6: The Victorian Chaise-longue (1953)
The first and most important thing I have learned from The Victorian Chaise-longue by Marghanita Laski (also on Kindle) is that I cannot for love nor money learn to spell "chaise-longue" in the older style. But that's okay because Chrome can't either.
I think a few of the reviews and blurbs and etc. for this book do it a bit of a disservice, because they all suggest that it's scary. Which it isn't; you will not squeak when the cat knocks something over in the kitchen at night if you read it in the afternoon. It's disturbing, yes. It reminded me strongly of "The Yellow Wallpaper", a story they inexplicably make you read in high school when you have no idea what the hell it's talking about and then you read it again as an adult in your thirties and you want to throw up.
It's a tight, slim little book; you can easily knock it out in an afternoon in close to real time. It's about a pampered young contemporary mother (in the enlightened year of 1953, snerk) who's just getting over a nasty bout of tuberculosis complicated by childbirth. Melanie and her husband have just gentrified the shit out of a house, redecorating it in a bright modern style except for an ugly-ass huge Victorian chaise-longue she dragged home from an antique store right before her diagnosis. She's finally allowed to get out of bed to recline on the chaise, falls asleep, and wakes up as another person, Milly. It's 1864, something mysterious but clearly not good has happened to this woman in the recent past, and her case of tuberculosis can more properly be called "consumption", as in the thing you die of while genteely holding a handkerchief to your mouth.
It's an interesting little book. I'd say it's pretty rich for somebody in the 1950's to throw shade on the dark ages of the 1860's, but the book is no fool about that - Melanie understands that her mind hasn't exactly been cultivated in her own time, and there's a bit at the beginning through the doctor's viewpoint where you get the impression that maybe the husband isn't such a great guy. Not to mention that while maybe they've kept Melanie's baby away from her in the modern period because she's contagious, that isn't what they say. They say she can't handle the excitement in her delicate condition, and so she's never held her child - there's a feeling of of stultifying immobilization in the present day as well, it just isn't as blatant and smells better than the past.
There's also a little thread of contempt for the temptation to romanticize the past. Guy and Melanie sound exactly like modern hipsters digging through antique stores for just the right goddamned decorative farm tools (do NOT get me started on white women and cotton bolls) while simultaneously forcing out the families who have lived in these homes for generations. When Melanie gets a whiff of the real past, she doesn't find it nearly as cute as the bloodless idea of antiques.
I think this succeeds because it's written subtly and with a light touch. Laski doesn't feel the need to spell anything out for you about Milly's past before her occupation or sublimation or substitution or, what, occlusion? by Melanie - you get hints and shadows and that's plenty. (The ominous stain could be anything, but it's definitely nothing good.) The overwhelming feeling is claustrophobic with a hint of rot. 5/5, I love this one.
By the way, anybody think the episode of Mad Men where Betty hires a decorator and then adds a bonkers antique chaise was an obscure little homage?
I read this one before An Interrupted Life because I actually managed to find my copy of The Victorian Chaise-Longue while I waited for ILL; I'd read it a few years ago. Holds up well to a reread.
I think a few of the reviews and blurbs and etc. for this book do it a bit of a disservice, because they all suggest that it's scary. Which it isn't; you will not squeak when the cat knocks something over in the kitchen at night if you read it in the afternoon. It's disturbing, yes. It reminded me strongly of "The Yellow Wallpaper", a story they inexplicably make you read in high school when you have no idea what the hell it's talking about and then you read it again as an adult in your thirties and you want to throw up.
It's a tight, slim little book; you can easily knock it out in an afternoon in close to real time. It's about a pampered young contemporary mother (in the enlightened year of 1953, snerk) who's just getting over a nasty bout of tuberculosis complicated by childbirth. Melanie and her husband have just gentrified the shit out of a house, redecorating it in a bright modern style except for an ugly-ass huge Victorian chaise-longue she dragged home from an antique store right before her diagnosis. She's finally allowed to get out of bed to recline on the chaise, falls asleep, and wakes up as another person, Milly. It's 1864, something mysterious but clearly not good has happened to this woman in the recent past, and her case of tuberculosis can more properly be called "consumption", as in the thing you die of while genteely holding a handkerchief to your mouth.
It's an interesting little book. I'd say it's pretty rich for somebody in the 1950's to throw shade on the dark ages of the 1860's, but the book is no fool about that - Melanie understands that her mind hasn't exactly been cultivated in her own time, and there's a bit at the beginning through the doctor's viewpoint where you get the impression that maybe the husband isn't such a great guy. Not to mention that while maybe they've kept Melanie's baby away from her in the modern period because she's contagious, that isn't what they say. They say she can't handle the excitement in her delicate condition, and so she's never held her child - there's a feeling of of stultifying immobilization in the present day as well, it just isn't as blatant and smells better than the past.
There's also a little thread of contempt for the temptation to romanticize the past. Guy and Melanie sound exactly like modern hipsters digging through antique stores for just the right goddamned decorative farm tools (do NOT get me started on white women and cotton bolls) while simultaneously forcing out the families who have lived in these homes for generations. When Melanie gets a whiff of the real past, she doesn't find it nearly as cute as the bloodless idea of antiques.
I think this succeeds because it's written subtly and with a light touch. Laski doesn't feel the need to spell anything out for you about Milly's past before her occupation or sublimation or substitution or, what, occlusion? by Melanie - you get hints and shadows and that's plenty. (The ominous stain could be anything, but it's definitely nothing good.) The overwhelming feeling is claustrophobic with a hint of rot. 5/5, I love this one.
By the way, anybody think the episode of Mad Men where Betty hires a decorator and then adds a bonkers antique chaise was an obscure little homage?
I read this one before An Interrupted Life because I actually managed to find my copy of The Victorian Chaise-Longue while I waited for ILL; I'd read it a few years ago. Holds up well to a reread.
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