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jeorrettp's review
3.0
The early part of this novel seemed to be the brilliant love child of a combination of Iris Murdoch and Nancy Mitford. A wonderfully 'gay' social comedy. However I struggled with the second half of the book, it started to feel of its time. I will seek out more Angus Wilson as this was his first published novel and there is definitely a great literary talent trying to show through.
mondyboy's review
4.0
I love the Backlisted podcast. Hosted by Andy Miller and John Mitchinson, Backlisted shines a light on out of print novels written by authors who were well known, even famous when they were publishing, but now have faded into the mists of obscurity. Or as Andy and John put it: They Give New Life To Old Books.
What’s wonderful about the podcast is that you don’t have to have read the novel they’re talking about. They speak with such passion, and such authority, helped by a bevy of erudite guests who truly know their shit, that you always feel part of the discussion. I’ve been listening to the podcast for two years and it’s only this year that I’ve decided to read along. (Last year the episode about Berg by Ann Quin was so damn good I ended up reading the novel. Glad I did. It turned out to be one of my favourite works of 2018). If I had more spare time (I don’t) I’d consider copying the Backlisted concept and producing a genre version.*
The reason I’ve decided to follow along is that I’m trying to fill the massive gaps in my reading library. For years, all I read was Doctor Who novelisations, which is fine enough, but it means while I can speak a great deal about Terrance Dicks I know fuck all about Jean Rhys, Anita Brookner and Patrick Hamilton (just to name a random few). Because I’m a middle-aged man set in my ways I skipped Backlisted’s first two books for 2019 - D.H. Lawrence’s The Rainbow and Jilly Cooper’s Imogen. (I’m having regrets not reading the Cooper, so I may go back it).
Anyway, that’s a very long introduction - which I have no intention of cutting back - to say that I read Hemlock and After by Angus Wilson (the topic of episode 85 of Backlisted). I have never heard of Angus Wilson, and so it was sobering to discover that he was an outwardly gay man at a time when it was a crime; that he cracked codes with Alan Turing at Bletchley; and, as the podcast points out, he worked hard to decriminalize homosexuality. Unfortunately, for reason that are too complicated to go into now (seriously listen to the podcast) he fell out of favour and as a consequence, it would appear that today very few people read his work. This is a shame because Hemlock and After, his debut novel, while overstuffed with characters and ideas (much like many first novels) is a cracking read, funny and melodramatic and undercut with darkness and tragedy.
The novel was published in 1952 and describes the events of very hot summer in the UK during 1951. Famous author Bernard Sands (who presciently has started falling out of favour with the literary establishment) has used whatever influence he has to have Vardon Hall turned into a residency for young writers. It’s a move that gets lukewarm support from the townspeople of Vardon and pisses off Mrs Vera Curry, described as “an elephant figure of Mabel Lucie Attwell chubbiness,” who, as a woman of many interests, intended to turn the Hall into a hotel (and probably brothel). Mrs Curry is one of the great villains of English literature (I say this with zero authority) and if I didn’t know any better (I don’t) she reads like a template for Frank Herbert’s Baron Harkonnen.
What’s striking about this novel is that it deals, unambiguously, with homosexuality, infidelity and paedophilia. It’s bold, not just because Wilson writes about queer life when it was a crime but because he provides an insight into the scene in the 50s, illustrating the divide between the older homosexuals and the contemporary queer man or “butterfly spiv.” We discover that Bernard, married with two children, has had a sexual reawakening and now courts young men (I should point out that they are over-age, Bernard is not the novel’s paedophile). His struggle to come to terms with his sexual identity, an identity that he (obviously) keeps secret from his family, is the driving force of the novel.
Hemlock and After also deals with mental health issues. Wilson, who suffered from depression, portrays Ella Sands - who has had a mental breakdown, unrelated to her husband’s proclivities - with a great deal of compassion and an appreciation of the confusion, the sense of dislocation and fear. Ella Sands is a tragic figure and yet she has agency. Not to spoil the ending but she becomes the hero of the piece.
The novel also has this wicked sense of humour, sometimes spiteful, but often just plain cynical and satirical. The centrepiece for this, where Willson shows off his chops, is the opening of Vardon Hall. The way Wilson walks us through the impending disaster is a terrific example of black comedy at its most laugh out loud funny but also cringe-worthy and vicious.
Hemlock and After isn’t a perfect novel by any stretch. There are too many characters, not all of them adequately fleshed out. For example, the affair between Bernard’s daughter and one of Bernard’s lovers feels like an afterthought, clunky and compressed even if it does that rare thing of depicting a bi-sexual relationship. Bernard’s son and daughter-in-law are treated poorly, caricatures with no redeemable features. But their nastiness is linked back to another theme of the novel, Bernard and Ella’s poor effort as parents.
There’s a great deal going on in Hemlock and After that I haven’t touched upon. The novel deals with class, it deals with the communist movement, a member of which is Bernards older sister, and it deals with the changing face of village life. All of this packed into 90,000 delightful, florid, often funny words.
Will I read more Wilson? I’d like to think so. But even if I don’t I’m glad Backlisted introduced me to Hemlock and After.
*Starting with an episode about Thomas Disch.
What’s wonderful about the podcast is that you don’t have to have read the novel they’re talking about. They speak with such passion, and such authority, helped by a bevy of erudite guests who truly know their shit, that you always feel part of the discussion. I’ve been listening to the podcast for two years and it’s only this year that I’ve decided to read along. (Last year the episode about Berg by Ann Quin was so damn good I ended up reading the novel. Glad I did. It turned out to be one of my favourite works of 2018). If I had more spare time (I don’t) I’d consider copying the Backlisted concept and producing a genre version.*
The reason I’ve decided to follow along is that I’m trying to fill the massive gaps in my reading library. For years, all I read was Doctor Who novelisations, which is fine enough, but it means while I can speak a great deal about Terrance Dicks I know fuck all about Jean Rhys, Anita Brookner and Patrick Hamilton (just to name a random few). Because I’m a middle-aged man set in my ways I skipped Backlisted’s first two books for 2019 - D.H. Lawrence’s The Rainbow and Jilly Cooper’s Imogen. (I’m having regrets not reading the Cooper, so I may go back it).
Anyway, that’s a very long introduction - which I have no intention of cutting back - to say that I read Hemlock and After by Angus Wilson (the topic of episode 85 of Backlisted). I have never heard of Angus Wilson, and so it was sobering to discover that he was an outwardly gay man at a time when it was a crime; that he cracked codes with Alan Turing at Bletchley; and, as the podcast points out, he worked hard to decriminalize homosexuality. Unfortunately, for reason that are too complicated to go into now (seriously listen to the podcast) he fell out of favour and as a consequence, it would appear that today very few people read his work. This is a shame because Hemlock and After, his debut novel, while overstuffed with characters and ideas (much like many first novels) is a cracking read, funny and melodramatic and undercut with darkness and tragedy.
The novel was published in 1952 and describes the events of very hot summer in the UK during 1951. Famous author Bernard Sands (who presciently has started falling out of favour with the literary establishment) has used whatever influence he has to have Vardon Hall turned into a residency for young writers. It’s a move that gets lukewarm support from the townspeople of Vardon and pisses off Mrs Vera Curry, described as “an elephant figure of Mabel Lucie Attwell chubbiness,” who, as a woman of many interests, intended to turn the Hall into a hotel (and probably brothel). Mrs Curry is one of the great villains of English literature (I say this with zero authority) and if I didn’t know any better (I don’t) she reads like a template for Frank Herbert’s Baron Harkonnen.
What’s striking about this novel is that it deals, unambiguously, with homosexuality, infidelity and paedophilia. It’s bold, not just because Wilson writes about queer life when it was a crime but because he provides an insight into the scene in the 50s, illustrating the divide between the older homosexuals and the contemporary queer man or “butterfly spiv.” We discover that Bernard, married with two children, has had a sexual reawakening and now courts young men (I should point out that they are over-age, Bernard is not the novel’s paedophile). His struggle to come to terms with his sexual identity, an identity that he (obviously) keeps secret from his family, is the driving force of the novel.
Hemlock and After also deals with mental health issues. Wilson, who suffered from depression, portrays Ella Sands - who has had a mental breakdown, unrelated to her husband’s proclivities - with a great deal of compassion and an appreciation of the confusion, the sense of dislocation and fear. Ella Sands is a tragic figure and yet she has agency. Not to spoil the ending but she becomes the hero of the piece.
The novel also has this wicked sense of humour, sometimes spiteful, but often just plain cynical and satirical. The centrepiece for this, where Willson shows off his chops, is the opening of Vardon Hall. The way Wilson walks us through the impending disaster is a terrific example of black comedy at its most laugh out loud funny but also cringe-worthy and vicious.
Hemlock and After isn’t a perfect novel by any stretch. There are too many characters, not all of them adequately fleshed out. For example, the affair between Bernard’s daughter and one of Bernard’s lovers feels like an afterthought, clunky and compressed even if it does that rare thing of depicting a bi-sexual relationship. Bernard’s son and daughter-in-law are treated poorly, caricatures with no redeemable features. But their nastiness is linked back to another theme of the novel, Bernard and Ella’s poor effort as parents.
There’s a great deal going on in Hemlock and After that I haven’t touched upon. The novel deals with class, it deals with the communist movement, a member of which is Bernards older sister, and it deals with the changing face of village life. All of this packed into 90,000 delightful, florid, often funny words.
Will I read more Wilson? I’d like to think so. But even if I don’t I’m glad Backlisted introduced me to Hemlock and After.
*Starting with an episode about Thomas Disch.
petekeeley's review
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.0
rodillagrande's review
emotional
funny
lighthearted
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? It's complicated
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.0
Very open and honest for the time it was written. Camp in a time when homosexuality was still illegal. The characters and their relationships are complex.