In a few weeks’ time, Karen and Simon will be hosting another of their hugely enjoyable ‘Club’ weeks, focusing in this instance on 1961. Starting on Monday 13th April, the #1961Club is a week-long celebration of books first published that year. These reading events are always great fun, with various tweets, reviews and recommendations flying around the web, giving readers an overview of the relevant period in literature.

Unsurprisingly, given my fondness for the 1960s, I’ve already reviewed a few 1961 books on the blog, and they’re all interesting in one sense or another. So, if you’re thinking about taking part in the Club, here are some recommendations for books to consider.

Bird in a Cage by  Frédéric Dard (tr. David Bello)

With an output bordering on that of fellow crime writer Georges Simenon, Frédéric Dard was one of France’s most popular and productive post-war novelists. First published in French in 1961, Bird in a Cage is one of his ‘novels of the night’, a dark, unsettling mystery with a psychological edge.

As the novella opens, our narrator, Albert, has just returned to his former home in Levallois, a suburb in Paris, after a six-year absence. His loneliness and sense of unease are palpable from the outset as he enters a damp, empty flat, the place where his mother died some four years before. In an attempt to reconnect with his life and memories of happier times, Albert heads out into the streets of Levallois, which are bustling with activity on Christmas Eve. At a restaurant, he catches sight of an attractive woman, someone who reminds him very strongly of a girl he used to know from his dark and mysterious past. The woman is with her young daughter, but there is no man on the scene, and in some ways, their shared loneliness strikes Albert as being even more tragic than his own. After exchanging glances a few times during their meals, Albert and the woman end up leaving the restaurant at the same time. It could be a coincidence, but maybe it isn’t…

At the centre of this story is a crime which is fiendishly clever in its execution. I don’t want to say too much about what happens here, save to say that poor Albert finds himself caught in the middle of it. As this fateful night unravels, there is at least one occasion when he could walk away from this situation, removing himself from imminent danger in the process. Instead, Albert chooses to remain close at hand, almost as though he is fascinated by this woman and everything she appears to represent. This taut, dreamlike novella has also been adapted for the screen as Paris Pick-Up (1962), and I can heartily recommend both!

No Fond Return of Love by Barbara Pym

I love Barbara Pym, an author whose humane explorations of unrequited love among the genteel middle classes are both charming and quietly poignant. She creates an idiosyncratic yet oddly recognisable world of ‘excellent’, well-meaning spinsters, fusty academics and other befuddled men, which I find thoroughly engaging. No Fond Return of Love was Pym’s sixth novel, the last one to be published by Jonathan Cape before their well-documented rejection of An Unsuitable Attachment, which ushered in her ‘wilderness years’, a period that eventually ended in 1977 following prestigious recognition from Philip Larkin and Lord David Cecil.  

No Fond Return revolves around Dulcie Mainwaring, a thirty-something spinster who works as an indexer and proofreader from her home in the London suburbs. As the novel opens, Dulcie has just arrived at a ‘learned conference’ for indexers, a gathering she hopes will enable her to meet some new people, particularly as a recent break-up with former fiancé, Maurice, has left her feeling conscious of her status as a lonely, unattached spinster.

On the first evening, Dulcie meets Viola Dace, a fellow indexer who happens to be in the room next door. At first sight, the two women present quite a contrast to one another – Dulcie looks rather dowdy in her tweed suit and brogues, while Viola appears more confident with her black dress and rather unruly hair. As the two women get talking, it becomes clear that Viola knows one of the speakers at the conference, the rather handsome editor, Dr Aylwin Forbes, with whom she has an interesting history.

The suitability or not of various ‘matches’ is a key theme here with Pym using Dulcie’s observations on the nature of relationships, particularly those between men and women, as a recurring thread. On two or three occasions, Dulcie thinks back to her time with Maurice and wonders if it is sadder to have loved someone unworthy of her affection than to never have loved at all. As ever with Pym, there’s much to enjoy here – not least, the beautifully drawn secondary characters and humorous set-pieces, two of this author’s main strengths. To summarise, it’s a delightful novel in which maybe, just maybe, there will be a fond return of love after all!

Call for the Dead by John le Carré

Le Carré’s debut novel, Call for the Dead, was also the first outing for his most famous creation, George Smiley, a career spy within the British overseas intelligence agency, commonly known as ‘the Circus’ due to the specific location of its London base. This very enjoyable mystery serves as a good introduction to Smiley and certain elements of his backstory, particularly the troublesome nature of his relationship with flighty ex-wife, Ann, who is often referenced in le Carré’s books, though rarely seen in depth.

Following a routine security check by Smiley, Foreign Office civil servant, Samuel Fennan, apparently commits suicide, triggering a meeting between Smiley and Maston, who heads up the Circus. All too soon, Smiley realises he is being set up to take the blame for Fennan’s death, something he finds both troubling and suspicious, particularly as his interview with the civil servant had ended quite amicably.

The arrival of a letter from Fennan, posted shortly before the man’s death, adds to the mystery, suggesting that he had something pressing to pass on to Smiley following their initial meeting. When Smiley is warned off the case by Maston, he begins his own investigation into Fennan’s network, which brings him into contact with the East Germans and their agents.

Le Carré clearly has points to make here about the intelligence agencies – for instance, the way they use people as pawns on a chessboard, illustrating a lack of humanity at the heart of the system. While Call for the Dead might not be the author’s most polished novel, it’s still highly compelling and convincing – a well-crafted literary spy novel with some memorable moments of tension along the way. Plus, it’s a great introduction to Smiley with his quiet, perceptive disposition and expensive yet ill-fitting clothes. I liked it a lot!

Voices in the Evening by Natalia Ginzburg (tr. D. M. Low)

The award-winning Italian writer Natalia Ginzburg has been a major discovery for me over the past seven years, largely due to Daunt Books’ and NYRB Classics’ sterling work on reissuing her books. Much of Ginzburg’s fiction explores the messy business of family relationships, the tensions that arise when people behave selfishly at the expense of those around them. In contrast to characters in many British and Irish novels, Ginzburg’s protagonists don’t keep their feelings under wraps; instead, they express them openly, typically using the blunt, direct language that characterises this author’s work.

In many respects, Voices is an episodic book, a series of interconnected vignettes that depict the lives and loves of various members of one particular family, all set in a small Italian village, viewed from the perspective of the years following WW2. Central to the novel is Elsa, an unmarried twenty-seven-year-old woman who lives with her parents in the watchful village community, a place where gossip and arbitrary judgments are prevalent. The narrative is bookended by two ‘conversations’ between Elsa and her mother. I use the term ‘conversation’ with caution, as the dialogue is in effect a monologue with Elsa remaining silent in the face of her mother’s barbed musings and pointed observations. These opening and closing vignettes set the tone for the novel, emphasising the sense of distance between Elsa and her mother, a feeling of separation between the generations.

Voices is a simple yet subtle novel, one that explores the tension and discontentment in various conflicts  – those between mothers and daughters, men and women, and ultimately between different values and ideals, particularly in a small, close-knit community. There’s a strong sense of estrangement running through the story, a feeling of separateness and isolation in a shifting world; meanwhile, the shadow of war looms ominously in the background, accentuating a feeling of unease and instability.

Ginzburg’s prose is direct and unadorned in a way that leaves quite a bit of space in the narrative, and in some instances, what is left unsaid between individuals can seem just as significant as what is shared. It’s a book I’d like to revisit sometime, now that I’ve read almost all of Ginzburg’s translated work.

Clock Without Hands by Carson McCullers

Set in 1953 in a small town in Georgia, this excellent exploration of interracial tensions focuses on four men whose lives are connected by past and present events. As the novel opens, thirty-nine-year-old J.T. Malone, owner of the local pharmacy, learns that he is suffering from leukaemia and is given only twelve to fifteen months to live. This news prompts the unassuming Malone to reflect on his life and its disappointments: for instance, the lack of intimacy and love in his stilted marriage, and a sense of bewilderment as to how he lost his way.

Malone’s closest friend and confidante is Judge Fox Clane, a rambunctious former congressman who has suffered his own tragedies, including the loss of his son, who continues to haunt his thoughts.

Judge Clane believes in white supremacy and the ‘noble standards of the South’. Firmly in favour of maintaining racial segregation in all aspects of civilised life, the Judge holds views in direct opposition to those of his grandson, the sensitive Jester Clane (the third of our four main characters and Johnny’s son).

The story moves up a notch when Jester befriends a local black boy, Sherman Pew, a bright, confident and articulate orphan who was abandoned on a church pew as a baby. Sherman, who is unaware of the identity of either of his parents, is connected to Judge Clane in more ways than one; he once saved Clane from drowning and is now in his employ as an ‘amanuensis’  to write letters and attend to his needs. At times, Sherman revels in his position as Judge Clane’s ‘jewel’; he considers himself a cut above the other household help and often behaves in a rude or fickle manner towards Jester, whose feelings for Sherman run deep.

As the narrative unfolds, we learn more about past events, which shed a different light on the connections between these characters. The circumstances surrounding Johnny’s suicide become clear to Jester, prompting him to choose a particular path for the future. And when Sherman discovers information regarding the identity of his parents, the consequences of subsequent events touch all the main players here.

With great insight and understanding of the human condition, McCullers focuses on interracial tensions and injustices and how these ‘sit’ alongside our beliefs and principles. The novel’s title is also significant; racial integration would move the clock forward, but Judge Clane seems content for the South to remain in the early-‘60s, or even to revert to bygone days. It’s an excellent introduction to Carson McCullers’ work, a writer I’d like to explore in more detail.

The Wycherly Woman by Ross Macdonald

Ostensibly a ‘missing girl’ story, albeit one with many, deeper layers to reveal, The Wycherly Woman is an excellent entry in Macdonald’s Lew Archer series. Based in LA, Archer is a private eye with a conscience, a fundamentally decent man in pursuit of the truth, who finds himself battling against the systemic violence and corruption that frequently exist in dysfunctional families, corrupt organisations and other powerful institutions.

While the novel delves into many of this author’s favourite themes – twisted, dysfunctional families with dark secrets to conceal; highly damaged individuals with complex psychological issues; and finally, elements of greed, murder, blackmail and guilt – there’s something very melancholic about this one, a tragic sadness that’s hard to shake.

As ever, Archer approaches these tangled networks of crime, corruption and cover-ups with his usual world-weariness and dogged pursuit of the truth. In some respects, the intricacies of the plot are not particularly important here (for me, least); rather, much of the pleasure stems from observing Archer doing his job, which Macdonald conveys in his trademark hardboiled style. The writing is excellent throughout, very much in tune with the mood of this genre.

Recommended, especially for fans of Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammett – or any crime fiction with a moody atmosphere and strong sense of place

Do let me know if you like the sound of any of these books – and your thoughts if you’ve read any of them. Or maybe you have plans of your own for the #1961Club. If so, feel free to mention them here.