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, its 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. 

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!

Vera by Elizabeth von Arnim

Elizabeth von Arnim’s 1921 novel, Vera, is unlike anything else I have read by her. I’ve heard it suggested that it may have inspired Daphne du Maurier’s 1938 novel, Rebecca. I don’t know if there is evidence to back up this claim, but the two books are not dissimilar. Both feature young women who meet a man who has recently been widowed, and who they shortly thereafter marry. They honeymoon abroad and return back to England, but once they are set up in their husband’s spacious home, they are expecting their happily ever after to start. But it is there that things start to go wrong.

While in both books there is the suggestion that the young woman does not know the man she has married. In Rebecca, the focus is the young woman’s belief that her husband is still in love with his dead wife, that he is constantly comparing her to Rebecca. She becomes obsessed with living up to Rebecca’s memory to try to eclipse her in her husband’s heart. Of course, she is terrifically misguided in her assumptions, but I won’t say anything more or I will risk spoiling the book for the two people out there who have not yet read it. But despite the fact that Vera is named after the dead wife, the focus of this book is on the husband. 

I know I’ve already said this in part, but I’m going to repeat myself. Vera is so different from all of the other books I’ve read by this author, that it is hard to even compare this book to her others. If it wasn’t for the fact that the domineering patriarch is a common character in her books, I would have a difficult time believing Vera and The Enchanted April were written by the same person. As much as I love her lighter books, like The Enchanted April, I’ve always been more fascinated by what is in the shadows. That said, even for me, I found this book hard to read. From about the fourth page, you know something is wrong with Everard Wemyss. He is waving red flags with both hands, but Lucy Entwhistle is too blinded by grief over the very recent loss of her father to see anything but Wemyss’s love for her. Even when Lucy is briefly concerned by his lack of grief over his wife, who has died under tragic—and suspicious—circumstances, just two weeks prior to the two meeting, Lucy chooses to believe that he is keeping his grief inside and excuses his appearance of happiness as being a sign he is attempting to distract himself from his wife’s death. 

Lucy is not entirely alone in the world though. When Wemyss takes over the arrangements for Lucy’s father’s funeral, he contacts Lucy’s aunt, Miss Entwhistle. At first, she assumes Wemyss was one of her brother’s friends. Even so she cannot help but think how unlike her brother, Jim, Wemyss is. Once Lucy informs her about how she met Wemyss, Miss Entwhistle, is not surprised Wemyss was not a friend of Jim, but she is taken aback by how quickly Wemyss has inserted himself into Lucy’s life. Being an observant person, she suspects Wemyss’s feeling for Lucy before the two reveal their engagement. But as much as she tries to convince herself of the attachment being a suitable one for Lucy, she is worried. As hard as she tries to like Wemyss, she cannot. The man has two houses, and no children, who cares if he is old enough to be Lucy’s father? What does love know of age? But niggling at the back of her mind is Vera’s untimely death. 

How does a person fall out of the top floor window of a house by accident? That is the question. Wemyss was in his library, sitting facing the window directly below the window Vera fell from, and no one else was with Vera at the time. At the inquest, Vera’s maid related something that Vera had said to her, which steers the verdict away from accidental death to being left open, suggesting Vera died by her own hand.

Among the serious subject matter of this book, the suggestion of a man who has driven his wife to killing herself, or worse, has killed her himself, there is Elizabeth von Arnim’s humour. It’s a little darker in this one than any of the other books of hers I have read, (The Enchanted April, Father, The Pastor’s Wife, Introduction to Sally, The Adventures of Elizabeth in Rügen and her autobiography All the Dogs of My Life,) but it still creeps up in the most unexpected places.

In one scene, something Wemyss has said reminds Lucy of an unwanted proposal she once received, thinking of that moment, “she hung her head in shame”. Meanwhile, Wemyss, who is either ignorant of her discomfort or is not bothered by it, admires her.

Wemyss, not having his pipe in his mouth to protect him and help him to hold on to himself, for he had hastily stuffed it in his pocket, all alight as it was, when he saw her at the gate, and there at the moment it was burning holes,—Wemyss, after a brief struggle with his wishes, in which as usually he was defeated, stooped and began to kiss Lucy’s hair. And having begun, he continued. (44) 

Lucy’s reaction will likely not surprise anyone who has read Elizabeth von Arnim’s other novels. 

She was horrified. At the first kiss she started as if she had been hit, and then clinging to the gate she stood without moving, without being able to think or lift her head, in the same attitude bowed over his and her own hands, while this astonishing thing was being done to her hair. (44)

A reoccurring theme in Elizabeth von Arnim’s books is unwanted physical attention from men being forced upon women. It is often given a slightly humorous bent, but there is the underlying message that being touched by a man is an awful experience, one to be avoided, if possible, even with one’s husband. But this book gives a reason beyond simply the touching in and of itself being abhorrent. 

Death all around them, death pervading every corner of their lives, death in its blackest shape brooding over him, and—kisses! Her mind, if anything so gentle could be said to be in anything that sounds so loud, was in an uproar. (44-45)

Frankly, the episode gets more disturbing from there. Coming as it does so early in the book, I think it perfectly sums up what is to come. Wemyss aggressively forcing his ‘love’ on Lucy, while “death [pervades] every corner of their lives”. 

As I mentioned at the outset the focus of this book is on Wemyss, rather than his dead wife. However, we could read the line “death in its blackest shape brooding over him” being the spectre of Vera, there with them even then. In which case, she could be seen as the person who is looking out for Lucy, even when no one else is able. Vera’s portrait hangs in the drawing room, her belongings are still as they were on the day she died, even her library of books—heavy on the Brontë sisters and travel to far off destinations—all remain, as though Vera has just stepped in to the next room. 

The other thing I have heard said is that Vera is a less good Rebecca. From that I expected this book to get attempting to do the same thing as Rebecca does, the dead wife haunting the thoughts of the living wife until she is eaten up by jealousy. In Vera it is the dead wife’s death that haunts the thoughts of the living wife, not the woman herself. Lucy does not seem to be jealous of Vera in the least. The issue is that Vera has died in the house where Lucy is expected to live happily, where she is expected to ignore the horror of the woman’s death. And as Wemyss reveals himself to be so different from the man Lucy thought she had married, the tension grows. Now, do I think Rebecca is a better book. Yes. It happens to my favourite of all of Daphne du Maurier’s novels. One of my favourite novels, full stop. Du Maurier keeps to one theme, and writes the stronger book because of it. However, the level of tension in Vera actually made me feel physically sick. I found myself gripping the book, my shoulders hunched up to my ears, as though I and Lucy were one, trying to make ourselves small. Von Arnim does not stick to one focus though, making for a less cohesive story. But for atmosphere she gets full marks.

Give Vera a try if you are feeling brave, but perhaps pick a time when you are happy and rested. If you are already anxious or under stress, this book is not going to help.

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!

A Chelsea Concerto by Frances Faviell

One genre I don’t read often is memoir. I say that like I do read a lot from every other genre, which would be a bit of an exaggeration. All right, all right! It would be a blatant lie. So perhaps I should rephrase that. One genre—from the many—I do not often read is memoir, which explains why A Chelsea Concerto has been on my shelf since 2022 without being read. (Side note: I have an embarrassing number of books that have been on my shelves for well over a decade, but they were almost all purchased secondhand. It is very rare for me not to read a new book as soon as it finds its way into my eager hands.) If it was not for my friend, Gina, mentioning that A Chelsea Concerto was the book club read for the month of April on the Dean Street Press Facebook group, who knows how much time would have gone by before I finally picked it up. I am not on Facebook. But if I was, I’m sure the Dean Street Press group would be the first place I would visit. The mere thought of my fellow readers actively reading a book I had available to me was enough to put me over the edge. Gina mentioned A Chelsea Concerto a couple of times in the past week or so, and as I am both susceptible to suggestion and always want to be reading what Gina is reading, I finally took this one from off the shelf and—after dusting it off—I whizzed through it. Thank you, Gina, for keeping me informed! (If you haven’t already, you should visit Gina’s book blog and while you are at it, why not follow her on Instagram too. But prepare yourself to be very jealous of her vintage book collection!)

Originally published in 1959, A Chelsea Concerto is Frances Faviell’s account of living in London during the Blitz. Frances Faviell was the pen name of the painter and author Olivia Faviell Lucas. The image on the cover of the Dean Street Press edition is from one of her paintings, so clearly she was as talented at painting as she was at writing. And her writing is wonderful!

She was living and working as a portrait artist in Chelsea when World War II was declared and having previous nursing experience she signed up with the Red Cross. Due to its location, being close to the Royal Hospital and the Thames, Chelsea was one of the most heavily bombed areas in London. I believe Faviell records it as being the third hardest hit area of the city. Faviell joined the Red Cross during the Phoney War, while they kept themselves busy with training scenarios, nothing could have prepared them for what was to come.

Although, a few skills Faviell acquired earlier in life prove to be unexpectedly useful to her. On one occasion, after being told to take off her coat and dress, she was lowered head first, holding a flashlight in her mouth, into a hole just wide enough to fit through, at the bottom of which a man was making an “unnerving” sound “like an animal in a trap”.

The blood had rushed to my head from being upside down. Fortunately I had done some acrobatic dancing and had been held in this manner previous to being whirled around in the dance, so that keeping my body stiff was not too much of a strain, but the stench of blood and mess down there caught the pit of my stomach and I was afraid of vomiting and dropping the precious torch. (130-31)

This scene is well described without being gratuitous, as is the rest of the book. But somehow those places in the text with sparse detail, like a rough sketch with a few splashes of colour, are some of the most difficult to get through. Left to the reader to fill in and imagine for themselves, I found it made for difficult reading in a few places where my imagination added a little too much colour than my emotions could handle.

Ever the artist, Faviell presents the beauty alongside the grim reality of living in a war zone. Here she captures the benefits of the blackout and fuel rationing. 

The black-out gave new and fascinating aspects of the Thames against which the outlines of buildings and the whole skyline were imprinted without the former blur of light from the great city. In the day we enjoyed freedom from traffic jams — the streets had suddenly become a joy for walking and cycling, and I now cycled with Vicki perched in a basket on the front. (27)

Vicki is Faviell’s Dachshund, and being a dog lover myself, I took particular enjoyment from any of the scenes that featured Vicki, or Miss Hitler, as she was jokingly referred to by the locals due to her German origin. It is touching that in a time when some people were suspecting anyone who appeared to be a foreigner, others retained their sense of humour. The idea that some people Faviell came across were prejudiced again certain breeds of dog because of being German is crazy to me. But fear can bring out the worst in people, and the illogical.

There are so many accounts of everyday people acting with courage, despite not being courageous by nature. Faviell says there were days she felt she didn’t want to help anyone, though she felt compassion for them, and times when she was all but overcome by fear. After asking the wardens about how they managed, as they were out in the streets during the bombing, one that she was particularly envious of for her coolness under pressure admitted that sometimes she had to “literally drag [herself] from railing to railing to reach the end of [her] beat” (116).

I’ve read quite a bit of historical fiction set in London during World War II, and I have often been left with the impression that the author was romanticising the situation. Usually, I still found enjoyment from reading these books, but when I am reading fiction written by people who didn’t experience the events firsthand I find myself wondering what it was really like. While Faviell did write this book some time after the war had ended, and the artist in her manages to see beauty and loveliness in the world even when on the outside it seems like there would be none, I think she does a wonderful job of relating events without seeming to overly dramatise them.

But how she can see both the beauty in falling incendiaries and the fun in extinguishing them, is beyond me.

On this night Richard and I had a wonderful time. He belonged to a fire-fighting party for our part of the street and incendiaries were falling everywhere. They were small and pretty, like fireflies coming down and the sky looked fantastically beautiful. They were easy to extinguish with sand or a stirrup pump provided they were tackled immediately. (147) 

And it wasn’t just Faviell who felt this way about them. In a letter, her mother, who resided in Plymouth, describes them as “the most beautiful sight I have seen for a very long time” and relates “everywhere I could hear laughter and shouting as people put them out” (148).

Faviell’s knowledge of Flemish put her in the position to help with some of the refuges that were streaming into London. She was assigned an area and saw that they were fitted out with clothes, housewares, and all the other necessities of life when essentially all they had were the clothes on their backs. Can you imagine? Her work with Flemish speaking refugees ranges from moderating arguments, teaching English, dealing with mysterious illnesses, and setting up garden allotments.

There are so many sections from this book that I want to share and discuss and just generally marvel at. I have to applaud Dean Street Press for choosing A Chelsea Concerto as their first book club read. I’m looking forward to reading more of Frances Faviell’s books, especially her first one, The Dancing Bear (1954), a memoir from her time in Berlin from 1946 to 1949. The title alone has me intrigued, but after reading Crooked Cross by Sally Carson, a novel set in Germany during the rise of the Nazis, I am interested in learning more about Germany during the first half of the 20th century. Faviell wrote three novels too, A House on the Rhine (1955), Thalia (1957), and The Fledgling (1958), none of which I have read, but am eager to explore. Thanks to Dean Street Press, these are all currently in print under their Furrowed Middlebrow imprint.

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!