The Secret of Chimneys by Agatha Christie (1925)

‘Oh, damn!’ cried Virginia, jamming down the receiver. It was horrible to be shut up with a dead body and to have no one to speak to.
(Virginia Revel, chapter 8)

‘I’m sorry it were a foreigner,’ said Johnson, with some regret. It made the murder seem less real. Foreigners, Johnson felt, were liable to be shot.
(Constable Johnson, chapter 10)

‘The whole thing’s horribly mysterious.’
(Virginia Revel, chapter 15)

‘I should like to tell you the story of my life,’ he remarked, ‘but it’s going to be rather a busy evening.’
(Anthony, chapter 9)

‘Do you talk?’ asked Bundle. ‘Or are you just strong and silent?’
(Bundle to Anthony, chapter 15)

‘We’ve never had a murder in the house before. Exciting, isn’t it? I’m sorry your character was so completely cleared this morning. I’ve always wanted to meet a murderer and see for myself if they’re as genial and charming as the Sunday papers always say they are.’
(Bundle to Anthony, chapter 15)

‘I find talking to foreigners particularly fatiguing. I think it’s because they’re so polite.’
(Lord Caterham, chapter 16)

Bundle looked at him with lifted eyebrows. ‘Crook stuff?’ she inquired.
(Chapter 22)

‘I never deny anything that amuses me.’
(Anthony, chapter 27)

‘Oh, Anthony,’ cried Virginia. ‘How perfectly screaming!’
(Chapter 30)

International conspiracies

I thought the ridiculous novel ‘The Big Four’ with its plot about a fiendish international crime organisation must be an aberration in Christie’s oeuvre, which I had been led to believe was all about country house murder mysteries but not a bit of it – ‘The Secret of Chimneys’ is also about international intrigue and secret organisations, centres on political events on the other side of Europe and an international criminal master of disguise, not to mention gold hunting in Africa and American undercover detectives, all leading up to an outrageous series of revelations and reversals. And it was followed by a sequel (‘The Seven Dials Mystery’) which is even more preposterous. So half her output in the 1920s has more in common with espionage fiction than sedate murder mysteries.

Synopsis

Anthony Cade’s two tasks

The story starts in faraway Rhodesia. Here a jolly good chap named Anthony Cade is making money as a tour guide for pasty Brits. He bumps into an old pal, James McGrath, who gives him two rather bizarre tasks which both require a bit of backstory.

Count Stylptitch Some time earlier, in Paris, he’d seen a man be set upon by a group of thugs and had gone to his rescue. the man turned out to be Count Stylptitch, a courtier in the court of King Nicholas IV of the fictional country of Herzoslovakia. This country is notorious for its assassinations, and seven years earlier King Nicholas had been assassinated and the country became a republic. Count Stylptitch went into exile in Paris where McGrath happened to save him from a beating.

McGrath forgot about it until a few weeks ago when he received a parcel. It contained the memoirs of this Count Stylptitch and a note to the effect that if he delivered the manuscript to a certain firm of publishers (Messrs. Balderson and Hodgkins) in London on or before October 13, he would receive £1,000. Now McGrath is just about to go on an expedition into the interior of Africa in search of fabled gold mines, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, so he asks Anthony a favour. Can he travel back to London, under the name James McGrath, hand over the manuscript to the publishers, and receive the £1,000. How about if he gives him 25%, £250. Anthony is sick of being a tour guide and so says yes.

Dutch Pedro But as if that wasn’t contorted and implausible enough, McGrath gives Anthony a second task. This is also related to a Good Samaritan intervention, for some time earlier, in Uganda, McGrath saw a man drowning in a river, dived in and saved him. Once rescued, this man (derogatorily referred to throughout simply as a ‘Dago’ [‘an insulting and contemptuous term for a person of Italian or Spanish birth or descent’]), although going under the name of Dutch Pedro, gives McGrath the most valuable thing he owns which turns out to be a bundle of love letters written by a married Englishwoman to someone not her husband. The D*** had been blackmailing her and now handed over the letters to McGrath so that he could blackmail her in his turn. The letters don’t contain an address but two clues: at one point they mention a place, a country house called Chimneys.

‘Chimneys?’ [Anthony] said. ‘That’s rather extraordinary.’
‘Why, do you know it?’
‘It’s one of the stately homes of England, my dear James. A place where Kings and Queens go for weekends, and diplomatists forgather and diplome.’

And one of the letters is signed with a name, Virginia Revel.

Right. So McGrath is tasking Anthony with taking both the memoirs and the letters back to England, handing over the memoirs to the nominated publisher, and tracking down and handing the letters back to this lady, Virginia Revel. Right. OK.

International intrigue

The second element in the setup and the reason all the action converges on this country house, Chimneys, is as follows. Oil has recently (and implausibly) been discovered in Herzoslovakia. At the same time the people have become disillusioned with their republican government and many hanker for a return of the monarchy. The British government is prepared to back the return of the nearest relative to the assassinated Nicholas IV to the throne, Prince Michael, in exchange for the new king and his government signing favourable oil concessions to a syndicate of British oil companies. These are represented by a Jewish businessman, Mr Herman Isaacstein (who is described with a wealth of antisemitic tropes and stereotypes).

The current Secretary of State, the permanently anxious and stressed George Lomax, who lives at a country pile named Wyvern Abbey, persuades his friend, the easy-going Lord Caterham, to host an informal meeting of all the people involved in this international plan, at his country house, Chimneys (seven miles from Wyvern). Here’s the tone of humorous Lord Caterham and his daughter:

‘Who wants to be a peer nowadays?’
‘Nobody,’ said Bundle. ‘They’d much rather keep a prosperous public house.’

They want to conceal the meeting’s true nature from a curious world (and the press) and so George asks Lord Caterham to invite other, ‘neutral’ guests to make it look like a genuine country house party. As George explains:

GEORGE: ‘One slip over this Herzoslovakian business and we’re done. It is most important that the Oil concessions should be granted to a British company. You must see that?’
LORD CATERHAM: ‘Of course, of course.’
GEORGE: ‘Prince Michael Obolovitch arrives the end of the week, and the whole thing can be carried through at Chimneys under the guise of a shooting party.’

So all converging on this lovely stately home are:

  • Lord Caterham – owner of Chimneys and reluctant host
  • Lady Eileen ‘Bundle’ Brent – eldest daughter of Lord Caterham
  • The Honourable George Lomax – Foreign Office
  • Bill Eversleigh – Lomax’s secretary
  • Herman Isaacstein – financier of the British oil syndicate
  • Prince Michael Obolovitch of Herzoslovakia –
  • Captain Andrassy – his equerry
  • Hiram P. Fish – collector of first editions, invited to the house party by Lord Caterham
  • Virginia Revel – cousin of George Lomax, daughter of a peer, society beauty and young widow of…
  • Timothy Revel, former British envoy to Herzoslovakia i.e. is familiar with the country and its politics
  • Tredwell – the grey-haired old butler

More about Chimneys:

Clement Edward Alistair Brent, ninth Marquis of Caterham, was a small gentleman, shabbily dressed, and entirely unlike the popular conception of a Marquis. He had faded blue eyes, a thin melancholy nose, and a vague but courteous manner. At one time Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, he had always bulked largely in the counsels of the Empire, and his country seat, Chimneys, was famous for its hospitality. Ably seconded by his wife, a daughter of the Duke of Perth, history had been made and unmade at informal week-end parties at Chimneys, and there was hardly anyone of note in England—or indeed in Europe—who had not, at one time or another, stayed there.

In London

But before we get to Chimneys, there are some important and ‘exciting’ scenes in London, some to do with Count Stylptitch’s memoirs, some to do with the blackmail letters of Virginia Revel.

The memoirs The thing about the Count’s memoirs is they may contain compromising information or stories about the assassinated king and his court which will wreck the Royalists’ plan of getting back into power. So on his first day back in London, Anthony he is approached by two different Herzoslovakian men who both try to acquire the manuscript. The first is a Count who supports the Royalist faction and offers to outbid the publisher in order to suppress any embarrassing information it might contain. Cade politely but firmly refuses. The second is a member of a revolutionary group, the Comrades of the Red Hand (‘They’re very fond of executing traitors. It has a picturesque element which seems to appeal to them’), who demands that Anthony hand it over at gunpoint. But Anthony is not only frightfully posh (Eton and Oxford) but because of his time in Africa, is lean, fit and can handle himself. So he disarms the man and sends him away.

The publisher McGrath mentioned phones Cade the next day, telling him that a) the situation has become very dangerous, with people contacting them and threatening them against publishing it and b) promising to send their employee, Mr Holmes, to pick up the memoir, which he duly does, takes delivery of the manuscript and hands over a cheque for £1,000. So Anthony thinks he has concluded one of his two tasks successfully.

So he carries out the next stage in his plan, which is to ditch the alias of James McGrath which he has used up to this point in order to get the £1,000 from the publishers. So he checks out of the posh Blitz Hotel where’s he’s been staying (and with that ‘James’ McGrath’ disappears from public records) and gets a taxi to a much cheaper hotel where he checks in under his own name, Anthony Cade.

However, just before he left the Blitz, he received a message brought by a messenger boy. This was written by George Lomax, who says he has only just learned of McGrath’s arrival in Britain with the fateful memoirs, and was begging James McGrath not to hand them over to the publishers until he (McGrath) comes to see him (Lomax) at a country house party being held this weekend at Chimneys.

Well, thinks Anthony laconically, it’s too late to prevent the handing over of the memoirs, and he is no longer ‘James McGrath’, but all this fuss about Chimneys doesn’t half tempt him to travel down to the place and gatecrash this weekend party.

The letters As to the blackmail letters, to go back a bit, the night before he checked out of the Blitz, Anthony awakens to discover one of the hotel waiters he recognises, Giuseppe, has broken into his room and is rummaging through his luggage. They have a fight, which is long enough for Anthony to see his face and hear his Italian accent, but the waiter breaks away and escapes and Anthony then discovers he has taken the packet of letters with him. Anthony suspects the man had been hired by one of the Herzoslovakian factions and took the letters by mistake, imagining a bunch of documents tied up in a bundle must be the famous memoirs.

So on one level this is a tale of two manuscripts, which get mixed up.

Virginia Revel

During these exciting two days Anthony had been trying to track down the ‘Virginia Revel’ mentioned in the letters. He had discovered from the telephone directory that there were six Virginia Revels in the London area and had begun the process of visiting them to identify the correct one.

Now we cut to the experiences of the Virginia Revel who the story is going to increasingly feature. But the important thing to bear in mind is that she is not the Virginia Revel of the letters. She never wrote the letters, she’s got nothing to do with them. She is the wrong Virginia Revel.

But the Italian waiter who stole the bundle from Anthony’s hotel room, having realised their blackmail potential, makes the same mistake as everyone else and approaches her, the wrong Virginia Revel, with a sample letter. He turns up at Virginia’s home and, unaware that she did not write the letters and that her husband is dead, he attempts to blackmail her.

Now here’s the thing about this book, its characters, plot and tone: Virginia immediately realises that she is not the Virginia Revel who wrote the letters but she decides to humour the blackmailer and pretend that she is! Why? For the lolz. For the gagz. To see what it feels like to be blackmailed.

Exactly like Anthony Cade, this Virginia Revel is so confident of her place in English society and the English class system (cousin of George Lomax, daughter of a peer, society beauty and widow of an ambassador) that she treats everything that happens in her life with droll, upper-class confidence, as endless sources of potential amusement. Later, it is said of her that:

Her position was so assured and unassailable that anyone for whom she vouched was accepted as a matter of course. (Chapter 13)

To use the modern phrase, both Virginia and Anthony positively reek of upper class privilege, and it is their cheerful, indomitable, ironic handling of all the aspects of a traditional murder mystery (international intrigue, disguises, dead bodies) which make the book such fun to read.

So on this frivolous impulse Virginia plays the part of a blackmail victim, hands over the petty cash she has in the house and promises to pay him more tomorrow at 6 o’clock. But when she arrives home the next day, after playing tennis (one of the new 1920s sporting fads, along with golf – see The Murder on the Links) she finds this same blackmailer shot dead in her house.

Virginia has a maid, Élise, who she tells to go out on a chore while she ponders what to do next, just as who turns up on her doorstep? The tall confident hero of the book, Anthony Wade. At this point he hasn’t revealed his name and is posing as a member of the unemployed because he’s still sussing out whether Virginia is the Virginia. But she pulls him inside and says she’s got a job for him. Immediately they hit it off with a shared sense of upper class savoir faire and a certain amount of physical attraction, too.

‘This isn’t regular work you’re offering me, I hope?’
A smile hovered for a moment on her lips.
‘It’s very irregular.’
‘Good,’ said the young man in a tone of satisfaction.
(Chapter 8)

Virginia tells him about the body which they both treat with upper-class confidence.

‘There’s a dead man in the next room,’ said Virginia. ‘He’s been murdered, and I don’t know what to do about it.’
She blurted out the words as simply as a child might have done. The young man went up enormously in her estimation by the way he accepted her statement. He might have been used to hearing a similar announcement made every day of his life.
‘Excellent,’ he said, with a trace of enthusiasm. ‘I’ve always wanted to do a bit of amateur detective work.’
(Chapter 8)

When he inspects the corpse, Anthony realises it’s the same waiter who broke into his room at the Blitz and stole the letters. He promises to get rid of the corpse. After all, he’s never disposed of a dead body before and is quite thrilled at the idea, just as Virginia had never been blackmailed before and was up for the lolz.

‘I’ve always wanted to see if I couldn’t conceal a crime with the necessary cunning, but have had a squeamish objection to shedding blood.’
(Chapter 9)

And:

Virginia: ‘It’s really dreadful of me saddling a perfect stranger with a dead body like this.’
‘I like it,’ returned Anthony nonchalantly. ‘If one of my friends, Jimmy McGrath, were here, he’d tell you that anything of this kind suits me down to the ground.’
(Chapter 9)

So Anthony puts the body into one of Virginia’s trunk, then there’s a lot of fol-de-rol about her taking it to a train station and leaving it in left luggage, Anthony collecting it, putting it in his car and driving out of London. Way out in the sticks he dumps the body along a stretch of empty road (on ‘the long stretch of road mid-way between Hounslow and Staines’, not so quiet and unfrequented now!).

Oh yes, there’s an aspect of the murder which puzzled our two posh amateur sleuths which is that the gun which shot the blackmailer was left by his body. Why? And a bigger question: the little gun was engraved with the name of ‘Virginia’!! Had she seen it before? No, she insists. Then what? Why? And of course the bigger question, Who shot him in the first place, and why?

Something else I haven’t mentioned yet, which is that when Virginia first got home from tennis, she discovered that all her servants including the devoted butler, all except Élise the maid, had gone down to Datchet (a small town outside Windsor). What? Turns out she owns a little country place there and from time to time asks her servants to go there and prepare it for her. But not today. Someone else sent the household a telegram to be out, someone who knows all about her household arrangements and habits. But who? And why?

And I also haven’t had space to explain yet, but all this happens on the very afternoon of the day she’s due to go down to Chimneys, for what she thinks, at this stage, will be a jolly country house party. Now when Anthony read the blackmail letters back in Africa, one of the few clues in them was mention of this same country house, Chimneys. And when Anthony rifled through the dead man’s pockets, in the lining of his coat he found a scrap of paper with a fragment of text on it, reading ‘Chimneys 11.45 Thursday.’

The letters mention Chimneys. This scrap of paper mentions Chimneys. Virginia has been invited to Chimneys. So as the pair confer they become increasingly certain that something is going to happen at this place, Chimneys, and during this supposed country house party. But what?

So after disposing of the corpse, as described, Anthony gets back in his ‘battered second-hand Morris Cowley’ and drives north till he comes to the wall surrounding the Chimneys estate. A wall isn’t going to stop out hero, so he climbs over it, walks across the wet grounds, and is just approaching the house itself when he hears a short ring out!

Oh no! Is he too late? Has someone been murdered? Who? And Why? Is Virginia safe? Will Anthony find himself suspected of the murder?

I’ve summarised about the first third of the story. At this point I think that, in the spirit of the thing, I’ll stop my summary. If you want to enjoy the further complications, red herrings and improbable explanations which Christie cooks up in profusion, the entire novel is freely available to read online. Clue:

‘How frightfully exciting,’ commented Bundle. ‘You don’t usually get a murder and a burglary crowded into one week-end.’

The only thing I will say is that, when there is trouble at Chimneys on the fateful weekend (as the reader, by now, strongly expects there will be) it triggers the introduction of the bluff, imperturbable Superintendent Battle of Scotland Yard:

… a squarely built middle-aged man with a face so singularly devoid of expression as to be quite remarkable.
(Chapter 11)

who was to go on and become a recurring character in Christie’s work, appearing in a further four novels. Everyone realises how canny he is in his quiet unassuming way:

But at that moment, the moment when Battle apparently admitted Anthony’s complete absence of complicity in the crime, Anthony felt more than ever the need of being upon his guard. Superintendent Battle was a very astute officer. It would not do to make any slip with Superintendent Battle about.
(Chapter 12)

Antisemitism

I’ve noticed the presence of antisemitic animus on a number of authors of this period, including Saki, D.H. Lawrence and Virginia Woolf. In this novel the antisemitic tropes gather around the figure of the Jewish financier, Mr Herman Isaacstein.

There was one other person in the room, a big man sitting in a chair by the fireplace. He was dressed in very correct English shooting clothes which nevertheless sat strangely upon him. He had a fat yellow face, and black eyes, as impenetrable as those of a cobra. There was a generous curve to the big nose and power in the square lines of the vast jaw.

Earlier Lord Caterham, otherwise a genial old cove, refers to Isaacstein as ‘Mr Ikey Hermanstein’ and then as ‘Nosystein’ (with reference to his big hooked pantomime Jew’s nose) and later to ‘Fat Iky’.

The cobra simile stated in the passage above is repeated later:

His [Isaacstein’s] black eyes were bent upon the detective. More than ever, he reminded Battle of a hooded cobra.

Later:

VIRGINIA: ‘Isaacstein looks foreign enough, Heaven knows.’

The lazy antisemitic tropes surrounding him are unpleasant.

Black

If we’re pointing out slurs, there’s a race-related moment right at the novel’s conclusion when, for a moment, his friends panic that Anthony might have married a black woman!

The Baron retreated a step or two. Dismay overspread his countenance. ‘Something wrong I knew there would be,’ he boomed. ‘Merciful God in Heaven! He has married a black woman in Africa!’
‘Come, come, it’s not so bad as all that,’ said Anthony, laughing. ‘She’s white enough—white all through, bless her.’

The more you reflect on this little exchange, the worse it becomes.

Balkans business

To a very large extent the text is made up of clichés, I think Christie’s claim to novelty at the time must surely have been not so much the subject matter or behaviour of the characters so much as the extraordinary complexity of the twists and turns of the narrative, the laying of countless false clues, and then the dazzling revelations at the end which come as a complete surprise (as they do in this novel).

History of Ruritania

The fictional country of Ruritania is first mentioned in The Prisoner of Zenda. According to the Wikipedia article ‘Nowadays, the term connotes a quaint minor European country’ associated with kings and princes with preposterous names, colourful costumes, in a state of permanent political unrest. The same idea – of the Balkans as the home of a particular type of comic political intrigue – is found all over early 20th century fiction, in various Sherlock Holmes stories, Arnold Bennett’s preposterous comedy thriller the Grand Hotel Babylon, in John Buchan thrillers, through to Tintin whose 1938 adventure ‘King Ottokar’s Sceptre’ is set in the fictional Balkan (i.e. Ruritanian) country of Syldavia, complete with fragile kings and plotting courtiers etc etc.

My point is that The Secret of Chimneys can be added to the list of fictions which use the clichés and tropes of the embattled royal family of a fictional Balkan state to manufacture a popular thriller narrative.

Christie’s bookishness

Not literary references, the opposite: I’m referring to her compulsive need to have the narrator or characters make regular comparisons to the clichés and stereotypes of the cheap thrillers and thousands of other detective novels which clearly infested the world, even by the early 1920s.

About the same height as Mr. Cade, but thickset and not nearly so good-looking. The sort of man one read about in books, who probably kept a saloon.
(Narrator)

‘As they say in books. Guile, George, lots of guile.’
(Virginia)

‘First a blackmailer, and then George in diplomatic difficulties. Will he tell all to the beautiful woman who asks for his confidence so pathetically? No, he will reveal nothing until the last chapter.’
(Virginia)

‘Good heavens!’ cried Virginia. ‘Is this Sherlock Holmes?’
‘No,’ said Anthony regretfully. ‘I’m afraid it’s just plain or garden cheating.’

‘And whatever you may imagine from reading detective stories, doctors aren’t such magicians that they can tell you exactly how many hours a man has been dead.’
(Anthony)

‘I take it that you didn’t meet the murdered man?’
‘No. To put it like a book, he “retired to his own apartments immediately on arrival.”‘
(Anthony and Virginia)

‘Why did you seem so surprised when I mentioned the name of Jimmy McGrath to you yesterday at Pont Street? Had you heard it before?’
‘I had, Sherlock Holmes.’
(Anthony and Virginia, chapter 15)

‘I suspected the French governess, Battle. A: Upon the grounds of her being the most unlikely person, according to the canons of the best fiction
(Anthony, chapter 18)

‘Do you really think this Arsène Lupin fellow is actually among the household now?’ asked Bill, his eyes sparkling. [a reference to the fictional gentleman thief and master of disguise created in 1905 by French writer Maurice Leblanc.] (Chapter 18)

And Christie has Battle deliver a little lecture on the subject.

‘In the meantime,’ said Anthony, ‘I am still the amateur assistant?’
‘That’s it, Mr. Cade.’
‘Watson to your Sherlock, in fact?’
‘Detective stories are mostly bunkum,’ said Battle unemotionally. ‘But they amuse people,’ he added, as an afterthought. ‘And they’re useful sometimes.’
‘In what way?’ asked Anthony curiously.
‘They encourage the universal idea that the police are stupid. When we get an amateur crime, such as a murder, that’s very useful indeed.’

As I’ve said elsewhere, keeping on mentioning how your story is different from cheap thrillers doesn’t really differentiate it, but only signposts the similarities.

That said, maybe I’m missing the point and all these references are in fact just a type of joke – it’s a comedy stopgap to have the characters constantly referring to the clichés of crime novels and detective movies, self consciously mocking their own bravery or actions.

He wriggled into a lurid silk dressing-gown, and picked up a poker. ‘The orthodox weapon,’ he observed. (Bill Eversleigh, chapter 17)

And:

‘What’s this I hear about Virginia bolting off in the middle of the night? She’s not been kidnapped, has she?’
‘Oh, no,’ said Bundle. ‘She left a note pinned to the pincushion in the orthodox fashion.’ (Chapter 27)

And:

‘And don’t scream or faint or anything. I won’t let anyone hurt you.’
‘My hero!’ murmured Virginia.

And:

‘The plot thickens,’ said Anthony lightly.

Comedy

Or just jokes:

‘There’s an extraordinary lot of character in ears, Mr. Cade.’
‘Don’t look so hard at mine, Battle,’ complained Anthony. ‘You make me quite nervous.’

The book is stuffed with comic repartee:

‘I say, Virginia, I do love you so awfully—’
‘Not this morning, Bill. I’m not strong enough. Anyway, I’ve always told you the best people don’t propose before lunch.’

Or:

‘I can’t think,’ said Lord Caterham, ‘why nobody nowadays ever sits still after a meal. It’s a lost art.’

Agatha Christie is by far a more comic writer than Noel Coward ever was. Coward’s plays overflow with rancorous bickering but contain pitifully few really funny bits of repartee. Whereas Christie’s novels overflow with good-humoured comedy everywhere.

‘Half a second,’ said Anthony. “I’ve got a confession to make to you, Virginia. Something that everyone else knows, but that I haven’t yet told you.’
‘I don’t mind how many strange women you’ve loved so long as you don’t tell me about them.’
‘Women!’ said Anthony, with a virtuous air. ‘Women indeed? You ask James here what kind of women I was going about with last time he saw me.’
‘Frumps,’ said Jimmy solemnly. ‘Utter frumps. Not one a day under forty-five.’
‘Thank you, Jimmy,’ said Anthony, ‘you’re a true friend.’

‘I’m taking the Panhard up to town after lunch,’ she remarked. ‘Anyone want a lift? Wouldn’t you like to come, Mr. Cade? We’ll be back by dinner-time.’
‘No, thanks,’ said Anthony. ‘I’m quite happy and busy down here.’
‘The man fears me,’ said Bundle. ‘Either my driving or my fatal fascination! Which is it?’
‘The latter,’ said Anthony. ‘Every time.’

Women’s roles

Besides beauty, she possessed courage and brains.

Noel Coward gets credit for the unabashed modernity of his women characters, who have short hair, wear short skirts, smoke and drink and openly talk about shocking subjects – yet I find exactly the same behaviour in Christie’s young 1920s women. Both Virginia and Bundle are no-nonsense, go-for-it young women who regard old chauvinist attitudes of the fuddy-duddy men around them as ludicrous.

‘Listen to me, Virginia,’ said Bill. ‘This is man’s work—’
‘Don’t be an idiot, Bill.’

They have to put up with no end of sexist generalisations which justify Virginia Woolf’s accusations in her feminist masterpiece Three Guineas.

  • MCGRATH: ‘Like all women, she’d put no date and no address on most of the letters.’
  • LOMAX: ‘Not that I approve of women in politics—St. Stephen’s is ruined, absolutely ruined, nowadays. But woman in her own sphere can do wonders…’

Even that nice Mr Anthony:

‘You’re a very unusual woman,’ said Anthony suddenly, turning and looking at her.
‘Why?’
‘You can refrain from asking questions.’

And are aware that the world they operate in, the culture they move in, is drenched with sexist put-downs:

VIRGINIA: ‘We women are usually supposed to be cats, but at any rate I’d done another woman a good turn this afternoon.’

‘I know,’ said Virginia. ‘Women are so indiscreet! I’ve often heard George say so.’

And Virginia is asked by Lomax to ‘Delilah’ the memoirs out of this man McGrath i.e. to sweet-talk or seduce them out of him – a suggestion she rejects with disgust.

Thus Christie depicts the world of sexist assumptions which her independent women have to operate in. And yet they not only reject sexist generalisations or suggestions to the speaker’s face, more importantly they act with a fearlessness and freedom which completely contradicts the sexist slurs. And they drive like demons, witness Bundle’s crazy driving which sometimes hits the reckless speed of fifty miles an hour!

‘I shouldn’t recommend driving with you as a tonic for nervous old ladies, but personally I’ve enjoyed it. The last time I was in equal danger was when I was charged by a herd of wild elephants.’

‘Tim Revel was bowled over by Virginia—he was Irish, you know, and most attractive, with a genius for expressing himself well. Virginia was quite young—eighteen. She couldn’t go anywhere without seeing Tim in a state of picturesque misery, vowing he’d shoot himself or take to drink if she didn’t marry him. Girls believe these things—or used to—we’ve advanced a lot in the last eight years.’

Class

Of course the fearlessness of the two posh young women, Virginia and Bundle, stems in large part because of their upper-class provenance. Their superb confidence derives from their fearless upbringing. At one point Christie has Superintendent Battle give this definitive formulation:

‘Well, you see, Mr. Cade, most of my work has lain amongst these people. What they call the upper classes, I mean. You see, the majority of people are always wondering what the neighbours will think. But tramps and aristocrats don’t—they just do the first thing that comes into their heads, and they don’t bother to think what anyone thinks of them. I’m not meaning just the idle rich, the people who give big parties, and so on, I mean those that have had it born and bred in them for generations that nobody else’s opinion counts but their own. I’ve always found the upper classes the same—fearless, truthful and sometimes extraordinarily foolish.’

Battle’s methods

Battle’s procedure:

‘It’s rather too soon to have ideas, Mr Isaacstein. I’ve not got beyond asking myself the first question.’
‘What is that?’
‘Oh, it’s always the same. Motive. Who benefits by the death of Prince Michael?’
(Chapter 15)

And:

‘I’m glad of that,’ said Anthony. ‘I’ve a feeling that ever since I met you you’ve been laying little traps for me. On the whole I’ve managed to avoid falling into them, but the strain has been acute.’
Battle smiled grimly.
‘That’s how you get a crook in the end, sir. Keep him on the run, to and fro, turning and twisting. Sooner or later, his nerve goes, and you’ve got him.’

And humour:

‘You’ve got a plan, eh?’
‘I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’ve got a plan. But I’ve got an idea. It’s a very useful thing sometimes, an idea.’

Heightism

A symptom of the pulpy, silly, tongue-in-cheek feel of the whole thing is how many people are commandingly tall:

The hero:

They all admired Mr Cade so much, his tall lean figure, his sun-tanned face, the light-hearted manner with which he settled disputes and cajoled them all into good temper.

And the heroine:

Virginia Revel was just twenty-seven. She was tall and of an exquisite slimness—indeed, a poem might have been written to her slimness, it was so exquisitely proportioned.

And the other heroine:

The door opened and a girl came into the room. She was tall, slim and dark, with an attractive boyish face, and a very determined manner. This was Lady Eileen Brent, commonly known as Bundle, Lord Caterham’s eldest daughter.

The blackmailer:

Anthony observed him more closely. He was a tall man, supple like all waiters, with a clean-shaven, mobile face. An Italian, Anthony thought, not a Frenchman.

The police inspector:

A tall portly man, Inspector Badgworthy, with a heavy regulation tread. Inclined to breathe hard in moments of professional strain.

The American:

On the threshold stood a tall man with black hair neatly parted in the middle, china blue eyes with a particularly innocent expression, and a large placid face.

The dead prince’s aide-de-camp:

He returned shortly accompanied by a tall fair man with high cheek-bones, and very deep-set blue eyes, and an impassivity of countenance which almost rivalled Battle’s.

It is a Photoshopped world of fine physical specimens.

Phrases

revenons à nos moutons = French for ‘Let’s get back to the subject at hand’

A ‘cat’ is, from the context, a gossipy bitch.

Even women like her because she isn’t a bit of a cat.

I think characters in Coward use the word in the same sense and, as we will see, Christie uses it freely in virtually all her early novels.

Marrows

When Anthony talks about retiring the first image that comes into his mind is retiring to a nice place in the country and ‘growing vegetable marrows’. Now this was precisely Poirot’s activity in The Murder of Roger Ackroyd where he threw one of his marrows over the fence of his rented cottage and accidentally hit his neighbour, Dr Sheppard, the extremely unreliable narrator of that story.

The Tube

Couldn’t help laughing out loud when Anthony has a little speech explaining why the single thing which undermined his lifelong belief in equality and democracy was getting on the London Tube.

‘You see, when I was very young, I had democratic ideas. Believed in the purity of ideals, and the equality of all men. I especially disbelieved in Kings and Princes.’
‘And since then?’ asked Battle shrewdly.
‘Oh, since then, I’ve travelled and seen the world. There’s damned little equality going about. Mind you, I still believe in democracy. But you’ve got to force it on people with a strong hand—ram it down their throats. Men don’t want to be brothers—they may some day, but they don’t now. My final belief in the Brotherhood of Man died the day I arrived in London last week, when I observed the people standing in a Tube train resolutely refuse to move up and make room for those who entered. You won’t turn people into angels by appealing to their better natures just yet awhile—but by judicious force you can coerce them into behaving more or less decently to one another to go on with. I still believe in the Brotherhood of Man, but it’s not coming yet awhile. Say another ten thousand years or so. It’s no good being impatient. Evolution is a slow process.’

Well, it’s a hundred years later and the situation is, if anything, worse. The company I work for are forcing us to come back to the office because they apparently think that spending an hour with your face in someone else’s armpit, in hundred degree heat on the Northern Line, twice a day, will miraculously increase their employees’ productivity and creativity.


Credit

‘The Secret of Chimneys’ by Agatha Christie was published in 1925 by William Collins and Son.

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Hay Fever by Noel Coward (1925)

JUDITH: You must forgive me for having rather peculiar children.

SOREL: We’re a beastly family, and I hate us… we’ve spent our lives cultivating the Arts and not devoting any time to ordinary conventions and manners and things.

MYRA (furiously): Well, I’m not going to spare your feelings, or anyone else’s. You’re the most infuriating set of hypocrites I’ve ever seen. This house is a complete feather-bed of false emotions—you’re posing, self-centred egotists, and I’m sick to death of you.

SIMON (over his shoulder): Ha, ha!—very funny.

Executive summary

In a country house near Cookham live the Bliss family, father, mother, young adult son and daughter. Without telling the others, they each invite a guest down for the weekend, but behave so selfishly and rudely that after an embarrassing Saturday afternoon, and excruciating Saturday evening, on the Sunday morning all four guests run away while the Blisses are so busy having a massive family row that they don’t notice their departure.

More froth. Having come across the word ‘flippant’ to describe Coward it’s stuck in my mind as the best word to describe his approach. Flippant, sarcastic, lofty, dismissive, it may well have captured the cynicism of the younger generation of upper-middle-class families he portrays, but it makes for tiresome reading.

‘Hay Fever’ is said by some to be Coward’s most perfect comedy. In my opinion a comedy has to be funny, or it at least helps. Coward characters overflow with deliberately silly and frivolous comments which aren’t funny in themselves, but continually signal the facetious flippant mentality which is his schtick.

SOREL: Everybody’s heard of Richard Greatham.
SIMON: How lovely for them.

That strikes me as being schoolboy level and indeed a lot of Coward’s characters behave like children,  like spoiled adolescents, have the psychology of sarcastic teenagers. When Sorel (a young woman) tells  her sarcastic brother, Simon, that she’s invited a guest to come and stay, Richard Greatham, a chap who works in the Foreign Office, Simon says:

SIMON: Will he have the papers with him?
SOREL: What papers?
SIMON (vaguely): Oh, any papers.
SOREL: I wish you’d confine your biting irony to your caricatures, Simon.

Is this biting irony? No, it’s a mildly amusing bit of banter. And this is characteristic of the way all the characters, and by implication the author, talk themselves up, make grandiose gestures out of what are, in reality, very mundane arguments and misunderstandings. Which is why Coward’s plays have this peculiar quality of making quite a big impact at the time and then later, in memory, feel so empty.

Or else the tone is just camply bitchy. When Sorel asks the maid, Clara, whether she’s put flowers in the Japanese room, where he’s going to be put up, Simon, having taken against this chap Greatly, bitchily comments:

SOREL: You haven’t forgotten to put those flowers in the Japanese room?
SIMON: The Japanese room is essentially feminine, and entirely unsuited to the Pet of the Foreign Office.
SOREL: Shut up, Simon.

This could be delivered as camp bitchiness, but is really teenage sarcasm. It’s mildly distracting but not funny. As the play progressed I realised the most important bit was Sorel’s immediate anger. The point of the play is how quick each member of the Bliss family is to get angry with any of the others. Very self-absorbed argumentative family, that’s the point.

Then there’s the comedy of snobbery pure and simple.

SOREL: Clara says Amy’s got toothache.
JUDITH: Poor dear! There’s some oil of cloves in my medicine cupboard. Who is Amy?
SOREL: The scullery-maid, I think.
JUDITH: How extraordinary! She doesn’t look Amy a bit, does she? Much more Flossie.

This is the familiar caricature figure of the loveably out-of-touch parent or posh bourgeois who has no idea about their own servants. Hilarious.

Act 1. Saturday afternoon

All three acts are set in the same scene, the living room of the Blisses’ house at Cookham, in June.

Simon and Sorel are brother and sister (19), young whimsical and self-absorbed. Just like Florence and Nicky Lancaster in The Vortex, they consider themselves ‘abnormal’ and lament how they suffer for their ‘difference’.

SIMON: It’s no use worrying, darling; we see things differently, I suppose, and if people don’t like it they must lump it.

This is just another way of saying they’re special, which is, of course, what all narcissistic self-absorbed people think. And it is, notoriously, what self-involved theatre people, or ‘luvvies’, think about themselves. Different, special – more sensitive, spiritual, artistic and aware than ‘normal’ people.

And theatre audiences who have paid to attend the theatre have made a fairly obvious agreement that they will find the people on stage in some sense ‘special’, participants in a shaped narrative, otherwise why bother going to the theatre at all?

Actors on stage playing actors claiming the narcissistic attention which (some) actors notoriously think due to themselves – it’s like watching a baby or child in an adult body – this genre or trope has entertained audiences for over a century, and Simon and Sorel’s mother Judith is a prime example. She claims to have retired from the stage, though her children suspect it won’t be long before she takes it back up, because of the addiction to feeling special, to being in the limelight and the centre of attention. She tells us she’s invited a friend to stay this weekend, and goes on to explain:

JUDITH: He’s a perfect darling, and madly in love with me—at least, it isn’t me really, it’s my Celebrated Actress glamour—but it gives me a divinely cosy feeling.

An actress on stage describing how wonderful it is to be adored as an actress on stage. This is what the kids call ‘meta’, meaning ‘self-referential, referring to itself or to the conventions of its genre.’ I think Oscar Wilde’s characters, in plays and stories, constantly refer to playing a part, acting a role, posing, but do it as part of a consciously worked-out attitude to life, explained in great depth in his long essays. In Coward it just feels like a trick and a mannerism.

Anyway, brief summary: Simon is allegedly an artist, Sorel is his quick-tempered sister, mother Judith affects the absent-minded self-importance of a Grande Dame of the theatre, and the father, David, hides away in his study finishing his novel.

The four guests they’ve invited arrive, being:

  • Sandy Tyrell, a sporty young chap invited by Judith – ‘He’s a perfect darling, and madly in love with me’
  • Myra Arundel, sexy and strong-minded, invited by Simon – according to Judith ‘She’s far too old for you, and she goes about using Sex as a sort of shrimping net’ and calls her a ‘self-conscious vampire’ or vamp – a word just coming into common usage
  • Richard Greatham, an older man, iron-grey and tall, ‘a frightfully well-known diplomatist’, invited by Sorel
  • Jackie Coryton, small and shingled, ‘a perfectly sweet flapper’ invited by David – ‘she’s an abject fool, but a useful type, and I want to study her a little in domestic surroundings’

The Bliss family have a disconcerting habit of, without warning, dropping into a team performance of plays their mother once performed in. At several points during the weekend they suddenly drop into acting out one of Judith’s great hits, ‘Love’s Whirlwind’ and they’re acting out the climactic scene when the first of the guests arrive.

The guests arrive and are disconcerted to be very cursorily greeted, almost ignored by the Blisses.

MYRA: It’s useless to wait for introductions with the Blisses.

There are various moments of embarrassment. For example Sandy is taken aback when Judith tells him her husband is upstairs. He thought she was a widow. Simon fancies Myra like mad but she’s suave and standoffish. Soon after they’ve arrived urbane Richard and dim Jackie find themselves abandoned by their hosts, and left alone find they have nothing to talk about. Slowly they all realise they’re all there for various types of misunderstanding.

The casual rudeness of the Bliss’s, leaving various guests to work out where to go or try and make conversation, leads up to tea for everyone served by Clara the servant, at which conversation fizzles out as it starts to rain and they’re all stuck indoors with each other.

Act 2. Saturday evening

Everyone’s dressed for dinner. The first half of the act is taken up with an enormous squabble about which party game they should play, with the Blisses snapping at each other while the other guests try to understand what’s going on.

The game breaks up amid recriminations and arguments with David and Judith blaming each other from bringing up the children so badly. The characters break away, David going to his room, the others into the library or out into the garden. This leaves Judith the theatrical mother alone with Richard the mature diplomat and it turns out Richard doesn’t like Sorel at all, it’s Judith he’s in love with. There’s lots of flirting which leads up to him kissing her.

At this she leaps to her feet and melodramatically behaves as if they are having a torrid affair and agonising over how to tell her husband that their life together is over etc. This, I grant you, is very funny. Telling him she needs space to compose herself she pushes Richard out into the garden and preens in the mirror before going into the library. But here she discovers young Sandy the sportsman, who she invited down, locked in an embrace with Sorel.

Once again Judith switches into the role of the betrayed woman, making a Grand Scene.

SOREL: Mother, be natural for a minute.
JUDITH: I don’t know what you mean, Sorel.

Comically, Judith says she will make the Great Sacrifice of giving up Sandy and letting his and Sorel’s love prosper. As soon as she’s swept out, Sorel lights a cigarette and tells Sandy she doesn’t love him. But what about the scene they just had?

SORE: One always plays up to Mother in this house; it’s a sort of unwritten law… her sense of the theatre is always fatal.

They go back into the library leaving the stage empty. This is the setting for the third love scene, this time between the father, David, and wilful Myra. Note how the Blisses are pairing off not with the guests they invited. Musical chairs.

An enormous long scene as they flirt leading up to his taking her hand. She repeatedly tells him to let go and then slaps him. With sixpenny psychology, this leads them to suddenly fall into a passionate clinch. And with arch contrivance, this is precisely when Judith re-enters from her bedroom, coming down the stairs and capturing them in mid-kiss.

Obviously David and Myra are embarrassed but once again this is the pretext for Judith to play the Grande Dame, this time not with a florid burst of hysteria but with quite the opposite, an exaggerated display of Noble Restraint.

JUDITH: Life has dealt me another blow, but I don’t mind.

Cold-eyed Myra sees that this is all part of their family dynamic:

MYRA: You’re both making a mountain out of a mole-hill.

But Judith sweeps on in the part of Noble Self-Sacrificing Wife, saying she will leave the house now it has become too full of painful memories.

JUDITH: October is such a mournful month in England. I think I shall probably go abroad—perhaps a pension somewhere in Italy, with cypresses in the garden. I’ve always loved cypresses.

This is funny, as is the way David completely forgets that he’s supposed to be ‘in love’ with Myra in his admiration for Judith’s performance.

At the height of her display Simon comes running in from the garden and, in the fourth and final reshuffling of the characters’ initial allegiances, announces that he and the brainless flapper Jackie are engaged. And this triggers what, by now I’ve realised, is yet another performance from Judith, this time as The Mother Whose Children Are Growing Up And Leaving Home.

JUDITH (picturesquely): All my chicks leaving the nest. Now I shall only have my memories left. Jackie, come and kiss me.

There’s only one snag, which is that Jackie in no way loves Simon and eventually gets to explain that they had one little kiss then he leapt up and ran off to the house to tell his family. What you realise is that they’re all acting, all the Blisses seize on mundane events and blow them up out of all proportion in order to feed their own sense of the theatrical. Against this Myra is the voice of clear-eyed realism (as Helen is in The Vortex), and angrily tells them the truth:

MYRA: Don’t speak to me—I’ve been working up for this, only every time I opened my mouth I’ve been mowed down by theatrical effects. You haven’t got one sincere or genuine feeling among the lot of you—you’re artificial to the point of lunacy.

So that’s the key to the whole thing. It’s a group portrait of a family who live in their own incestuous over-dramatic theatrical reality.

And to seal the point, as all the characters descend into a huge bickering squabble, Richard the diplomat innocently asks ‘Is this a game’ without realising this is a line from the play the family often perform, ‘Love’s Whirlwind’ and, at a drop of a hat, Judith, Simon and Sorel drop into a performance of the melodramatic final scene while David enthusiastically applauds – leaving the four invited guests puzzled and aghast.

Act 3. Sunday morning

First thing in the morning in the dining room. Clara the servant has set the breakfast things in warming dishes on the side table. One by one the guests come down, Sandy, Jackie, Myra, Richard.

There’s a lot of comic business with Sandy developing hiccups and dim Jackie clumsily trying to help cure them, and then a comic thread where Richard taps the barometer in the hall and it promptly falls off the wall onto the floor and breaks and, mortified, he tries to hide it…

But the thrust of the scene is simple: all four guests agree the Bliss household is a madhouse and they can’t get away soon enough. They agree to pack their bags in a hurry and sneak out to Richard’s car, and this is what they do.

Once they’ve left the Blisses arrive one by one for breakfast. In a minor way they each do something symptomatic of their interests. Judith is gratified to find that she’s mentioned in a newspaper gossip column, Simon has drawn a new caricature which he shows the others to admire, and David comes downstairs excited because he’s completed the last chapter of the novel he’s writing (titled ‘The Sinful Woman’).

Excitedly he starts reading this final chapter to his family. It opens with a description of the heroine (Jane Sefton) driving her car (a Hispano cf Iris Storm’s car in The Green Hat) round Paris. Except that his family interrupt him to point out he’s got the geography of Paris wrong. To be precise they deny that the Rue St. Honoré leads into the Place de la Concorde, while David insists that it does. This escalates into a full-scale shouting match and it is during the family’s flaming argument that their four poor guests, unseen, sneak down the stairs carrying their bags, and out the front door.

The family argument is reaching a climax when the front door slams shut loudly which shuts them up. After a moment’s silence they then fall to criticising their guests and their extraordinary behaviour in leaving without even saying goodbye or thank you.

DAVID: People really do behave in the most extraordinary manner these days…

Thoughts

Taken for what it is, ‘Hay Fever’ is an affable evening’s entertainment, clocking in at an hour and a half, leaving plenty of time for drinks beforehand and supper somewhere nice afterwards. It is a perfect example of theatre as harmless entertainment and part of a charming night out, civilised and amusing.

It’s a kind of standing reproach to all those critics and intellectuals who want theatre to tear the mask off bourgeois society in the manner of Ibsen and Shaw or any of the post 1960s playwrights who see it as their task to question society’s values and address Big Issues. I can see how Coward fans see his work as a welcome antidote to all that, and his frothy emptiness as a statement in its own right.


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The Green Hat by Michael Arlen (1924)

‘It might be nice for you to take a house in London for the spring season—I know a dove of a house in Talbot Square you could get, furnished. I mean, living with sane, well-balanced English people.’
She would have gone on to tell him all the old propaganda stories of 1914 if he had not laughed and said:
‘I’ve been reading a book by Michael Arlen and if that’s—’
She ruined Michael Arlen with a wave of her salad spoon.
‘He only writes about degenerates. I mean the worthwhile English.’
(Baby Warren and Dick Diver chatting in ‘Tender Is The Night’ by F. Scott Fitzgerald, Book 2, chapter 21)

‘Your generation,’ said Hilary thoughtfully, ‘is a mess.’
(The Green Hat, chapter 3)

She suspected they might be thinking she was going to more than powder her nose. They were, she was, who cared?
(chapter 4)

She drove with assurance, that is to say, she drove as though her mind was not in the same world as the steering-wheel.
(chapter 4)

‘The Marches are never let off anything…’
(The sense of doom clinging round twins Iris and Gerald March, a phrase often repeated)

She [Billee Ponthéveque, a cocotte] never saw her parents, she would say, because of a funny idea they had that it was bad for her health to take cocaine on an empty stomach.
(The blasé attitude to sex and drugs which helped make the book notorious; chapter 7)

‘Why is every one so awful these days!’
(poor Venice Pollen, wailing the eternal wail; chapter 7)

I couldn’t help thinking of her as of someone who had strayed into our world from a strange land unknown to us, a land where lived a race of men and women who were calmly awaiting their inheritance of our world when we should have annihilated one another in our endless squabbles about honour, morality, nationality.
(One of hundreds of passages where the narrator adulates the protagonist, Iris Storm; chapter 9)

‘The Green Hat’ by Michael Arlen was the publishing sensation of 1924, making its author famous overnight, quickly becoming a touchpoint for the culture, going on to be referenced in contemporary newspapers, magazines and other fictions for the next decade and more, as epitomising the spirit of the day and the year.

It more or less invented the concept of the heedlessly hedonistic bright young things of London. More specifically, it crystallised and defined the idea of the new woman about town, smartly dressed, comfortably off, defying conventions (wearing short skirts, bobbing her hair, smoking!). The heroine in question is Iris Storm, wearer of the green hat in question, fast driver of a Hispano-Suiza motor car and breaker of men’s hearts.

Michael Arlen

The most striking thing about the author of this quintessentially English comedy is that he wasn’t English at all, but a Bulgarian of Armenian descent. He was born Dikran Sarkis Kouyoumdjian in Bulgaria to an Armenian merchant family. In 1892, his family moved to Plovdiv, Bulgaria, after fleeing Turkish persecutions of Armenians in the Ottoman Empire. In Plovdiv, Arlen’s father set up an import-export business and a few years later, he moved his family to England. It was here that young Dikran went to school and was raised speaking posh English, before enrolling at Edinburgh University.

During the Great War Dikran was regarded with suspicion as Bulgaria was allied to Germany and Austria. He gravitated to London and fell in with other conscientious objectors and outsiders. He began writing essays and article for the New Age magazine, and took to signing them Michael Arlen to allay the xenophobia his real name aroused.

During the 1920s Arlen rented rooms opposite ‘The Grapes’ public house in Shepherd Market, then a bohemian Mayfair address. He used Shepherd Market as the setting for the novel. Here’s Shepherd Market on Google Maps. In 1920 he became infatuated with one of the leading socialites of her day, the brilliant and charismatic Nancy Cunard, and she is the inspiration for Iris Storm.

It is, then, as you can see, a strongly autobiographical novel, but with the central character exaggerated for sensational effect.

‘The Green Hat’ made Arlen famous and rich. He enjoyed dressing smartly, driving round London in a yellow Rolls Royce (precursor to John Lennon’s white Rolls Royce forty years later), hobnobbing with other celebrities. He regularly travelled to the United States to work on plays and films. He was understandably nervous about writing a follow-up to his big hit and, indeed, none of his subsequent novels were nearly as successful but he was, until his death in 1956, famous for being famous.

Chapter 1. The Green Hat

Introducing the narrator and Iris Storm

It is the summer of 1922. The story is a first-person narrative told in a breezily facetious style by a well-educated, posh but poor man about town. He lives in a crappy flat above a sordid alleyway in Mayfair’s Shepherd’s market and takes us into his confidence with various arch and self-conscious narrative comments, which hark back to Victorian storytelling.

It is late, after midnight, when the tale begins…

He has just got back to his flat after a party when the front doorbell rings. It is a woman wearing a fashionable small green hat pulled down over her eyes, come to visit her brother, Gerald March, who lives in the flat above the narrator.

As he lets her into the ramshackle house, the narrator is dazzled by her beauty and self possession, by her striking car, a big yellow Hispano-Suiza, by the panache of her green hat, by her small face and dancing auburn hair. He notices she is wearing a large green emerald ring on the third finger of her right hand. He comes to notice that she has tiger-tawny hair and a husky voice. Unfortunately, when they get to the door of Gerald’s flat they see that he is blind drunk.

After the first few pages you realise it is going to overflow with infatuated descriptions of the charismatic Iris. Rhapsodies. A love letter.

She stood carelessly, like the women in Georges Barbier’s almanacks, Falbalas et Fanfreluches, who know how to stand carelessly.

About her, it was perfectly obvious, was the aura of many adventures.

The magic of the sea was in her eyes, whipped with salt and winds.

It seemed to me that across her gentleness flamed a bar of fire. She walked, oh, impersonally, in the fires of herself.

One was to find later that she was completely without a sense of property, either her own or other people’s.

She had a great talent for looking at nothing in particular,

She walked, oh, impersonally, in the fires of herself.

She showed you first one side of her and then another, and each side seemed to have no relation with any other, each side might have belonged to a different woman; indeed, since then I have found that each side did belong to a different woman. I have met a hundred pieces of Iris, quite vividly met them, since last I saw her. And sometimes I have thought of her—foolishly, of course, but shall a man be wise about a woman?—as someone who had by a mistake of the higher authorities strayed into our world from a land unknown to us, a land where lived a race of men and women who, the perfection of our imperfections, were awaiting their inheritance of this world of ours.

She wasn’t that ghastly thing called ‘Bohemian’, she wasn’t any of the ghastly things called ‘society’, ‘county’, upper, middle, and lower class. She was, you can see, some invention, ghastly or not, of her own. But she was so quiet about it, she didn’t intrude it on you, she was just herself, and that was a very quiet self. You felt she had outlawed herself from somewhere, but where was that somewhere? You felt she was tremendously indifferent as to whether she was outlawed or not.

One was to find later that she was completely without a sense of property, either her own or other people’s.

She looked at me through the smoke of her cigarette. She was grave, intent. But one never knew what about…

Arlen isn’t afraid to deploy shamelessly poetic prose:

White she was, very white, and her painted mouth was purple in the dim light, and her eyes, which seemed set very wide apart, were cool, impersonal, sensible, and they were blazing blue. Even in that light they were blazing blue, like two spoonfuls of the Mediterranean in the early morning of a brilliant day. The sirens had eyes like that, without a doubt, when they sang of better dreams.

She was like a tower of beauty in the morning of the world.

Anyway, they look into Gerald’s room long enough to realise he has passed out drunk again. The narrator explains that his binges go on for three days. Iris introduces herself, Iris Storm, Mrs Storm, and explains that she and Gerald are twins, born within the same hour 29 years ago. They come from a posh landed family, the Marches, which has fallen on hard times.

I could somehow ‘cope with’ my time and generation, while they were of the breed destined to failure. I was of the race that is surviving the England of Horatio Bottomley, the England of lies, vulgarity, and unclean savagery; while they of the imperious nerves had failed, they had died that slow white death which is reserved for privilege in defeat…

Gerald is ‘absurdly shy’, can’t cope with life hence the alcoholism. She spends most of her time abroad, which she explains why she hasn’t seen her brother for ten years. But he’s drunk and after a bit of chat and explaining these facts, they leave the drunken brother, Iris bitterly commenting that ‘the Marches are never let off anything…’ which becomes a refrain through the book.

On the way back down she suddenly drops into his room asking for a glass of water. The narrator is embarrassed because he is moving out of the place next day and his belongings are scattered all over the floor. She picks up various books, we discover that the narrator is (alas) a writer, and they have some literary chat (she thinks D.H. Lawrence is ‘nice’) which seems terribly dated and irrelevant, for example about the quality of ‘vulgarity’. Then they’re talking about ‘the Jews’ and their love of luxury which leads into a consideration of Chesterton, his Catholicism and blowing on about beer and Britain. Very dated, almost at times incomprehensible.

But the conversation is just filler while he observes and studies the woman he has already become besotted by:

The lady of the green hat said nothing, and that was how I knew that for her everything was inevitable. That is an important thing to know about a woman, for you know then that you will never know where you are.

She kept strange, invisible company, this lady. She walked in measureless wastes, making flames rush up from stones, making molehills out of mountains.

She shook her head, staring at me with a mischievous smile. Her childishness did not jar. She was always herself.

Her hair was thick and tawny, and it waved like music, and the night was tangled in the waves of her hair.

More information is revealed, such as Iris has been married two times, both dead. Second husband, Captain Storm, won a Victoria Cross in the Great War but a year later was murdered by Sinn Feiners in Ireland.

There’s a knock at the door and it’s the local policeman on his beat and worried about an unusual car parked in the alley. The narrator reassures him, but when he returns to his flat, discovers Iris has gone into his bedroom and fallen asleep on the bed. He studies her beauty intently, sitting in a chair smoking till dawn. At which point she awakes, puts on some powder and the famous hat, and departs.

Her eyes were full on mine, naked, expressionless. I felt that they were the heads of the nails under which she had nailed herself.

Wow! He is hooked.

Chapter 2. The Cavalier Of Low Creatures

Profiling Iris’s twin brother, [the alcoholic] Gerald March

The book very heavily uses the old thriller trick of saying ‘But one was to learn later…’, ‘As I found out later…’, ‘That was to come much later…’ and most ominously of all, ‘But now I’ll never know what she was thinking’, ‘that faint dry scent whose name I shall now never know…’ and the like, incredibly obviously signalling that something bad is going to happen, that the astonishingly charismatic Iris Storm is doomed to die!

More generally the narrator spends a lot of time telling us what he’s going to tell us later, constantly promising us stuff later: ‘He will have his place, that dead Boy Fenwick. A deep place.’ He fusses about what he’s going to say when.

At some point the narrator began to remind me of the narrator of Ford Madox Ford’s masterpiece, The Good Soldier‘, John Dowell, who comes over as an amateur storyteller, constantly fussing about when to tell us and how to tell us key elements of the plot, continually explaining how he didn’t understand this or that at the time they occurred. ‘It was only later that I realised…’ ‘But one notices those things only later on…’

In this manner the narrator declares that he’s talked the events which make up the narrative he’s going to tell with friends who knew Iris, Hilary Townshend and Guy de Travest, friends of the late Barty March, had known Gerald and Iris since their earliest childhood. Guy de Travest had been Gerald’s colonel in the Grenadiers for some time during the war (‘I had a sort of eye on him in France, and he seemed as sensitive as a violin string’).

This chapter is about Gerald March, twin brother of Iris Storm, six foot two, lean, one time captain in the Grenadier Guards, who’s gone completely to pot after the war. ‘He was, I mean, so afraid of life that he simply couldn’t exist but by pretending to despise it’, ‘the most lovable man I ever met.’,

That was always Gerald’s trouble, he never was given the credit for being shy, he put himself between you and any sympathy with him, he made it clear that he didn’t want your infernal sympathy

The dark eyes haunted with abstraction, the thin hawk’s nose, the fine, twisted, defiant mouth…

If I haven’t mentioned it before, Arlen’s prose style is odd, quirky, eccentric, mannered.

It was on the fifth morning after the coming and going of the green hat that I was on an instant afflicted with an impulse, and did on the same instant act upon it.

There was by ordinary no grinning froth about Gerald.

I thought I heard Guy mutter something between his teeth.

He has an odd way of saying, not that so and so was an x type of person, but that ‘that was an x type of person’.

That was a most deficient man in every other respect

That was a sad lady, most grave… That was a very quiet lady… That was a gallant lady.

That was a conscientious man, Conrad Masters.

That was a fell lady for whom I bought a green hat that day.

Now that was a loquacious lady.

It seems just not quite standard English usage, although maybe it overlaps with American street slang of the same period or a bit later, Damon Runyon characters saying ‘Now that was some swell broad!’ And he’s addicted to reversing standard word order, often sounding like Yoda from Star Wars.

Thoughtful he was always.

But not I to be provoked!

His eyes pierced the pavement the other side of my shoulder, for tall was Gerald.

Dolorous it was, yet phantasm of gaiety lay twined in it.

Dark it was, the curtains drawn.

A boyish voice, a very boyish voice Venice had.

Weighed down I was by the chill of my journey.

Wise those eyes were now, and steady as stars in a cavern.

Too tall was Guy, in that light.

An amiable man, he looked.

Impatient, Iris’s voice was, I thought.

Soft she was now, soft and white and small.

Or both in one sentence:

The Blues, that man knows.

A man given to muttering, that.

I thought of… Mrs Conrad Masters. A dashing lady, that.

Faintly amused those worried eyes looked to be. That was that man’s way.

Why? Maybe he thought it was modish and modern. Throughout the book his style is often just odd;

We would then, at about eleven o’clock, have by ordinary gone towards bed.

Venice was in high looks that day.

The narrator first met Gerald when he turned up at the magazine where the narrator worked, the New Voice edited by the testy Horton. He gruffly declares he has written a novel. It’s big, titled ‘The Savage Device’, concerns a young idealist named Felix Burton who marries the ghastly Ava Foe. Only later does Iris tell the narrator that Ava is based on her and Burton is based on her first husband, the legendary Boy Fenwick.

Back in the present, when the narrator rings Iris’s London home, the woman she rents the place to, Mrs Oden, tells her Iris left that day for Paris. Some days later he gets a git package from Paris. Iris has sent him a pack of beautiful writing paper with his new address printed on it.

Chapter 3. For Purity!

Portrait of family friend Hilary Townshend

Sometimes his prose is so overwrought and baroque as to be almost incomprehensible.

The cavalier of low creatures dies hard; surviving even our gesture, he loiters dangerously in the tail of our eye, he awaits, with piratical calm, the final stroke; and only will he fade and be forever gone, despised, and distraught, before the face of him who bore the magic device For Purity, whose ghost was to be raised by Mr Townshend over dinner on the twelfth night after the coming of the green hat.

At other times, in fact very frequently, he’s suddenly bright and clever.

Hilary was a man of various ages; when nothing was going well with him, he would look no more than forty; when everything was going well with him, he would look about forty-five; when he was crossing a road, that is to say when he was thinking, he looked about fifty. This last was, I believe, his age.

Grey and thoughtful and kind, he stood there in the doorway of his tall sombre house, looking up at the faint stars on the ceiling of Chesterfield Street: his was just that contained air of loneliness that unmarried schoolmasters wear during their holidays.

‘Oh, Naps, such a wonder!’ cried Venice on the instant, and I saw what one is so apt to see after an intimate talk with a woman, that one has only been talking to a mood. (chapter 7)

‘Growing-pains, Masters. One is always growing up, at other people’s expense…’ (chapter 8)

‘Oh, friends and enemies! One relies on what people are in themselves, no matter what circumstances may make them feel.’ (chapter 10)

And funny:

Hilary, like all middle-aged men who detest night-clubs, at once left me to dance with the first acquaintance he saw. (chapter 4)

The faint, slow lilt of the tango, pleasantest of all dances but one that is so seldom danced in London because nobody in London can dance it… which is a pity. (chapter 9)

She [Iris] drove that menacing bonnet ever more furiously along the road to Maidenhead, so that corners perished like midgets before our head-lights and Hugo and Shirley, who sat behind, murmured against her driving, saying that it would be bad for their reputation as a happily-married couple to be found dead on the road to Maidenhead. ‘A friend of mine,’ yelled Hugo, ‘was asked to resign from Buck’s for being found dead on the Maidenhead road…’ (chapter 9)

‘I do wish,” Hugo said violently, ‘that perfect strangers wouldn’t force themselves on us like this. Any one would think we were at a Royal Garden Party!’ (chapter 10)

And has some dazzling phrases:

Napier stared at her—he was sitting now—and it was as though he had put his hand to his mouth and placed a smile there. (chapter 7)

In the still air of Guy’s great, bare dining room those cameo flames never flickered even so much, they might have been flowers of light cut out of the stifling heat. (chapter 10)

Iris smiled, and those very white teeth bit the moment into two pieces with their smile and dropped the pieces into limbo. (chapter 11)

Well, in the days after Iris Storm’s apparition, the narrator goes for dinner with Hilary and we learn a bit more about all the characters. For example that shy alcoholic Gerald is heir to the earldom of Portairly (would become the 19th Earl of Portairley and Axe). That the second husband, Hector Storm V.C., left Iris everything, which explains why she’s loaded and can jaunt off to the continent all the time.

That her first husband was the legendary Boy Fenwick. That his body was found on the courtyard below their bedroom window on the first night of their honeymoon, Hilary thinks Boy threw himself to his death on a matter of purity. In other words, he discovered the love of his life, Iris March, was not a virgin. Iris could have stuck to the hotel’s suggestion that Boy was drunk on champagne and fell out the window by accident. But she is constitutionally incapable of lying and so said he threw himself out the window while she watched and lit a cigarette. Thus damning her reputation for ever.

The stilted, antagonistic dinner with Hilary is often very funny.

‘Seldom,’ said Hilary thoughtfully, ‘have I known a man pull his weight less than you are doing this evening. Hm. I should try some brandy.’

Chapter 4. Aphrodite

At the Loyalty nightclub

Not wanting to go home to bed the narrator invites Hilary to a new nightclub on Pall Mall, the Loyalty, overseen by its directeur du restaurant, the Chevalier Giulio di Risotto, and packed with social luminaries, an embodification of the roaring twenties.

As she danced she stared thoughtfully at the glass dome of the ceiling. She looked bored with boredom.

He had observed that the whole purpose of a “best-seller” is to justify a reasonable amount of adultery in the eyes of suburban matrons.

The best way to keep old friends is not to see them, for then you can at least keep the illusion that they are friends.

There was a group of tall young men at the entrance, maybe waiting for their women from the Cloak-Room, maybe waiting for sirens to come to them from the night, maybe waiting for taxicabs, maybe only waiting for the next minute, as young men will.

The Loyalty is packed with people they know, and it’s maybe in this scene that Arlen created the sense of ‘Mayfair’ and nightclubs full of cynical bright young things dancing to ‘the Blues’.

There’s a buzz of news, people talking about the evening papers. Then suddenly everyone knows: the news is that Gerald was arrested in Hyde Park for bothering a woman, sitting at the same bench and making indecent proposals to a middle aged women who started screaming and the police appeared.

Iris is at this nightclub and comes up to the narrator and asks him to accompany her to his old house (which we saw him packing to move out of) but where Gerald still lives, because the narrator has a key to get in.

So they drive there and the narrator lets himself in, goes up to Gerald’s flat and it is elliptically done, but we slowly realise he discovered Gerald has blown his brains out. Without pausing he goes back down to Iris who’d waited in the hall and tells Iris he found Gerald in the same posture as the other day, i.e. sprawled drunk and insensible.

She thanks him and jumps into her powerful roadster and drives off. Turning back to his old house he discovers Guy who took a taxi there, who smokes thoughtfully and says: ‘Had an idea he might blow his brains out.’

Chapter 5. The Dark Letter

Paris 10 months later

All the preceding happened in June 1922. The narrative suddenly cuts to the last week of January of the year 1923 (although he later says it’s 10 months after Gerald’s death?) – and to the Place Vendôme in Paris and a description of that floating population of a few thousand dressing-tables, sables and Cachets Faivre which, under the lofty title of l’aristocratie internationale; the shops, the tourists, the Americans buying everything.

The narrator is with his sister. He’s spent four months at Cannes where he bumped into her and they drove across France to Paris. The sense of France, and the south of France, as a playground for tourists, reminds me of ‘Tender is The Night’ and perhaps explains why ‘The Green Hat’ is specifically referenced in it: Arlen described this world exactly a decade before Fitzgerald’s (far more profound and moving) account of it was published.

He has several amusing glances at the habitual rudeness of the French, especially French hotel staff, who refuse to help him or his sister, along with a number of comic generalisations (slurs) on the French character.

The French sections evinces a cosmopolitan knowingness epitomised by the dandyish Mr Cherry-Marvel who knows everybody and knows everything about everybody but drones on in endless confidential monologues. In the middle of this endless droning, the narrator drifts off to the present moment, the moment of writing, and tells us how he had, in the 6 months of Iris’s absence, received some long rambling often indecipherable letters from her, and quotes and comments from them at length, hence the title of this chapter.

But somehow, in the middle of his summary of the letters, the narrator describes Guy paying a visit to Iris lying ill in bed, and their conversation (as reported to him later by Guy). This long conversation included stuff about her marriage to Hector which seems to include references to her having gotten pregnant by Hector but Hector being killed before she came to term. This is all very obscure: did Iris have an abortion? Was that so completely illegal and socially stigmatised that Arlen can’t spell it out, even in fiction?

Eventually the narrator manages to interrupt Cherry-Marvel and extract the address of the house where Iris is staying. So he jumps into a taxi, a ‘clever little Citroën taxi’ which takes him on a delirious midnight drive into dark areas of Paris he has never been before, and Arlen gives a wonderfully purple description of the dream Paris of debauchery.

Montparnasse lay somewhere behind, or to the east, or to the west. We were in unknown Paris, silent, ill-lit, fantastic Paris: silent but for a rending crash here, a jarring cry there. Cold as the devil it was now, as though because the prickly warmth of many lamps and shops was withdrawn. Carefully we traversed a broad avenue as yet scarcely paved, beneath the skeleton shapes of great tenement-houses. Ah, Paris, that we should have come to this, you and I! Paris, that we should have come together down to this! In how many moods you and I have passed the time of day and night together, we have sat in strange places and dared the most devilish shadows, we have wandered from the Rotonde to the crowning grubbiness of the Butte, we have raced in the Bois and up the Mont Valérien, we have laughed at painted boys and been reviled by painted women, we have danced, loved, gambled, drunk, and together we have been bored by the unmentionable and terrified by that which makes the eyes bright and the face white as a soiled handkerchief, while Mio Mi Marianne danced a minuet du cœur with a crimson garter and the moon fell across the French-windows of Berneval’s house to be lost in the soft shadows of giant poppies. Paris, that we should now have come down to this, lost together in these nameless darknesses beyond even the low darkness of the Bal Bullier, that glory of another time than ours…

The taxi pulls up in front of the address Cherry-Marvel gave him, a huge dark imposing building which he hallucinates is like a fortress or an asylum.

Chapter 6. The Red Lights

The nursing home where Iris is recovering

Continues straight on from the previous scene: When the narrator rings the bell the door is opened by a nun (who turns out to be a lay sister) and who explains that it is a convent-nursing-home. (‘Perhaps of all the nations in the world the French alone are capable of fixing the loudest possible bell to a nursing-home.’) When she explains:

‘Nous avons ici,’ she was pleased to add, ‘la clientèle européenne la plus chic’. [‘We have here the smartest European clientele]

It really made me think of ‘Tender Is The Night’ with its theme of high living inextricably linked with mental collapse. Except that Fitzgerald’s great achievement is to make everything seem wonderful and romantic and somehow innocent. Even when describing squalid scenes Fitzgerald somehow manages to keep his aura of romantic innocence. Not so Arlen:

Perhaps that was the worst stroke of that day, so far. Iris among a clientèle européenne la plus chic…. One saw the cosmopolitan divorcées, their secret illnesses and guileful pains, their nasty little coquetries and the way they would blackmail their lovers with their sufferings, and one felt the sticky night-club breath of all the silly, common harlotries of England, France, America.

When I read the following sentence it struck me that Arlen is attempting in prose the wild coloration and stylisation of modernist painting.

How afraid one always is of the callous French doctors with their cynical eyes and purple beards….

Silence. Anxieties walked across it arm-in-arm with that lank man’s doubtful heat.

The nun fetches the doctor in charge who turns out to be someone the narrator knows (of course), Dr Conrad Masters, a compulsive bridge player. Masters is a haunted, nervous man and twitchily leaks out to the narrator that Iris has been there for weeks, something to do with ‘septic poisoning’ leading to some kind of nervous collapse, delirium, occasionally waking into lucidity, but not caring. Then Dr Masters goes home in his flash Renault car.

Cut to the narrator that evening taking his (older) sister to the latest Paris nightclub, La Plume de Ma Tante – leaving reader to ask, why didn’t he simply ask to see Iris or force his way to her room? Because the doctor said she needed rest?

Anyway, this Paris nightclub is significantly more debauched than the London one, and reading Arlen’s description of it you realise why the book crystallised an entire era and came to be so widely referenced. Sorry it’s such a long quote but it’s the accumulation that makes its impact.

La Plume de Ma Tante. Bright green walls splashed with vermilion. A platform at one end, whereon five blackamoors perspired. At the other, a naked woman. She was without hips, according to the fashion for women. Her arms were twined above her head, and raised on the tip of her fingers was a bowl of green malachite from which pink water splashed into a white alabaster basin at her feet. Many English people were present. They would be going to the Riviera, then they would be coming back from the Riviera. Colonel Duck was there, with the quality. Colonel Duck was, no doubt, just returned from some notably swift exploits on the Cresta Run. But he never was so talkative about his outdoor activities. Cherry-Marvel was there, with a great big woman and a nice-looking boy with the hands of a housemaid who was a famous boxer. There was the usual group of Argentines, very well dressed indeed. They talked about le polo. All over the room elderly women were dancing with young men of both sexes. Mio Mi Marianne was there, sitting alone, but I might not speak with her because I was with my sister. A demi-mondaine will feel insulted if you speak with her when you are with your sister. Two years before Mio Mi Marianne had one night tied a silk handkerchief round her wrist, and it became the fashion for women to tie silk handkerchiefs round their wrists. Then Mio Mi Marianne tied a silk handkerchief round her throat, and that became the fashion. She thought of these things while smoking opium. She sat alone, staring into a glass of Vichy Water. A young American polo-player called Blister went up to her table, and maybe he asked her to dance, but she just looked at him and he went away again. Her eyes were intent on an opium-dream, and she was very happy in the arms of the infinite. Mio Mi Marianne will be found one day lying on the Aubusson carpet of her drawing-room. There will be a hole in the carpet where her cigarette has died out.

A blackamoor beat a warning roll on his drum, the dancers left the floor, the lights dwindled and awoke again in swaying shadows of blue and carmine. A heavily built young man with the face of a murderer danced a tango with a lovely young girl with short golden curls. Then he threw her on the floor, and picked her up again. Rudolf and Raymonde. He did it beautifully. An American woman called the Duchess of Malvern threw Rudolph a pink carnation. The Baron de Belus said harshly: ‘That is a white carnation really, but it is blushing at the fuss that women make of Dagoes.’

(I comment below on the occasional use of racial terms or slurs in the text which we obviously find unacceptable now, a century later. On the other hand, modish open-mindedness about gender, about ‘dancing with young men of both sexes’ etc.)

Later that night the narrator returns to the nursing home and is surprised to discover young Napier Harpenden there as well, ‘Napier, favourite of the gods, shy, sensitive, fine’, ‘a strange, secret, saintly youth, a favourite of the gods’. He’s passing through Paris on the way to the Riviera with his wife Venice. When we last saw them both, in the nightclub scene at the Loyalty club, they were three days away from getting married. Now it’s ten months later. In Arlen’s characteristic tortured and oblique style, I think we learn from their extended but elliptical conversation, that Napier and Iris had an affair which started on the fateful night that Gerald killed himself. In fact, the narrator realises, he in a way facilitated it because, if he’d told Iris the truth about Gerald she would have reacted, gone home by herself etc, but instead thought everything was normal and so succumbed to the advances of Napier, who had followed her to Gerald’s digs from the club. Complicated.

Also complicated that his wife, Venice, is waiting outside in the car all this time. And Napier has a letter Iris wrote him. Just imagine if Venice saw it! Devastated! End of marriage!

Dr Master emerges and tells them Iris knows they’re there, and asks for Napier. So he takes Napier in to see her, leaving the narrator outside. Is she going to die without ever seeing the narrator again? Is that the drift of all the doom-laded prolepsis in the opening chapter (‘I was never to find out…’).

Back out front of the building Venice is sleeping in the taxi she and Napier came in. The doctor invites the narrator back to his place to join a bridge party. On the way he explains that Iris’s problem is she doesn’t care whether she lives or dies. She bucked up when she saw Napier. And that’s why he – the narrator – must do all he can to prevent Napier travelling on to the South the next morning.

Chapter 7. For Venice!

Venice’s torment that her husband, Napier, doesn’t love her

Next morning the narrator wakes up in his hotel in the Rue de la Paix. When he’s gotten up he phones Venice Harpenden at her hotel and she in that posh darlings loves kind of way compels him to come meet her and buy her lunch.

This lunch is an agonising affair because Venice reveals she is stricken with jealousy by the way Napier (or ‘Naps’, as she calls him) seems obsessed with this Mrs Storm. They had planned to leave Paris this morning and now Naps has changed all their plans. Why? This puts the narrator in the embarrassing position of having to defend Napier and explain away his dogged visits to Iris’s care home as the loyalty of an old friend.

It’s made ten times worse when young innocent Venice confides in the narrator that she cannot have children, and asks him whether that puts a man off a girl, her being infertile; whether it might be enough to drive the man away and into the arms of an old lover (Mrs Storm)?

They’re in the middle of this sticky conversation when Naps himself walks in. The narrator tries to get away but is forced to sit there as the happy-happy conversation of the couple becomes more and more strained until she becomes angry-upset and he momentarily loves his temper. He says Alright then let’s go, let’s go now, let’s go right away to the South. (There’s a detail that Venice had met the narrator’s sister who kindly agreed to loan them her car and its chauffeur to drive them south.)

Only the narrator knows what a sacrifice this is to Naps, not just because he (apparently) loves Iris, but because Dr Masters had specifically said Iris’s recovery rested on Naps visiting her; that only Naps’s presence was giving her any reason to live. And now because of the nagging of his wife, she’s forced him to break his promise and jeopardise Iris’s life (‘a very cruel decision’). Only the narrator realises what this means, as they all get up, shake hands and part with jolly smiles.

And after they’re gone he is left to ponder the infinite capacity of human beings to screw up their loves lives. When he phones Dr Masters to tell him Napier won’t be coming to the nursing home this afternoon, the doctor swears freely. Will I do? asks the narrator. ‘You!’ The doctor says he’ll come and collect him. (If it was lunch he just ate with Venice then this might only be 2 or 3 in the afternoon.)

Chapter 8. Piqure Du Cœur

French for ‘heart sting’, description of very ill Iris in the nursing home

So Dr Masters drives the narrator to the nursing home, they enter a series of courtyards and quadrangles, all appropriately solemn, the narrator led by a gruff unsympathetic nun until he finally comes to the door on a dark corridor. It is opened by a radiantly beautiful nun, Sister Virginie, whose compassion shine forth. She indicates Iris lying in the bed and leaves.

It is dark. All Iris’s curled hair and style has disappeared. She looks small and frail and asleep but the narrator is reassured by her steady breathing. He is turning to go when he realises her great dark eyes are open and staring at him. He is worried she will mistake him for Napier but then sees in her eyes (as people in novels supernaturally can) that she recognised him. She says just one word, ‘Dying’. He goes to the bed to reassure her, takes a comb from the bedside table and gently combs her damp straight hair until she closes her eyes and breathes slowly. Then carefully gets up and leaves and silently closes the door. He is crying.

Sister Virginie accompanies him back to the doctor’s office. Masters tells him off for letting Napier leave. He was doing her some good. The narrator’s visit, not so much. Later, in a phone call Masters tells him not to visit for a while, say ten days.

In the event it’s longer than that, ‘quite a while more.’ Description of his second visit, on 15 February. She talks a lot more this time, telling him off for still being in Paris, so he has an excuse ready, which is that an idea for a story came to him and he wants to stay in Paris to write it. (The idea is about a man who would not dance with his wife. Not a humdinger, is it?)

She’s been told by the doctors to lie perfectly still and not move hear head, not even a finger. She can’t laugh because it hurts. She says nobody wants her, not even a God and makes a joke about having all the paperwork reading, a temperature of 106, getting to the Pearly Gates but being told she is too full of life and rejected by God himself, who tells the archangel Gabriel to escort her back to the world.

She thanks him for bringing Naps to see her, chats some more but then turns querulous and tearful as the really sick do. More clearly than ever it is hinted that her ailment is something to do with pregnancy:

“As for me,” she whispered, “all this effort wasted … no playmate, no nothing. Masters warned me, too…. Dead as dead, the poor darling was….”

So was it a miscarriage? Or did Iris carry the baby to term and it was stillborn? Dr Masters enters and accuses the narrator of making her cry and Iris stands up for him, but it’s time to go.

She tells him she will never return to England.

Chapter 9. Talking Of Hats

London, July 1923: the narrator and Guy see Iris sweep past in a taxi with Napier

Six months later. July that year was swelteringly hot. After dinner at the Café Royal one boiling hot night, the narrator is walking home along Piccadilly with his older friends, Guy de Travest and Hilary. They’re thinking about popping into White’s, the gentlemen’s club, to fetch Napier when they see the very man come bounding down the steps and jump into a tax which roars past them. Both Guy and the narrator see that sitting on the back seat next to him was Iris Storm! Guy invites the narrator back to his house where, incongruously enough, they play squash before bathing and drinking cold drinks.

Guy idly casually says he was thinking of having a dinner party to which he’d invite Venice and Iris so they could finally meet each other. Does the narrator think that would be a good idea?

In fact Iris calls him the next day and insists that he take her shopping and buy her a new green hat. Which he does, and then lunch. She has fully recovered, she looks radiant, she is splendidly imperious.

I couldn’t help thinking of her as of someone who had strayed into our world from a strange land unknown to us, a land where lived a race of men and women who were calmly awaiting their inheritance of our world when we should have annihilated one another in our endless squabbles about honour, morality, nationality. Strong were the people of that land, stronger than the gold they despised but used, deterred by not qualm nor fear, strong and undefeatable. And just like that was the white mask of this beautiful woman, strong and undefeatable. It knew not truth nor lying, not honour nor dishonour, not loyalty nor treachery, not good nor evil: it was profoundly itself, a mask of the morning of this world when men needed not to confuse their minds with laws with which to confuse their neighbours, a mask of the evening of this world when men shall have at last made passions their servants and can enter into their full inheritance…

Nietzsche wrote about the Superman. Iris Storm is the Superwoman.

Chapter 10. The Fall Of The Emerald

The skinny-dipping party at Maidenhead

Way back in the first chapter, Iris had told the narrator about the oversized green emerald ring she wears on the third finger of her right hand. It was given her by her second husband, Hector Storm, who told her he intended it a symbol of her inconstancy, which has driven him to despair: ‘my life is darkness without you, I love you so, and it’s a perfect hell with you, I love you so!’

Cut back to the present of the story, in which, after that dinner at Guy’s house, they all pile into cars and drive for Maidenhead to go swimming, they being: Guy, the narrator and Iris, Napier and Venice, and another young pair of newlyweds, Hugo and Shirley Cypress.

Iris drives like a demon. The narrator is amazed that everyone seems to be behaving as if nothing is wildly wrong. For he knows that Iris is planning to run away to Rio de Janeiro off Napier in a few days, and he knows Guy invited Iris solely to show her what she is doing is wrong, to show her the happiness of these young couples – Napier and Venice and Hugo and Shirley – to show Iris that she comes from a different world and must not interfere in and wreck their happiness. And yet no-one, not even Guy, acknowledges the elephant in the room. The narrator marvels at their English nonchalance and wonders at what point it becomes hypocrisy.

So when Guy mentions the notion of driving to Maidenhead to go skinny dipping they all jump at the idea, especially Venice and Shirley who think it’s too super! Guy chivalrously says it was the narrator’s idea and they all mockingly refer to him from that point onwards as the ‘he-man’, obviously the latest phrase from America (a phrase mocked by Gertrude Stein in a story told by Scott Fitzgerald).

While Venice and Shirley were gushing, the narrator lit a cigarette for Venice and his hand momentarily touched hers and he discovered it was cold as ice, and in a flash he realised the toll knowing her husband is in love with Iris has taken, how it has undermined that marriage, how desperate she is.

Anyway – the party drive in two cars from West London to Maidenhead, late at night, going at 70mph, taking bends at crazy speeds, Iris driving like a mad thing. They pull into the courtyard of hotel which is closed and bribe the grumpy owner to lend them towels, then stumble in the intense dark down to the river. The narrator finds Iris leaning on him in the darkness and goes purple:

She leaned on my arm, completely. “Foot hurts.” I wished she wouldn’t. I almost said, “don’t.” Her touch confounded, confused. She was tangible, until she touched you. She was finite, until she touched you. She was a woman, until she touched you. Then she became woman, and you water. She became a breath of womanhood clothed in the soft, delicious mystery of the flesh. Touching her, you touched all desire. She was impersonal and infinite, like all desire. She was indifferent to all but her desire, like all desire. She was a breath carved in flesh, like all desire. She was the flower of the plant of all desire. Desire is the name of the plant that Lilith sowed, and every now and then it puts out the flower that in the choir of flowers is the paramour of the mandrake.

She is also, as we have realised by this stage, poison.

They discover boats moored to a jetty and fuss around a motorboat. Several locals, apparently the hotel owner and a local constable, tell them they can’t, but they make all kinds of witty replies and go ahead anyway. Posh privilege.

I think they strip off – as with the situation around Iris’s pregnancy, Arlen’s style or his entire mentality, is so roundabout that it’s hard to be sure – and swim in the water, all except Iris who lounges among the cushions in the motorboat.

Guy warns of dangerous currents and I felt the hot breath of tragedy on my shoulder – would one of them drown like the young couple in Women in Love? No.

But there is a bad moment when the bantering men realise Iris’s dress is in the boat but no Iris! She must have decided to go in after all. Lots of shouting and they realise they can’t see or hear Iris, or Venice. There’s a mad couple of minutes while they splash and yell and swim off in different directions before they find them and bring them back to the jetty.

In fact Venice insists that she’d gotten into a bit of trouble, called out, and that’s why Iris dived in: to save her. She tells everyone crowded round her in the bottom of the motorboat the Iris saved her life! Which triggers tense and varied responses from the menfolk, who are all aware of the tangled web between Napier, his wife Venice, and his lover Iris.

Iris is cold. The menfolk fuss, Guy and Napier worry, after her illness. She gets dressed but is still cold. They make their way back to the cars and Iris snuggles up next to the narrator. He discovers she’s lost the famous emerald ring. Yes, at the bottom of the Thames, she explains. So after all the heavy symbolism attributed to it, associated with infidelity by husband Hector, it was in saving a rival woman’s life that she lost it, an unambiguously moral act.

Then again, as she falls asleep on the narrator’s arm, she whispers that she thinks Venice got into trouble, half consciously, on purpose. Why? To make her (Iris) like her (Venice). Like her enough to back off from stealing her husband. ‘Will it?’ asks the narrator. ‘No,’ replies Iris.

The Last Chapter: St George For England!

Arlen has his narrator introduce us to his Last Chapter with a heavy sense of impending doom, commenting on his own practice with the airy self-consciousness theorising of an eighteenth century novelist, of a Henry Fielding, or maybe Robert Louis Stevenson at his most chatty.

NOW as I come to that last night of all, a night that was as though set on a stage by a cunning but reckless craftsman of the drama, and as I look every way I may at the happenings that were staged on the platform of that night, I do sincerely thank my stars that it is no novel I have set my hand to, but a faithful chronicle of events. For it would seem that the novelist, so he is an honest man and loves his craft, must work always under a great disadvantage in his earnest wish to tell of life truthfully; since, as the old, old saying is, he never can dare to be so improbable as life. He may, to be sure, be as dingy as life, according to the mode of the day, or he may even achieve the impossible and be more dingy than life, also according to the mode of the day, but to be as improbable as life will be as far beyond the honest novelist’s courage as it must be against the temper of his craft; for should his characters have to “break out,” should the novelist be so far gallant as to concede something to the profligate melodrama of life, his people may only “break out” along lines which the art of their creator has laid out and made inevitable for them; whereas you and I know that living men will do queer things which are desperately alien from what we had thought their possibilities—nay, impossibilities—to be, living men will defy the whole art of characterisation in the twinkling of an eye and destroy every canon of art in a throb of a desire: so that we may make no count or chart of the queer, dark sides of our fellows, nor put any limit, of art, psychology, romance or decency, to the impossibilities which are, within the trembling of a leaf, possible to men and women.

It’s a big chunk of text but not particularly clever. Truth is stranger than fiction, so what. It’s this kind of rambling banter which makes the book approachable and easy company, but by the same token also prevents it being literature. It’s not deep or pioneering or particularly thought-provoking. Indeed at some moments it’s almost gibberish, like the long exchange between the narrator and Iris about why she’s inviting him to come for a drive into the country.

‘We are driving into the country, let me tell you, to meet my fear. And when we meet it I shall not mock, nor tremble, nor quail, but I shall be a very Saint George for steadfastness. That is the programme, so far. And you, will you be my esquire?’
‘You speak of darkness, of sun-dials, of fear, of Sir Maurice Harpenden, whom I do not know, of Saint George of Cappadocia, whom, alas, one sees only too little of these days. I think that you, too, must have dined alone. And you have gone mad. Else why must we drive into the country?’
‘But we go to keep high company to-night, that’s why! Are you afraid of that? The captains and the kings of the countryside are our adversaries. Sweet, you and I shall stand arrayed against the warriors of conduct.’
‘Not I, Iris! I am for conduct.’

There’s piles more like this but, despite the deep purple passages – or maybe because of them – it was wildly popular.

So what happened ‘on that night’ of dark repute? Well, Iris invites the narrator to accompany her as she drives west out of London towards a place called Sutton Marle and the house of Sir Maurice Harpenden, father of Napier, being irritatingly vague and obscure to begin with, and then spouting a lot of stuff to justify running off with Napier and ruining poor Venice’s life. She laments that Venice couldn’t have a child; then everything would be different.

Then in the middle of the countryside, she pulls up by a field with the headlights shining on a tree in a field and delivers a massive burst of backstory. She was brought up alongside her twin brother Gerald, Boy Fenwick and Napier, son of Sir Maurice. Her mother died and her father declined. Sometimes an aunt took her and Napier up to London, for tea at Harrods, which they loved as children because they got gleefully lost in it. And so they nicknamed the tree they played around ‘Harrods’.

Napier and she became very close but his father wanted him to marry rich, not the daughter of a bankrupt family and so forced Napier, when he got old enough to go to university, never to see Iris again.

She reveals that when they met for one last time by the tree they played in as children, she told him she loved him and would never love another man. And she kept her vow. She gave herself to Boy and then to Hector in marriage, but they both realised she didn’t love them. Hector volunteered to go off to Ireland where he was killed, because one night he heard Iris whisper Napier’s name in her sleep.

Now she has come back to beard Sir Maurice and tell him that his ban on their love consigned her to twelve years of hell, to the deaths of two husbands, and to the future misery of Venice Pollard.

She starts the car again and sweeps up the drive to Sir Maurice’s house and comes to a halt in front of the grand steps. Out comes the ancient butler, Truble, to greet them. He starts wittering about how he’s known Iris all his life, held her in his arms when she was a baby, and she declares he is her oldest friend, then he is crying and she tries to comfort him.

The narrator and Iris go round the back of the house and spy through the long windows three men inside playing bridge: Guy de Travest, Hilary Townshend and Sir Maurice. Iris forces the narrator to give a quick moral profile of all three. God this is dragging on. What’s going to happen?

They knock and the men get up from their game and greet them. Iris is, as he first saw her, wearing a green hat. Turns out Sir Maurice invited Iris down. The three men have known and loved Iris since she was a girl which is why they want to confront her about her plan to run away with Napier. There’s a lot of talk but it develops into a confrontation between Iris and Maurice who hate and fear each other. He says:

‘This isn’t badness. Damn it, girl, this is evil! There aren’t any words in English to describe what we think of a woman who comes wantonly between a man and his wife, a man and his career.’

It turns into a long, melodramatic, overwritten confrontation, in which Iris, Maurice, Hilary and Guy all have extended speeches considering every aspect of the issue at inordinate length. I wasn’t very interested in all the fol-de-rol about love and the gods and destiny and whatnot, what interested me was the way Arlen makes it at least in part a clash of the generations. The old men realise that their generation screwed it up; with all their fine talk of honour and decency, they’re the generation which gave the world the Great War, which in fact destroyed all those values. Hilary states it clearly:

‘Maurice, years ago, didn’t realise that in our time we are not our children’s masters. Their ideas are not ours, their ambitions are not ours. And there’s no reason why they should be, since ours have sent all Europe to the devil.’

A point echoed by Guy:

‘I fancy Hilary’s right about this father and child business… after all, our cubs can’t make more of a mess of everything than we and our fathers have done.’

When Maurice states, or implies, that Iris is going to ruin Napier’s career in the Foreign Office, Iris makes the kind of set-piece statement that is quoted in history books about the 1920s generation rebelling against their parents’ bankrupt values:

‘You talk to me of your England. I despise your England, I despise the ‘us’ that is ‘us’. We are shams with patrician faces and peasant minds. We are built of lies, Maurice, and we toil for the rewards of worms.

‘You would have Napier toil for a worm’s reward, you are sorry I have broken Napier’s career in the Foreign Office. Maurice, I am glad. To you, it seems a worthy thing for a good man to make a success in the nasty arena of national strifes and international jealousies.

‘To me, a world which thinks of itself in terms of puny, squalid, bickering little nations and not as one glorious field for the crusade of mankind is a world in which to succeed is the highest indignity that can befall a good man, it is a world in which good men are shut up like gods in a lavatory. Maurice, there are better things, nobler things, cleaner things, than can be found in any career that will glorify a man’s name or nationality.

‘You thought to bully me with our traditions. You are right, they are mine as well as yours. May God forgive you the sins committed in their name! And may He forgive me for ever having believed in them…’

This all feels immensely theatrical, like the last act in a play by George Bernard Shaw, what with its strong independent female protagonist and stirring speeches against the dead hand of the older (male) generation.

It obviously represents a clash of moralities, as well: the older generation condemn people like iris for their selfishness, promiscuity or adultery; whereas people like Iris see themselves as being true to Life unlike the small-minded, parochial and stifling lives of the older generation which – unanswerable argument – led up to the greatest cataclysm in human history.

At the height of the confrontation there suddenly comes a voice from the French windows (it’s always the French windows) and it’s Napier himself! He’s come all this way to rescue Iris. And Venice has come with him, standing behind him. Napier steps forward and it is his father he steps towards. He says he wants to clear Iris’s name, Iris begs him not to confront his father, Maurice says they must part, Hilary says the young people must go now, it’s a very fraught busy scene.

Napier now makes his grand speech, accusing his father of sacrificing his life on the altar of stupid outworn values and traditions:

‘You sacrificed Iris for what you call my future, my career. Weigh Iris on one side and on the other my future, my career, now that I am thirty! You sacrificed my happiness to the ghastly vanity of making our name something in this world. You call that ‘working for my future,’ sir. And I call it the cruel sort of humbug which has dragged God knows how many decent people into a beastly, futile unhappiness. Here I am at thirty, a nothing without even the excuse of being a happy nothing, a nothing liked by other nothings and successful among other nothings, a nothing wrapped round by the putrefying little rules of the gentlemanly tradition. And, my God, they are putrefying, and I bless the England that has at last found us out.’

Then becomes clear one of the most striking things in this madly extended and over-the-top finale, which is that Venice has come round to Iris’s point of view. She is ready to give her husband to her because she has come to appreciate how truly and deeply Iris loves him.

Napier’s anger has been intensified because when he happened to walk in Sir Maurice was yet again throwing the fact of Boy Fenwick’s suicide in her face, and this goads Napier beyond endurance. After a lot more ranting and raging he finally spits out why this is so unfair. Iris deliberately let people believe it was something in her that triggered Fenwick’s suicide, allegedly ‘for purity’. Now Napier reveals that Fenwick had syphilis when he married Iris, and killed himself when he realised he had given it to her.

!!!!

Iris is mortified and whispers, very powerfully, that Napier has taken from her the only gracious thing she ever did in her life. And with that they leave, Iris and Napier, through the open French windows.

Venice faints, the older chaps kindly bring her round and are just tending her when… Napier appears back in the French windows and there’s the deafening roar of Iris’s car, starting up, revving up, then roaring off into the night! What!?

Napier walks across the room, looking defeated, and tells Venice that he can’t leave her like that, he is not such a cad. Venice asks what he’s talking about? Napier says Iris tried to conceal it, said she’s promised not to tell, but then tells him that Venice is pregnant, with his child! So that’s why he came back. He’s not a perfect cad. He’ll stand by her.

Except it’s a lie! Venice screams that it’s a lie! She is not pregnant. Iris lied to him to send him back! Chaos, pendemonium, all manner of recriminations and explanations!

But above it all Sir Maurice confronts the narrator about the unnatural loudness of Iris’s car. Suddenly panic grips everyone. Is she going to do something stupid? And so they jump into Sir Maurice’s car and go hurtling off down the drive, then out into the country lanes, chasing Iris’s headlights which they can see in the night.

As the chase reaches its climax, they watch Iris’s car leave the road and race towards the talismanic tree named ‘Harrods’, the place she was happy as a child, race towards it and crash into it with a huge crash and flare of flame.

The others slow their car and park and run towards the wreck. The narrator’s foot touches something soft and he picks up her green hat, the green hat.

Thoughts

Goodness me, what a ridiculously over-extended and over-excited farrago it turned into at the end!

I’ve read so much about ‘The Green Hat’ that it’s a great relief to finally read it. I can see why it was such a hit, crystallising the frenetic partying of the era which everyone, at the same time, felt was so ill-omened and fated. It certainly portrays its little set of high society hedonists with imaginative force and humour, and combines a gossip column view of Paris and London, with tear-jerking scenes in the nursing home, naughty high jinks in Maidenhead, and then a Bernard Shaw moral confrontation followed by a fireball climax. No wonder it was immediately made into a play and soon afterwards into a movie.

At numerous points it has subtlety, acute observations and sharp writing. But a lot of it is obscure, oblique, written in an elliptical style which makes such a fetish of avoiding the point, as to make plenty of passages puzzling and some bits of it almost incomprehensible.

And the final chapter with its torrent of revelations feels as if it has been hammered onto the rest of the narrative with six inch nails. All the revelations of her happy childhood, the tragic blocking of her love for Napier imposed by Sir Maurice, 12 years of hell, all this makes you fall right out of love with the book and then left reeling by the melodramatic ending.

I can see why it is on no-one’s academic reading list and is not even currently in print. Shame. A properly edited edition by, say, the Oxford University Press, would be worth reading for the historical footnotes and explanations alone.

Arlen was soon to be outdone. All around were other gifted writers describing the same sort of thing, but with much more restraint, balance, style and depth. Pure posh dimwit comedy was done better by P.G. Wodehouse; more thoughtful satire was being done by Aldous Huxley; far more stylish bright young comedy was to be done by Evelyn Waugh a few years later; Catholic guilt (if that’s what partly drives Iris) was to be patented by Graham Greene a few years later; while the psychological costs of all this frivolity was brilliantly captured by Noel Coward and, a bit later, by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Even D.H. Lawrence wrote some stories depicting the fast cars and partying of the younger generation (The Virgin and the Gypsy) – to name just a few.

On each of those individual terrains, Arlen compares badly but, at that moment, in 1924, Arlen combined them all to create a smash hit and he lived off its reputation for the rest of his life. Kudos.

Cast

London

Unnamed narrator

Gerald March

Iris March / Fenwick / Storm

Boy Fenwick – apostle of purity, killed himself on his wedding night to Iris when he learned she wasn’t a virgin (?)

Hector Storm – Iris’s second husband, hero in the war, came to realise she was incurably promiscuous, ironically gave her emerald ring, shot dead by nationalists in Ireland

Hilary Townshend – older friend of the narrator and friend of the March family, knew Iris as a girl – amusingly says ‘hm’ every other sentence

Guy de Travest – older friend of the narrator

The London nightclub

  • The Chevalier Giulio di Risotto, directeur du restaurant of the Loyalty Club
  • Mr Trehawke Tush, the popular novelist, who knows all the tricks of success
  • Hugo Cypress
  • Colonel Duck
  • Mrs Angela Ammon
  • Lady Cornelia Pynte

Paris

Venice Pollen, fragrant daughter of Nathaniel Pollen who owns half the newspapers in England, engaged then married to…

Napier Harpenden – ‘Napier, favourite of the gods, shy, sensitive, fine’, ‘a strange, secret, saintly youth, a favourite of the gods who never once relied on the favouritism of gods or men’ – says what at the end of every other sentence

  • Mr Cherry-Marvel – master of gossip
  • Dr Conrad Masters – treats Iris
  • Eugene Martel-Bonnard, the surgeon who owns the nursing home where Iris is treated
    Donna Anna Estella Guelãra who Martel-Bonnard nearly killed with his treatment

Names of background characters in hotels and bars to create a sense of being in the swim of cosmopolitan fast set:

  • Lady Tekkleham
  • The Baron de Belus
  • Fay Avalon

The climax

Sir Maurice Napier – handsome, cunning old soldier, Iris’s sworn enemy for 12 years

Mr Truble – Sir Maurice’s fat old butler and Iris’s ‘only friend’

The roaring 20s

Direct description

By halfway through I realised the novel’s success, almost regardless of the ‘plot’, was at least in part because of its vivid picture of the world of the rich cosmopolitan fast set of London and Paris. This rises to a peak in the two nightclub scenes, the one at the Loyalty Club in London (chapter 4), one in La Plume de Ma Tante (chapter 6). They have the same kind of appeal as celebrity gossip columns do to this day, although with the added value of literary references or artfulness. (Compare the nightclub scenes in chapters 15 and 16 of Aldous Huxley’s 1923 novel Antic Hay.)

The narrator’s worldliness

The image of bright young things is supposedly embodied in Iris Storm but really it resides in the tone of voice and tremendous worldliness evinced by the narrator. He knows everyone but, deeper than that, he has had experiences, many experiences. In every situation he remembers other times when… and lots of dark and troubled experiences are attributed to him. Oooh. Conveyed in almost every sentence, sometimes rising to a Noel Coward level of blasé worldly cynicism:

‘There is a new dance place open. I heard about it from a friend of mine, Mr Cherry-Marvel. You will meet him, he is charming. This new place is called La Plume de Ma Tante. It has only been open three nights, so it will be very modish for another two.’

Casual racism

Part of the breezy cynical dismissal of everything and everyone associated with these posh affluent characters, is a breezy cynical use of what we, a hundred years later, consider racist slurs and stereotypes, in particular of Jews and people of colour.

When the narrator is describing the new Paris nightclub La Plume de Ma Tante to his sister, and mentions it has a caged nightingale to sing, he goes on:

‘There is probably baser music to supplement this nightingale. There are, in fact, five lovely niggers.’

This is the only use of the n word, so it is not a major or even minor theme, just a throwaway remark, although soon afterwards:

La Plume de Ma Tante. Bright green walls splashed with vermilion. A platform at one end, whereon five blackamoors perspired. At the other, a naked woman. She was without hips, according to the fashion for women. Her arms were twined above her head, and raised on the tip of her fingers was a bowl of green malachite from which pink water splashed into a white alabaster basin at her feet…

Any slur on people of colour is clearly just a detail in the general mockery of the whole scene and the entire milieu of international debauchery, but still…

Slightly less throwaway is the unpleasant references to ‘the wrong sort of Jewess’. In the nightclub scene, chapter 4, the narrator is emphasising how the Loyalty club is full of all sorts of colourful people, and:

There was a Jewess of the wrong sort in the wrong sort of green. She looked like a fat asparagus whose head had been dipped in dressing and then put in a warm place to dry. She dried in patches. A caravan of pearls crawled upwards from her bosom to her throat, and she said to Mr Trehawke Tush, the novelist: ‘The only decent cocktails you can get in Paris are at the Ritz Bar…’

He goes on to be just as rude about Mr Trehawke Tush, and then Venice Pollen, and pretty much all the other characters at the nightclub, in fact both remarks come amid a welter of descriptions of other aspects of nightclub life which the narrator clearly finds risible. The point is it is a satire on all these posh pretentious people and frenetic 1920s nightclub culture. But still…

Sex

How much literature is about the incredible difficulties human beings have finding and keeping a mate? Half of all world literature? More?

I sat there in that deep armchair, subdued by the thought of the awful helplessness of men and women to understand one another, and of the terrible thing it would be for some of them if ever they did understand one another, and how many opportunities the devil is always being given of making plunder out of decent people.

Such a simple task. So completely beyond the powers of people in most novels or plays, operas and poems.

P.S.

Mrs Forrest, a fabulously fashionable young woman in Dorothy L. Sayers’s 1927 novel ‘Unnatural Death’, proclaims that she ‘adores Michael Arlen’ and asks Lord Peter Wimsey whether he’s read his latest novel, ‘Young Men in Love’ yet.


Credit

‘The Green Hat’ by Michael Arlen was published in 1924 by William Collins. I read it online.

Related link

Related reviews

  • 1920s reviews

‘Certainly, he once wrote a novel, but who does not once write a novel?’ (the narrator about Gerald March, chapter 2)

A Good Man in Africa by William Boyd (1981)

It was a full time job getting your own back on the world, he reasoned; you couldn’t afford to weaken…

It made him sick, he hated every fucking one of them…

His scalp crawled with hatred…
(Morgan Leafy, the comic antihero of A Good Man in Africa, in characteristically misanthropic mode, on pages 51, 72 and 236)

This was Boyd’s first novel, published in 1981. Since then he’s gone on to write an enormous amount – 17 novels, five short story collections, three plays and an impressive 16 movie screenplays. His novels have been translated into 30 languages and he was awarded a CBE in 2005. This, ladies and gentlemen, is what success looks like for a British writer.

Public school

Like so many Brits who write about the British Empire, Boyd was born in a then-imperial colony (Gold Coast/Ghana) where he spent his boyhood, before being packed off to one of the best public schools back in Blighty, and then on to Oxbridge. Let’s just quote his Wikipedia article to get the facts out of the way:

Boyd was born in 1952 in Accra, capital of the Gold Coast, (present-day Ghana) to Scottish parents, both from Fife. His father – Alexander, a doctor specialising in tropical medicine – and mother – a teacher – moved to the Gold Coast in 1950 to run the health clinic at the University College of the Gold Coast, now the University of Ghana. In the early 1960s the family moved to western Nigeria, where Boyd’s father held a similar position at the University of Ibadan. Boyd spent his early life in Ghana and Nigeria but, at the age of nine, went to a preparatory school and then to Gordonstoun school in Scotland; after that, to the University of Nice in France, followed by the University of Glasgow (where he gained an M.A. in English and Philosophy) and finally Jesus College, Oxford.

A Good Man in Africa

A Good Man in Africa is a comedy, in the tradition of Kingsley Amis and the umpteen other British comic writers who specialise in novels about bumbling, fat, drunken, lecherous English plonkers. The book’s comic antihero, Morgan Leafy, is a fat (15 stone), bumbling drunk with a chip on his shoulder against the whole world, who gets into all kinds of comic scrapes.

Leafy works for the Foreign Office’s Diplomatic Corps and has been posted for nearly three years to a city called Nkongsamba, the only town of any size in a small state of a fictional West African country named Kinjanja, ‘a godforsaken, insignificant spot’ (p.27). All the serious embassies and consulates are in the capital, four hours’ drive away ‘on a deathtrap road’ (p.35).

Leafy is consumed by anger, hatred and vengeful thoughts against everyone. He dislikes his immediate boss at the British Deputy High Commission, the Deputy High Commissioner Arthur Fanshawe (I think Deputy High Commission indicates that it’s not the main High Commission, which is off in the capital), and absolutely loathes his immediate junior, Secondary Secretary Richard ‘Dickie’ Dalmire. The latter because he has enjoyed all the advantages in life which Leafy didn’t, namely: public school, Oxford, owns a property in the UK (inherited), was given a place abroad immediately after passing the Foreign Office exams, unlike Leafy who had to repeatedly retake the exams, eventually only scraping through, and then being allotted a godawful job in Kingsway.

The novel opens with Leafy’s resentful anger reaching nuclear proportions, because his enemy, ‘Dickie’ Dalmire, has just popped into his office to casually tell him that he, Dalmire, is engaged to the lovely Priscilla, daughter of their boss, Fanshawe. Leafy had taken Priscilla out a few times and thought he was still in a chance for her hand, so his resentment and jealousy goes off the scale. While trying to appear calm during the conversation, he imagines a nuclear bomb falling on Nkongsamba and incinerating everyone (p.19). He even hates the sun because all the other Brits develop lovely, even tans, but the tropical sun just brings Leafy out in thousands of disjointed freckles and a rash (p.19).

Date

At one point Leafy says his widow’s peak risks making him look like one of those ‘demented American marines, currently wasting the inhabitants of South-East Asia’ (p.43); later he picks up a magazine at the airport which contains photos of GIs in Vietnam (p.96) and mentions how the Americans are tied up in Vietnam (p.184). Now, since the last American soldier left Vietnam in March 1973 the novel must be set before then, in the early 1970s (?)

Cast

Page references are either to where a character first appears or, more often, to a page with a good first description.

  • Morgan Leafy, First Secretary at the High Commission in Nkongsamba, comic antihero, failure, inadequate, seething with anger and frustration at the endless humiliations he seems to be subjected to – ‘scathing misanthropy’ (p.19), ‘selfish, fat and misanthropic’ (p.66)
  • Richard ‘Dickie’ Dalmire, his junior at the High Commission, mid-twenties (p.51)
  • Deputy High Commissioner Arthur Fanshawe (p.29)
  • Priscilla Fanshawe, the Deputy High Commissioner’s attractive daughter (p.32), first impressions (p.98), Leafy is obsessed with her magnificent pert breasts which compensate for her ‘ski lift nose’
  • Denzil Jones, the (Welsh) Commission accountant, shiny fat face, pale sickly wife and two pale sickly kids, Gareth and Bronwyn (p.52)
  • Dr Alex Murray, Head of the Nkongsamba University Health Service and physician to the Commission (pages 47 and 58)
  • Sam Adekunle, Professor of Economics and Business Management at the University of Nkongsamba, and leading figure in the Kinjanjan National Party (KNP), a big man given to wearing traditional costume, perfect English tinged with American from Harvard Business School (p.56) owner of muttonchop whiskers (p.116), beefy, he looks like an African Henry VIII
  • Kojo, Leafy’s secretary/assistant, a small Roman Catholic with three children (p.23)
  • Peter, Commission driver
  • Mrs Bryce, wife of a geologist at the university who acts as Fanshawe’s secretary
  • Chloe Fanshawe, wife of the Deputy High Commissioner
  • Moses, one of Leafy’s two servants, his ‘aged cook’ (p.63)
  • Friday, Leafy’s servant (p.35) from Dahomey (modern-day Benin), early 20s, speaks French and erratic English (p.50), ‘hopelessly inept’ (p.64)
  • Hazel, Leafy’s Black mistress (p.39)
  • Selim, the Lebanese boutique owner who Leafy rents a very basic flat from as accommodation for his mistress, Hazel (p.38)
  • Geraldine Jones, friend of Priscilla Fanshawe (p.53)
  • Innocence, Fanshawe’s servant who is killed by a freak bolt of lightning
  • Isaac, Commission’s doorman and general factotum (p.73) involved in the Innocence fiasco
  • Lee Wan, Malay, now a naturalised British citizen and bar buddy of Leafy’s (p.87)
  • Femi Robinson, angry little Marxist and representative of the People’s Party of Kinjanja (p.113)
  • Chief Mabegun, governor of the state and head of the local branch of the United Party of Kinjanjan People, the party in government (p.113)
  • Celia Adekunle, Sam’s sullen wife (p.114)

Leafy overflows with inappropriate thoughts: he’s continually wondering what people look like when they have sex. Or fantasising about a nuclear bomb falling on Nkongsamba and incinerating everyone. When the Deputy High Commissioner’s wife calls, announcing herself as Chloe, Leafy is momentarily at a loss placing her:

The mental lapse came about because Morgan never thought of her as Chloe, and only seldom as Mrs Fanshawe. Usually the kindest epithets were the Fat Bitch or the Old Bag. (p.24)

Or his feelings for his boss:

He found it hard to fix or even identify his feelings about Fanshawe: they wavered between the three poles of nostril-wrinkling contempt, total indifference and temple-throbbing irritation… (p.27)

You can see how the comedy is based on the principle of exorbitance, defined as: ‘excessiveness, a situation when there’s an unreasonable amount of something, or when a person acts outrageously’ – the excessiveness being Leafy’s continual, overdriven anger and irritation at everyone and everything.

  • Morgan agreed, thinking: the conniving covert little bastard. (p.32)
  • The stupid mad shit, he thought wrathfully (p.67)
  • Fine, Morgan thought blackly, well, you can stick your advice up your tight Scottish arse… (p.95)
  • What in hell’s name, he asked himself, was the old goat bleating on about? (p.101)
  • … thinking that Fanshawe was a stupid, meddling old berk (p.115)
  • Shut up you stupid Welsh git, Leafy swore under his breath (p.117)
  • That stupid old fool Fanshawe, he railed to himself… (p.143)
  • Bloody rude black bastard, Morgan seethed to himself… (p.143)

Mind you, the universal rage this kind of personality vents at everybody is often rooted in anger and disappointment against themselves and Leafy is just as prolific with self-hatred:

  • Why did he have to sound so cretinous, he wondered. (p.30)
  • Why did Murray bring out the arsehole in him? (p.48)
  • It [Murray’s voice] made Morgan feel a fool, cretinous. (p.80)
  • He felt a complete fool… (p.94)
  • He felt ashamed at his ineptitude, his clumsy inability… He shook his head in despair… He gritted his teeth with shame and embarrassment… (p.117)
  • He had been made to look a complete fool (p.144)

According to Freud depression is a kind of anger against the self for failing to live up to the impossibly demanding ideals of the superego set for us by our superegos. Leafy seems a textbook example.

He’d handled everything so badly, misjudged and miscalculated all round. Par for the course, he thought cynically, no point in breaking the pattern. (p.82)

He is either seething with out-of-control rage against everyone else (‘he fumed inwardly’, p.29), or redirecting that rage against himself, triggering inconsolable depression, a leaden moroseness:

  • He stared morosely at the dragon-patterned rugs on the Fanshawes’ floor (p.30)
  • Morgan walked morosely back to the Commission (p.34)

He is constantly telling himself to calm down and get a grip. In one way the novel is a series of incidents strung on a spectrum between Rage and Calm. It records the hopeless quest for calm by an irredeemably angry man.

Morgan could hardly breathe from the effort he was making to stay calm. (p.149)

Physicality

About half way through the book I realised that what makes Boyd’s antihero stand out in a crowded field of British comic antiheroes is that he not only makes a fool of himself and overflows with frustrated anger, it’s the physicality of his responses, an almost continual heart attack-level of strangulation and collapse:

  • He could feel huge sobs of frustration and despair building up in his chest, crushing his lungs against his rib cage, making it increasingly hard to breathe. (p.150)
  • Panic fluttered for a moment in his belly like a trapped bird. (p.155)
  • The familiar suffocating feeling established itself in Morgan’s chest; it was like having your lungs stuffed with cotton wool. (p.156)
  • He felt his head was about to explode (p.159)

Maybe it’s just me but at various moments I, the reader, had sympathetic physical twinges, I felt premonitions of the same physical sensations Morgan experiences, so convincing and compelling does the fever-wracked character become. For example here he is having just read about the symptoms of gonorrhoea:

Morgan closed the book and thought he could actually hear blood draining from his face. He leant against a nearby wall and felt a tremor of blind fear run through his body. (p.168)

In fact it sometimes feels like you’re reading a kind of encyclopedia of stress symptoms, an extraordinarily imaginative and vivid variety of ways of expressing the physical symptoms of stress and rage and frustration.

Doing the wrong thing

Leafy has a talent for doing the wrong thing. In this respect he comes from a long line of comically bumbling English nincompoops. For some reason the figure of gauche young Ian Carmichael in countless 1950s movies comes to mind, but a closer analogy would be hapless Henry Wilt from Tom Sharpe’s series of novels about him, or any number of raging boobies from the comic fiction of Evelyn Waugh, Kingsley Amis, Lesley Thomas, David Lodge or Howard Jacobson.

For example, when he sees a deeply mad derelict standing at a busy road junction, shuffling and dancing, he suddenly feels an overwhelming identification with the man and, on impulse, gives him a pound note … which the madman proceeds to scrunch up and eat (p.18).

Or the time he took Priscilla home to her parent’s house and, noticing a grand gong in the corner of the living room, a relic of Fanshawe’s time in the Far East, impulsively hit it with the padded gong beater while mimicking the grand movie voiceover: ‘J. Arthur Rank presents…’ to be greeted with complete silence from Priscilla’s appalled parents (p.28).

He realises this about himself; he is self aware

Murray – like young Dalmire – was simply a handy scapegoat, a useful objective correlative for his own stupid mistakes, his fervent pursuit of the cock-up, the banal farce he was so industriously trying to turn his life into. (p.16)

No wonder, then, that he needs his Black mistress, Hazel, to shore up what’s left of ‘his tottering ego’ (p.39), despite the strong sense that she’s the one exploiting him. It is entirely characteristic that when he has sex with Hazel, he struggles to keep a ‘flagging erection’ (p.41). He’s pretty sure she left her two illegitimate children back in the village to become a prostitute in the big city. He strongly suspects she’s using the flat he’s renting for her to sleep with other men. But, damn! she arouses him instantly and happily has straightforward, uncomplicated sex. But the reader already senses the potential for humiliation if word gets round the pompous, pukka Commission that he has a paid African mistress.

And so his standard behaviour is muttering threateningly but impotently at everyone in his life, seething inwardly, physically shaken by anger, hatred and mortification.

The novel is cast in three parts:

Part 1 (pages 11 to 83)

It’s one of those comic novels which is packed with incident – from Leafy’s point of view, embarrassing humiliating incidents – but which has certain basic plotlines.

Adekunle blackmail

Most important is that he is being blackmailed by Professor Chief Sam Adekunle, head of the Kinjanjan National Party (KNP). The Chief studied at Harvard Business School and is a smooth operator. He is blackmailing Leafy by threatening to report to all and sundry that he has a Black mistress who was formerly a prostitute. In return, at the end of Part One, Adenkunle reveals that he wants Leafy to cosy up to the starchy Dr Murray and, when the time is right, offer him a huge bribe, because…

Adekunle has bought a plot of land on which the city university is planning to build a massive extension of its campus (a hall and cafeteria, p.230). He aims to sell it to the university for hundreds of thousands of pounds. Murray is chair of the Building Committee who need to sign off on the deal. But the conscientious Murray has rooted around in the civil planning department and discovered that the plot of land right next to Adekunle’s has been scheduled to become the city dump, and what a giant festering, poisonous dump it will become! So – Adekunle wants Leafy to cosy up to Murray and, when the time is right, offer him a whopping £10,000 to suppress his knowledge about the dump and sign off on the land sale.

Getting Priscilla back

The novel opens with the scene in which Dickie Dalmire swankily tells Leafy that he’s engaged to the gorgeous Priscilla, who Leafy used to go out with and who he had sex with on one glorious, never-to-be-forgotten occasion. But this just triggers a determination in Leafy to, in some specified way, get Priscilla back, seduce her away from Dalmire, rub his nose in it – all part of Leafy’s manic determination to get his revenge on the entire world. But you can see how Leafy’s sweaty obsession with Priscilla, and his determination on all occasions to remind her of their one night of passion a) provides a continuous running comic theme and b) promises disaster.

Father Christmas

Christmas is coming and Leafy finds himself bullied into playing Father Christmas for the local kiddies by the not-to-be-denied Chloe Fanshawe, imposing wife of his boss. This plays to the common comic trope of the man overflowing with homicidal rage forced to play nicely-nicely to a bunch of screaming kids and, inevitably, blowing his top.

Royal visit

In this kind of ‘Brits abroad’ fiction there’s often a visit by an official from back in Britain, in which everyone has to be on their best behaviour and which, of course, turns into a disastrous fiasco. Compare and contrast the visit by the Defence Secretary to the Hong Kong army barracks in Lesley Thomas’s Onward Virgin Soldiers (1971) or the Royal visit to the fictional colony of Samolo in Noel Coward’s ‘Pomp and Circumstance’ (1960).

In this story, it is the visit of the Duchess of Ripon, third cousin twice removed the Queen (p.103). The fact that she’s not that eminent a royal is itself comic bathos, deflating.

Election

And then there is going to be a general election, in which Chief Sam Adekunle, head of the Kinjanjan National Party (KNP), is standing.

Mother-in-law

Chloe Fanshawe, wife of Leafy’s boss, is not technically Leafy’s mother-in-law but is the butt of mother-in-law tropes i.e. Leafy instinctively hates her and she despises him. This animosity is demonstrated in his fascination with her anatomy, and especially her prodigious embonpoint. Finding mature women’s bodily shapes funny is, I imagine, nowadays effectively banned. Not so back in 1981.

Mrs Fanshawe had risen to her feet and was belting her dressing gown tightly about her waist, thereby crudely accentuating the body-forms which bulked beneath the candlewick shroud. Morgan inwardly remarked on the prodigious humps that defined her chest and how, curiously, they wobbled transversely as she marched over to her husband. (p.70)

And description of her ‘huge bosom’ (p.29).

So in part one we are introduced to all the key characters, the diplomats ‘at work’ i.e. bantering in their offices, or pretending to chummy at ‘the club’, Leafy’s beloved Priscilla, his mistress Hazel, Sam Adekunle and the blackmail plan.

Part one ends on a bizarre note with an extended sequence where Leafy is woken up after he’s gone to bed and requested by his boss to come over to their house where their maid, Innocence, has been killed by a freak bolt of lightning in a heavy storm. Fanshawe orders him to sort it out and then goes back to bed (the sanctimonious, middle-class bastard, thinks Leafy). This turns into a nightmare because none of the Black servants or staff will touch the body out of fear of the lightning god, Shango. Not even the Black undertakers will remove the body. Only the family can hire a voodoo priest to perform a ritual to cleanse the body, but that costs up to £60 if you throw in the funeral and entertainment costs. Innocence’s daughter doesn’t have that kind of money.

Then Leafy has a brainwave: Dr Murray and his team and the University Clinic. But when he phones Murray the call goes disastrously wrong: Murray refuses point blank to come out or have any of his team touch the body, since university and Commission rules insist they only treat Commission staff. Leafy has been up all night suffering successive setbacks in this stupid bloody task and finally loses it, effing and blinding at Murray who slams the phone down. At which point Leafy realises he has incredibly pissed off the one man he’s meant to be chumming up to and so has, once again, shot himself in the foot, so his chagrin, rage and self-hatred go off the scale.

He threw back his head and bared his teeth in a silent scream of pent-up anger, frustration and hostility at the universe. (p.81)

Slowly Leafy is overcome by a passionate desire to bribe Murray, to take him down a peg or two, to tarnish his saintly self-image, and so he coldly sets himself on revenge. To the reader, this seems a catastrophically bad conclusion to draw, but with immense comic potential.

Part 2 (pages 87 to 206)

Part 2 opens with a surprise – it jumps back in time to 2 or 3 months earlier, to September of the same year when the Fanshawes arrive back from their summer break with their daughter Priscilla. We see Fanshawe very excited about the upcoming national elections and the face that Adekunle, a big cheese in the Kinjanjan National Party (KNP) happens to live in the same town. The point is it’s an opportunity for Fanshawe to cosy up to the people likely to win the election and influence them towards British interests i.e. an opportunity for some real diplomatic work. Fanshawe hopes this brilliant achievement will earn him a better posting as his career comes to an end.

Fanshawe asks leafy to squire Priscilla

As a side note he explicitly asks Leafy if he could take his daughter Priscilla out, as she is feeling low on the rebound from being jilted by a pukka fiancé.

Leafy meets Dr Murray

We also watch the scene where Leafy first introduces himself to Dr Murray, bullying reception, refusing to see the other (coloured) physicians, trying to pull rank, sweaty and smelling of booze – you can see why the tidy, sober, rule-following Dr Murray would despise him.

Leafy snogs Priscilla

Then excruciatingly funny descriptions of his attempts to seduce the emotionally vulnerable Priscilla, lying that he went to a (minor) public school, lying about his dad’s profession, even saying yah instead of yes, to try and raise himself to her posh social stratum.

Cocktail party and film

Fanshawe rather absurdly names the plan to cosy up to Adekunle Project Kingpin. Leafy organises a cocktail party for local notables and we are introduced to Femi Robinson, angry little Marxist and representative of the People’s Party of Kinjanja, and Chief Mabegun, governor of the state and head of the local branch of the United Party of Kinjanjan People, the party in government. The cocktail party is a fiasco for Leafy who can’t cope with Adekunle’s suave sophistication and ends up looking like an idiot following him round the room. At one point Leafy passes on to him Fanshawe’s offer of first class flights to London and a room at Claridge’s but, to Morgan’s horror, Adekunle merely bursts out laughing at the crassness of this offer, as if it was still the days when the natives could be overawed with the offer of a trip to London (p.142). Even when the film projector gets going showing the new film about the Royal Family, Leafy finds himself still standing blocking everyone’s view, feeling yet again, chagrined with humiliation.

(Incidentally, if this is the famous film about the Royal Family directed by Richard Cawston, it was first shown in 1969. Is that the date of the events described in the novel? That would explain all the Vietnam references. And why, when the Black radical turns up to confront Leafy, he does so wearing a black leather jacket, black glasses and Afro, ‘every inch the black power activist’, p.215.)

Fishing trip

Priscilla is irritated that Morgan ignored her at the cocktail party-film show so to make up he takes her on a fishing trip to the river Olokomeji which is, of course, a fiasco, because Morgan inadvertently catches a huge fish which he has to bash against a rock so many times to kill it that it’s reduced to a pulp and he is covered with blood and scales. At which point he tries to seduce Priscilla, telling her he loves her, and she, very understandably, freezes up and asks him not to. He drives her home, she announces she’s going to stay with an American diplomatic family, the Wagners.

Leafy drives on to the hotel where his Black lover, Hazel, stays but she hasn’t been home. Which is when he decides to instal her in a flat.

Adekunle’s birthday party

Leafy is invited by Adekunle’s bored white wife, Celia, to Adekunle’s birthday party at the Hotel de Executive. He bumps into the German businessman and attaché George Muller who briefs him about Adekunles’s business interests and makes Leafy (and the reader) realise what an ignoramus Leafy is: he knows nothing not only about Adekunle, but about the ethnic, religious and political make-up of the state he’s living in. When Leafy makes what he thinks is a subtle approach he is disconcerted that Adekunle bursts into laughter, and says he’s already been approached by America, France and West Germany. Thoroughly humiliated, he rushes to see Hazel at her seedy hotel, and has sex so vigorously he makes his penis sore. At least he thinks that’s the cause. The reader realises he’s picked up a sexually transmitted infection. The comic potential is that he gives it to someone (Priscilla)?

Murray’s clinic

Only when his servant Friday says he’s stopped washing Morgan’s pants because they are soiled with a nauseating discharge is Morgan horrified into making an emergency appointment with Dr Murray, a classic example of the anxious-man-having-penis-examined trope.

Club party

The horribly provincial club dance night with dreadful jazz or loud rock music. Morgan takes Priscilla who is duly disappointed. But in the car there and on the dancefloor she had been surprisingly kissable and biddable. Morgan thinks tonight is the night he’s going to bed her. Until he bumps into Dr Murray in the corridor to the lavatories, who informs him, in a confidential whisper, that he has gonorrhoea. It is a very funny moment when, a few minutes later, Priscilla returns from her trip to the loo and remarks that Morgan is looking very red. Does he feel alright?

Humiliation with Priscilla

There follows an agonisingly embarrassing scene in which drunk Priscilla insists on being taken back to Leafy’s flat, kisses, grabs him, starts stripping off in the darkened living room, drunkenly preparing for an orgy, while Leafy comes up with a flurry of implausible excuses before he’s driven to leap up and turn the main lights on. At which point, Priscilla, seeing her state, stalks off to the bathroom to get dressed then insists on being driven home in silence. When Leafy tries to make excuses she delivers a speech describing him as a pitiful worm. Driving home, then in bed alone, his chagrin and frustration knows no bounds.

More Murray

Opens with a very funny scene of Leafy consulting a medical encyclopedia in the university library and nearly fainting as he reads about the horrifying complications of gonorrhoea. Then onto a formal consultation with Murray who confirms the diagnosis but says all it requires will be two injections with penicillin and total abstinence from sex and alcohol for four weeks. And inform all your sexual partners. When he tells his Black mistress, she admits to having three other part-time lovers.

Dickie Dalmire arrives

Leafy is at the airport to greet the ‘new man’ sent out to the Commission, and take him for lunch at the Fanshawes’ (his new boss) where, Leafy is chagrined, as usual, to see Dalmire’s pukka public school confidence putting him instantly at home with Arthur, Chloe and Priscilla in a way grammar school, suburban Leafy never achieved in three years.

Adekunle stuns Fanshawe by accepting the offer of a visit to Britain but demanding a) two weeks at Claridge’s b) an official reception at the airport c) open-ended return tickets for two. Fanshawe is dumbfounded at the reversal of the power dynamic, with the Black man now setting the terms. Trouble is more and more oil deposits are being discovered in the country and HM govt want the new Kinjanja govt to give Britain preferential treatment. Adekunle’s party aren’t a dead cert to win the upcoming election, but are the favourites.

Celia

Morgan gets accustomed to meeting Celia Adekunle almost every morning at ‘the club’ for swimming and sunbathing. She’s hard and cynical and small and bony, not at all his type, yet they have an instant rapport. She admits hers is an empty token marriage. She’d run away if she could.

Hazel’s flat

Leafy hires the seedy shabby flat where we find Hazel ensconced in part one.

Celia

Morgan and Celia are now driving to rendezvous in the country and having lovely carefree sex. They stop for a drink at a bar on the way back into town and she persuades him to come back to the house – her husband’s away and she dismisses the servant and sex in a proper bed takes on a whole new dimension.

Caught

Outside Celia’s house, fumbling for his car keys, Leafy is terrified to be buttonholed by Adekunle who proceeds to tell him he knows all about his affair with his wife, and about his Black woman in town (Hazel). Would he like his boss to find out about this, how Morgan has screwed up Fanshawe’s precious Kingpin project? No. Therefore Leafy is going to do everything Adekunle tells him to, right? Fearing he may pass out with terror or throw up, Leafy agrees and is amazed when the upshot of all this terrifying is imply that…Adekunle wants Leafy to become friends with Dr Murray. Oh and end the affair with his wife, without letting her know that Adekunle knows about it.

The engagement

The short scene ending part two turns out to lead directly into the opening of part one. It’s where Dalmire pops into the office of a Leafy who has turned into a depressed recluse, drinking heavily to compensate for the abrupt ending of the affair with Celia, and announces that he’s just got engaged to Priscilla.

This is very clever. The opening of the book put me off a bit because I didn’t understand what was going on. But anyone who persists this far, to page 204, now has an infinitely deeper grasp of the events which lay behind Leafy’s desperate, raging emotions, the way the entire universe is conspiring to frustrate his every wish and desire.

In fact it would be tempting to reread all of part one in the light of the extensive and thorough backgrounding part two gives you, to read it a second time with a much deeper understanding of all its resonances and meanings.

Part 3 (pages 209 to 312)

Part 3 opens exactly where part 1 ended, with Leafy weeping tears of frustration at the refusal of all the Black servants or public services to remove the body of Innocence, struck dead by lightning. In other words, part 2 might at one stage originally been the opening and first hundred pages of the novel but Boyd or someone had the bright idea of lifting and shifting it completely to become part 2, changing what was originally the next section, part 2, into part 2. So the narrative starts in media res (‘in the middle of things’) as the critics of ancient Greece and Rome recommended. The effect is to cleverly create all kinds of unexpected resonances and explanations. Very artful, very clever.

Leafy’s ignorance

Alongside Leafy’s overactive sex drive, his alcoholism and his shambling ineptitude goes a stunning ignorance of almost every aspect of the country he’s working in and the people he’s supposed to be studying. So, for example, he knew nothing about Adekunle’s business interests until the German, Georg Muller, told him, and various other characters tell him that this or that piece of information is ‘common knowledge’, all of which come as complete news to dim Leafy.

I suddenly realised how important this is when the Marxist leader Femi Robinson comes to see him to protest about newspaper photos of Adekunle being greeted by Foreign Office officials in London. He’s protesting because these photos give the impression that London is supporting Adekunle’s party, the KNP, in the soon-to-be-held elections. But it’s not just that which is a problem. The real issue is that this support from the old imperial power will discredit the KNP in the eyes of the army who are already disgusted with the corruption of the ruling party. There have already been small army mutinies. The risk is that the army will step in and stage a coup. Leafy asks, ‘Are you sure?’ Robinson replies: ‘Everybody knows it,’ (p.217) except, of course, dim Leafy (and, to be fair, his equally dithering boss, Fanshawe).

In this final act, Leafy’s universal ignorance has serious consequences.

Christmas fitting

To Leafy’s surprise, Mrs Fanshawe takes him upstairs to the attic but it turns out to be to try on a boilersuit she’s dyed red as part of the Father Christmas outfit she’s making up for him. She briskly tells him to strip down to his undies to try it on but when he hands it back turns a funny colour, makes excuses and rushes off. Odd, thinks Leafy, till he looks down and sees his penis has flopped out of the slit in his boxer shorts. For some reason this sexual embarrassment reminds me of the endless humiliations suffered by the Ben Miller character in the TV series ‘The Worst Week of my Life’.

It’s now the day before Christmas Eve and Leafy has two massive problems. Adekunle simply won’t accept that Leafy’s fallen out with Murray and insists, if he doesn’t want his career ruined, that he offer him the bribe. And the body of Innocence is still lying on a bench in the servants’ quarters of the Commission steadily decomposing because no Africans will touch it till the juju priest has performed his ceremony, with his boss Fanshawe becoming apoplectic that it be removed before the bloody Duchess of Ripon arrives for her two-day visit the next day.

So Leafy bullies his servant Friday into joining him at 3am to secretly carry the rotting putrid corpse to his car. Half way through a white ghost appears in the nearby trees but an unimpressed Leafy rugby tackles him only to discover he’s the poet sent by the British Council, one Greg Bilbow from Yorkshire. Leafy tells him to wait, goes back and he and Friday drag the corpse the last few yards to his car and heave it into the boot. Then he drives Friday back to his house and Bilbow back to his (Leafy’s) apartment where he’s promised to put him up. It has just turned Christmas Day.

Tribulations

He is astonished to get a call from a livid Fanshawe. Turns out when the Commission’s staff found the body of Innocence gone, they went on strike. Obviously this is a disaster what with the Duchess about to arrive, let alone the following day when there’s a massive party scheduled for 200 local dignitaries. Leafy must smuggle Innocence’s rotting body back to where it was.

He’s barely coping with this information before he has to dress up as Father Christmas and dole out presents to the kiddies at the Commission’s Christmas party. The Duchess has arrived and watches him entertain the kiddywinks.

Returning Innocence

After surviving the Father Christmas ordeal, Leafy spends the rest of the evening getting completely pissed at the Commission bar, dressed as Santa, the butt of many jokes. It’s here that a way of solving the Innocence problem comes to him. So it is that, sometime after midnight, utterly hammered, Leafy drives round to the staff accommodation, pours petrol all over the rubbish dump, lights it with a great whoomph of flame in his own face, then runs back to the car. As all the servants wake and run to tackle the fire and so are distracted, Leafy then drives further round the accommodation block, opens the boot, yanks the rotting corpse of Innocence back to more or less where he found it, leaps back into the car and drives round the perimeter road back to the Commission.

The duchess in the bathroom

He imagines the bathroom will be empty at this time of night so slips inside with a view to cleaning up. He is stunned when he sees his own reflection in the mirror, his face blackened with the flames, one eyebrow burned off, his face lined with the white tracks of his tears. But not as stunned as when he hears footsteps coming up the hallway and, to cut a long story short, it turns out that he’s using the bathroom assigned to the Duchess of Ripon. Leafy hurriedly hides in the shower but can’t help overhearing as the Duchess strips off, has a hearty dump, then whisks the shower curtain back to reveal…a mad burned Santa! Stunned into immobility, the Duchess watches as Bad Santa climbs out of the bath, opens the bathroom window and climbs out. Laughing manically, he scampers across the grass to his car, drives back to the apartment where the Yorkshire poet takes the mickey out of his ridiculous appearance, washes his burned face and collapses into bed.

The golf tournament

The Commission are hosting a golf tournament. Leafy had asked Adekunle to work behind the scenes and get him paired with Murray so he can make his move. But, to his dismay, as they stroll and chat round the course, Leafy discovers that he likes Murray.

Finally he nerves himself to make his pitch and offers Murray the £10,000 bribe. Leafy handles it in a characteristically cack-handed way, and ends up telling Murray everything about Adekunle, that he owns the land the new buildings would be built on etc and how he’s been blackmailed into making the bribe. Murray says no to the bribe and that he must report it. Leafy reaches the end of his tether and physically collapses and passes out.

When he comes round, Murray is concerned and says OK he won’t report him, but the answer is still no. He’s recommending the Committee reject the application simply because he doesn’t want corrupt operators like Adekunle to win. Leafy gives up. It’s all over. Adekunle will tell Fanshawe about his shame, his career will be over, he might as well book his flight back to London now.

Hazel’s

Once he can walk, Leafy drives to Hazel’s and holes up there for days, including during the important general election. He periodically phones his apartment where the affable Yorkshire poet tells him Adekunle has been trying to contact him for days. Eventually Adekunle tracks him down to Hazel’s and tells him he has changed his mind and doesn’t want him to offer Murray the bribe after all! What!?

Innocence solution

Convinced he’s going to be sacked, in a new mood of fatalistic resignation, Leafy tells the servants protecting Innocence’s now-restored corpse that he’ll pay for the priest and the funeral. The price goes up to £80 but Leafy doesn’t begrudge it. What the hell. His career is shot. His time here is over.

Election victory

When Adekunle rang Leafy he sounded happy and generous because the votes are in and his party, the KNP, has won a majority. They will be the new government. Adekunle invites Leafy to the victory party. As he leaves for it, his man Friday tells him to avoid the town tomorrow as ‘the soldiers will come’. He repeats the motif: ‘Everybody knows’. Everybody except Leafy, that is.

Adekunle’s victory party

Adekunle explains that he was constantly phoning Leafy in order to tell him not to offer Murray the bribe. Turns out that Adekunle has made a contact within the planning department and has made sure that, even if Murray signs off a negative report, it will be ‘lost’ by his (Adekunle’s) contact and never registered. So all the heartaching and the humiliation of offering Murray the bribe was for nothing. Leafy is gutted.

Celia

Leafy drinks himself silly all evening, eventually staggering upstairs to the loo to throw up. When he’s quite finished, he grabs a random toothbrush to clean his teeth. He’s barely staggered out onto the landing before Celia pounces and drags him into a spare bedroom. Here it becomes clear that she’s decided to leave Adekunle but needs him to get her a British visa. In a flash Leafy realises she’s been using him, the entire affair was to seduce him into providing the visa. One more delusion, one more bitter let-down. He is heartbroken and just walks away, leaving Celia still crying for his help.

The siege

But something massive is about to happen, a massively violent event which forms the climax of the book.

On his way to Adekunle’s house Leafy had seen the wizened old Marxist Femi Robinson clutching a load of placards on his way to a student sit-in and protest at the university administration buildings. With typical lack of tact and awareness Leafy had mentioned that he and Fanshawe and other officials would all be at Adekunle’s party which was by way of being a victory party. Well, we know that Robinson considered all the press photos in the papers of Adekunle being greeted by top officials on his recent trip to London had been a conscious attempt by Britain to influence the election which, in the event, Adekunle and his KNP had won.

Now, completely unexpectedly, Robinson brings a contingent of protesting students from the main building over to Adekunle’s grand home. Adekunle had invited important dignitaries, the Kinjanjan press and had planned to make a grand victory speech. Instead he finds his house surrounded by furious students throwing stones and bricks and, most incongruous of all, chanting ‘FAN-SHAWE FAN-SHAWE.’ This is because Leafy had incautiously told Robinson that Fanshawe was the brains behind Adekunle’s visit to London, and that Fanshawe would be at Adekunle’s party – and also because it’s easier to chant than Robinson’s long doctrinaire slogans (which he nonetheless valiantly yells through a loudhailer).

Luckily, Adekunle’s place is protected by a tough security fence, but the protesters are still managing to lob bricks and stones with accuracy through the windows and the guests are taking cover behind makeshift barricades of furniture. In this highly stressed situation, both Fanshawe and Adekunle turn to Leafy to do something and, surprisingly, Leafy comes up with a plan! This is to pretend to be Fanshawe and make an escape to distract the protesters.

So he and Fanshawe swaps clothes, the idea being he’ll run for the Commission’s distinctive official car dressed as Fanshawe, get Adekunle’s (reluctant) security people to open the front gate as he drives through it at top speed and so distract them. At which point tubby old Chloe Fanshawe, the Deputy Commissioner’s wife volunteers to come with him. As soon as she does that I knew they were going to have sex.

Freud somewhere says the traditional dislike between son and mother-in-law is actually a taboo designed to prevent its opposite, which is inappropriate sexual attraction between these roles. This had been palpable ever since we first met her and Leafy combined a detailed description of her physique with wonder at the tension and dislike between them.

The escape

It all goes to plan. Leafy-dressed-as-Fanshawe makes a break through the hail of stone for the car, hand in hand with the distinctive, party-dress-wearing and very plump Mrs Fanshawe. they jump in, drive at the gates which Adekunle’s security men open at the last minute, race through as protesters throw themselves out the way, then charge after them still throwing stones. There’s a hairy moment when the car careers into a shallow ditch and won’t move as the protesters come charging at them but this just makes the distraction tactic more successful, as the back wheels finally get traction and it roars free.

The riot police

But Leafy and Chloe’s night is far from finished because the authorities have called in the riot police to deal with the student protests and things have turned really nasty. The admin block of the university looks like a warzone with windows shattered, groups of burning cars, and row upon row of helmeted, shielded riot police approaching the building and firing rifles at the students throwing bricks, stones and office equipment at them from the windows, the whole scene drenched in stifling teargas. All this is blocking the main road out of the campus. Leafy and Chloe can get no further in the car and have gotten out to try and sneak round the warzone on foot.

A Murray moment

On the way there, still in the car, leafy had spotted a solitary figure standing by the road and screeched to a halt. It’s Dr Murray. He gives more detail about the extent of the rioting. Leafy offers him a lift. Murray says no, he’s waiting for the university ambulance to come pick him up then will be treating the injured. Leafy lingers unnecessarily because he wants, somehow, to express the complicated feelings he’s come to have for Murray, who’s gone from figure of unmitigated hatred to someone who was kind to him (when he fainted on the golf course) and whose integrity he’s come to respect. The best he can do is warn him that Adekunle has dropped the bribe offer because he has a contact in the building office who will ‘lose’ Murray’s report, so Leafy warns him to make copies and distribute them widely. Murray thanks him, there’s an awkward pause, then our man jumps back in the car and heads off with Mrs F.

(It’s worth remembering that Boyd’s own father was Scottish and served as head of the health clinic at the University College of the Gold Coast. Is this a portrait of his father, strict, stern and worthy of respect? A filial compliment?)

Escape from the campus

Long story short, Leafy and Chloe manage to escape the campus but not before having a very hairy moment when they set off running across open ground and a detachment of riot police spot them and chase them, firing their guns at them, Leafy hearing the bullets whining past his head. I thought at this point that maybe Chloe would be shot and injured, certainly this all feels too serious for them just to get away. It’s not funny any more.

But they do get away, just, running through the maze of back alleys and gardens of the university’s residential quarter until the police have obviously given up chasing. Exhausted, filthy, bleeding from wounds caused by stones and thorny bushes, they find the perimeter fence and climb it, emerging on a normal road not far from a normal cheap bar. Here Leafy offers the owner £10 if he’ll drive them out of there.

Empty Commission

When the taxi driver brings them to the Commission, Leafy and Chloe find it locked up but a note from Fanshawe saying a) the guests escaped from Adekunle’s b) Fanshawe has accompanied the daughter, Priscilla, and Dalmire into town, to the airport, where the young couple had been planning to go on holiday anyway, c) that Denzil Jones has offered Chloe accommodation for the night.

At Leafy’s

Chloe asks if she can come back to Leafy’s house to clean up so he gets the waiting taxi driver to take them there, and pays him his £10. She has a bath, he pours himself a stiff (i.e big) whisky, she emerges in a big towel and sets about darning her ruined dress so as to be as respectable as possible when she goes to stay with Jones except that…she now tells him huskily…she doesn’t want to go to the Jones house. She wants to spend the night here. Aha. As I predicted.

Remember that moment when she was measuring him up for his Father Christmas suit and, unintentionally, his limp penis flopped out of his boxer shorts not very far from her face and she flusteredly looked out the window, made an excuse and left. Well, it turns out she’s been thinking about Leafy’s penis – ‘a lot’ (p.309).

Leafy for his part feels himself strangely attracted to his one-time putative mother-in-law (paging Dr Freud), has a thorough shower, then they are in bed naked together, she stroking his growing arousal, he nuzzling her huge breasts etc, when…the phone rings.

Death of Dr Murray

It’s Inspector Gbeho from Nkongsamba police headquarters. He is duty bound to report the death of any Brits to the Commission and can’t get hold of his boss, Fanshawe (who we know is at the airport). Dr Murray is dead. He was in an ambulance carrying students to the clinic and it skidded on the wet road and, well, he was killed in the crash. Just like that.

The good man

Leafy thanks the inspector, puts the phone down and (rather like the reader) is overcome with a whirligig of images and emotions. Above all the sense of futility. Murray was a genuinely good man, probably the only good man in the story – efficient, professional and with clear moral values – unlike any of the bumbling British diplomats, let alone an out-and-out crook like Adekunle. Naked, enormous Chloe Fanshawe is calling him from the bed where she wants Leafy to ‘make their night complete’. Leafy ponders what Dr Murray would make of him bedding his boss’s wife. Wouldn’t have approved, would he?

The news of Murray’s death evaporates Leafy’s erection and arousal. He tiredly pads down the hall to the bedroom and starts to make his apologies. ‘Listen Chloe, I’ve been thinking…’ This is mostly comic, but also genuinely sad and poignant.

The difference between farce and comedy is that the former pushes beyond the limits of plausibility into the absurd, delighting in far-fetched coincidences and hair’s-breadth escapes for their own sake, the more wildly improbable the better. Farce revels in deliberately contrived plots, plots which emphasise their own structures, playing with repetition, inversion, variations.

Thus Leafy’s last-minute change of heart about sleeping with Chloe Fanshawe makes a neat parallel with the buttock-clenchingly embarrassing scene where he was forced to refuse to have sex with her daughter, Priscilla. The turn of events is humorous in its own right but also gives the reader a pleasing sense of structure and contrivance. Boyd is a technically adept author.

The coup

And while Leafy is miserably apologising to Chloe, the perspective of the narrative pulls back to pan across the campus, revealing the burned-out cars and trashed offices, and on into the city itself as the army mounts the coup which everyone, certainly all the ordinary locals, knew about well in advance, everyone except Britain’s blinkered, drunk, snobbish, self-obsessed diplomats, experts in disaster and humiliation, utter fools when it comes to understanding the country they’re posted to.

‘Good man’

The phrase ‘good man’, like the main theme in a piece of classical music, is stated right at the start, in fact make up the novel’s first two words, as spoken by lucky Dalmire announcing his engagement to Priscilla to a mortified Leafy, who pretends to take it on the chin but inside is anything but a ‘good man’, seething with rage and hatred of Dalmire.

In other words, the phrase is used ironically right from the start, Dalmire being too obtuse to realise that Leafy, at that moment, wants to kill him and blow up the entire town i.e. he is quite possibly the opposite of a good man, he is a very bad man.

Thereafter the phrase is repeated, slowly accumulating resonances and layers of irony, not least because all the people who use the expression ‘good man’ wouldn’t actually recognise a good man if he bit them on the bottom.

On page 32 Leafy’s boss, Fanshawe, fatuously calls Leafy ‘a good man’ for reluctantly acquiescing to dress up as Father Christmas, something Leafy a) hates having to do b) is only doing because it will get him closer to the superb breasts of Fanshawe’s daughter, so the phrase implicates both the sayer (obtuse, conventionally minded Fanshawe) and the addressee (lustful seething Leafy).

On page 51, Leafy is at the bar with Dalmire and Jones who is very drunk and drunkenly calls Leafy ‘a bloody good man’, slapping him hard on the back, and Leafy, to his credit, fumes at how much he hates this ‘ghastly rugger-club expression’ (p.51).

On page 89 Leafy gets drunk in a bar with the disreputable, seedy Lee Wan, a Malayan who’s secured British citizenship and uses all manner of pukka phrases to burnish his Britishness. When Lee Wan bursts out laughing at an off-colour joke Leafy makes about importing condoms, Leafy drunkenly considers him ‘a good man to have around’. Again, irony, because Lee is a creepy sycophant.

On page 192 Fanshawe calls Leafy a ‘good man’ in an unstated recognition that Leafy has been schmoozing up to, maybe even having an affair with, Adekunle’s wife Celia. No-one acknowledges it, maybe Fanshawe doesn’t really appreciate it, but that’s the point. Don’t ask questions. Leave things unsaid. Gloss over difficult realities. The English way. Leafy is, in fact, being praised for being a sneak.

As I’ve explained, part two in fact gives the 3-month backstory leading up to the opening scene of the book, which opens with Dalmire calling Leafy a ‘good man’ for accepting the news about his and Priscilla’s engagement so calmly (p.206). Having heard the full backstory we now realise that Leafy is very far indeed from being a good man in at least two senses:

a) we’ve seen what an out-of-control drunk he is, how he’s set his Black mistress up in a love nest, contracted gonorrhoea from her and came within an ace of passing it on to Dalmire’s fiancée, Priscilla;

b) far from accepting the news with equanimity as Dalmire thinks, displaying the obtuseness typical of all the characters, internally Leafy is seething with homicidal rage

So it’s another example of the complete failure of the English characters to understand the first thing about what’s going on or achieve even the simplest communication.

At the climax of the novel, when Adekunle’s luxury compound is under attack from the protesting students, useless old Denzil Jones calls Leafy ‘a good man’ for bravely volunteering to impersonate Fanshawe to draw off the protesters ( p.297).

This is a more equivocal example because, although Jones is trapped in the machine of his own predictable behaviour (he slaps Leafy on the back exactly as he did all the way back on page 51) Leafy has, in fact, and to the reader’s surprise, actually volunteered to do quite a heroic thing to save other people. It’s effective and it is heroic. For once, maybe for the first time in his life, he isn’t secretly motivated by sex or drink or promotion. It is as if he is struggling to emerge from the chrysalis of his terrible personality and, for once in his life, do the right thing.

Looking back over the whole narrative, it feels as if Dr Murray’s influence is working, fermenting a new Leafy from the shambles of the old. Everyone else remains stuck in their fixed attitudes and characters, but this, the final use of the phrase in the book, indicates that change is possible.

Four conclusions:

1. I’ve shown how the phrase ‘good man’, right from the start of the novel, more often than not has connotations diametrically opposite to its literal meaning i.e. is used to describe all kinds of dodgy characters (Lee Wan, p.89) or is applied by the English characters to each other in the deepest ignorance or bad faith, glossing over characters’ bad behaviour, or concealing raw hatred for the person talking, or is motivated by the crudest motives.

2. All of which made me come to realise how the phrase ‘good man’ is like a sticking plaster designed to cover over things that would rather not be discussed or made explicit. The British stiff upper lip is related to a cultural insistence not to delve too deep below the surface, an attitude which prefers to paper over unpleasantness with stock public school phrases.

3. The thoughtless bandying about by the English of this clubroom phrase is directly linked to their wider obtuseness and ignorance of what’s going on right under their noses. The English diplomats are depicted as a snobbish shower of incompetents, meddling with forces way beyond their comprehension, but bolstering each other’s morale with this kind of self-congratulatory clubroom catchphrase.

4. Only at the very end of the novel (presumably as intended) did I realise that there is, in fact, only one good man in the book and it is Dr Murray. He is principled and professional in a way none of the other men in the book are. It is symptomatic of Leafy’s degraded condition that he develops such a pathological hatred for a man who is simply following the rules and regulations and then, when offered an enormous bribe, briskly turns it down and insists on doing what he regards as the right thing. This itself has two sub-aspects:

a) Murray isn’t English, he is Scottish. There is a stark distinction between the bumbling incompetent English Commission staff (pompous Fanshawe, out-of-control Leafy, insufferably successful Dalmire) and Murray, who comes from a completely different tradition, of stern Scottish professionalism and moral fibre.

b) From this point of view, taking Murray as the central figure in the book and removing for a moment all the comedy and farce, the narrative could be read as Morgan Leafy’s moral education by Dr Murray, Leafy’s slow, chaotic coming-to-realise that Murray represents an alternative way of being, selfless and noble and professional. Murray is clearly intended to be the Good Man of the title.

And, as I’ve mentioned before, seeing as how Boyd’s own father was a Scottish head of medicine in a West African university, this amounts to quite a tribute from a son to a father, quite a moving gesture of filial loyalty.

Objectifying women

1981. Long time ago, wasn’t it? And most of the book probably written well before then, getting on for 50 years ago. Its age shows, maybe, in some of the disrespectful language used about the Africans (I doubt if it’s nowadays acceptable to call older Black women ‘mammies’). And also in the underlying assumption that only white people are important enough to be treated in detail while most of the Black characters are poverty-stricken, lazy, useless and inarticulate. That’s bad enough.

But I think the main problem a young modern reader would have with this novel is the objectification of women. Boyd has Leafy itemise the appearance of all the women in his life (Hazel, Chloe and Priscilla Fanshawe, Celia Adekunle) in minute, unforgiving detail. The repeated references to Chloe Fanshawe’s huge bosoms is the stuff of traditional mother-in-law jokes but the description of her white blue-veined legs or ‘the large turquoise globes of her buttocks’ (p.223) less so. Leafy pays close attention to, and describes in detail, all women’s breasts.

In a sort of exception, the repeated descriptions of Leafy’s African mistress, skinny, brown Celia Adekunle, with a wattle of loose tummy skin from her two children and her appendectomy scar, this came over to me as surprisingly tender and accepting. But, stepping back a bit, even this is still part of the minute scrutiny of women’s bodies which, I think, would offend the modern female reader.

Boyd’s prose style

Boyd’s prose is extremely smooth and effective, clear and sensible and expressive. I came to ‘A Good Man’ from reading several novels by Giles Foden who wields a complicated mosaic of registers and tones, whose prose is characterised by unwieldy sentences, odd phraseology, clunky positioning of prepositions – numerous quirks and oddities which continually draw attention to themselves.

Absolutely nothing like that with Boyd: his prose is clear, modern, flowing, albeit put in the service of describing a kind of comic psychopath. But you rarely if ever notice Boyd’s prose, just register the comic extremity of Leafy’s volcanic eruptions of rage and frustration, panic and horror. A Good Man in Africa is a well-constructed, clever and very, very funny book.


Credit

A Good Man in Africa by William Boyd was published by Hamish Hamilton in 1981. References are to the 1983 Penguin paperback edition.

Related links

The Bottom Billion: Why the Poorest Countries are Failing and What Can Be Done About It by Paul Collier (2007)

Catching up is about radically raising growth in the countries now at the bottom…This book sets out an [aid] agenda for the G8 that would be effective.
(The Bottom Billion, pages 12 and 13)

Sir Paul Collier, Commander of the British Empire (CBE) and Fellow of the British Academy (FBA) is a British development economist who is currently Professor of Economics and Public Policy in the Blavatnik School of Government in Oxford. He’s the author of nine books tackling big global issues like migration, refugees and the future of capitalism.

The Bottom Billion was his second book, written expressly to inform and advise politicians attending the 2007 G8 meeting in Germany, which is why the final chapter is titled ‘An agenda for action’ (pages 175 to 192).

Collier asserts that while a billion or so people live in developed countries, and 5 or so billion live in developing countries many of which have flourished in the 1980s and 90s, a hard core of impoverished people live in countries whose economies have stubbornly refused to grow, despite western aid, loans and advice. He reckons there are about 58 of these countries (p.7), home to 980 million people or, by the time we’re reading his book, over a billion (p.6). If everyone else is doing relatively OK then, if the G8’s ambition is to ‘abolish poverty’, it is to these 60 or so failing countries and ‘the bottom billion’ that attention needs to be focused.

To help do this Collier has developed the theory that these countries are being held back by a number of key development traps and these are what need to be addressed. Collier claims there are four of these:

1. The Conflict Trap

Contrary to received opinion, Collier thinks that civil wars do not correlate with rebel grievances, political repression, ethnic strife or colonial legacy. Instead he finds strong links to: low income, low growth and reliance on the export of primary commodities.

Civil wars last a long time: the average international war lasts six months, civil wars last at least ten times as long, and are likely to recur or break out again. This is because the longer a civil conflict drags on, the more deeply established the players become that profit from the conflict, making them harder and harder to end. Only about half the countries which resolve a civil war manage to go a decade without conflict breaking out again (p.27).

A typical civil war costs its country and its neighbours $64 billion. After civil wars conclude homicide rates generally increase as people inured to violence carry it out unilaterally.

It’s not just civil wars, coups are also correlated with low income and low growth (p.36).

2. The Natural Resources Trap

Countries that are rich in natural resources are paradoxically usually worse off than countries that are not, for a number of reasons:

  • governments that rely on extractive resources (oil, gas, gold, diamonds, iron, copper) tend to become anti-democratic rentier states
  • being home to abundant natural resources can lead to Dutch disease, where reliance on one resource leads to neglect of all other aspects of the economy, a failure to diversity and develop their economies which results, long term, in low or zero growth (p.39)
  • because rentier governments make most of their income from (often corrupt) deals with western multinational corporations, they have little need for taxes from the general population, and so the taxation-with-representation model which underpins most western nations simply doesn’t apply; rich governments can afford to ignore their populations
  • an accompaniment of responsible government is checks and balances; these tend to be absent in resource-rich, low growth countries
  • in other words, resource-rich poor countries tend to evolve terrible governments of kleptocrats, Angola, Congo, Nigeria

3. Landlocked with Bad Neighbours

Around 30% of Africa’s population lives in landlocked, resources-scarce countries (p.57).

Countries with coastlines can trade with the world, while landlocked countries can only trade with their neighbours, and that depends on having decent transport infrastructure. Landlocked countries with poor infrastructure connections to their neighbours therefore have a limited market for their goods. And they may have bad i.e. predatory or unco-operative governments. What can a poor landlocked country do?

  1. Increase neighbourhood growth spillovers
  2. Improve neighbours’ economic policies
  3. Improve coastal access
  4. Become a haven for the region
  5. Don’t be air-locked or e-locked
  6. Encourage remittances
  7. Create a transparent and investor-friendly environment for resource prospecting
  8. Rural development – the single biggest problem is here is the subsidies the West and Japan pay their farmers
  9. Try to attract aid

4. Bad Governance in a Small Country

The kind of terrible governance which has characterised so many African nations since independence can destroy an economy with alarming speed. Think of the ruination of Congo by Mobutu. It’s doubtful if economic growth anywhere can exceed 10%. But someone like Robert Mugabe can run his country into the ground in under a decade. The smaller the population, the less inertia there is to prevent ruinous plans.

This chapter is highly technical with Collier explaining and defining criteria he uses to create technical reports on, among other things, what he calls ‘failing states’ (p.68) then defining what ‘turnaround’ would mean and what ‘sustained’ would mean (at least five years’ improvement; p.70). All these chapters read like summaries of pretty technical academic papers because that’s often exactly what they are.

Their study showed that a country was more likely to achieve a sustained turnaround: 1) the larger its population 2) the better educated its population 3) if it had recently emerged from a civil war.

Disappointingly whether it was or wasn’t a democracy seemed immaterial.

Solutions

Let me clear: we cannot rescue them. The societies of the bottom billion can only be rescued from within. (p.96)

Each of these countries contains honest, educated people working for reform and improvement. Collier calls them ‘heroes’. We need to help these heroes by clearing away the obstacles to their work. At our end this will require:

  1. aid ministries in Western countries to be given much more importance and money
  2. aid policies to be better co-ordinated across all government departments
  3. Western governments to work more closely together to produce a co-ordinated Western approach to making poverty history

But then he moves on to four specific areas of improvement, many of which easy to state but will require entrenched institutions such as aid agencies and government departments, to change established practices and assumptions. Each of them gets a chapter explaining in detail:

Aid To The Rescue

He marshals pretty sceptical arguments and data about aid, lots of stories of aid’s ineffectiveness, corruption, theft, the uselessness of aid agencies and so on. He says things are improving, which is what they always say. Above 16% of GDP aid stops being effective. There are numerous different types of foreign aid. He considers in particular aid as incentive, aid as skills and aid as reinforcement.

Aid agencies should be concentrated in the most difficult environments and accept more risk p.116 the sequence

Military Intervention

Despite the terrible reputation Western military intervention has acquired because of Iraq, Collier still believes it has a role to play in improving the lot of the Bottom Billion, in fact three roles: restoration of order, maintaining postconflict peace and preventing coups (p.124).

On the whole appropriate military interventions, such as the quick, cheap, effective British one in Sierra Leone, should be encouraged, especially to guarantee democratic governments against coups (so we should back military intervention in Niger).

If only the European Union was prepared to use the Rapid Reaction Force it has set up with such a fanfare it might be possible to ‘make coups history’ by intervening quickly and decisively to reverse them, certainly easier than ‘making poverty history’ (p.131).

External forces are needed to keep the peace in postconflict situations because high government spending on the military is associated with greater risk of war breaking out again. External forces will have to come in and keep the peace for at least 10 years (p.133).

Laws and Charters

International charters are needed to encourage good governance and provide examples. Collier proposes five:

  1. A charter for natural resource revenues: a very persuasive call for international charters to set standards of transparency, especially in the extractive industries
  2. A charter for democracy: ‘Elections determine who is in power, but they do not determine how power is used’ (p.147). Actual elections are the showbiz side of democracy but much more important is the introduction of democratic checks and balances into corrupt countries. This takes time, planning and support.
  3. A charter for budget transparency: the story of Emmanuel Tumusiime-Mutebile and alerting the local media (p.150)
  4. A charter for postconflict situations
  5. A charter for investment

Trade Policy: Western trade policy needs to encourage free trade and give preferential access to exports from Bottom Billion countries

Academic disputes

The uninitiated might think that academics are paid to find answers to problems and establish the truth. But the academic world, now more than ever, puts academics under tremendous pressure to compete, to publish scads of papers and books, to continually come up with something new, in order to justify their tenure and their research grants. And the best way to do this is not to come up with solutions but to continually problematise issues, finding new things to disagree about.

Hence why in History each new historian has to establish their reputation by rubbishing everyone who came before them and claiming to have found the real reason why X happened, or for the first time the true story can be told, or, in one of the clichés of our time, to be giving voices to the previously unheard, overlooked, suppressed etc.

Hence why in Literary Studies, every single work of literature from the last two and a half thousand years has to be reread and reinterpreted in light of the newish frameworks of feminism and race, post-colonial studies and, the newest kid on the block, queer studies.

Which is why second-wave feminism of the 1960s (white, horribly middle-class) had to be refuted by the 1990s generation of third-wave feminists, who claimed to be reclaiming feminism for non-white and working class people. Who were themselves supplanted around 2009 by fourth-wave feminists, who make much more agile use of digital technology i.e. social media, while insisting all previous feminism didn’t take into account modern ideas of gender fluidity.

And so it goes on, wave after wave of thinkers claiming that their new interpretation is the right one, the revelation, the radical new discovery – until the next wave comes along and proves it wasn’t inclusive or diverse enough. Same in the language arts, the performing arts, the visual arts: in all the humanities academia is a kind of machine for generating ever-new waves of ideology and discourse.

Academic disputes in the aid sector

Anyway, when we come to Development Economics, to the world of development aid and foreign aid and aid policy, exactly the same thing applies. This is that, instead of there being broad agreement about what needs to be done, there is, instead, a surprising amount of disagreement about what should be done.

Why? Because academics are paid to disagree; they make their names and careers by rebutting, disputing and overthrowing previously accepted nostrums, the old ideas which have so signally failed, proposing new solutions based on new evidence, new studies etc etc.

And this lack of disagreement is, of course, notoriously endemic in the field of economics which, unlike art criticism or literary theory, directly affects the fate of nations and the wellbeing or otherwise of hundreds of millions of people who suffer the consequences of economists’ bickering and misrule.

The American economist J.K. Galbraith was a fund of witty criticisms of his own field of study. ‘If you laid all the economists in the world in a straight line, head to toe, they still wouldn’t reach a conclusion’ was one of his gags, although his best one might be: ‘The only purpose of economic forecasting is to make astrology look respectable.’

Which is why, arguably, the most interesting part of Collier’s book is not the ostensible Key Points, outlined above, which could be conveyed in five or six PowerPoint slides. It’s the sidelights and sideswipes, in which Collier defends his position against his opponents in a range of debates I didn’t even know existed.

These shed light on the tangled undergrowth of development economic thinking and begin to explain why leaders of Western countries do not give it the prominence Collier, naturally enough, wants his field to have. Why would they, when the so-called experts can barely agree among themselves?

Academic disputes about ‘growth’

Take the simple idea of growth. What could be more uncontroversial than the idea that the world’s poorest nations need to grow their way out of poverty by developing their economies. And yet in a couple of pages, before his book has really got started (pages 11 and 12), Collier sketches out the profound disagreements development economist have about this.

He tells us that many non-governmental organisations (NGOs) are deeply unhappy with the entire concept of ‘growth’, presumably (although he isn’t explicit about this) because they associate it with unbridled capitalism, the Washington Consensus, the creation of a third world middle class and the ongoing abandonment of the poor.

This, he explains, is why nowadays organisations put adjectives before the word ‘growth’, things like ‘sustainable pro-poor growth’ to distinguish their kind of growth from naughty nasty capitalist growth (p.11).

Collier has no time for this. He enjoys telling us that while he was directing the World Bank’s Research Department (swank) the most controversial paper they published was titled ‘Growth Is Good For The Poor’. To you and me that might appear a pretty uncontroversial statement but NGOs’ hated it and the president of the World Bank rang up to express his concern.

What emerges is that Collier sees himself sitting in the middle of a spectrum of beliefs. To the left of him are often quite left-wing development charities which are ‘suspicious’ (p.11) of talk about growth because of its red-blooded, Thatcherite connotations. The ‘sustainable pro-poor’ guys. In the world of economic theory, the leading figure of this wing is American economist Jeffrey Sachs, a strong proponent of large-scale aid to the developing world.

To the right of Collier are the aid sceptics, right-wingers who think well-meaning foreign intervention often makes things worse. Countries have to sort themselves out and find their own way. The American economist William Easterly is, apparently, the leading figure on this wing, as the title of his book ‘The White Man’s Burden: Why the West’s Efforts to Aid the Rest Have Done So Much Ill and So Little Good’ (2006), makes abundantly clear.

Easterly’s arguments are repeated and updated by someone like Dambisa Moyo and her 2010 book ‘Dead Aid: Why aid is not working and how there is another way for Africa’. Moyo is black and a woman so scores double on the diversity-counter and has been showered with praise by the worried white establishment (in 2022 she was awarded a life peerage, becoming Baroness Moyo of Knightsbridge). But, at the end of the day, she is yet one more American-educated development economist to enter the endless battlefield of development economics.

Anyway, amid all this argumentation, Collier is at pains to position himself in a nominal ‘centre’: definitely rejecting left-wing beliefs (he is scathing about anyone who offers Cuba as a model for other developing countries to follow) but at the same time rejecting the All Aid Is Bad school (p.191).

Early on he offers a common sense summary of what he’s aiming for, a goal he hopes everyone can rally round:

To my mind, development is about giving hope to ordinary people that their children will live in a society that has caught up with the rest of the world. (p.12)

Reading this book made me realise that feel-good sentiments like that are so common in this area, and drop so glibly from the lips of politicians, precisely because they don’t really say anything. Because as soon as you start to be more specific, the squabbling starts.

Supporting girls and women

This atmosphere of continual argument and debate in development economics explains why the debate has moved away from ‘growth’ (wrongly, in Colliers view) towards more ‘safe’ subjects. This, for example, explains why all the squabbling parties can be brought back together around uncontroversial rallying cries such as ‘helping girls and women in the developing world’.

Who could possibly disagree? Who would dare to disagree? It’s a worthy cause, of course, as Collier emphasises (p.11) but also one which papers over the yawning cracks which divide development economists. Framing the debate in terms of helping ‘vulnerable women’ and ‘supporting girls’ etc is all very admirable:

But continues to evade the much harder discussion about the best way to provide foreign aid, or, as per Easterly and Moyo, whether the West should give aid at all.

Academic in tone

The Bottom Billion is very academic in tone, in the bad sense. Chapter 1 is about ‘conflict’, which you might have thought would be a big juicy topic. Instead Collier focuses in on the minutiae of a research paper he did with one of his graduate students, Anke Hoeffler.

He explains that they decided to take a very narrow approach and see if they could measure whether the outbreak of civil wars was related to income and GDP. They were quickly presented with the problem of how to define a civil war so, he explains, they adopted the definition of ‘civil war’ developed by scholars at the University of Michigan, which is an expert in this field.

Then, of course, there are problems with getting reliable data about GDP, average income and so on from the poorest countries which are, by definition, often in a state of chaos.

And then he complains that some fellow academics objected to this entire data-driven analysis. These critics come from the left, from ‘the politicised end of the academic world’ (p.19), who Collier has taken the time to criticise half a dozen times by just page 19.

Not all theorists of civil war have based their work on empirical data. Some social scientists, particularly the most politically engaged, know what they want to see in civil war and duly see it. (p.20)

See what I mean by ‘academic’?

1) Instead of treating the subject in a broad and insightful way, he is instead effectively summarising one very specific paper he co-authored.

2) He tells you as much about fellow academics who objected to his approach as he does about the results.

3) And his summary is littered with snarky jibes against Western Marxists, left-wing NGOs, the politically correct media and so on, sarcastic asides which I quickly came to dislike.

(For example, Collier attributes the over-emphasis on the urgency of the West giving aid entirely to ‘the left’ and its narrative of atoning for the sins of colonialism, in what he considers a blinkered, moralistic view which actively hampers the kind of aid and support we can and ought to give, p.123.)

Economic statistics

As an economist Collier prides himself on eschewing historical, political or sociological explanations for poverty or war. The trouble is that, as he explains how he and his post-grad assistants beavered away to define the data and stats they needed to generate their conclusions, the more artificial and contingent they appear. By the time he gets to the conclusions he’s so proud of, I found them unconvincing and also weirdly irrelevant.

For example, after a lot of number crunching, he tells us that poor countries are more likely to see civil wars which we could have worked out for ourselves. But then that a typical low-income country faces a 14% risk of civil war in any given five-year period. Each percentage of economic growth knocks a percentage off the risk, so a country with a growth rate of 3% has a risk of civil war of 14% – 3% = 11%.

This is just the first of many mentions of projects his graduate students are working on or that he collaborated on with his peers. An awful lot of the book consists of summaries of research undertaken by Collier or his research students or colleagues (Lisa Chauvet, Anke Hoeffler, Stefan Dercon, Steve O’Connell, Catherine Pattillo, Jan Gunning, David Dollar, Tony Venables) and there is an appendix at the end devoted to just these research papers, titled ‘Research on which this book is based’.

Underpinning the book are a mass of technical papers published in professional journals. (Preface, p.xii)

Collier’s unique selling point is that, once he has defined his problem, he works with students and colleagues to find ways to try to apply measurable data to them. He shares his working out with us because that’s how a good academic operates. It allows others to critique his methodology or results with precision.

In addition, Collier explicitly states in his Preface that he goes into such detail about who he worked with and how they developed the concepts and definitions for their research because the book has an aim over and above framing issues and recommendations for development aid: it is to give us lay readers a sense of what it’s like to do development economics, a sense of the buzz you get from framing questions then figuring out ways to answer them:

Although this is not a book about research, I hope that along the way you will get some of the flavour of how modern research is done, and a sense of the thrill that comes from cracking intractable questions. (Preface, p.xiii)

But as well as often being pretty boring, it gives an unfortunate impression of being very, well, narrow. Instead of ranging across the whole field it reads more like the annual summary of research done by a particular department at a particular university. It feels oddly parochial.

Reasons not to be cheerful

For a guy who’s trying to come up with practical solutions, Collier shares a lot of very gloomy conclusions to his research.

– Assuming even an optimistic rate of economic growth, he estimates that ruined countries like the Congo will take something like fifty years to get back to the standard of living they enjoyed at independence in 1960.

– Resource-poor landlocked countries are going to be reliant on aid for a very, very long time. He is so pessimistic about their prospects that twice he says they should never really have been created as separate countries. Mali, Niger, Chad, Central African Republic – these countries are going to be dirt poor forever (p.107).

– Capital flight. He and his team researched long and hard to uncover the headline fact that in 1998, after decades of military rule, some $100 billion had been smuggled out of Africa by its elite and was held abroad, money which should, of course, have been used to invest in infrastructure, agriculture and so on, but had simply been stolen by its rulers. Instead of investing in their own countries, rich Africans invest their money abroad.

– Paralleling capital flight is human capital flight. Educated people leave poor countries because they have better life chances abroad. And the better your qualifications the more likely you can enter a Western country. And once one of you is in, you can bring other family members. Thus human flight disproportionately impacts the educated classes, which obviously keeps poor nations stuck in the poverty trap.

The countries of the bottom billion are already desperately short of qualified people and the situation is likely to get worse. (p.94)

– A really big reason for gloom is that his research shows that the main way to grow your economy is to attract inward commercial investment. The way to do that is to be a large country with political stability and a reasonably well educated workforce. These are the reasons why first China then India dragged themselves out of poverty in the 1990s and 2000s.

China in particular grew at an incredible rate partly because of what economists call ‘economies of agglomeration’ (p.82) meaning that you build up a well-enough educated workforce that can move easily between different firms or factories in the same sector. There are tens of thousands of foreign firms in China and tens of millions of workers educated and experienced enough to move between them.

Compare the economies of agglomeration in China with the bottom billion countries where a) there are few if any foreign firms and so b) an entire generation of workers with no experience of what is required to work in a foreign-owned factory or warehouse e.g. be clean, turn up on time day after day, literate enough to do the work, prepared to put in the hours.

So who wants to be the first Western investor to risk investing millions in a country with no educated workforce, no transport infrastructure, and corrupt rulers who are likely to overthrow each other in a chaos-creating coup at the drop of a hat? See the recent upset among the rulers of Sudan. Nobody.

Critiques

William Easterly’s criticism

William Easterly is another development economist but this time from the right-wing of the political spectrum and a deep-dyed aid sceptic. This explains why his most famous book is titled ‘The White Man’s Burden: Why the West’s Efforts to Aid the Rest Have Done So Much Ill and So Little Good’ (2006) and explains why Easterly makes numerous criticisms of Collier. He starts by claiming that Collier’s strategy of attributing the poverty of the poorest countries to just four causes or ‘traps’ is completely inadequate. The world is much more complicated than that.

Easterly says Collier doesn’t take into account a number of other pretty obvious factors – such as the colonial legacy i.e. the template of the elite rule of land, resources and government which post-independence local rulers simply copied; or the disruptive impact of tribalism. He adds many others and develops his critique of Collier from there.

Lies, damned lies and statistics

All Collier’s conclusions derive from data and statistical analysis and the trouble with data and statistics is, notoriously, that you can make them mean anything you want to. Even an utterly honest, unbiased attempt to use data faces a host of problems which Collier, to give him his due, owns up to and describes in detail. These include:

  • sourcing the data in the first place: it rarely presents itself clean and complete as you wish, but has to be hunted down, sought in different organisations, or formats, or with different taxonomies, or purposes so that you have to manipulate it, ‘clean’ it, repurpose it
  • or it’s just not available and has to be guessed or ‘extrapolated’ from similar datasets elsewhere
  • Collier repeatedly explains how they had to choose how to define concepts such as ‘success’, ‘turnaround’, even ‘civil war’ and ‘growth’; the more he does so, the more contingent and – not quite arbitrary, but – flaky many of his central premises come to seem

Collier, to his great credit, shows all his working out, but the more he explains, the more rickety and bodged together his working appears. I’m sure he and all his collaborators did the best possible job but his candour about the challenges they faced getting hold of and then working with the data on which his entire approach relies, slowly undermines your trust in many of his findings. And since the entire edifice is based on these findings, well…

Fifteen years later

History doesn’t stop, Time marches on. Has poverty been abolished? Have we made poverty history? Have we lifted the bottom billion out of poverty? No, no and no.

Also, ‘Events, dear boy’. Since this book was published in 2008 we’ve had the financial crash of 2008 leading to a decade of austerity, the huge political disruption caused by Brexit, the COVID lockdowns, and now the war in Ukraine. All good excuses for focusing our energies elsewhere.

I don’t know whether Collier’s recommendations were adopted by the G8 or the British government or the UN, but I doubt it and I doubt they ever will be. Look at the umpteen reports about climate change, overflowing with recommendations. Some policies are being implemented in Western and developing nations, but is it enough? No. The sample of reviews of the book I’ve read all say it was ‘very influential’ and it may well have changed a lot of thinking and speeches and papers and research and so on in the vast papermill and huge bureaucracy of the aid industry.

But were any of his policies actually implemented? It would be lovely if Collier wrote another book (or article) assessing the book 15 years on: telling us which policies, if any, were adopted, and by whom, and what difference they made, if any. Come on, Paul.

TED talk

Sir Paul gave a TED talk summarising his book:


Credit

The Bottom Billion: Why the Poorest Countries are Failing and What Can Be Done About It by Paul Collier was published as an Oxford University Press paperback in 2008.

Related link

More Africa reviews

Occupational Hazards: My Time Governing in Iraq by Rory Stewart (2007)

‘If you put my cousin on the council, I will slit his throat.’
(Typical threat from an Iraqi sheikh, Occupational Hazards, page 231)

Rory Stewart

Stewart (born 1973) is posh. He comes from a family of Scottish landed gentry. Like lots of poshos born into a family which helped administer the last shreds of empire, Stewart was born abroad, in Hong Kong in his case, and then brought up in Malaysia. He, of course, was sent back to the old country to be educated at Eton and Oxford. After a brief spell in a posh regiment in the British Army (the Black Watch) he went on to work in the Diplomatic Service. Absolutely stock, standard posh-boy career. Then, in the footsteps of the posh travellers of the 1920s and 30s (Wilfred Thesiger et al), he left the Diplomatic Service to undertake a two-year walk across Afghanistan, Iran, Pakistan, India and Nepal, and then, of course, wrote a best-selling book about the experience, ‘The Places in Between’ (p.8).

Post-war Iraq

Stewart’s posh boy qualifications, his experience in the Foreign Office, his (supposed) knowledge of Arab and Muslim culture (he’s very candid about his shortcomings in speaking or understanding Arabic, as he is about everything else) meant that when the Coalition Provisional Authority (the provisional Western power set up in Iraq after the American invasion of March 2003) put out feelers to the British Foreign Office for volunteers to work as ‘governorate co-ordinators’ in the southern provinces of Iraq (which had been assigned to the British to manage) Stewart was a prime candidate.

In fact, surprisingly, he received no response to his initial application and so, with the confidence borne of his Eton-Oxford-Foreign Office pedigree, he flew to Jordan, took a taxi to Baghdad and lobbied for the job on the spot. He was vouched for by the Director of Operations and Infrastructure at the CPA, Andy Bearpark and was duly appointed (p.73).

Stewart in Iraq timeline

Thus it was that on 28 September 2003 Stewart found himself on a flight from Baghdad down to Amara, capital of Maysan Province in southern Iraq (p.10). Here he worked as ‘governorate co-ordinator’ running a team of ten or so civil affairs officers, alongside the British Army’s (completely separate) military operations for the next 6 months.

Map of Iraq’s provinces, by Orthuberra and published under Creative Commons attribution Attribution-Share Alike 3.0

In November 2003 the American diplomat Molly Phee arrived, assuming the position of Governorate Co-ordinator and Rory switched to become her deputy (p.188). A few days later, Paul Bremer announced the CPA would hand over authority to a provisional Iraqi government on 30 June 2004. In the same month an opinion poll revealed that two-thirds of Iraqis described the allies as ‘an occupying force’ (p.220).

In January 2004 the security situation suddenly deteriorated and the compound at Amara started coming under attack (p.288).

In March 2004 Stewart was moved from Maysan to its western neighbour, Dhi Qar, and its capital Nasiriyah, where he served as senior advisor to the civil affairs team. There were mounting attacks on occupation garrisons throughout Iraq.

In April 2004 the Shiite cleric, politician and militia leader Muqtada al-Sadr unleashed his supporters’ insurgency against the occupying forces, leading to attacks against Coalition offices throughout Iraq, and against Stewart’s compound in Nasiriyah. The very fierce fighting would continue until al-Sadr declared a ceasefire in September 2004.

Meanwhile, in June 2004, the Coalition Authority handed all its powers over to the Iraqi Provisional government, and Stewart’s job came to an end.

He revisited Iraq a couple of times, later in 2004 and in 2005, but his day-to-day involvement at that point came to an end.

A memoir not a history

I bought this paperback when it came out in 2007. I remember being disappointed. Now I realise this was because I was expecting a historical overview, a comprehensive chronological account of the coalition invasion of Iraq and its aftermath, and Stewart’s book is definitely not that. For that kind of objective, historical and analytical overview, I recommend Jack Fairweather’s thorough and authoritative account, A War of Choice: Honour, Hubris and Sacrifice: The British in Iraq (2012).

I now realise I was disappointed by Stewart’s account because it is something else entirely: it is a highly personal memoir of the day-to-day challenges he faced, first in Maysan and then in Dhi Qar, and doesn’t even attempt to be an overall survey.

Instead, it is much more like a diary account (it’s not quite a diary because, as he tells us, he didn’t have time to keep a day-by-day record) of where he went and who he saw, and the issues and challenges he had to address, of the countless conversations and arguments with innumerable Iraqi officials, political leaders, sheikhs and clerics, interspersed with conversations with senior officers in the British Army in both provinces, and occasional meetings with masters in the CPA up in Baghdad. Above all, it is an odyssey through the amazingly convoluted networks of tribes and parties and gangs and warlords and militias which made up the immensely complicated tapestry of political life in his province.

And it is very deliberately provincial in focus. Occasionally he mentions politicking up in Baghdad or outbreaks of violence in the rest of the country, but only the briefest of mentions because his focus is overwhelmingly on the multiple parties and sects and forces at work in his province that he has to deal with.

This explains several things about the book:

1. At 434 pages, it is surprisingly long. But as you get into it you realise this is because it takes a long time to get to know all the many, many tribal and political leaders in Maysan. Stewart’s understanding only inches forward via long conversations, arguments, meetings, pledges, threats and unexpected revelations. In all these ways his book is more like a novel than a history: it’s not to be read for the facts; it’s to be read so as to allow the behaviours, conversations, promises, threats and actions of the various factions to slowly build up a complex, multi-layered portrait.

2. It also explains why, right at the start of the book, there’s a 4-page list of dramatis personae i.e. key figures from the narrative, just as in a classic nineteenth century Russian novel. Initially I thought I could skip these, but slowly realised that reading the book only makes sense if you maintain a good grasp of who’s who and, more to the point, who is conspiring against who, rubbishing them behind their backs, and why. Or at least, why Stewart thinks they’re doing so.

At which point I realised something quite important: that there are more Iraqi, Arab and Muslim voices in this than any other book I’ve read about Iraq or Afghanistan.

The clash of cultures

This point brings us to one of the two central themes of the book which is the immense, unbridgeable cultural gulf between this highly educated, objective and dispassionate civil servant, and the maze of Iraqi politicians he struggles to understand and manage. Over the book’s 430 pages he (and we the readers) obviously gain insight into people’s characters and motivations; but it’s delusive. Tribal leaders still abruptly reverse their positions, or pull out of agreements, for no motive that Stewart can fathom. One minute he’s enjoying a cup of tea in his pokey office in the CPA compound in Amara with a Shia cleric who promises to work with Stewart’s plans to set up a provincial council. A week later the same person is leading an angry mob on the same compound, inciting them to riot, chanting ‘Death to the Coalition’ and publishing a leaflet calling for all devout Muslims to assassinate CPA officials like Stewart (p.228). It is an impassable gulf:

Even in the stable context of our office, with good translators, it was often difficult for us to understand Iraqi guests and for them to understand us…the truth was that the most basic concepts like, ‘civil society’ or ‘sharia law’, meant very different things to each of us. (p.242)

The more he understands, the more he realises he’ll never understand. Not least because quite a few of the local players themselves don’t fully understand what’s going on. In a Hobbesian world where everyone’s hand is against everyone else’s, nobody can be sure of any of their pacts or alliances or deals.

‘These people talk randomly,’ said the governor in a tense, tired, quiet voice. ‘Even among themselves they agree about nothing. It is impossible even to get a consistent demand from them.’ (p.294)

This explains something else absolutely central which is that, when push comes to shove, if you’re in doubt about who was your ally and who was conspiring to have you assassinated, the One Thing that was guaranteed to win you brownie points with almost all the other Iraqi parties, was declaring ‘Death to the West! Death to the Coalition!’

Stewart doesn’t say it in so many words, but it emerges naturally from his countless stories of promises broken and double crosses, that opposition to the Coalition, to the occupying forces, and the West in general, was so vehement because it was, at bottom, the only policy on which almost all the squabbling Iraqi parties could unite on.

Being political illiterates, having absolutely no concept whatsoever of democratic processes or conventions, ‘Death to the West’ was the one and only policy that could (for a while) unite parties, tribes and interest groups who were, otherwise, at each other’s throats (for example, at the first meeting of the council Stewart has himself selected, p.277).

Security, security, security

All of which is related to the other, deeper, central message of the book which comes over loud and clear. Young Rory arrived with the naive belief that people are basically decent; that, if given space, law and order emerges naturally from the culture of a society; and so he initially allowed himself to be dazzled by the enormous number of economic and social development projects being worked up by the ten-person civil society team which he found in Maysan before him.

Only slowly and brutally, does he realise that the locals don’t give a monkeys about educational programmes on human rights, the free market, feminism, federalism and constitutional reform (p.82) or ‘gender-awareness workshops’ (p.83).

What they wanted was security security security. What they wanted was law and order. What they wanted was to be able to walk down the street at night (or even during the day) without being held up, mugged, sexually assaulted, kidnapped and held to ransom, or tortured and murdered.

And that, as it turned out – the provision of basic security, elementary standards of law and order – was something the occupying forces turned out to be completely incapable of providing. And Stewart’s account is a priceless testimony as to why. You might as well try to get a box of frogs to put on a military tattoo as get the endlessly bickering Arabs who Stewart profiles to agree about anything.

The rivals

Amid the blizzard of other projects and responsibilities, the central consuming project of the first, Maysan, part of the narrative, is Stewart’s attempts to appoint a provisional council which can then meet and agree a) a new provincial governor and b) a new chief of police.

The police are poorly trained, cowardly and corrupt (p.83). For example, tribal leader Abu Rashid drafted hundreds of his militia followers into the police, some of them as young as 12. The day before a meeting with Rashid Stewart hears that, when Abu Rashid’s mother had been told to wait when she went to hospital, some of these boys had drawn their weapons and threatened to shoot the doctors unless she was treated immediately (p.87). What can you do with a society split into such fiercely partisan warlord groups, and where that kind of instant resort to extreme violence is normal?

Pretty much all the sheikhs and party leaders he has to deal with are criminals. When Stewart appoints Abu Rashid chief of police it is in the knowledge that Rashid’s cousins run the major smuggling operation in the area. Stewart’s thinking is it’s better to have the big gangsters inside the organisation and let power slowly educate them, than simply making them eternal foes.

Most of the leaders he deals with are involved in some kind of criminal activity, such as smuggling drugs or diesel. Most have threatened to assassinate each other and some are responsible for murders, while most had had some member of their family killed over crime or tribal vendettas. Most of them run extortion and blackmail rackets. All the contractors he allots CPA funds to for ‘development’ projects, skim some or most of the money into their personal accounts, with sometimes hilarious results.

‘There were 54 political parties, 20 substantial tribes, and a dozen leading political figures in the province’ (p.169). Broadly speaking there are:

  • tribal sheiks: there are two massive tribes in the province but innumerable sub-tribes and smaller tribes all jostling for power, slow to forgive ancient feuds (‘Most urban Iraqis perceived the sheikhs as illiterate, embarrassing, criminal, powerless anachronisms,’ p.231)
  • some of these sheikhs had forebears who had proudly fought against the British occupier and coloniser in the 1920s and so, even if they’d wanted to be co-operative, family tradition and pride insisted that they be seen to be as unco-operative and obstructive as possible
  • there are the various candidates and parties which are all fronts for the self-styled Prince of the Marshes, a charming, educated and thoroughly untrustworthy figure, who leads a gang of semi-literate criminals who, immediately after Saddam’s fall, comprehensively looted Amara
  • clerics, all Shia, but with a surprising number of fierce rivals; incongruously to British readers, many of these religious leaders have their own militias which regularly kidnap or assassinate opponents
  • Iran-backed parties: during Saddam’s long tyranny (1968 to 2003) tens of thousands of political and religious leaders fled abroad; only a handful of them were ‘secular’ (or what passes for secular in a Muslim country); most of them were various flavours of Shia and fled east to Shia Iran; here they were kept on the Iranian government payroll awaiting the day when Saddam (a Sunni) was overthrown; so Stewart had not only to deal with Shia clerics who remained in the country, but with a whole cohort who had returned from Iran and were all, to some extent or other, in hock to Iran and carrying out pro-Iran policies; thus, the Supreme Council for the Islamic Revolution in Iraq, which was funded by Iran and represented Iran’s interests (p.65), lobbying for wilayat-e-faqih, meaning government of the jurists i.e. a Shia theocracy identical to Iran’s
  • then there were the Sadrists, followers of Shia cleric, Muqtada al-Sadr, who shouted the same kind of anti-Coalition slogans from their pulpits as the returners-from-exile but with one key difference: Muqtada had never gone into exile and was a fierce Iraqi nationalist i.e. opposed the Iran-backed parties as violently as they opposed the Coalition; his militia calls itself ‘the Army of the Redeeming Imam’ (p.86); Muqtada ‘created his own armed militia, assassinated clerical rivals, declared an alternative government and called for the immediate departure of the infidel Coalition’, p.253; Stewart makes the point that all the Shia groups seem to be represented by younger and younger men who reject the moderation of their elders; in other words, political Islam was becoming more unstable (p.230)
  • there weren’t many Sunnis in Maysan (the further south in Iraq you go, the more Shia it becomes) but by and large the Sunni were more moderate and better educated than the Shia, who they regarded as uneducated, backward heretics (p.46)
  • last and least, quavering in the shadow of all these fierce and violent factions, were the handful of genuinely secular, middle class, liberal democratically minded Iraqis and the handful of ‘feminists’; none of these stood a hope in hell of being elected to anything but Stewart and his boss, Molly Phee, appointed some to their provincial council because it’s what the CPA in Baghdad, and all the Western politicians bankrolling the whole thing, had told their populations we were doing in Iraq – building a modern democratic state which respects the human rights of all blah blah blah

The point is that nobody in Iraq trusts anybody else; they are all prepared to believe the absolute worst of all the other tribes, clans, groups, militias, police forces and so on; and, knowing no other way of calmly settling disputes, and also conceiving of power as a zero sum game where you are either in total control or nothing, they routinely try to kidnap or assassinate each other.

A society where nobody believes in anybody else’s good intentions, yes, it probably does require a strong, authoritarian ruler to quash all these rival sources of authority and, above all, of violence. Only a really strong, violent man with a strong, violent security apparatus can quell all the other violent rivalrous groups into submission. Stewart starts off believing this is anti-Arab propaganda, but runs into trouble when Arab after Arab tells him it is true.

‘We Iraqis, we admire strong men. We have tough heads. You must be strong.’ (His first Iraqi interpreter, page 32)

How many Iraqis are you going to ignore when they tell you point blank that their society just won’t function unless it is governed with a fist of steel? It may be racist for us to make such sweeping statements, but isn’t it just as racist to ignore an Arab’s description of their own society because we supposedly know better than they do?

Thus various tribal and religious and political leaders tell him again and again that only an extremely strong, dictatorial authority can enforce security in Iraq (pages 59, 81, 82). When he and Molly finally agree settle on the members of the provisional council they’ve nominated, Stewart gives a characteristically droll summary of them:

I knew these people well. Most had killed others; all had lost close relatives. Some wanted a state modelled on seventh-century Arabia, some wanted something that resembled even older, pre-Islamic tribal systems. Some were funded by the Iranian secret service; others old oil on the black market, ran protection rackets, looted government property, and smuggled drugs. Most were linked to construction companies which made immense profits by cheating us. Two were first cousins and six were from the same tribe; some had tried to assassinate each other. This dubious gathering included and balanced, however, all the most powerful political factions in the province and I believed that if anyone could secure the province, they could. (p.268)

And at their very first meeting the Sadrist member announced that the council was illegal, poisoned by the presence of the Coalition and forbade anyone from taking their oaths. Lolz, as my kids would say.

Or when, after the first guy they appointed as chief of police is assassinated, after much heart-searching Stewart and Molly appoint the Prince of the Marshes’ brother, Riyadh Mahood Hatab on the basis that he is a competent administrator with 20 years experience in the civil service, the respect of the ministry directors, the power of his brother’s militia behind him and contacts in Baghdad. Yes, he’ll do. And then the comic horror with which Molly and Rory listen as the newly installed chief of police outlines his programme: he wants to take full control of the police, set up a secret intelligence service, ban demonstrations, arrest a journalist who had insulted him and expel his Sadrist opponents from the council (p.275).

This is how everyone they try to negotiate thinks about power; it is a zero sum game and, if they are given a position of power, they must immediately move to assume complete control as quickly as possible in order to forestall the inevitable attempts and assassinations and coups which all their rivals will mount against them. Given half a chance, everyone turns into Saddam. No-one turns into the kind of mild liberal democrat the CPA in Baghdad, and their masters in Washington and London, fantasised about.

Violent rhetoric

In the build-up to the Iraq war Saddam Hussein promised the Mother of all Battles but as soon as the invasion started most of his soldiers ran away (some didn’t; some stayed at their posts and fought very hard until obliterated by bombs from the air). I have read serious, sympathetic, Arab writers trying to explain that flowery and impassioned rhetoric is part of their culture. Alternatively, maybe they genuinely are as bloodthirsty and cut-throat as the characters in Stewart’s book suggest.

Stewart visits one of the many schools he’s helped refurbish with CPA money only to bump into the Prince of the Marshes who is ranting about the shoddy quality of the plasterwork, leading up to the blood-curdling threat:

‘Now I need to know the name of the contractor who did this work – tell me his name and I will rip out his tongue.’ (p.98)

Is this bombastic showing off, especially as he said it for the benefit of the school’s headmistress who was standing nearby? Even so, it’s hard to fit this kind of language into anything that might be said in a civilised society. Or was it meant literally? After all, there was always a low level current of mafia-style violence across the province and that was before the insurgency began, which itself degenerated into sectarian civil war, when thousands of people were kidnapped, had their eyes gouged out, their kneecaps drilled through and otherwise hurt in the most cruel and sadistic ways imaginable.

If it was rhetoric, it paved the way for real life atrocities. But more likely, the language just matched the actions.

Tribal fights were still very common – it was not rare for two or three men to be killed in a week in tribal disagreements. (p.143)

Stewart helps a sheikh of the Suwaad tribe who graciously invites him for lunch. Next day the sheikh’s house is firebombed. At an art exhibition he is introduced to Dr Kifiyah, a confident woman who is working for an aid organisation educating women (p.175). He supervises the election of a mayor for the town of Ali Al Sharj. Three days later, the mayor is ambushed and killed (p.226).

The central event of the first section, set in Maysan, is the assassination of the chief of police who Stewart and the CPA had put all their hopes on, which unleashes a kidnapping, and various forms of sectarian violence. The point is that everyone has so many enemies that they’re not at all sure who carried out the assassination.

Under siege

The first 300 pages chronicle Stewart’s time in Maysan. Around page 300 he leaves that post and is driven across the border into Dhi Qar province and on to the Coalition’s base in the provincial capital, Nasiriyah. He discovers it is a far bigger, more populous place than Maysan. He discovers that the team here held elections to appoint a provincial council and they were judged a success, shedding light on his decision to appoint a council, which led to all the problems which made up most of the text about Maysan.

The next most important thing he discovers is the military presence here is Italian and, living down to their hard-won reputation, they are useless. Never on time, never serious or committed, they rarely lose an opportunity to run away from a fight. To be fair this was because, a few months earlier, in November 2003, a huge truck bomb had detonated at the Italian headquarters in Nassiriya, killing 17 Italians. At which point Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi ordered his 2,300-strong contingent not to take any risks. Any more casualties and negative public opinion would force him to withdraw from the Coalition. There were strong political and operational reasons for the Italians’ tardiness and unreliability.

All of which is important because Stewart is in Nassiriya when the dual insurgencies, of Sunnis in Fallujah and Sadrist Shia militias across the entire south, kick off in April, and the CPA compound in Nassiriya comes under sustained attack. It’s a really serious situation, with the compound besieged, running low on water, two guards at the gate are seriously injured, scores of mortars and RPGs attack the compound continuously, the entire civilian staff have to take cover.

Eventually he manages to get them extracted from the besieged base in a convoy of armoured patrol vehicles, only for them to trundle straight into an ambush and be bombarded with machine guns and RPGs and, having remained behind in the base, he has an agonising half an hour wondering if he’s just sent his entire team to a violent death, before getting a phone call to confirm that they had all arrived safe at the allied base at the airport outside of town.

Even here there’s Waughesque comedy, as the incompetent driver of the first APV unexpectedly throws it into reverse, nearly running over Stewart and a colleague who were remaining behind. When his infuriated commander leans down to cuff the harassed driver round the ear, he then accelerates into a pile of barbed wire which promptly tangle up the wheels and prevent it going any further, till the wire is slowly painfully untangled.

There’s page after page detailing the amazing ineffectiveness and cowardliness of the Italians, and it’s not just Stewart who is gobsmacked. A team of British and American security contractors from Control Risk Group (CRG) remain in the base with him and cannot believe how useless the Italians are (pages 390 to 393). Eventually after 3 days of siege a Coalition Spectre plane uses its night sights to locate the mortar bombers and pick them off one by one, killing or wounding the entire insurgent group. Next day the city is back to its normal bustling self. Stewart is full of praise for the consultants (aka mercenaries) who manned the machine gun posts and prevented the Sadrists storming over the walls and massacring Stewart and the garrison.

But Baghdad orders the compound to be evacuated. Obviously, the minute they’ve left the looters move in and strip the place of any moveable values, right down to the wiring, before gutting and burning it.

Once safely ensconced in the Italians’ main base at Tallil Stewart comes to like them. Wherever they go, they build pizza ovens and their food is extraordinary. In fact, once you stop thinking about the Italian Army as soldiers, but actually as great chefs in fancy uniforms, what’s not to love about them?

The CPA

In case I’m accused of being anti-Arab, Stewart also has a chapter devoted to a visit to the Coalition Provincial Authority in Baghdad which overflows with details of the inane, out of touch, ludicrous, over-ambitions of inexperienced Yanks who worked all the hours that God sent and yet somehow presided over a complete shambles (pages 105 to 121). I particularly liked the deliberately comic passage where he describes going to one of the evening discos in the Green Zone and being introduced to two men who were both under the impression they had been appointed acting Interior Minister. A little later he meets two men who both think they are the Media Commissioner (p.112). Chaos.

More seriously, Stewart describes talking at different times to two soldiers, one American, one British, who both try to get him to admit that the whole war and occupation was to do with taking Iraqi oil. If even the troops on our own side believe this myth, Stewart reflects, what hope of stopping most of the Iraqi population from believing it, too (p.108). After all, Iraq is sitting on the second biggest oil reserves in the world and yet throughout the Coalition’s rule, ordinary Iraqis had to form long lines at petrol stations. Why else could that be except that the West was stealing their oil? The real explanation, that Saddam’s extraction and refining industry was on its last legs and insurgents kept blowing up pipelines and facilities, was believed by no-one (p.152).

Talk of blowing up stuff raises the point that the Iraqis devoted an extraordinary amount of energy not just to killing each other, but to destroying the infrastructure of their own country (pages 205 to 206). The Great Looting in the days after the allied victory wasn’t an anomaly but a revelation of the true character of the Iraqis, a nation of looters and thieves.

Long after those days of chaos the looting continues. Everything not tied down is stolen. Factories are looted, warehouses are looted. In January, rioters storm the governor’s compound and loot every single piece of moveable furniture or equipment, even the filing cabinets (pages 289 to 297).

Several times Stewart mentions the practice of Iraqi criminal gangs who blow up power pylons so they can strip the copper from the coil, melt it down and sell it on the black market. The criminal gangs get tens of thousands of dollars from the venture but it costs the Americans tens of millions to rebuild series of pylons and rewire them. Obviously, most of the rest of the population suffers even worse power shortages than they already did.

As soon as he, the Italian garrison and the mercenaries withdraw from the CPA compound in Nasiriyah, it is comprehensively looted and trashed.

In a sentimental mode he describes the huge mudhif, a building built entirely out of marsh reeds using ancient skills of local builders, which had been constructed in such a way as to let light through a latticework of openings. It is ornate and beautiful as a cathedral. The Sadrists burn it to the ground.

When you have a people so absolutely determined to loot and vandalise their own country, what can you do? Leave them to get on with it.

On 28 June the CPA formally handed over authority to local council and governors in Iraq’s 34 provinces. The ones Stewart was involved in immediately plunge into chaos and violence. The Prince of the Marshes promptly allies with the Sadrists against the Iranian-backed parties. He shoots the chief of police of Majar dead. The remaining Coalition compounds such as the one where Stewart spent his first 6 months, in Amara, are now under continual, ferocious attack.

Church and state

It’s my view that it took hundreds of years for us in Britain to break the power of religion over the state. Three hundred years ago it took a civil war and a revolution to loosen the grip of the church over the nation’s political life. During the long Victorian century and well into the twentieth, the Christian denominations still exercised a very negative, anti-progressive influence, especially on what is loosely called the nation’s morals (anti-sex, anti-abortion, anti-free speech, anti-gay). It was a long, hard battle to overthrow religious influence on our national life.

Here, in this book, are countless examples of Muslim clerics insisting that their religion, their religious values, their ancient forms of social organisation and their dark age forms of political process eclipse, trump and obviate the need for ‘modern, ‘western’ ideas like democracy or human rights or women’s rights. A cleric named Seyyed Faqr puts it with particular clarity:

‘What matters is not the law. What matters is God, children, possessions, lives. These things are more important than the law. Forget the law. God is above the law and I represent God.’ (p.222)

But what happens if two clerics claim to represent God, a Sadrist and an Iranian? And if you throw in a Sunni cleric? And one from this tribe and one from that tribe? And they all claim a direct line from God so that they can’t negotiate or compromise? Then you have a recipe for endless civil war, as in Libya, Sudan, the Yemen, Iraq and Syria.

Only when all sides agree to abide by a law which is above all of them, impersonal and objective, and agree to thrash out their disagreements via legal channels, can you have a civil society. This is the lesson the Coalition Provisional Authority should have been trying to teach the fractious Iraqis. A legal system to which everyone submits, an independent judiciary, and an impartial police force, these are the bedrock of a civilised states, not the flashy trappings of elections. Elections and the trappings of democracy are a subset of law and order, which trumps every other concern. (cf p.315)

Humorous stories

Anyway, so far this summary has failed to mention the single most important thing, not about the book’s subject and themes, but about it’s style and manner. For this is an extremely readable and enjoyable book. I thought I’d had enough of books about Iraq and took it down off my shelf one evening only because I was bored watching TV. To my surprise, the next time I looked up, I was on page 50. I was hooked.

Occupational Hazards is beautifully written and by far the easiest to read of all the books I’ve read about Iraq and Afghanistan. A large part of that is down to Stewart’s appealingly British irony and deadpan humour which you may or may not attribute to classic upper-class sang-froid and irony. He expects things to go wrong and is never upset when they do. Many of the accounts of his meetings, with tribal leaders or top army officers, or foreign civilians in non-governmental organisations (NGOs) end with a bathetic, ironic, darkly humorous punchline.

It helps that so many of the facts are themselves blackly, bleakly comical, in the style of Evelyn Waugh’s comic accounts of Africa, walking a fine line between horror and hilarity. The secret is in the very dry, clipped phrasing. Here he is reflecting on the rather ludicrous title the Prince of the Marshes had awarded himself:

In truth, of course, Iraq didn’t have princes any more, and it hardly had marshes. The last princes were murdered on the kitchen steps of the palace in 1958 and disembowelled and mutilated in the streets, where the mob used the Regent’s intestines as necklaces. (p.18)

This is the Waugh tone, the casual, ironic, drawling half-humorous description of shocking criminality or scandalous behaviour:

I had spent my first two weeks almost entirely in my office or in camp and I was eager to visit rural towns, which I had heard were bastions of corruption, inefficiency and political tension. (p.90)

On one of these rural rides Stewart stops at an isolated compound to chat with a genuine farmer, not some politico with an axe to grind:

As I left I asked him what I should be doing. ‘Don’t trust the police chief, he replied. ‘He is a gangster. Don’t trust anyone who lives south of Al Amara. They are thieves and bandits.’
‘But you live south of Al Amara,’ I protested.
‘Don’t trust me either,’ he said. He presented me with a live guinea fowl in parting as a gift. (p.96)

The guinea fowl clinches the comedy of the anecdote. Whether this encounter ever happened or took place as Stewart recounts it, who cares? It’s not as if it made the slightest difference to what actually happened in Iraq. It’s these throwaway details at the end of each anecdote or cadence which give it the true Waugh feel.

The Bazun sheikhdom was in dispute between the two main families, one of which had stolen all the heavy digging equipment from the Ministry of Municipalities and Public Works. (p.234)

And:

We drove past the main government building, which Nate had seen demolished by rockets: only a fragile facade of coloured tiles remained, and a sculpture commemorating the Iraqis’ 1920 uprising against the British. It depicted a British officer being shot in the back of the head. (p.303)

Of course horrible things happen. For example, quite a few of the Western civilians, administrators and soldiers Stewart meets on his first arrival end up dead, shot or blown up in suicide attacks. And then, in April, the four US contractors are lynched and their burned bodies hung from a bridge in Fallujah (p.342) which so infuriates President George W. Bush that he orders the US Army to storm the city to find their murderers and ‘bring them  to justice’ ho ho ho. In the same week Muqtada al-Sadr starts his Shia rebellion across the whole south of the country. Hundreds and then thousands died as a result of these parallel insurgencies, one by Sunnis (Fallujah), one by Shias (Muqtada’s).

Black comedy

An extended comic sequence is provided by the story of the kidnapping of a British hostage, Gary Teeley. The first part is all panic and concern among CPA officials and the military to establish who kidnapped him and why and how to get him back. In the event, some of the many tribal leaders Stewart has been having lengthy discussions with simply turn up at the gates of the compound and hand over the filthy and disorientated Brit, directly to Stewart, in person, expecting thanks.

Over the next few days various other tribal and religious factions, including the Sadrists, contact Stewart to claim the credit for releasing Teeley, even though it seems fairly certain that some of them were the ones who kidnapped him in the first place.

But that’s just the start. Stewart debriefs the shattered and disorientated hostage, who had been kept blindfolded for a week, then packs him into an ambulance to be taken to the nearby Italian hospital. Walking back through the compound he is accosted by an irate British woman who tells him she is a hostage negotiator who has been on high alert for 3 days, why didn’t he contact her? Because he didn’t know she existed. Why did he hand over Teeley to the Italians? Because he clearly needed to go to a hospital to be checked over. Yes, says the woman, but he should have been sent to the British hospital at Basra.

By now Stewart realises there is a propaganda battle going on between the British and Italian military, both wanting to be seen to be the hostage’s liberators, not least for the benefit of the Americans and the CPA in Baghdad. Thus the Italian commander sends an email round claiming the release was the result of the Italians working with their favourite tribal leader, Sheikh Talib of the Beni Rikaab tribe.

But it’s not finished yet. The released Teeley turns out to be selling his story to the papers, and – in the style of Evelyn Waugh’s comic novel of Fleet Street, Scoop – three different British newspapers print three completely conflicting accounts of his ordeal. The Daily Telegraph leads with a big photo of the Italian general shaking hands with Teeley as if the Italians negotiated his release. Then The Sun reported that Teeley had been released by Italian forces who used a helicopter to track a suspicious car to an apartment which they then stormed, discovering the captive bound by the legs. Then The Mail on Sunday led with the scoop that the Italian forces who had been credited with finding and releasing Teeley were in fact elite SAS officers wearing Italian military outfits!

Three different packs of lies, each more outrageously untrue than its predecessor.

The moral(s) of the story

1. Stewart’s book shows in more granular detail than any other account the sheer folly of expecting a backward, illiterate, tribal, sectarian society full of cut-throat, corrupt, criminal and hyper-violent tribal, religious and political leaders to become anything like a democratic society in the sense we understand it.

In Stewart’s account any Iraqi leader who gains even a modicum of power immediately moves to reinforce their position, arm their followers, and harass, arrest or assassinate any possible rivals. Saddam politics. This is what even the Shia Prime Minister, Nouri al-Malaki, did as soon as the Americans finally withdrew, in 2011. I love the fact that the very day after the last US forces withdrew, Maliki issued an arrest warrant for his own vice president, the Sunni Tariq al-Hashemi, who was forced to flee to Turkey and, convicted of terrorism, was swiftly sentenced to death in his absence. Saddam politics.

2. If there’s one message from all this, as from all the other books I’ve read about the British effort in Iraq and Afghanistan, it’s not to believe a word about the Britain’s foreign exploits, either a) given in press releases by the military but b) even more by the British newspapers, who will fall over themselves to invent any old lies to promote their respective agendas (The Sun: ‘Our Brave Boys Save The Day’; The Telegraph: ‘Secret SAS Mission’; The Guardian: ‘Shame of British Troops’ etc).

Lasting thought

As I closed the book and reflected on it for a few days, one thought rose above all the others, which is that there are more Iraqi, Arab and Muslim voices in this than any other book I’ve read about Iraq or Afghanistan. OK, not saying things the Coalition or the West or Iraqi apologists or themselves would be very pleased to read. But all the other books I’ve read focus on Americans and Brits and Westerners and the occupiers – Stewart’s book, alone, goes way out of its way to focus on the actual Iraqis he met and talked to and tried and failed to manage.

In fact, this ends up being the conclusion of the epilogue he added to the paperback edition of the book published in 2007. By that point the insurgency had become general and had evolved in many places into a sectarian civil war. Stewart criticises politicians, academics and journalists for dealing in fine words, abstract concepts and abstract statistics.

No one is offering a granular and patient account of the insurgency in all its evolving and surprising multiplicity. We prefer the universal and the theoretical: the historical analogy and the statistics. But politics is local, the catastrophe of Iraq is discovered best through individual interactions.

And it’s precisely a multitude of such ‘individual interactions’, bleakly disillusioning though most of them are, that this impressive, illuminating and drily humorous book offers, in abundance.


Credit

Occupational Hazards by Rory Stewart was published by Picador in 2006. References are to the revised 2007 Picador paperback edition.

New world disorder reviews

Salisbury: Victorian Titan by Andrew Roberts (1999) part 2

‘Whatever happens will be for the worse and therefore it is in our interest that as little should happen as possible.’
(Salisbury writing about the Balkan crisis of 1887 in a sentence which sums up his political philosophy)

‘Salisbury: Victorian Titan’ is divided into two equal parts of about 430 pages each:

  1. Tory Tribune, 1830 to 1885 (pages 5 to 422)
  2. Tory Titan, 1885 to 1903 (pages 425 to 852)

By the second half I thought I had a good handle on the book’s strengths and weaknesses. Its obvious strength is the way it examines all the major political events and issues in British and international politics between about 1865 and 1902 in fantastic detail, as seen from the point of view of the hero of this enormous biography, Robert Cecil, 3rd Marquess of Salisbury.

Using extensive quotes from Salisbury’s correspondence and speeches, plus citations from the letters or reported remarks of those around him (principally his political colleagues, occasionally his family) we get day-by-day, sometimes hour-by-hour recreations of how it seemed to Salisbury, what his thoughts and strategems were, how he manoeuvred those around him or attacked those on the opposition party, how he managed the relentless, hyper-complex task of managing British domestic, international, and imperial challenges.

So: amazing insights into a figure who really does emerge as a giant of his times, Prime Minister from 1885 to 1902, with only a three year gap. And yet the book’s strength is also, I think, its weakness, which is that the focus is so unrelentingly on Salisbury, what he said and thought and wrote, his speeches around the country and in the House of Lords, his comments over dinner or at parties, what family and confidantes recorded him saying to them – that, although the book covers an amazing number of issues, I began to realise that you fail to get a well-rounded presentation of those issues.

One example stands for many: only as much of the ill-fated expedition of General Gordon to Khartoum is explained and described as is necessary to understand what a political opportunity it presented to Salisbury to attack Gladstone for failing to relieved besieged Gordon in time. But the full background to the Mahdi’s rising, explaining the context of his rise, his appeal, and previous military engagements, and the subsequent history of British involvement in the Sudan are mostly missing. The topic swims into view as it affects Salisbury then, when it ceases to be relevant to him, disappears.

A bigger, more dominant and recurring theme is Ireland and Irish nationalism. Again, it initially feels like you’re getting a lot of information but, after a while, I realised it was a lot of information only about Salisbury’s day-to-day management of the way successive Irish crises impinged on British politics. So Roberts mentions agrarian disturbances, the regular murders and atrocities, and he mentions that this is mostly caused by inequalities to do with land and rents – BUT you don’t get a clear explanation of why. There’s no stopping to give a broader explanation of the context of Irish discontent, the rise of nationalism, the background to rural violence and so on. Roberts mentions a number of organisations, such as the Irish Brotherhood, but without any background on their formation and activities.

The great tragic Irish leader Charles Stewart Parnell appears in the narrative mainly in a very detailed account of his trial which Salisbury helped to organise and provided evidence for. Yet after reading pages and pages about this I was still left feeling unclear what the distinctive thing about Parnell and his party was. And Roberts throws away the event that ruined Parnell, his being mentioned in a divorce case, which led his puritanical supporters to abandon him, in a few phrases. So I didn’t get a full, rounded, thorough explanation of Parnell’s success and rise, just a few episodes as they impinged on Salisbury’s concerns to manage the Irish Problem.

I hope by now you’ve got my drift: this is an awesomely huge, thoroughly researched, insightful, clever and beautifully written biography of Salisbury BUT it is not a good history of Britain during his times. Every page is plastered with quotes and citations from his letters and speeches but these focus entirely on how Salisbury used events to manipulate the politics around him.

It is an extraordinarily detailed view of what politics is actually like i.e. the ceaseless calculating of what is to your own or your party’s advantage, the constant jostling and politicking against the opposition party and just as much with enemies within your own party. Reading about Salisbury’s Machiavellian manipulations is wonderfully insightful and entertaining. But time and again I felt I was being short-changed on the issues themselves. It’s perfectly logical and entirely sensible that we only see events or issues insofar as they impinge on our man Salisbury. But as page 400 turned to page 500, and then on to page 600, I became a little irked at a sense that I was missing out on the actual history of the period.

Contents

Roberts gives sub-titles to his chapters which summarise the issues each one covers, so an effective way of conveying its scope is simply to copy that:

Chapter 26: Reconstruction at home and abroad (January to April 1887)

  • 1887: Salisbury reshuffles his cabinet, coming to rely on George Joachim Goschen, 1st Viscount Goschen, a former Liberal, then Liberal Unionist, who he makes Chancellor of the Exchequer; Sir Michael Hicks Beach as the Chief Secretary for Ireland
  • death of Stafford Henry Northcote, 1st Earl of Iddesleigh, formerly Lord Northcote, Salisbury’s challenger in the Commons to leadership of the Tories
  • 1887: The Mediterranean Agreements, a series of treaties with Italy, Austria-Hungary and Spain
  • Bulgaria: Alexander of Battenberg, prince of Bulgaria, abdicated in 1886 after a pro-Russian coup, triggering a Balkan crisis about who to replace him: the constant worry was that Russia would interfere, prompting Austria to retaliate, triggering a general European war
  • 1888 June: Kaiser Wilhelm II ascends the throne of the German Empire, worrying everyone with his impetuous outbursts and lack of understanding of the intricate skeins of European diplomacy
  • Egypt: ‘I heartily wish we had never gone into Egypt’, Salisbury wrote. British influence was necessary to safeguard the Suez Canal but upset the Ottoman Sultan, the rival Power, France, and the people of Egypt who resented British influence
  • The French were afflicted by a permanent ‘inferiority complex’ and so behaved badly at every opportunity, in a dispute about the Newfoundland fisheries, in the New Hebrides in the Pacific, obstructive in Egypt, planting a flag in the empty wastes of Somalia

Chapter 27: ‘Bloody Balfour’ (March 1887 to July 1891)

  • March 1887 Salisbury appointed his nephew Arthur Balfour the Chief Secretary for Ireland. An aloof, philosophical man, commentators thought he would be a soft touch but he implemented Salisbury’s strategy of cracking down on lawlessness that, in the wake of the Mitchelstown Massacre when Irish police opened fire on protesters killing 3 (9 September 1887) and Balfour gave them his full support, he was nicknamed ‘Bloody Balfour’. Conversely, Balfour’s sternness impressed the future defender of Ulster, Edward Carson.
  • (It speaks volumes about this society and this ruling class, that the Irish Viceroy, the 6th Marquess of Londonderry, had been Balfour’s fag at Eton.)
  • July 1887: Balfour steered the passage of the ‘Perpetual Crimes Act’, a Coercion Act to prevent boycotting, intimidation, unlawful assembly and the organisation of conspiracies against the payment of agreed rents which led to the imprisonment of hundreds of people including over twenty MPs
  • March and April 1887: The Times newspaper published letters they claimed proved Parnell’s association with the Phoenix Park murders and violent crimes. Parnell sued the newspaper whereupon it emerged that the letters were all forged by a notorious crook. Salisbury backed the Times and the prosecution i.e. Tories talk about ‘honour’ and ‘the law’ when it suits them, but break it or ignore it when it suits them

28: ‘The genie of imperialism’ (May 1887 to January 1888)

  • June 1887: Queen Victoria’s Golden Jubilee; interesting to learn what a struggle the authorities had to know how to mark it appropriately; in the end it was the template or trial run for the much bigger Diamond Jubilee ten years later; of course a cartload of ‘honours’ were doled out, usually as a reward to the Unionist cause (p.461)
  • The Colonial Conference: Salisbury was not a doctrinaire imperialist and was against the idea of forging a closer union or federation with the (mostly white) colonies i.e. Canada, the Cape Colony, Australia and New Zealand; but the Colonial Secretary Sir Henry Holland took advantage of all the premiers being in London for the Jubilee to stage one anyway
  • In the 1880s Britain took control of Bechuanaland, Burma, Nigeria, Somaliland, Zululand, Kenya, Sarawak, Rhodesian and Zanzibar
  • 13 November 1887 ‘Bloody Sunday’: a crowd of marchers protesting about unemployment and the Irish Coercion Acts, and demanding the release of Irish Nationalist MP William O’Brien, clashed with the Metropolitan Police, with 400, 75 badly injured, two policemen were stabbed and one protester was bayonetted
  • Tithes: an example of Salisbury’s defence of the Church of England, his Tithe Rent-Charge Bill was wrangled over for 4 years, from 1887 to 1891; it aimed to get non-payers of tithes to the Church subject to County Court judgements which would make it easier for the clergy to obtain their money
  • Allotments: Salisbury strongly objected to a Bill brought to allow local councils to compulsorily purchase land in order to create allotments for the poor;
  • Fiscal retaliation: this was another phrase for protectionism which Salisbury was also vehemently against; the issue was to grow and grow, reflecting the fact that sometime in the 1880s Britain lost the industrial and economic lead she had enjoyed for most of the century; protectionism was raised at party conferences again and again but Salisbury managed to stave it off; after his retirement the policy of imperial protectionism would tear the party apart and contribute to the Tories’ catastrophic defeat in 1906

Chapter 29: Rumours of Wars (February to July 1888)

  • A reshuffle:
  • ‘Pom’ Macdonnell: Salisbury appointed as his personal private secretary Schomberg ‘Pom’ McDonnell, fifth son of the Earl of Antrim who turned out to be an outstanding administrator and confidante
  • The Vienna Incident: the new young touchy Kaiser thought that his diplomatic overtures had been snubbed and so made it known that he planned to ‘cut’ his uncle, the Prince of Wales, when they were both on visits to Vienna; diplomatic panic; chancelleries and embassies go into overdrive; children
  • General Boulanger’s war scare: Georges Ernest Jean-Marie Boulanger, nicknamed ‘General Revenge’, was a French general and politician, an enormously popular public figure who won multiple elections in the 1880s, vowing revenge for the defeat of 1870, taking on not only Germany but Britain if necessary, causing many sleepless nights in the Foreign Office; at the height of his popularity in 1889 it was widely was feared that he might make himself a dictator; as usual with French bluster, it came to nothing
  • Newfoundland and Bering Sea disputes: diplomatic fracas with France about fishing rights off Newfoundland and then with America about ownership of the sea around the Bering Straits; the point of all these quarrels is the way Salisbury managed them down, without letting them escalating into fighting talk
  • House of Lords reform: surprisingly, Salisbury supported reform of the House of Lords (mainly to kick out crooks) but was predictably against professionalising it; he defended the House of Lords not for its members’ achievements or intelligence but because simply by dint of being wealthier and better educated than most people, they were less likely to be influenced by ‘sordid greed’ (p.493); this of course sits at odds with the reams of evidence throughout the book that those who sought ‘honours’ were precisely the ambitious and greedy
  • February to July 1888: Sir Garnet Wolseley, hero of the (unsuccessful) march to relieve Gordon at Khartoum (1885), was promoted to Adjutant-General to the Forces in the War Office from where he issued a series of alarmist warnings about the threat of a sudden invasion from France and cuts to the army budget, all of which an irritated Salisbury had to manage down

Chapter 30: The Business of Government (August to December 1888)

  • County councils: the most important piece of domestic legislation of 1888 was the creation of County Councils as the primary instruments of local government replacing the previous ad hoc and regionally varying procedures (p.499)
  • The Drinks trade: the nonconformist and Temperance interest among the Liberal Unionists tried to add to the local government bill provisions to limit pub opening hours and cut back on the drinks trade; Salisbury opposed this, believing every Englishman should be free to go to hell his own way
  • Votes for women: in the County Council elections which were held in 1889 women candidates were elected for the first time (p.502); Salisbury wasn’t against women having the vote, and is cited as saying he had no problem with educated women having it; he was against extending the franchise to the lower classes; in the event, like lots of other pressing issues he managed to block and delay it so women’s suffrage became an issue which damaged the Edwardian Liberal governments
  • In 1888 Sir Lionel Sackville-West, British minister at the Washington legation, made a rookie error by replying to a letter, ostensibly from an Englishman in America, asking who he should support in the presidential election; Sackville-West wrote back suggesting Grover Cleveland would be better for Britain; the letter was a ruse, written by an American, Sackville-West’s reply was published in the newspapers and the US government kicked him out for this undiplomatic faux pas i.e. an ambassador expressing about an election in a foreign country; Salisbury was furious; during the fracas Sackville-West succeeded to his father’s title and went back to the huge Knole Park estate with a state pension
  • A ‘black man’: in 1885 a Tory colonel had won the Holborn by-election against an Indian, Dadabhai Naoroji; in 1888 Salisbury made a speech in which he referred to this event and made the remark that ‘I doubt if we have yet got to the point where a British constituency will elect a black man to represent them’; not only the Liberals but many commentators came down on him like a ton of bricks; interestingly, the Queen wrote to criticise him; Dadabhai Naoroji was elected MP for Finsbury Central in 1895, becoming Britain’s second ethnic minority MP; he enjoyed referring to himself as ‘Lord Salisbury’s black man’
  • The Viceroy’s India proposals: before Frederick Temple Hamilton-Temple-Blackwood, 1st Marquess of Dufferin and Ava, was sent off to India to be viceroy (in 1884) he had drawn up proposals to extend the powers of viceregal and local legislative councils, including an element of direct voting; Salisbury quashed these as all other hints at Indian self-rule
  • This leads Roberts into a consideration of Salisbury’s diplomatic style which was highly secretive; he often didn’t inform cabinet colleagues about initiatives; this was partly because he considered the Foreign Office ‘a nest of Whiggery’ and the level of ambassadorial competence generally very low (p.514); Roberts discusses the basis of his diplomatic thinking which was utterly pragmatic – most treaties, he admitted, are based on force or the threat of force (p.512) or, as he put it somewhere else, bluster and bluff; 15 years later, as the world entered the new century, that bluster and bluff would no longer do – big armies, big navies and heavy industry increasingly became key to international affairs
  • Fascinating fact: before 1914 Britain only had 9 ambassadors (compared to 149 in 1997) and just 125 diplomatic posts abroad

Chapter 31: Africa (1885 to 1892)

When Salisbury left the Foreign Office in 1880, nobody talked about Africa. When he returned in 1885, everyone was talking about Africa, and the quarrels it was causing between the Powers (p.518).

Between 1885 and 1900 most of the borders of modern Africa were set by European statesmen who’d never been there. To this day, this is one of the root causes of the chronic instability, political and economic backwardness of Africa. But at the time the various deals the nations of Europe struck, and the straight lines they drew through jungles and deserts, represented a triumph because the primary aim was never fairness or the interests of Africans, it was to prevent European nations going to war.

The lines on the map weren’t drawn in accordance with the logic of geography or tribes, traditional territory, language or commerce. The aim was to stop Europeans going to war.

‘We have been engaged in drawing lines upon maps where no white man’s foot has ever trod. We have been giving away mountains and rivers and lakes to each other, only hindered by the small impediment that we never knew exactly where the mountains and rivers and lakes were.’ (p.529)

(Some) reasons the European colonisation of Africa accelerated in the last decades of the nineteenth century:

  • the discovery of gold and diamonds in South Africa
  • the opening up of East Africa by the Suez Canal
  • the evangelical impulse to eliminate the slave trade and convert the heathen
  • France’s lust for la gloire after her ignominious defeat in the Prussian War
  • private adventurism and entrepreneurship (Rhodes)
  • the quests of each nation’s industry to sources of raw materials and markets
  • the evil greed of Belgian’s King Leopold II
  • Britain’s need for a safe route to India
  • the invention of steamships and advanced weaponry (the Gatling gun)
  • the development of medicines for tropical diseases (p.518)

African issues:

  • Bullying Portugal: ‘a tiresome little Power’ (p.520) I was surprised how much trouble it was to negotiate a treaty with Portugal to stop their incursions into what we called Nyasaland, thus preventing the Portuguese owning a belt right across the middle of Africa, from Angola in the west to Mozambique in the East
  • Zanzibar: managing German attempts to overthrow the Sultan of Zanzibar and to establish Uganda as a German protectorate; Salisbury was appalled at the Germans’ brutality to Africans; acquiring Zanzibar involved a trade-off whereby we accepted France’s acquisition of Madagascar (p.529)
  • March 1890 the Kaiser abruptly sacked Bismarck (p.525); Salisbury negotiated a deal to hand Germany Heligoland in the Baltic in exchange for sole protectorate over Zanzibar
  • Britain acquired the future Uganda and Kenya, Germany kept Tanganyika, Rwanda and Burundi;
  • 1890 The Sahara: Salisbury agreed Conventions with France whereby we backed the Royal Niger Company’s claim to the Niger valley in exchange for agreeing French control of the western Sahara and the Algerian hinterland as far as Lake Chad
  • Italian ambitions: in exchange for British control of the Nile valley Salisbury let the Italians stake the Red Sea coast i.e. Eritrea and Somalia
  • Cecil Rhodes: Salisbury though Rhodes a chancer but backed his request for a royal charter to develop the huge area in south-central Africa which would develop into Rhodesia; in thanks for his support Rhodes named the dusty capital of his new territory Salisbury (which would become the city of Harare, capital of modern Zimbabwe) (p.534)

During a seven year period Salisbury laid down the outlines of colonial Africa which were to last well into the twentieth century.

Chapter 32: Mid-Term Crises (January 1889 to December 1890)

  • The Kaiser pays Victoria a visit, potentially embarrassing because he had been rude to the Prince of Wales the previous year
  • General Boulanger, a bellicose right-winger who had threatened a coup in Paris, in the event fled to Brussels
  • Royal grants: Salisbury became very close to the Queen, they thought alike on many matters, and so he tried to move the question of grants to minor royals out of the Commons, where it had become a regular peg for Liberals and Radicals to make republican remarks
  • The two-power standard: Salisbury secured cabinet support to greatly increase spending on the navy and invented a new rule of thumb, that the Royal Navy should be as big as the next two largest navies (of France and Russia) combined
  • The Paris Exhibition: Salisbury refused to let the British ambassador attend the centenary celebrations of the French Revolution, an event which haunted Salisbury and informed his reactionary Toryism
  • The Shah’s visit: after initial reluctance Salisbury hosted Nasr-el-Din in London and at his Hatfield home
  • The ‘socialist’ current: the London dock strike from August to September 1889 and the huge marches to support it worried gloomy Salisbury that socialism was on its way; he thought it represented an attack on property and law (of contracts, rents etc)
  • The Cleveland Street Scandal: scandal about a male brothel just north of Oxford Street, frequented by members of the royal household and some posh army officers
  • A mid-term crisis: objections to a slew of domestic bills bring his government close to losing a vote and having to quit
  • Prince Eddy in love: Eddy being Prince Edward’s eldest son, second in line to the throne; when he fell in love with a French princess it threatened the delicate balance of European power because Salisbury’s general aim was to keep in with the central powers (Germany and Austria) as protection against France and Russia; having a potential French queen-in-waiting would wreck his whole strategy so he moved heaven and earth to get Victoria to forbid the marriage
  • Trouble at Barings bank which faced bankruptcy until the ruling class rallied round to refund it

Chapter 33: Alliance Politics (January to October 1891)

  • Visitors at Hatfield: the Kaiser visits; Salisbury thinks he is mad and dangerous; and then Crown Prince Victor Emmanuel of Italy
  • Free education: a policy of Chamberlain and the Radical Unionists to which Salisbury acquiesces, creating an Education Bill which passed in August 1891
  • The Prince of Wales in difficulties: Salisbury negotiates peace in a bitter row between the prince and some offended aristocrats
  • The death of W.H. Smith, a steadfast and loyal supporter of Salisbury as Leader of the House of Commons; after careful politicking Salisbury has the post filled y his nephew Arthur Balfour
  • Party organisation: the importance of chief agent of the conservative party, Richard Middleton, and Chief Whip, Aretas Akers-Douglas
  • The Liberal Unionist alliance: the importance of the good working relationship with the super-posh Marquess of Hartington, 8th Duke of Devonshire, leader of the Liberal Unionists

Chapter 34: Leaving Office (November 1891 to August 1892)

  • The general election: friends and colleagues die; the Tory government finds it hard to pass bills; by-elections go against them; much debate whether to call an election for the end of the year (Salisbury’s preference) or June; July 1892 it was and although the Conservatives and Liberal Unionists won 314 seats and the Liberals 272, the balance of power was held by the Irish Nationalist MPs who won 72, and who went into alliance with the Liberals on the understanding that Gladstone would introduce a Home Rule bill
  • Gladstone: Salisbury considered Eton and Christ Church-educated, Anglican Gladstone a traitor to his class in the long bloodless civil war which is how he saw British politics
  • Cabinet style: Salisbury accepted the result and in August tendered his resignation to the Queen, who was very upset; she loathed Gladstone; his cabinet colleagues testify to Salisbury’s calm and cheerful collegiate style; once they got rid of Randolph Churchill, it had been a successful and good tempered cabinet

Chapter 35: Opposition (August 1892 to June 1895)

  • The Second Irish Home Rule bill: Gladstone lost no time in forming an administration, then moving his Home Rule Bill on 13 February 1893; Salisbury’s calculations about the best strategy to block it, his effectiveness because it was defeated by 10 to 1 in the House of Lords
  • Gladstone resigns: Gladstone found himself increasingly at odds with his own cabinet, in particular opposing the ongoing increase of the Royal Navy; he was the oldest person ever to be Prime Minister, aged 84, and on 2 March resigned
  • Lord Rosebery: the Queen couldn’t call for her favourite, Salisbury, because the Liberals still had a majority in the Commons, so Gladstone was replaced by the Liberal Imperialist Archibald Philip Primrose, 5th Earl of Rosebery, who was Prime Minister from March 1894 to June 1895 when he called, and lost, a general election; Rosebery was naive and fell into Parliamentary traps Salisbury laid for him, undermining confidence in his government
  • Evolution: Salisbury was sympathetic to science and Roberts describes a major speech he gave at Oxford about Darwin’s theory of evolution which, however, basing itself on Lord Kelvin’s completely erroneous theory about the age of the earth, claimed there wasn’t enough time for Darwin’s theory to have taken place; all completely wrong, as Kelvin’s theories were utterly wrong: Kelvin thought the sun about 20 million years old, whereas we now know it is about 4.5 billion years old, and that the earliest life on earth probably developed about 3.5 billion years ago
  • Dissolution: The Spectator called Lord Rosebery ‘the butterfly Premier’ and he couldn’t heal the widening divide between his form of Liberal Imperialism, aggressive abroad, radical at home, with the Liberal core; his cabinet split on all its policies, namely the annexation of Uganda, the increased navy budget and appointing Lord Kimberley foreign minister, and Home Rule and the introduction of a graduated death duty at home
  • 21 June 1895 Rosebery lost a minor vote, when his war minister was censured for a supposed lack of cordite for the army, and chose to take the opportunity to resign; the Queen called for Salisbury who agreed to take office and prepare a general election for July
  • Chamberlain: though he disagreed with some of his Radical policies Salisbury came to respect Chamberlain for his forthright character and that, not having gone to public school or university, he didn’t give himself airs

Chapter 36: Problems with Non-Alignment (June to December 1895)

  • A landslide: oddly, to us, Salisbury formed his government before holding the election; it was a landslide, the Tories taking 340 seats, their allies the Liberal Unionists 71, with the Liberals on 177, and 82 Irish Nationalists; the cabinet numbered 19, compared to 1886’s 15 (today it is 22)
  • The Hamidian massacres: series of atrocities carried out by Ottoman forces and Kurdish irregulars against Armenians in the Ottoman Empire between 1894 and 1896, named after the Ottoman Sultan Abdülhamid II, up to 100,000 died; Salisbury wanted to send the fleet to the Dardanelles but was over-ruled by his cabinet and the reluctant Royal Navy, infuriating him, and then he was castigated in the press and by the opposition for being weak

I was particularly interested in the fervid debate about this because lots of well-meaning liberals and churchmen insisted that ‘something must be done’, just as they do nowadays when there are atrocities in the Arab/Muslim world, but Salisbury’s objections remind me of the modern debate I’ve followed in the pages of Michael Ignatieff, Frank Ledwidge and so on, which is, there’s only so much we can do? Exasperated, Salisbury asked one correspondent would he have us invade Turkey and take on the Sultan’s army of 200,000? And then other European powers come in on Turkey’s side thus triggering a European war? No.

  • The signing of a Franco-Russian Entente led to the setting up of a Joint Naval and Military Defence Committee
  • Walmer Castle: his other nominees crying off because of the cost, Salisbury ended up appointing himself Warden of the Cinque Ports
  • Venezuela: the problem – America takes a very tough line about a border dispute between Venezuela and British colony, British Guiana, with President Cleveland seeking re-election, populists and the yellow press calling for war; Salisbury loftily ignores the fuss

Chapter 37: ‘Splendid Isolation’ (December 1895 to January 1896)

  • The Jameson Raid: the foolishness and failure is dealt with in my review of The Boer War by Thomas Packenham
  • The Kruger telegram: the Kaiser congratulated the Boer president, Paul Kruger, for snuffing out the Jameson Raid before it got started; the British press went mad with anti-German hysteria; rumour had it Germany was sending marines to help the Boers; Britain responded by sending battleships; it knocked British trust in German good faith
  • The poet laureate: Tennyson died in 1892. In 1895 Salisbury appointed his sometime all, the small poet and pamphleteer Alfred Austen to the job; Roberts thinks was a joke at the expense of the literary establishment
  • ‘Splendid isolation’: Roberts is at pains to show that Salisbury was never a splendid isolationist, a phrase coined by a Canadian politician and which he rejected; on the contrary he had signed various treaties and deals which allied us with various European powers, but his belief was that the country should act independently of treaties, in response to ever-changing events
  • Venezuela: the solution – the Americans continued very belligerent and Canada made plans to repel an American attack and Salisbury asked the war office to make plans to send Canada help, but after months of bombast an international tribunal resolved the Venezuela question

Chapter 38: Great Power Politics (February 1896 to May 1897)

  • The Jameson aftermath: i.e. the raiders were handed back over to the British authorities who brought them back to Britain for trial, as well as setting up a Royal Commission which, as usual, exonerated the senior political figures (most notably Chamberlain who almost certainly encouraged the raid) while sending to prison some small fry
  • The march on Dongola: on 1 March 1896 the army of the Emperor Menelik II of Ethiopia defeated the Italian army of Eritrea at Adowa. This raised fears that he might incurse into Sudan and so threaten southern Egypt. This was the pretext Salisbury needed to send an army south into Sudan to retake it from the Dervishes also known as the Mahdi Army, who had held it ever since the killing of Gordon at Khartoum in 1885
  • September 1896: The Balmoral Conversations: against the backdrop of another pogrom against Armenians, with Tsar Nicholas II about Turkey in which Salisbury raised his hobby horse that the Powers partition the Ottoman Empire while the Tsar said his country wanted control of the Dardanelles
  • The ‘wrong horse’ speech: Salisbury’s speech to the House of Lords on 19 January 1897 announcing an end to support for Turkey and its bloody Sultan, saying British policy since Lord Palmerston (the 1850s) and the Crimean War (1853 to 1856) had been mistaken; ‘we put all our money the wrong horse’ (p.646); British Near Eastern policy had shifted from Turkey to Egypt (p.703); a major foreign policy rethink; into the vacuum left by Britain’s rescinded support stepped Germany, as described in The Berlin-Baghdad Express: The Ottoman Empire and Germany’s Bid for World Power, 1898 to 1918 by Sean McMeekin
  • Crisis on Crete: Christian Greeks outnumbered Muslim Turks 7 to 1 and wanted to be united with Greece; Salisbury thought it ridiculous that the territory or policy of a modern nation ought to be based on its literary history; he blockaded Crete ports to try and enforce peace but representatives of Greek Prince George landed and acclaimed him leader of liberated Crete at which point both Greece and Turkey started preparing for a major land war. Salisbury cajoled the cabinet into blockading Greece but war broke out in April 1897 with Turkey quickly invading northern Greece who promptly begged the Powers to intervene for peace: ‘The Greeks are a contemptible race’
  • Gerald Balfour: Salisbury appointed another nephew, Gerald Balfour, Chief Secretary for Ireland, and he promptly brought out an Irish Land Bill which Salisbury thought contemptible and worked to defeat in the Lords; then the idea of a permanent royal residence in Ireland, like Sandringham, except none of the royal family approved; then the 1898 Irish Local Government Bill
  • The Transvaal: the economic and political build-up to the Boer War, namely that British experts predicted that the Transvaal’s mineral wealth would soon make it the pre-eminent power in South Africa to which the Cape Colony would defer; Salisbury appointed Lord Milner as Governor of the Cape Colony and High Commissioner for Southern Africa; Salisbury himself wanted to avoid a conflict with the Boers, but in his first official meeting with British officials in SA, Milner made it clear he was determined to engineer one

Chapter 39: Apogee of Empire (June 1897)

  • The Diamond Jubilee: detailed description
  • Jingoism: Salisbury was against extreme patriotism and sabre rattling in speeches and articles; in practice he believed all international affairs derived from physical force but a permanent aggressive imperialist stance hemmed in a foreign policy which he believed had to remain agile and adaptive; scornful of the two Jingo pipe-dreams of 1) a Cape to Cairo railway entirely through British territory, 2) an Imperial Federation behind protective tariffs
  • The three high points of Jingoism were the Diamond Jubilee, Mafeking Night and the Khaki Election (p.835)
  • Honours: Roberts gives a sustained consideration of Salisbury’s attitude to, and record of, giving ‘honours’ (see section below)
  • Bishop-making: as with the honours, an assessment of his policy of bishop making which was pragmatic i.e. he tried to make equal appointments from the Low, Broad and High church traditions in order to keep the Church of England together, something he believed vital for the nation
  • The Munshi: Victoria became irrationally attached to an Indian Muslim named Abdul Karim, aka the Munshi, meaning ‘teacher’, who came to represent all her Indian subjects to her; unfortunately, pretty much the entire Royal household hated him and Salisbury was called in on several occasions to calm arguments

(It’s worth noting Queen Victoria’s striking lack of racism, the reverse, her active wish to promote and encourage subjects of all races from across the empire. Thus she repeatedly demanded that the army in South Africa be supplemented by Sikhs, Gurkhas and Zulus, only to be met by obstructiveness from the War Office, Cabinet and Salisbury himself. Their arguments were 1) distributing arms to coloured subjects set a bad precedent and 2) in a tight spot, English squaddies might refuse to take orders from a person of colour; p.756.)

Chapter 40: Choosing his ground (July 1897 to September 1898)

  • Imperial Federation: pipe-dream Salisbury pooh-poohed; thought Britain stood to lose out economically and, if every citizen in the Federation got a vote, politically, too
  • A French convention:
  • Port Arthur: the Russians seized Port Arthur on the coast of China forcing British ships to vacate the area, signalling a ramping up of the scramble for China; newspapers, politicians and even his own cabinet saw this as a humiliation and claimed Salisbury’s policy of splendid isolation had failed, but Salisbury’s mild response was because he saw trouble brewing with France
  • Anglo-German relations: when Salisbury was off sick his Secretary for the Colonies, Chamberlain, suggested to the German ambassador that Britain and Germany sign a non-aggression pact
  • 4 May 1898 the ‘dying nations’ speech: to a packed audience of the Primrose League at the Royal Albert Hall describing a Darwinian vision of nation states, that weak states become weaker whilst strong states become stronger; “The nations of the earth are divided into the sheep and the wolves – the fat and defenceless against the hungry and strong”; as a comment on the rise and fall of nations it was banal enough; its real purpose was to justify Realpolitik
  • The death of Gladstone: Salisbury was one of the coffin bearers and was genuinely upset which is strange given his deep-seated loathing of Gladstone as a traitor to his class, not least in Ireland (p.693)
  • Curzon as Viceroy: January 1899, Salisbury appointed George Nathaniel Curzon, aged just 40, Viceroy of India; he was to be an inspired choice (p.694)
  • Secret Convention with Germany (‘the Delagoa Bay agreement’, p.719) agreeing no other Power allowed to intervene in Angola or Mozambique the two huge colonies of the weak Power, Portugal, and how the 2 colonies would be divided if Portugal collapsed
  • 2 September 1898 The Battle of Omdurman: part of General Kitchener’s campaign to retake Sudan from the Mahdist Islamic State, revenge for the death of Gordon, a disciplined Anglo-Egyptian force let 50,000 or so Mahdists charge their lines and massacred them with machine guns; around 12,000 Muslim warriors were killed, 13,000 wounded and 5,000 taken prisoner while Kitchener’s force lost 47 men killed and 382 wounded (p.697); journalists present with the British force, and young Winston Churchill in his account of it, were critical of Kitchener for allowing the wounded Sudanese to be murdered; Kitchener was rewarded by being made Baron Kitchener of Khartoum
  • 1898: Winston Churchill published his first book, aged 24

Chapter 41: The Fashoda Crisis (September to November 1898)

  • The Fashoda Crisis was the biggest international crisis since 1878. The intrepid Captain Marchand of the French army marched across the Sahara and planted the French flag at the abandoned mud-brick fort on the banks of the White Nile named Fashoda. A week later General Kitchener, fresh from the victory of Omdurman, arrived with his army and insisted that Fashoda, like all of the Sudan, belonged to Britain. There was a real risk Britain and France would go to war. Salisbury wasn’t fussed about places in mosquito-ridden West Africa (about which we signed Conventions with France) but was insistent that British control of the Nile valley was a sacrosanct principle of British foreign policy
  • France was being disputatious over colonies around the world including Siam (Thailand), Tunis, Madagascar, Niger; ‘They [the French] are so unreasonable and have so much incurable hatred of England’ (p.480)
  • It’s worth remembering how rubbish France was; a century of revolutions, not least the 1871 Commune, had left its society riven by religious and class hatred which had been revived by the bitter Dreyfus Affair – Émile Zola published his famous letter ‘J’Accuse…!’ on 13 January 1898 – and France was on her seventh government since 1893; that’s why its governments and ruling class were so touchy about Britain’s apparently effortless superiority; that’s why populist press and politicians whipped up patriotic feeling against Britain – to try to paper over the large cracks in French society
  • The Marchand expedition: the impressive achievement of Captain Marchand who led 20 French officers and NCOs and 130 French Senegalese over 2,000 miles on a 24-month trek on foot and by boat from Loango at the mouth of the Congo to the Nile
  • When Kitchener met up with Marchand at Fashoda the two men raised their respective flags, denied each other’s right to occupy it, then settled down into a cordial friendship while they let the politicians back in Europe sort things out
  • Parisian politics: the British ambassador worried that war fever was running so high there might be a military coup in Paris led by generals who would use a war with Britain to smother the ongoing Dreyfus scandal; while her populist press ranted for war, ministers were uneasily aware of Germany’s ongoing animosity, and when the Tsar explicitly proclaimed the Franco-Russian entente didn’t apply outside Europe France’s position got steadily weaker; the French government looked like collapsing (again)
  • Triumph: realising they couldn’t win, the French backed down, covering their pusillanimity with vaunting rhetoric; Marchand was ordered to make his way to the Red Sea through Abyssinia (he didn’t have enough provisions to return the way he’d come and returning down the Nile under British supervision would have been humiliated)
  • In February 1899 a Convention was signed with a new French ambassador laying out clear demarcation between the zone of French influence in west Africa and the Maghreb, giving Britain exclusive influence over Egypt and Sudan

Chapter 42: The Outbreak of the Boer War (December 1898 to October 1899)

  • grossly overweight Salisbury had a tricycle with raised handlebars made for him and cycle paths laid out in the grounds of Hatfield House
  • like many grandees back in London, Salisbury had a low opinion of the Boers who he had met on his travels 30 years earlier and thought rough, ignorant slave drivers of the native Africans;

Background: Britain had annexed the Cape Colony, the band of territory right at the bottom of Africa, with the results that the Boer population, descendants of the original Dutch settlers, undertook their ‘Great Trek’ into the interior and set up what developed into two states, the Orange Free State and, to its north, the much larger Transvaal, so called because it was on the other side of the River Vaal. Their descendants called themselves the voortrekkers.

In the 1880s diamonds and gold were discovered which promised to make the Boer government rich. In 1882 the Boers elected as president Paul Kruger, a hard-core, unrepentant Boer nationalist.

The issue was that tens of thousands of migrants had moved into the Transvaal, to work in the ever-growing mines. The Boers referred to them as ‘Uitlanders’ and subjected them to an array of discriminatory laws: they were heavily taxed but in return had worse schools, poor accommodation, were subject to high prices, police brutality, arbitrary arrest, biased legal decisions, censorship of the press and so on. Above all, although they paid taxes, they were forbidden from voting. In Roberts’ opinion the Boers ran little less than ‘a tight, tough, quasi police state’ (p.717). Most of these Uitlanders were ‘freeborn’ Britons so that when the British Uitlanders petitioned the Queen to intervene on their behalf, the war party could claim that lack of help undermined the prestige and authority of Britons throughout her empire.

So British men of the war party, such as Cecil Rhodes, Joe Chamberlain and Lord Milner, kept up a steady barrage of propaganda back to their masters in London, claiming the Boers subjected their black workers to slave-like tyranny, were backward and uneducated, were liable to declare war on friendly black tribes, as well as all the injustices meted out to the Uitlanders.

The fundamental argument was that the ongoing existence of two troublesome, unjust, unpredictable colonies disturbed Britain’s settled rule in South Africa and would only get worse. The war party argued that conflict was inevitable, and so helped to create the expectation, in Parliament and the press, for war. Milner sent Salisbury a note comparing the British workers were treated like ‘helots’ (p.721), Salisbury said they were treated like serfs.

The Boer view was it was their country which they had founded by the sweat of their brows in the face of native reprisals, and that they had their own, highly puritanical ultra-protestant belief and culture, all of which were being swamped by tens of thousands of incomers, and also by the booming immigrant population in the Cape. In other words, they felt their entire identity and heritage was being threatened (p.726).

  • Sir Alfred Milner: High Commissioner of the Cape Colony, was instructed to negotiate better rights for Britons at the so-called Bloemfontein Conference, but found Kruger unmoveable and called him ‘a frock-coated neanderthal’ (p.722)
  • Appeasing Germany: Britain and Germany had been haggling about possession of the islands of Samoa; Salisbury didn’t care tuppence about Samoa so happily gave them all to Germany with a view to mollifying the ever-aggrieved Kaiser
  • Lady Salisbury’s illness: she suffered a stroke and showed signs of dementia, partly distracting Salisbury from his duties; you wonder whether Roberts inserts this as an extenuating factor, softening Salisbury’s responsibility for the war
  • Exasperation with the Transvaal: Kruger offers to give Uitlanders the vote once they had been resident for 7 years, plus guaranteed seats in the small Transvaal parliament; some in the cabinet thought the crisis was over
  • (The Aliens Bill: Roberts points out that at the same time as Salisbury et al were supporting unlimited emigration to the Cape and were compelling it on the Boers, his cabinet passed an Aliens Bill designed to severely restrict immigration into Britain; this was to address the flood of Jewish immigrants who were fleeing antisemitic pogroms in Poland and Russia)
  • Both sides arm: British intelligence reported that both the Transvaal and Orange Free State were buying arms in Europe and importing it via Delagoa Bay, the major port right at the bottom of Mozambique, only 30 or so miles from the border with Transvaal (p.724); for their part the British government moved troops into Natal
  • The Smuts Proposals: Transvaal’s Attorney General Jan Smuts contacts the ambassador to make a series of proposals which represent significant concessions around offering Uitlanders the vote and representation in parliament, but premised on the Transvaal remaining independent and outside British suzerainty
  • The Boer Ultimatum: the British government ramped the pressure up on the Boers, with a series of demands which the Boers, initially, acceded to; so it was a surprise when it was the Boers who issued the set of demands or ultimatum which finally triggered the conflict, setting out a list of demands which must be met by 5pm on Wednesday 11 October

Chapter 43: ‘The Possibilities of Defeat’ (October 1899 to May 1900)

I was wrong about Roberts mentioning Lady Salisbury’s illness in a bid to exonerate his hero because he does the opposite; he heavily blames Salisbury for the Boer War. He cites AJP Taylor who apparently said that Milner dragged Chamberlain who dragged Salisbury into the conflict – but in order to flatly contradict him (Taylor).

No, Salisbury had masterminded British foreign policy for over a decade, was a master of far-seeing strategy; he personally approved every dispatch sent to the Boers, and Roberts cites memos and messages between the key ministers which show Salisbury approving the escalation of Britain’s demands, approving the sending of troops to Natal, and manipulating the presentation of the issues so as to ensure the casus belli (cause of war) was one which would rouse and unite the widest number of the population, or politicians and the press (p.736).

Salisbury should have known better. He should have accepted Kruger’s very fair offers to address the issue of the Uitlanders and worked to extend British suzerainty slowly, by economic means maybe. He should have thought of a clever solution.

Instead he let himself and the British government be painted into a corner where the only two options were fight or have British prestige around the world undermined (p.734). This was an epic failure of statecraft. It was Salisbury’s war and, although he proved remarkably phlegmatic about its initial reverses (so-called ‘Black Week’, Sunday 10 December to Sunday 17 December, when the British Army suffered three devastating defeats) its length, bitterness, cost, the way it divided the nation, the enmity it raised in the other Powers, especially Germany, and the sheer cost of death and misery, all are down to Salisbury.

As Britain’s powerful and long-serving Prime Minister and Foreign Secretary, Salisbury must bear overall responsibility for the situation. (p.732)

Moreover, it was entirely his responsibility that the War Office and the British Army were so poorly prepared to fight such a war (p.756).

  • The death of Lady Salisbury: Salisbury was devastated and never the same again
  • ‘Black week’: Sunday 10 December to Sunday 17 December (p.749): the British army began its war the same way it had begun every one since Waterloo, led by useless generals to a series of disastrous defeats
  • A peace offer: the presidents of the two Boer republics (the Transvaal and the Orange Free State) offered peace, so long as they retained sovereignty, which Salisbury contemptuously refused, claiming they had started the war
  • In the first weeks of the war the Boers surrounded and besieged three major towns, Ladysmith, Kimberley and Mafeking. The military turning point probably came when Ladysmith was relieved on 28 February 1900 but the psychological breakthrough came with the relief of Mafeking on 17 May 1900 after 217 days (p.761) though not before 478 people had died of starvation

Chapter 44: Resolution (May to October 1900)

  • Curzon: Curzon was an outstanding Viceroy in India but was obsessed with the idea that Russia was extending its influence into Persia and that we must fight back; Salisbury put up with Curzon’s criticisms but complained that he spoke as if Salisbury had an army of 500,000 at his back (as the Czar did) when a) there weren’t that many British troops in the whole world and b) the most active forces were tied up in South Africa
  • The Boxer Rebellion: see my review of The Boxer Rebellion and the Great Game in China by David J. Silbey (2012)
  • On 3 September General Frederick Roberts formally annexed the Transvaal
  • Social policy: Liberal Unionist Joe Chamberlain bombarded Salisbury with proposals for social reform bills almost all of which Salisbury managed to reject; they did manage:
    • 1897 Workmen’s Compensation Act
    • 1899 Small Dwellings Acquisition Act
  • The ‘Khaki’ election: held between 26 September and 24 October 1900, when popular opinion believed the Boer War was won, the Boer president Kruger had fled to Holland and all their regular forces had surrendered; result: the Conservative and Liberal Unionist Party 402, Liberal Party 183
  • The Unionist alliance: a short review of the effectiveness of Salisbury’s coalition of Conservatives with Liberal Unionists; Chamberlain said he was treated with more respect as a Liberal Unionist in a Conservative cabinet than he had been as a Radical in Gladstone’s Liberal cabinet

Chapter 45: Reconstruction (October 1900 to January 1901)

The ‘Hotel Cecil’: Salisbury handed out so many official positions to members of his extended family that he prompted widespread accusations of nepotism and croneyism (pages 789 to 790), something he himself acknowledged (p.825). Conservative MP Sir George C. T. Bartley wrote to Salisbury in 1898 complaining that in the Tory Party:

‘all honours, emoluments and places are reserved for the friends and relations of the favoured few’ (p.788)

It says it all that, when he finally resigned as Prime Minister, on 11 July 1902, he was succeeded by his nephew, Arthur Balfour.

The death of Queen Victoria: they had become very close, and even if they disagreed, the Queen was always a fixed point of reference to navigate by, so Salisbury took her sudden death (on 22 January 1901) very hard. Late in her life her eyesight was failing and notes to her had to be written in letters one inch high, often only ten words to a page. In return she sent replies written in a handwriting which had become so indecipherable that special experts were called on to explicate it (p.794).

What this kind of anecdote displays is not so much something about Victoria, but about Roberts and the kind of book he wants to write, namely popular, unacademic, accessible, strewn with humorous anecdotes and so, very readable.

Chapter 46: ‘Methods of Barbarism’ (January to December 1901)

  • King Edward VII: Salisbury had had some professional encounters with the new king, when they sat on committees, but he generally ignored his suggestions and limited what government papers he saw; but to his own surprise they quickly formed an effective working relationship
  • The Boer War, the second phase: the main fighting ended but the Boers upset everyone by mounting a scattered guerrilla war; when you consider that they were fighting for the land they had settled and called their own, for land they and their forefathers had worked for generations, it’s entirely understandable
  • Anglo-German relations: after victory in the Khaki election of 1900, Salisbury reshuffled his cabinet but the biggest change was him giving into cabinet pressure and relinquishing the dual role he had had of Prime Minister and Foreign Secretary; he was replaced by Lord Lansdowne, a Liberal Unionist, who had had a poor reputation at the War Office (but then, everyone did); Lansdowne’s arrival marked a break with what had come to be regarded, rightly or wrongly, as Salisbury’s policy of ‘Splendid Isolation’ i.e. refusing to commit to alliances with any of the major European Powers (France, Germany, Austria, Russia)
  • The concentration camps: Roberts seeks to set the record straight: the concentration camp was not invented by the British but by the Spanish in the war against America 2 years earlier; the camps came about because thousands of Boer women and children, left undefended when their men went off to join commando unit, were at the mercy of the Blacks and/or unable to fend for themselves; plus the deliberate British policy of deliberately burning homesteads anywhere near where a commando attack took place rendered them homeless; but the British were completely unprepared for the scale of the immigration and coralling all underfed people in barbed wire encampments quickly led to the spread of epidemic disease; at their peak the numerous camps held some 118,000 white and 43,000 coloured inmates; the Royal Army Medical Corps had planned to serve 40,000 soldiers – in the event they had to cater to 200,000 soldiers and over 200,000 refugees; some 20,000 women and children died (4,000 adults, 16,000 women); these were obviously not extermination camps like the Nazi ones, but British incompetence led to a holocaust of innocents which is held against us to this day; Roberts lists all the possible extenuating circumstances (a handy list) but is robust regarding his hero: Salisbury ‘must bear the ultimate responsibility for what happened’ (p.806) campaigner Emma Hobhouse blamed it on ‘crass male ignorance’ i.e of the hygiene and accommodation required by women and children

It’s worth pointing out that even in Roberts’s broadly sympathetic account, Salisbury, as I understand it, habituates himself to lying about the causes of the war; its origins were all about redressing the injustices suffered by the Uitlanders; once the fighting started, some Boer units mounted incursions over the border into the Cape Colony; and this allowed Salisbury to completely change his rhetoric and claim that the British were acting in self defence against a dastardly invasion. He took to repeating this in public speeches, in private correspondence and diplomatic replies to the Powers, for example in a note to the new king, advising him how to reply to a personal communication from Tsar Nicholas:

‘The war was begun and elaborately prepared for many previous years by the Boers and was unprovoked by any single act of England’ (p.808)

Obviously, he is presenting the strongest, most unambiguous case possible to one of the great Powers, and during a time of war but it was a line he peddled in a variety of contexts, including private correspondence. Here he is writing to his son:

‘This unhappy war has lasted much longer than we expected…but I have no doubt that it was forced upon us and that we had no choice in regard to it.’ (p.810)

This strikes me as being a very Big Lie. Moreover, if Salisbury and his ilk based their claim to rule the country on the idea that they represented a disinterested values of honour and legality, then bare-faced lies and distortions like this undermined that claim, and showed them up to be just another special interest group protecting their own interests (and grotesque mistakes).

The cost of the Boer War

Salisbury spent a lifetime castigating the Liberals for the costs of their policies and claimed to run a fiscally responsible administration. Roberts shows how the Boer War blew that claim out of the water. It ended up costing some £223 million, led to increases in income and other taxes, and a vast increase in government borrowing. Salisbury left his successor (Balfour) a fiscal disaster.

  • The Taff Vale judgement: on 22 July 1901 the House of Lords handed down a judgement that a trade union could be sued (by employers who suffered from a strike). Superficially a victory for the forces of Reaction, this decision single-handedly galvanised working class movements and activists to realise they needed organised representation in Parliament and led to the setting up of the Labour Party.

Chapter 47: A Weary Victory (January 1902 to August 1903)

  • The Anglo-Japanese alliance: 30 January 1902 Britain departed the splendid isolation she had enjoyed for decades by making a defensive pact with Japan to last 5 years; this was to counter relentless Russian expansion into decaying China and the worry that the Russian and French fleets combined outnumbered the British one and so could, potentially, disrupt Britain’s Pacific trade
  • Coronation honours: Salisbury strongly opposed some of the names the new King Edward put forward for his coronation honours, particularly Thomas Lipton who he thought entirely unworthy of entering the House of Lords
  • The Education Bill: English education policy was stymied because the core of the system was so-called Voluntary schools which were run by the Church of England and taught Anglican religion; many of these schools were poorly funded and so Salisbury wanted to give them government support; however, ratepayers from other religions, some Catholic but many non-conformists, refused to pay rates if they were going to support their children being taught a different religion; the solution was, obviously, to increase the provision of non-denominational state schools but Salisbury blocked this because a) of his deep attachment to defending the Church of England and b) because of his scepticism about teaching the children of the working classes, anyway; Roberts digs up some scandalous comments from his journalism period, in which Salisbury says what’s the point of educating working class kids if they’re just going to return to the plough or the factory; this was not only a scandalously snobbish, privileged point of view, but economically stupid; while Britain wasted a huge amount of political time and money fussing about these issues, the Germans and Americans were instituting practical educational systems appropriate to the needs of a modern industrial economy i.e. technical and engineering apprenticeships and colleges; Salisbury embodied the kind of ‘principled’ and ‘honourable’ Reaction which condemned Britain to slow economic decline
  • Peace at Vereeniging: 31 May, after prolonged negotiations, a peace was signed ending the Boer War; Milner had wanted to fight on until every Boer combatant was killed but head of the army Kitchener thought enough had been done, a difference of opinion reflected in fierce arguments in the cabinet; the treaty terms were surprisingly lenient, amnestying most Boer fighters and letting them return to their farms (the ones that hadn’t been burned down) and families (the ones who hadn’t died in the British camps)
  • Retirement: Salisbury had said he would go when the war ended; with his wife dead and Queen Victoria dead and the war over, he began to feel his age and infirmities, nodding off in cabinet meetings;

‘I thought I had much better resign and get out of the way; especially as, since the death of the last Queen, politics have lost their zest for me.’ (p.829)

  • Salisbury prepared the way for his retirement with his cabinet colleagues; he rejected the plan to have his nephew, Balfour, replace him on the same day as smacking too much nepotism; and went to see the King to hand over the seals of office on 11 July 1902; the King was prepared for the visit and handed him the Grand Cross of the Royal Victorian Order; within 24 hours his nephew was appointed Prime Minister, to much mocking from the Liberal and Irish Nationalist benches; allegedly, this is the origin of the phrase ‘Bob’s your uncle’, though that is disputed; Balfour found it difficult to fill his uncle’s giant shoes, the coalition began losing by-elections, and was eventually massacred in the landslide Liberal victory at the 1906 election
  • Death: he went steadily downhill after retiring, suffering a series of ailments (ulcers, kidney problems) then a heart attack which led to the final decline and he died on 22 August 1903

The legacy

What an enormous biography this is, overflowing with facts and insights, completely achieving its goal of persuading the reader that Salisbury was one of the titans of the Victorian age. Roberts makes a sustained case for his hero but the more he defends him, the more negative the final impression one has, of a big reactionary buffalo who set his face against all change in any aspect of British society, and solidly, intransigently in defence of his class, the landed aristocracy, its wealth, privileges and power.

The nature of the Conservative Party

‘Hostility to Radicalism, incessant, implacable hostility, is the essential definition of conservatism.’

‘The use of Conservatism is to delay changes till they become harmless.’ (writing to Lady Raleigh after the 1892 election defeat; p.841)

Salisbury engaged in a lifelong struggle against what he saw as the forces of atheism and political progressivism, becoming a master of patient obstructionism. (p.841)

The Conservative Party opposed the extension of the franchise, votes for women, reform of the voting system, home rule let alone independence for Ireland or any of the other colonies, opposed trade unions and workers’ rights, opposed universal education, opposed old age pensions, opposed the welfare state, opposed the National Health System, opposed the abolition of the death penalty, equal rights for women, gay liberation, opposed the expansion of universities and every new artistic movement for the past 200 years. In other words, the Conservative Party opposed every political measure and social achievement which most modern people would describe the hallmarks of a civilised society. They defended the privileges of the aristocracy and the bigoted Church of England, hanging, fox hunting, the brutal administration of Britain’s colonies, and corrupt nepotism. In international affairs they gave us the Boer War, Munich and the Suez Crisis. In every argument, on every issue, they have been the enemy of enlightenment, peace and civilisation.

And what kind of people are attracted to this small-minded, snobbish, xenophobic party of reaction? Admittedly he was writing in a private letter to the Radical Liberal Unionist Joe Chamberlain, but in 1900 Salisbury described the Conservative Party as:

‘a party shackled by tradition; all the cautious people, all the timid, all the unimaginative, belong to it. It stumbles slowly and painfully from precedent to precedent with its eyes fixed on the ground.’ (p.800)

Roberts reports this all quite candidly. It’s for the reader to decide how much this description still applies to the Conservative Party of today.

No policies

To explain, or put the case for the defence, Salisbury’s was a strong disbeliever in theories, manifestos and policies. He distrusted all such claptrap. He despised continental philosophy and was proud of being a philistine in the arts. 1) He thought general theories (such as everything the Liberals espoused) led to unintended consequences, and tended to overthrow the established practices he was so attached to (see the French Revolution, proclaiming brotherhood and ending in tyranny). And 2) he thought a politician needed to be free of pre-commitments in order to react to each issue or crisis as it arose, with the maximum of flexibility, without having his hands tied by promises made to get elected years previously. Epitome of pragmatism.

‘I believe that freedom from the self-imposed trammels of particular theories is necessary if you want to deal with the world as it is.’ (p.475)

He could barely be persuaded to issue any kind of manifesto or platform before the general elections he fought. He thought it sufficed to say the government of the country would be in safe, conservative hands.

Foreign policy

The case is stronger for Salisbury’s foreign policy. Here his dislike of prior commitments was (arguably) a virtue, as it led him to reject every suggestion by his cabinet colleagues to form alliances with this or that of the Powers (France, Germany, Austria or Russia). The central portion of the book makes it clear that this was important as it allowed Salisbury maximum freedom of manoeuvre in handling the many crises which kept coming up, especially in the decaying Ottoman Empire. In fact the major learning from the diplomacy of the 1880s and 90s was how close Europe repeatedly came to a general conflagration, and Roberts shows that Salisbury’s adept diplomacy often prevented that coming about.

Roberts calls the period from Salisbury’s becoming Foreign Secretary to his retirement the Pax Saliburiana. On the face of it the Boer War is a massive, disastrous stain on that claim but from Salisbury’s point of view the single most important thing about it was that none of the major Powers got involved. They complained but the crisis didn’t trigger a general European war.

Same with the Scramble for Africa. In most modern books this is viewed from a woke perspective as a scandal, a historic crime. But seen in context, the thing is not that Africa was arbitrarily carved up with no consultation of the people who lived there, but that none of the potential conflicts between the Powers led to actual war. At the back of his mind was fear of a vast European conflict and he was 100% successful in avoiding this. As Roberts pithily puts it, one of the most remarkable things about the First World War was not that it occurred, but that it didn’t break out earlier.

Everything changed as soon as he retired, and the Entente Cordiale of 1904, far from securing Britain’s security and the peace of Europe, was just the first of the web of alliances which was to plunge Europe into the catastrophic World War ten years later. Would the war have occurred if Britain had stuck to Salisbury’s policy of splendid isolation? Discuss.

Salisbury sayings

‘I was delighted to see you had run Wilfred Blunt in. The great heart of the people always chuckles when a gentleman gets into the clutches of the law.’ (p.448)

The Pope is ‘to be looked upon in the light of a big gun, to be kept in good order and turned the right way.’ (p.449)

‘Always tell the Queen everything.’ (p.515)

Salisbury cynicism

Salisbury was brutally honest about imperialism. He didn’t waste his time with fancy ideas of civilising and morality and whatnot. He really disliked colonial adventurers and chancers. He saw imperialism as an extension of the precarious balance of power between the ‘powers’ or main countries of Europe (Britain, France, Germany, Austria, Russia). Thus he was under no illusion that empire was anything other than the imposition of force to maintain Britain’s interests. Thus Egypt and Sudan had to be held in order to secure the Suez Canal as the conduit to India (p.519), whereas he frankly rubbished the fantasy the fantasy of Cecil Rhodes and the Jingoists of building a railway running from Cairo to the Cape without leaving British territory (p.534).

Thus Britain installed a new pliable ruler of Zanzibar who was installed:

as soon as British warships had bombarded the palace and ousted the pretender. (p.52)

Overthrowing the Ottoman Sultan for a more biddable alternative; overthrowing the king of Burma; overthrowing the Khedive of Egypt; overthrowing the Amir of Afghanistan; overthrowing the heir to the Zanzibar throne, and so it goes on, Britain bringing ‘civilisation’ to the rest of the world and then lecturing everyone about rights and duties and law and honour. No wonder the French despised the British establishment for its deep-dyed hypocrisy.

Imperialism

Poor Lord Curzon saw all his grand schemes for India and beyond (winning influence in Persia, building railways lines across the Middle East) stymied by Salisbury’s basic principle of not alienating Russia and then, when the Boer War drained Britain’s finances, by chronic lack of money. In one of his many letters to Curzon Salisbury gives a (maybe exaggerated) insight into imperial policy earlier in the century:

‘In the last generation we did much what we liked in the East by force or threats, by squadrons and tall talk. But we now have “allies” – French, German, Russian: and the day of free, individual, coercive action is almost passed by. For years to come, Eastern advance must depend largely on payment: and I fear that in this race England will seldom win.’ (p.809)

Salisbury was always gloomy about the present, but this suggests the interesting idea that the empire was created during a unique ‘window’ when force and bluster won huge territories but, by 1900, that era had ended. (Cf taking colonies by force, p.511)

Manipulating the legal system

One of the things that comes across powerfully is the way the ruling class of all flavours (Tory, Liberal, Liberal Unionist) blithely manipulated the legal system, throwing their weight behind prosecutions or releasing individuals early, as it suited them, for example, releasing Irish MP John Dillon early from prison because he was ill, to ensure he didn’t die behind bars and become a martyr (p.451). In the case of the Cleveland Street scandal, Roberts casually mentions that his hero ‘technically’ conspired to pervert the course of justice and committed misprision of a felony, but he did it in a good cause so that’s alright (p.546).

The rotten ‘honours’ system

And the way politicians treated the ‘honours’ system as a simple set of partisan rewards. There was absolutely nothing ‘honourable’ about them, as there isn’t to this day. ‘Honours’ were used to reward loyal service to the government or big financial donors or, frequently, to get rid of unwanted colleagues, ‘kicking them upstairs’ to the House of Lords. Talking of the Liberal Unionists, Robert remarks:

although they refused the rewards of office Salisbury ensured that they were liberally sprayed by the fountain of honours. (p.427)

Home Secretary Henry Matthews was considered to have performed badly during the Jack the Ripper crisis (3 April 1888 to 13 February 1891):

and in 1895 he was awarded a viscountcy as a consolation for not being asked to return to office. (p.507)

The Duke of Beaufort, an important Tory magnate:

corresponded with Salisbury over twenty-five years on the usual aristocratic subjects of cadging arch-deaconries for friends, baronetcies for neighbours and honours for the mayors of towns on his estate. (p.546)

The only reason the Lord Mayor was keen on the visit of Kaiser William was that he thought ‘he might cadge a baronetcy out of it’ (p.555). In 1890 some Tories planned to lure the Liberal Lord Bernard over to their party with the offer of an earldom (p.569). Salisbury himself turned down the Queen’s offer of a dukedom not once but twice, but allowed his son (already Lord Cranbrook) to be raised from a viscount to an earl (p.579).

When forming his 1895 cabinet Salisbury did not appoint Henry Holland, Lord Knutsford, and so gave him a ‘consolation’ viscountcy; Matthews was no reappointed but made Viscount Llandaff; Ellis Ashmead-Bartlett wasn’t given a job, but ‘picked up a consolation knighthood’ (p.602).

Thomas Lipton the tea magnate brown-nosed the queen by donating a huge £25,000 to the Princess of Wales’s project to give London’s poor a banquet at the Diamond Jubilee. Salisbury considered him ‘worthless’ (p.796) but he was a friend of the Prince of Wales and so ‘duly received his knighthood the next year’ (p.661). Basically, you can buy these ‘honours’ if you pay enough and put in enough brown-nosing.

Salisbury despised ‘the rage for distinctions’ but used it as cynically as any other prime minister (pages 668 to 673). In fact in the 6 months of his short caretaker government, he doled out no fewer than 13 peerages, 17 baronetcies, and 23 privy councillors. As Roberts says, not a bad haul for party hacks the party faithful (p.670).

The man more responsible than anybody else for the self-defeating fiasco of the Boer War, Lord Milner, was, of course, given a barony as reward (p.800). Then, as now, colossal failure was rewarded by corrupt politicians.

(Roberts uses the verb ‘cadge’ so many times to describe pushy officials grubbing for honours that I looked it up. ‘Cadge’ is defined, formally, as: ‘to ask for or obtain something to which one is not strictly entitled’, less formally as: ‘to get (food, money, etc) by sponging or begging.’ So you can think of all those Victorians jostling and bothering the Prime Minister for honours as well-heeled beggars and pompous spongers.)

The endless queue of people in the worlds of politics, the church or local government relentlessly pestering him for awards and honours made Salisbury’s view of human nature even more cynical and jaded:

‘Directly a man has satisfied his most elementary material wants, the first aspiration of his amiable heart is for the privilege of being able to look down upon his neighbours.’ (p.668)

And yet he continued to hand them out like smarties, as politicians have continued to do right down to the present day.


Credit

Salisbury: Victorian Titan by Andrew Roberts was published in hardback by Weidenfeld and Nicholson in 1999. References are to the 2000 Phoenix paperback edition.

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