The Spring Begins by Katherine Dunning

First of all, I just want to thank everyone who visited Caro’s Bookcase last month. My views have continued to increase with each month since I started this blog a year and a half ago, which is very encouraging. But when I checked my stats on 4 May you could have knocked me over with a feather. On that single day this blog had 733 views! Which, to put it in context, is more I had in my first two months of blogging. And, yes. I do realise that my stats may sound little league to some, but as I am only competing with myself, I’m pretty thrilled. There are so many other ways that you could be spending your time, so I just want to say that I am very appreciative to all of you who carve out some of your valuable time and spend it here with me.

As I mentioned in my last post, I got completely swept away with Katherine Dunning’s 1934 novel, The Spring Begins. I meant to sit down and just read a couple of chapters, but Dunning’s writing made it necessary to keep reading. Her descriptions of setting are gorgeous. The women in this book are so well described, and you cannot help but feel for each of them. And I think Dunning does a fantastic job of capturing the tension, unease, and vulnerability of being a woman, especially—I assume—a woman in domestic service in the 1930s.

Despite the title, this book is set in the heat of summer. The spring referred to is a figurative one alluding to the awakening of three women. At least, that’s what I inferred from the title! Lottie is a young nurse maid who cares for the two Kellaway girls, and is painfully innocent and fearful of the world of men. Maggie, the Kellaways’ scullery maid, is more knowing of men, but perhaps not as experienced with them as Cook seems to think. The oldest of the three women, Hessie, is a spinster and governess to the two Benson girls at the rectory. When her younger sister gets engaged she faces a crisis. All of these women are domestic servants within two neighbouring homes. Despite their proximity to each other, these women rarely interact, and the narrative switches from one woman’s perspective to another throughout the book. 

This is the passage that told me that me I was going to get on well with this book.

On the way to the child's bed Lottie could see herself in the long mirror of the wardrobe as she went by. The glass gave her back a strange reflection, as if her white figure had sunk deep down into the mirror's dark silver, and when she paused to wave her arms up and down she looked really queer. Her nightgown floated mistily around her and, with her startled face, startled by her own appearance, she looked like a phantom figure that had blown in from the night itself, its flapping wings disturbing the pressing darkness. (5)

The image is a beautiful one, but I think it also points to Lottie’s innocence. She is not much more than a child looking after children with all of the fascination with her reflection in the dark that one would expect of her charges. But then we see an awareness of her body and a dismissal, or a covering over, of it at once.

If she just turned quickly on her toes like the children did when they were pretending to be fairies blown through the garden by the wind, her nightgown fled out away from her, leaving her body bare and light against the air. But it was not delicate or nice to think of herself as naked. It was all right from her head down to the top of her collar, and from her knees down to her toes she was flesh and blood again, but in between there was nothing at all—just a conveniently sized dummy's model on which to hang her blue gingham frock and white apron. (5)

That it is not “delicate or nice to think of herself as naked” points to the narrative about the female body she has internalised from Nurse, the woman she works under in the Kellaway home, and likely what she was taught at the orphanage where she grew up. The combination of Lottie’s innocence and Nurse’s worrying fascination with warning Lottie that all men are bad and not to be trusted, even ones that appear to be kind, makes Lottie fearful of coming into any contact with men. 

Lottie’s love of the children she cares for, especially for the younger girl, Isobel, was really sweet to read. At times Isobel clings to Lottie and seems to really respond to Lottie’s love. Although, I did worry at times that the elder girl, Anne, didn’t get the same outpouring of love from Lottie, or anyone else, and while there is not so much as a hint that this is the case, it did worry me that Anne just about fades into the background.

Maggie, the Kellaways’ scullery maid, seems to be more sure of herself than Lottie and Hessie. She may have the lowest position among the indoor servants in the Kellaway house, Cook may rag on her, and her attic bedroom may be the hottest room in the house, but she has a spirit that will not be tamped down.

Maggie leant farther out of the window. Gazing down at the garden and sea and up at the sky she felt as if she owned them all by virtue of the fact that she alone was looking at them. Her arms were damp with dew. Nothing stirred anywhere. No sound came from the sea, or from the birds either. Maggie ran her hands up through her hair. It was dark and shiny and waved naturally, thank God. She felt the back of her strong round neck. Yes, but for her hands and feet she was a girl well worth looking at, and Cook could say what she liked. (63)

Maggie flirts with whom she likes, from the hired waiter to the head gardener, propriety be damned. Although I worried about her less than the other women, I still had a niggling feeling in the back of my mind that perhaps she was not as capable of looking after herself around men as she might think.

Hessie, the governess at the rectory, spends a lot of time playing out scenarios in her head. At one point I had to go back and reread a section because I thought, “Wait. How would she have been privy to that conversation between Mr. and Mrs. Kellaway?” only to discover that Hessie was simply fantasising about what the couple might have said in a certain circumstance. Of all of the women in this book it took me the longest to warm up to Hessie. While holding the place of governess, she thinks of herself as a lady, and looks down on others. At times she is downright cruel, making herself come off poorly in the process. 

At the annual summer fête that the Kellaways host, she bullies a little boy, who does not know her, into joining in on “Here We Go Gathering Nuts in May”. She picks him up, despite him urging, “Let me go—let me go—”. So painfully awkward. All through the game she is fantasising about what game she will organise once this one is over. She imagines Mr. Saul, the curate, alongside, because of course she is doing all of this to get his attention and show she would make an ideal clergyman’s wife.

Panting a little, Hessie dropped the child, who glowered at her ungratefully and ran away. Now what should she suggest? A tug-o’-war? With her on one side and Mr. Saul on the other. That would be fine! His side would win, of course. A man was always gallant to a defeated woman. Besides, men were the stronger sex, they should domineer and win, and then be gentle towards the conquered. Strength and gentleness combined, and when it was over he would say, “That was a splendid game! Your little team fought gallantly but you need a rest now, Miss Price. Come—let me get you an ice.” Then side by side they would walk off, he glancing down at her, she up at him, admiringly, intimately. (132)

But it becomes increasingly apparent that Hessie lives in her imagination as a way to escape reality. The scene continues,

The game was ending now. Hessie ran forward and clapped her hands. But Mr. Saul was not there! He was threading his way through the outer fringe of children. The smile died from Hessie's lips. She put her hand to her head. (132)

As the book goes on I found myself empathising with Hessie more. I think she shows the most growth over the course of the summer, and she has the furthest to go to even recognise what is happening to her.

Supposing she screamed now. Just dropped the plates and opened her mouth and screamed. Hessie bit her under lip as she ran out into the kitchen. She laid the plates with a clatter onto the draining-board by the sink, and pressed her hands to her head. How could she live through Hilda's wedding, and afterwards, too? Evenings alone with Mother, while Hilda sat with her husband, and afterwards Hilda and Albert went, upstairs together. Hilda would be a wife, a married woman. Hilda would come back to see them, and she'd talk about ‘my husband’ and Mother and she would exchange meaning glances, leaving Hessie outside the fraternity of married women. (146)

From the start, Hessie is on the outside, standing apart in her keenness to be seen as a lady, or at least not expose herself as not being one. She is one of the surplus women left over from the First World War, and with each year it becomes increasingly unlikely that she will ever get married. I won’t spoil how her story progresses, but it is not the only aspect of this book that took me by surprise.

Well, if the length of this review is any indicator, I loved this book. It is not a plot-y book, but how the narrative alternates between these three women’s perspectives kept me glued to the page. I wouldn’t be surprised if this makes it on my top ten books of the year. There is usually at least one book from the British Library Women Writers series to be found there. I expect The Spring Begins will be on many other readers’ lists too.

Thank you to British Library Publishing for kindly sending me a copy of The Spring Begins for review. As always, all opinions on the book are my own.

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This blog post contains affiliate links for Blackwell’s. As a Blackwell’s Affiliate, I may receive a small commission, at no additional cost to you, if you decide to make a purchase through one of the links on my website. I recommend Blackwell’s because I use them myself. This helps support me in sharing—what I hope is—valuable content. Thank you for your support!

Not to be Taken by Anthony Berkeley

I stayed up until the wee hours of Monday morning finishing Not to be Taken. It was so good that I just could not go to bed without having finished it. Then I made the mistake of picking up another book before starting work on this review. Never a good practice for someone like me who struggles with switching between tasks. I really did think I would just dip into the British Library Women Writers book, The Spring Begins, read a couple of chapters in the morning and then work on my review of Not to be Taken that evening. Needless to say, I got completely swept away by Katherine Dunning’s writing. But more on that captivating book in a future post. We’re here to talk about Anthony Berkeley’s 1938 novel, Not to be Taken.

Not to be Taken is a deceptively simple village mystery on the surface, but do not let the bucolic setting and the first-person narration of a self-deprecating gentleman fruit-tree farmer lull you into complacency, like it did me. Anthony Berkeley is at his finest in this seemingly straightforward mystery. 

John Waterhouse has died of some type of gastric illness. He had been having some trouble with his stomach off and on for a while, but nothing to raise any alarm bells. Even his doctor was not too concerned about the complaint. Still, he died a few days later, leaving behind an ineffectual wife, and a brother who suspects foul play. The body is exhumed and lo and behold it turns out to be death by arsenic poisoning. Soon the Dorset village of Anneypenny is the centre of a media and gossip frenzy. Everyone is a suspect, and each seems as unlikely a murderer as the last.

The novel was first published in serial form under the title Poison—Not to be Taken in the highly popular John o’ London’s Weekly from November 1937 to March 1938, as a competition by the magazine. Readers were invited to act as detectives in the case, and anyone who was able to fully answer the three questions provided at the end of the second to last chapter was eligible for the first prize of £200. The British Library thoughtfully inserted the questions at this point in the novel, giving modern readers the opportunity to play along, as it were. Although, I was eager to read the last chapter, I found this invention too fun to pass up. While I will admit I did not come close to getting any of the answers correct, it was a thought-provoking activity that greatly added to my enjoyment of the last chapter. Every revelation in the conclusion added a new dimension to how obviously wrong I had been in my assumptions, and while it was undeniably humbling, it was also great fun!

Now, I loved where this book went. But I have to admit that while I never considered putting this book down, the first half felt incredibly tame. Yes, someone had just died in suspicious circumstances in this sleepy village, but the reader gets everything through the perspective of a gentleman farmer, who, while not a bumbling fool, does just sort of wait around for things to happen. If I am reading a book I plan to review, I normally try to make note of interesting passages as I read. I think it is telling that I do not have any passages marked in the first half of this book. That isn’t to say I didn’t enjoy the first half, but the narration provided by Douglas Sewell lulled me into a similar feeling of complacency that seems to arrest Sewell himself. I do believe this is a device the author uses to pull one over on the reader. Well done, Berkeley! I let the plot spin out while paying little attention to the clues, trusting that all would be revealed eventually, and not worrying myself over it. I’m slightly exaggerating to make my point, as I did in fact read the first half of this book in two sittings, so I couldn’t have been all that complacent about the result.

I hesitate to share too many quotations from this book because I think to highlight too much from the second half might draw attention to one suspect over another and I want readers of this review to have the same experience I did with trying to solve the crime before reading the last chapter. Instead, I will just share a couple of fun scenes that don’t directly relate to the mystery.

Eventually Scotland Yard are called in to investigate, and our narrator, Douglas Sewell, is taken aback by the bland and polite Detective Chief Inspector and Detective Sergeant that show up at his door, a stark contrast to the “bullying, hectoring, loud-mouthed, exceedingly unpleasant detective” to be found in the American detective fiction he had been reading lately (166).

Quite five minutes were wasted in their apologies for troubling me and my protestations that it was no trouble. Would they like to see my wife? Well, if it really wouldn’t be too much inconvenience, they would be grateful for the opportunity. Would they like to see her alone, or with me? That was just as I, and she, preferred. Would they have a glass of sherry? Why, that was exceedingly kind, almost too kind of me, but they found it better not to drink on duty. But I was just going to have a glass of sherry myself, and it was awkward to drink alone. Oh, well, in that case, they would come to the rescue but only just a drain in the bottom of the glass, really. Ha, ha. Yes, yes. Dear, dear. (165-66)

I think I would be a little surprised if these two came to my door under the guise of police detectives. They seem like very polite guests, indeed!

The interview lasted half an hour and was conducted in the same charming spirit throughout. Frances joined us in ten minutes or so, and the proceedings were more in the nature of an informal chat than a police interrogation. In point of fact, Frances and I did chat, quite garrulously. A question from one or other of our visitors would produce not merely an answer, but a confirmation, an allusion, an anecdote, all manner of divergencies. I think that secretly Frances and I felt that the two men, so far from being frightening, were so pleasant, and so much at sea, and so rather helpless, that we became doubly talkative in a kind of subconscious effort to help them out. (166)

All I could think while reading this passage is alternately, “oh, no!” and “you idiots!”. Although, now that I think about it, I would likely want to help out these nice men as much as I could too. Of course, the detectives are not quite as ineffectual as they seem. This should come as no surprise to the reader, as the chapter is humorously entitled, “Scotland Yard Is Not So Dumb”.

The novel starts on 3 September with the narrator observing “there is always something slightly sinister about the third of September”, it is always “one of those decadent days, half dying summer and half autumn, with the worst features of both” (15). Martin Edwards points out in his introduction that it was on 3 September 1939 that the United Kingdom declared war on Germany. A spooky coincidence as this book was published in 1938. From the introduction, I learned that Berkeley had a propensity to use material from his own life in his fiction, so that date may have held some special significance for him. What Berkeley does make clear in this book is his disdain for the Nazis. The  tension with Germany reaches this sleepy village in Dorset with the person referred to in the chapter “Disappearance of a Nazi” not being the only Nazi in the book. This adds a timely dash of the spy thriller to this mystery, while not actually crossing over into tense thriller territory.

Overall, I enjoyed this one much more than I expected to from the quiet start. It actually took me my surprise to be honest. As I said, it is a quiet, unassuming mystery that does not rely on cheap thrills or a twisty plot to carry itself. Berkeley’s very good writing and fair play mystery holds its own among the British Library Crime Classics. And while it is not going to take the top spot, which I believe belongs to Christianna Brand’s London Particular, it is definitely up there among the ones I would gladly reread in the future. If you are looking for a crime novel that is not at all gruesome and won’t make your stomach churn with anxiety, while still keeping you reading late into the night, then Not to be Taken is the book for you.

I had such a great time swapping theories about the suspects with my friend Sabine (find Sabine's fabulous Instagram account here). I think that if you can find someone to read this one with it will greatly improve your enjoyment. It would be a great choice for a book club. You could meet before reading the last chapter, go over your theories together, and then read the last chapter as a group! You could even arrange your own contest but perhaps the prizes would need to be slightly more modest than the one run in John o’ London’s Weekly!

Thank you to British Library Publishing for kindly sending me a copy of Not to be Taken for review. As always, all opinions on the book are my own.

This blog post contains affiliate links for Blackwell’s. As a Blackwell’s Affiliate, I may receive a small commission, at no additional cost to you, if you decide to make a purchase through one of the links on my website. I recommend Blackwell’s because I use them myself. This helps support me in sharing—what I hope is—valuable content. Thank you for your support!

The Eights by Joanna Miller

Joanna Miller’s debut novel, The Eights, was an absolute treat. I found myself trying to spin out the time I got to spend with these four women. 

It is 1920 and Oxford University has for the first time in its 1,000-year history admitted female students as full members of the university. In October, at the start of Michaelmas term, four young women move into Corridor Eight of St. Hugh’s College. They couldn’t be more different, but soon the unlikely quartet become the closest of friends. 

Not everyone is happy about women being allowed in the university and from the first day the foursome find themselves having to face opposition from a group of rowdy male freshers, who accost the women in the street as they walk to the Divinity School where they will be among the first women to matriculate at Oxford University. The incident leaves them all shaken, to varying degrees. But after a quick stop in a tearoom, they are refreshed and able to become better acquainted.

Beatrice Sparks has lived her life in the shadow of her famous suffragette mother. Oxford is her chance to finally become her own person, forge a new life, and make her own friends, something she has never had the opportunity to do, as she was an only child and did not go to school. 

Marianne Grey is making plans to abandon her course before her first day has started. The only daughter of a poor vicar, she cuts an unassuming figure in a secondhand academic gown and ill fitting shoes. A most unlikely person to have a secret so deep that it could destroy her Oxford dream if it were to be discovered.

After losing her brother, George, and her fiancé, Charles, in the Great War, Theodora Greenwood has arrived at Oxford in their place. Her mother doesn’t believe in higher education for women, but with all of the surplus women at least Dora might put her time at Oxford to good use and find a husband. Even Dora admits, “Had Charles lived, she would never have wanted to study at Oxford” (10).

Ottoline Wallace-Kerr hasn’t talked to her mother in two years, not since she refused Teddy’s proposal. Teddy is a good friend, but no. For thrill-seeking socialite Otto, Oxford is a cure to boredom. And if she is being honest, it's a way to escape the images that haunt her from her time nursing during the war. The only thing that “provides moments of absorption and calm” for Otto is mathematics (12). Eight is her favourite number. A good sign.

But they do not divulge their innermost secrets to each other all at once. Over the three terms that make up their first year at Oxford they slowly open up to each other. Some secrets run so deep that they are only revealed at the end of the year.

What first attracted me to this book was the time and place in history it is set. It was evident that the author did a lot of research in the writing of this book. I felt thoroughly immersed in the world. It is incredible how many rules were imposed on the women students that were not required of the men. And I loved the mentions of students Winifred Holtby and Vera Brittain, Agatha Christie receiving her degree, and Thomas Hardy getting an honorary doctorate. But what makes this such an endearing book are the friendships that form between these woman. Outside of living on the same floor at their college, these four would not likely have been attracted to each other. But the combination of living in close proximity, the common goal of getting an Oxford education, and the incident they experience just after meeting, all create the perfect circumstances to make their friendship not just believable, but feel natural and true.

I love this line from Beatrice, who starts off the year never having experienced friendship firsthand. She has, however, observed her mother with her plethora of friends. Something that Beatrice has wanted for herself.

She never imagined, though, that friendship involved so much mundanity; arranging to enter rooms together, sharing one’s daily timetable, lending and borrowing items. Not that she does not enjoy it, but mutual reliance and constant company are new concepts to her and sometimes she finds herself in desperate need of a moment alone — no doubt something her mother would consider a weakness. (43)

I appreciate Beatrice’s observations about the mundanity that often feeds friendship, and that despite her enjoyment in her new friendships, she recognises her need for alone time. Much later in the book, she expresses her concern to Otto that these feelings are not natural.

‘I do wonder if I am any good at it — friendship, I mean. It seems to come so easily to the rest of you. Sometimes I have to hide away in my room because I need to be quiet. As if I’ve eaten too much and feel uncomfortable and have to sleep it off. Is that very odd?’

Otto groans. ‘I do that all the time, you idiot. Friendship is like this quilt — cosy mainly, but it can also be utterly stifling. I can assure you, the need to escape is entirely normal.’ 

‘Oh.’

‘And for the record, you are very good at it — friendship.’ Otto takes a lace-edged handkerchief from her pocket and tosses it at Beatrice. ‘Now buck up and stop fishing for compliments.’ (290-91)

These women are never in competition with each other. They build one another up. They celebrate their wins, commiserate on their losses, and are there to lend a hand when needed. In the course of a year this group goes through a lot. Because this is set just two years after the Great War, they have all been affected by it in some way. None of them have come through the war unchanged, and most of them are dealing with loss.

One of the similarities between these four women are that they all have absent mothers. Beatrice’s mother has no use for Beatrice. When she is not busy with her causes, she is putting Beatrice down. Otto’s mother has been in America for the past two years, helping Otto’s horrible sister set up house. The two have not spoken since she left, because Otto’s mother won’t talk to her until she has left Oxford and accepted Teddy’s offer of marriage. Apparently, getting married is more important than one’s happiness. Dora’s relationship with her mother is probably the most ideal of the group, and her mother is only allowing her an education because it will put her in the path of young men. 

Lastly, Marianne’s mother died in child birth. At one point Otto comes back to the college drunk and asks Marianne if she misses her mother. Marianne puts Otto off. Despite Otto opening up to Marianne about her own mother, Marianne isn’t ready to share.

Marianne thinks about marching up to Otto and shouting in her face. I feel sick every day. I’m jealous when I see mothers with daughters. I feel like I’m half-finished, that I’m always waiting for something to happen, that I’m all alone. So, yes, you could say I miss her. (102)

It’s an emotional scene. While Marianne is the only one who does not know what it is like to have a mother, none of them know what it is to have a loving and supportive mother. None of them have been taught by their mothers about how to be friends with other women. Instead, they teach each other. And I just think that is so beautiful. 

I want to thank Kathryn (@_the_book_bug_) for bringing this book to my attention. After reading her review on Instagram I couldn’t get the book out of my head. A day later, I pre-ordered it. I’m so happy I did!

As I said earlier, so much was I enjoying my time with these women that I tried to spin out the reading of The Eights. When I finished—other than experiencing a sense of loss for not having these characters in my life anymore—I had this overwhelming need to know what happens next for these women. I do not often say this, but I would love to see a follow up book that picks up where this one left off. Perhaps, better yet, one that picks up at their degree ceremony. I’m dying to know how these women go on to light the world on fire, because I’m certain they do.

This blog post contains affiliate links for Blackwell’s. As a Blackwell’s Affiliate, I may receive a small commission, at no additional cost to you, if you decide to make a purchase through one of the links on my website. I recommend Blackwell’s because I use them myself. This helps support me in sharing—what I hope is—valuable content. Thank you for your support!

High Wages by Dorothy Whipple

I fell in love with High Wages from the first line. “Jane Carter had come to Tidsley on her half-day off to look at the shops, but she looked mostly at the sky” (7). Not only is it such a beautiful image, 17-year-old Jane standing in the middle of the marketplace with her head tilted up to look at the sky, but it also wonderfully sets up our main character. She intends to just look at the shops, but finds herself looking for more. Jane continues to be forward looking throughout this book, and it is her eagerness to be more, to do more, that propels her forward, turning a premise that in another writer’s hands might feel like not much more than a trite fairytale into something perfectly believable. 

Jane gets a job at a draper’s shop in a small town in Lancashire. It’s 1912 and since her father’s death, Jane has been living with her stepmother who has made it perfectly clear that Jane is an unwanted encumbrance. At first she is thrilled with the new job, where she is expected to live-in. She gets to cut fabric, learns about the customers, and finds she has a talent for the work. But soon reality sets in. The low pay, an employer who swindles his employees out of their commissions, too little food, and long hours starts to take the wind out of Jane’s sails. Although, not out of her sales. (Do you see what I did there? Ha!) More and more Lucy is the one who Chadwick’s customers approach when they enter the shop. And if Mr. Chadwick paid his employees honestly, the commissions from Jane’s sales would help to ease her poverty. But the fact that Jane has more of talent for knowing what will suit a customer, and how best to dress the shop windows, doesn’t endear her to Mr. Chadwick like it should. After all, her skill as a salesperson and her ideas, are bringing more money into the shop. In his mind, she should be tamped down so as not to think she is worth more than he pays his other employees.

All the while, Jane spends her off-time with her coworker, Maggie, and her coworker’s boyfriend, Wilfrid. The trio take long walks in the surrounding countryside and Jane finds a friend and fellow dreamer in Wilfrid. From the first there are warning signs that perhaps Jane and Wilfrid have a little too much to talk about, much more than Maggie and Wilfrid have to say to each other, anyway. Although, Maggie and Wilfrid met at the library where Wilfrid works, it was while exchanging books for her employer’s wife. Maggie does not take an interest in reading. But Jane does.

Jane put her hand behind the velveteen shelf and brought out Ann Veronica. She turned the pages eagerly. Her eyes would not move quickly enough along the lines for her. Oh, if only she had some time! Time to read it now; this minute.

Since Wilfrid had introduced her to H. G. Wells, Jane’s life had been different. Her horizons had widened and extended incredibly. H. G. Wells was like wind blowing through her mind. She felt strong and exhilarated after reading him. It didn’t matter whether she agreed with him or not. She wasn’t sure that he ever pointed out any road that she could follow. It didn’t matter. He made her want to get up and fight and go on . . . (54)

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Whipple has Jane reading H.G. Wells’ 1909 novel, Ann Veronica, and finding inspiration from it regardless of whether or not the can find her own path within its pages. I haven’t read Ann Veronica, and have but a vague idea of the plot. What I do know is that it is termed as a New Woman novel. The term “new woman” originates from an 1894 article written by feminist writer Sarah Grand and is used to describe “an independent woman seeking radical change” (thank you, Wikipedia). While High Wages was published in 1930, it begins only years after Ann Veronica was published, so it seems reasonable to assume that we are meant to align Jane with the New Woman who is not only willing to effect radical change in her life, but seeking it out. Readers familiar with Ann Veronica shouldn’t expect Jane to follow Ann’s example too closely. After all, “[Jane] wasn’t sure that [H.G. Wells] ever pointed out any road that she could follow”.

One of the things I particularly enjoyed about this book was getting to see Jane’s growing love of literature. Books are another way of looking at the sky. She memorises a poem Wilfrid has copied out for her, William Blake’s “The Tyger” and says it over to herself on her day off when she is out visiting the park. “She loved it; it shattered the commonplace” (81).

Wilfrid continues to recommend books to Jane, which she borrows from the lending library. And so their relationship grows. Jane doesn’t take a romantic interest in Wilfrid, but it quickly becomes clear that it is Jane who Wilfrid looks forward to seeing on their Sunday walks, not his girlfriend Maggie. The relationships get complicated, Jane meets someone she takes an interest in from afar, but she always has her eye on improving herself and her situation. 

When she has the opportunity to open her own dress shop, it could not have come at a better time. I will refrain from discussing how that happens, because I don’t want to give away anymore than I already have. The focus of this book is not in Jane’s romantic relationships, it is about Jane, the running of her shop, how she finds fulfilment in her business, and how that in turn effects the rest of her life, including her relationships both romantic and otherwise.

She was happy. The business enthralled her. Not only the making of money enthralled her, but the actual life of the shop enthralled her. The people who came into the shop. Those women, now, whose sole interest in life was clothes, clothes, more and more clothes. Jane had often an entirely unbusiness-like impulse to beg them to stop buying. (246-47)

After recognising what she enjoys about her work, Jane goes on to wonder what drove certain women to keep dressing up. Whipple could have made Jane insular and selfish, but instead she wrote a character who both has an interior life and continues to look outside herself. 

When I came across this next quotation I had to smile. “She bolstered herself up by visions of the little shop. The walls were being distempered in French grey to-day. She was dying to see how it would look” (185). French grey seems a most fitting colour for the walls of a shop in a Persephone book, doesn’t it?

There are one are two aspects of the ending that missed the mark for me. If I had written this review immediately upon finishing the book I would have complained more about them. But as time has passed I realise the ending I envisioned would have tied everything together into a neat and palatable little bow. Whereas the way Whipple has concluded the book is more true to life in some ways. However, my Jane would have chosen a slightly different path.

This book starts in 1912 and continues through World War I and for some time afterwards. It talks about running a shop, women’s fashion, a love of literature, and contains beautiful descriptions of the countryside. There is a grand ball, a wedding, a financial scandal, the forming of friendship, the complications of romantic love, and the magic of finding friends that become closer than family.

While the lives of the characters in this book are not free of sadness or difficulties, overall, High Wages is a delightful book. It will make you think, but won’t be overtaxing. And if you are anything like me, it will make you cry, but I won’t say how hard. 

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