexuality. If nothing else, I really recommend this book as a cultural artifact bridging different eras of expression.
I really loved the main character, Fergus, and his authentic-feeling experience of being a horny teen boy. His attraction to the footman, Fred, is delightful, and I enjoyed the way that they circled one another. It was a slightly more grown version of what I picked up with Leo’s interest in the older men in The Go-Between, and I think Hartley captures youthful attraction extremely well (despite being described as a prude by all of his contemporaries!).
Things not to love: the B-plot with Fergus’s father remarrying a much younger woman, especially the events leading up to the book’s conclusion, where the story introduces doubt (in Fred, in Fergus’ father and step-mother) as to whether Fergus and the step-mother are a better match. From Fergus’ p.o.v. we know this is all untrue, and he’s very gay. But it results in a silly suggestion of blackmail which is reminiscent of Maurice—I disliked it just as much in Maurice—and doesn’t truly resolve because Fergus fucking dies. This shocked me! I wasn’t expecting it at all, and I was devastated. I want a fix-it fic for poor Fergus wherein he’s able to run away with Fred, which they daydream about in the novel. Goodness! I’m such a sucker for a repressed and awkward British boy opening up to the idea of a life outside of his social class and while I didn’t expect that sort of happy ending, I thought we would at worst get separation and regrets.
On additional thing to note was the lack of a solid timeframe—this book could have taken place nearly anywhere from 1930 to 1970, which made it feel a bit dreamlike. A hot summer, a handsome older man, the privacy and eroticism of boxing in an old harness room… I loved the atmosphere.
Tokyo Bablyon, CLAMP
I hadn’t read a manga series in ages, and tbh I’d gotten a weird impression of CLAMP based on some fan chatter (that it would be gore porn), but the main ship was so well-suited to my tastes that I decided to brave it. And I’m so glad that I did! This series is beautifully-drawn and lush with detail. More than that, it’s a gorgeous time-capsule of the early 1990s in Japan, the sort of thing that you read with envy for how amazingly it captures a specific setting. Reading it feels like being there, and that’s the best thing I could say for any work.
I knew going in that there would be a twist, and so I found myself anticipating the foreshadowing and not being very surprised or devastated by the reveal. What I didn’t expect, however, was how much I would enjoy the journey—how rich the social commentary would be in this spirits-and-supernatural case of the week series. If you know me, you know that I love stories of the mundane. Fantasy is a flavor I occasionally put up with because that’s where fandom tends to be. I thought this would be more of the same: high fantasy, but it’s worthwhile for the delightful tension of Seishirou/Subaru, right? No! Actually, Subaru’s life is entirely grounded in newspaper-headline social ills, told through the stories of how specific people are living through them. He reacts not as an ultra-powerful dynastic hero (which he is, especially in the sequel series), but as one person with more kindness than time in his day. His concern for others isn’t unilaterally good; he neglects relationships with his family and friends, taking those for granted as he overextends himself to help strangers. Seishirou’s comparatively cooler approach to helping others is thus tempered by the contrast; he represents the real and earnest need for balance when trying to Do Good in the world. We can tell that these characters are heading for a crisis, but for me at least, the fact that both make sense as ways to approach life means that I have no trouble shipping them together and wanting to see how they might bring out the best in one another, despite everything.
I’ve also read piles of BL manga in an attempt to reproduce what was so great about Tokyo Babylon, but nothing matches the social commentary of the series. It feels like it was written for me.
My Friend Smith, Talbot Baines Reed
One of TBR’s other books, The Fifth Form at St. Dominic’s, holds the title for my all-time favorite boarding school story. I wondered whether Reed could do it again. The short answer is no, not quite, but this was nonetheless enjoyable and I will doubtless try more of his novels in the future.
Reed loves a schoolboy who falls into dissolution. Drinking, gambling, debt: all show up here from our protagonist Frederick Batchelor. This is a neat inversion of the St. Dominic’s structure in that we get to see the virtuous boy only from the outside, which has the effect of making his virtuosity seem remote and unattainable. Batchelor really has to work to overcome his baser habits, and we feel the strain of that. This can get a little tiresome because Batchelor makes the same mistakes over and over—he discusses turning a new leaf perhaps three times, which is really too many times to be enjoyable. Believable! But not enjoyable. I wanted to throttle him.
On the ‘made for me’ side of things was that this book is all about class: who has it, who doesn’t, how one’s family can lose it. Smith, the virtuous friend, has a dark family secret that we only learn about halfway through: his father was a convict! He was shipped to Australia to do hard labor! And this is so truly scandalous that when it gets out it nearly costs him his job, and definitely costs him any scrap of respect from his peers (except Batchelor, who knows/worships his virtue).
Their employment is another interesting feature—this isn’t really a boarding school novel, for all that they start off in school. They leave school around 14 and begin working in a clearing house as low-level clerks, where they make some paltry sum each week. Keeping up with the slightly-more-senior clerks (boys in their late teens and early 20s, seemingly) is what drives Batchelor nearly to ruin, and the difference between a boy without family means like Batchelor and a boy with a connection to the firm’s partners (one of the antagonists) is central. I don’t have anything very intelligent to say about this class commentary in the novel, only that it was fascinating to read and the book did a nice job of showing us a range of characters in different circumstances. This doesn’t usually happen in boys’ novels, so I was happy to see it.
Smith and Batchelor are delightfully shippy. Reed gives us multiple instances of them sharing a bed, love declarations, etc. There are two sickbed experiences! Smith gives up his own bed to nurse Batchelor to health! Hell, one could argue that they adopt a son together. It’s absurd and fun. Unfortunately Reed saw fit to furnish Smith with a younger sister and she shows up in the final chapter to suggest an acceptably-heterosexual way to bind these friends as one family. Boo to that.
I purchased a nicely illustrated copy of Eric, or, Little by Little when in London last month, so that’s my next boarding-school read. I’ve read that it’s preachy. Can it be more preachy than The Hill? We’ll find out!
The Harness Room, L. P. Hartley
I like Hartley’s prose. I want to reread The Go-Between, or perhaps watch the 1971 movie. That was such a fascinating book for me because it struck me as incredible queer, but some combination of its mainstream success + the protagonist’s youth seems to have resulted in no one discussing this. (That I can find—correct me if you know something!) But Hartley was gay and it did show up in his work, most notably this last novel which is about a homosexual relationship between a teenage boy and his slightly-older servant. I wanted to read this to see how a man born in the Victorian era, a contemporary of so many other famous queer British authors who usually restricted themselves to homoerotic subtext, wrote a textually gay novel. The foreword in the edition I pirated (I bought the original printing, but that’s not an ebook) calls the prose unlovely, but acknowledges the importance and… frankly, weirdness of someone of Hartley’s generation surviving and continuing to write through and past the era which legalized homosexuality. If nothing else, I really recommend this book as a cultural artifact bridging different eras of expression.
On the plot (full spoilers)
I really loved the main character, Fergus, and his authentic-feeling experience of being a horny teen boy. His attraction to the footman, Fred, is delightful, and I enjoyed the way that they circled one another. It was a slightly more grown version of what I picked up with Leo’s interest in the older men in The Go-Between, and I think Hartley captures youthful attraction extremely well (despite being described as a prude by all of his contemporaries!).
Things not to love: the B-plot with Fergus’s father remarrying a much younger woman, especially the events leading up to the book’s conclusion, where the story introduces doubt (in Fred, in Fergus’ father and step-mother) as to whether Fergus and the step-mother are a better match. From Fergus’ p.o.v. we know this is all untrue, and he’s very gay. But it results in a silly suggestion of blackmail which is reminiscent of Maurice—I disliked it just as much in Maurice—and doesn’t truly resolve because Fergus fucking dies. This shocked me! I wasn’t expecting it at all, and I was devastated. I want a fix-it fic for poor Fergus wherein he’s able to run away with Fred, which they daydream about in the novel. Goodness! I’m such a sucker for a repressed and awkward British boy opening up to the idea of a life outside of his social class and while I didn’t expect that sort of happy ending, I thought we would at worst get separation and regrets.
On additional thing to note was the lack of a solid timeframe—this book could have taken place nearly anywhere from 1930 to 1970, which made it feel a bit dreamlike. A hot summer, a handsome older man, the privacy and eroticism of boxing in an old harness room… I loved the atmosphere.
Tokyo Bablyon, CLAMP
I hadn’t read a manga series in ages, and tbh I’d gotten a weird impression of CLAMP based on some fan chatter (that it would be gore porn), but the main ship was so well-suited to my tastes that I decided to brave it. And I’m so glad that I did! This series is beautifully-drawn and lush with detail. More than that, it’s a gorgeous time-capsule of the early 1990s in Japan, the sort of thing that you read with envy for how amazingly it captures a specific setting. Reading it feels like being there, and that’s the best thing I could say for any work.
On the plot (low spoilers)
I knew going in that there would be a twist, and so I found myself anticipating the foreshadowing and not being very surprised or devastated by the reveal. What I didn’t expect, however, was how much I would enjoy the journey—how rich the social commentary would be in this spirits-and-supernatural case of the week series. If you know me, you know that I love stories of the mundane. Fantasy is a flavor I occasionally put up with because that’s where fandom tends to be. I thought this would be more of the same: high fantasy, but it’s worthwhile for the delightful tension of Seishirou/Subaru, right? No! Actually, Subaru’s life is entirely grounded in newspaper-headline social ills, told through the stories of how specific people are living through them. He reacts not as an ultra-powerful dynastic hero (which he is, especially in the sequel series), but as one person with more kindness than time in his day. His concern for others isn’t unilaterally good; he neglects relationships with his family and friends, taking those for granted as he overextends himself to help strangers. Seishirou’s comparatively cooler approach to helping others is thus tempered by the contrast; he represents the real and earnest need for balance when trying to Do Good in the world. We can tell that these characters are heading for a crisis, but for me at least, the fact that both make sense as ways to approach life means that I have no trouble shipping them together and wanting to see how they might bring out the best in one another, despite everything.
I’ve also read piles of BL manga in an attempt to reproduce what was so great about Tokyo Babylon, but nothing matches the social commentary of the series. It feels like it was written for me.
My Friend Smith, Talbot Baines Reed
One of TBR’s other books, The Fifth Form at St. Dominic’s, holds the title for my all-time favorite boarding school story. I wondered whether Reed could do it again. The short answer is no, not quite, but this was nonetheless enjoyable and I will doubtless try more of his novels in the future.
Nattering
Reed loves a schoolboy who falls into dissolution. Drinking, gambling, debt: all show up here from our protagonist Frederick Batchelor. This is a neat inversion of the St. Dominic’s structure in that we get to see the virtuous boy only from the outside, which has the effect of making his virtuosity seem remote and unattainable. Batchelor really has to work to overcome his baser habits, and we feel the strain of that. This can get a little tiresome because Batchelor makes the same mistakes over and over—he discusses turning a new leaf perhaps three times, which is really too many times to be enjoyable. Believable! But not enjoyable. I wanted to throttle him.
On the ‘made for me’ side of things was that this book is all about class: who has it, who doesn’t, how one’s family can lose it. Smith, the virtuous friend, has a dark family secret that we only learn about halfway through: his father was a convict! He was shipped to Australia to do hard labor! And this is so truly scandalous that when it gets out it nearly costs him his job, and definitely costs him any scrap of respect from his peers (except Batchelor, who knows/worships his virtue).
Their employment is another interesting feature—this isn’t really a boarding school novel, for all that they start off in school. They leave school around 14 and begin working in a clearing house as low-level clerks, where they make some paltry sum each week. Keeping up with the slightly-more-senior clerks (boys in their late teens and early 20s, seemingly) is what drives Batchelor nearly to ruin, and the difference between a boy without family means like Batchelor and a boy with a connection to the firm’s partners (one of the antagonists) is central. I don’t have anything very intelligent to say about this class commentary in the novel, only that it was fascinating to read and the book did a nice job of showing us a range of characters in different circumstances. This doesn’t usually happen in boys’ novels, so I was happy to see it.
Smith and Batchelor are delightfully shippy. Reed gives us multiple instances of them sharing a bed, love declarations, etc. There are two sickbed experiences! Smith gives up his own bed to nurse Batchelor to health! Hell, one could argue that they adopt a son together. It’s absurd and fun. Unfortunately Reed saw fit to furnish Smith with a younger sister and she shows up in the final chapter to suggest an acceptably-heterosexual way to bind these friends as one family. Boo to that.
I purchased a nicely illustrated copy of Eric, or, Little by Little when in London last month, so that’s my next boarding-school read. I’ve read that it’s preachy. Can it be more preachy than The Hill? We’ll find out!
