War, love & peace

The Summer
before the War
Helen Simonson
Bloomsbury
2016, pp 585, Rs 599

It is the unexpected note that makes the poem.’ These words from a poet-soldier emerge towards the novel’s close.

It’s a pithy line from a somber moment. English writer Helen Simonson has managed a solid encore with her second book, which well lives up to the promise displayed in her charming first novel from 2010. This new, big, satisfying well-crafted novel is set in England, 1914, on the cusp of World War I. Edwardian England is brought alive through a cast of lively and life-like characters, people one can almost envision on a television screen. Simonson’s style seems to echo Jane Austen, whose eternally English 18th century masterpieces are still being relished by readers worldwide.

Simonson sets her story in the place of her youth — Rye, East Sussex, England. It’s a tale of love, honour, outrage, class, nobility, compassion, meanness, pompous pettiness, heartbreaking humanity — all rolled up into a satisfying read, overflowing with wit, warmth and well-chosen words. Though the book does dip momentarily, mid-way during its long journey, it picks up again — and unfolds a war-time novel about the old order and new.

A bit of the tale: Beatrice Nash, the well-educated and much-travelled daughter of an unconventional English scholar, is back home from her wanderings in Europe and America, minus the recently deceased father. Fiscally captive to an unfairly termed trust, the 23-year-old pauperised orphan is forced to fend for herself in an England that is not exactly supportive of independent-minded women. Wrapped in a cloak of dignity and self-worth, Beatrice tries to find her feet in the town of Rye — where she has been unwillingly appointed Latin teacher at the local grammar school. The job is courtesy the quiet revolutionary — Agatha Kent, 45, married, childless, a member of a school board that is most conventional in its ways. The matron advises Beatrice to be careful, not to antagonise the board, approach her job as a service, accept the offered salary (low) — and keep authorial aspirations in check.

Beatrice interacts with the residents of Rye — people who individually and collectively define the period, in various ways; Agatha’s sensitive nephew, Hugh Grange, is somebody who understands the unconventional Beatrice. Then there is his sardonic cousin, the poet Daniel — initially scornful of a mere teacher, but later an ally who does the right thing, displaying true nobility. Beatrice is expectantly thrilled to meet the renowned author, the resident American Mr Tillingham — but soon amused by the anglophile poseur, his ‘rapturous’ manner of speaking, ‘trying on a phrase for possible posterity’. Other characters include the foolish Bettina (mayor’s wife and local grand dame), her opportunistic nephew Poot, a vengeful Lord North, a pair of helpful suffragettes — and importantly, Belgian refugees, victims of the war: young Celeste is verily a victim, of the male chauvinistic times as well as the war situation.

The war makes its presence felt in this quiet provincial community. The older ladies organise colourful and dramatic parades — and simultaneously grieve as their young men enter the battle fray. But the younger generation of women is ready for changes that war throws up. They are willing to be photographed, recruit for the defence forces, go out into the streets, sell flags, collect funds, make a mark. War also brings transformations to interpersonal relationships. Class-conscious Lord North hustles his artist son into battle — with disastrous consequences for more than one vulnerable youth.

Class snobbery and gender inequality play a big part in the development of the story. The gypsy youth Snout, aspires and tries, but is denied his right to rise above his birth station. Ironically, the Indian reader may rightly feel that while the England of today is far removed from the realities of early 20th century, rural India is still home to our own sad Snouts, victims of caste-discrimination and indifference. And we continue to have our share of suppressed women.

Wartime reporting in England, as evinced through the views of the poetic and sensitive Daniel, seems strangely familiar to present day followers of Indian media. Daniel opines that the press influences people’s passions unnecessarily during wartime, turning a moral obligation (to attack and kill the enemy) into a righteous ‘crusade of revenge’.

Towards the book’s close, the scene shifts to France, into the very trenches, the actual theatre of war. Simonson has done her research, seems competent enough here.

In her afterword essay, Simonson talks about her war-material readings, harsh realities. She discovered that 25,000 underage soldiers like Edward Sidley (Snout) may have enlisted in Britain’s defence. But war also brought tremendous changes to society — and all old rigidities got swept away in the tumult of war.

As a witty and empathetic character study of a significant period in modern history, this voluminous novel makes for an engaging read.