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“… the boundless capacity and influence of the human mind.”@neglectedbooks @bhousepress #getrevelyan

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Regular Ramblings readers will have seen me praising a new indie imprint which began publishing recently; Recovered Books from Boiler House Press launched at the end of last year with the wonderful “Gentleman Overboard“, which I loved. The imprint was inspired by Brad Bigelow of the Neglected Books blog, who provides afterwords for the books, and they’ve gone from strength to strength. I covered their release of Tess Slesinger’s “Time: The Present – Selected Stories” in July, which was an equally impressive title, and so I was really happy to receive a proof of a recent release by a most unjustly neglected author. The book is “Two Thousand Million Man-Power” by Gertrude Eileen Trevelyan and it’s a wonderfullly experimental and fascinating read.

Trevelyan was born in 1903, the child of parents of private means. After her education, a small allowance permitted her to take a ‘room of her own’ and write, which is what she did; details of her private and social life are scant, and although her books were well-regarded when published, she left behind little information about herself. Trevelyan published eight novels during her lifetime, and was tragically injured when her London flat was bombed on 8th October 1940; she died not long after, and her name slipped away into obscurity, only starting to reappear when her first novel “Appius and Virginia” was reissued by Scott Pack’s Abandoned Bookshop imprint (and yes, I *do* have a copy lurking in the stacks…) So what is her work like?

Well, Trevelyan was obviously keen to experiment with her writing techniques, and here she really achieved a memorable effect. Her book tells the the story of Robert and Katherine, from 1919 to the funeral of King George V in 1936, as they live through the often difficult inter-war years. It’s a period when the world was changing rapidly, with technological progress dominating, and political turmoil following in its wake. Robert has a scientific bent, and despite having vague ideas of working out the formula of Time, he ends up using his chemistry skills working in a lab for a cosmetics company, out in the sticks at the edge of London.

Katherine, who had never done any, believed passionately in research. She believed, with impartial fervour, in the value of arctic exploration and philological reconstruction and experiments with white mice and the conquest of the air.

Katherine is a teacher, working for an LCC school; she has strong left-wing tendencies, is a feminist and has a fierce belief in progress. They encounter each other at a League of Nations debate and are gradually drawn together; and Trevelyan follows them as they fumble towards a closer relationship, eventually scrape together enough to marry, enjoy a brief time of comfort and prosperity, and are then met with the horrors of the financial downturn and depression.

On Sunday he got out his notes and sat over them for a long time, dreaming vaguely about the source of world energy and whether it were inexhaustible: electricity used up and the world slowing down, dropping back into a torpid ice-age, life frozen out, a dead mass, like the moon.

A straightforward enough tale, then, you might think; however in Trevelyan’s capable hands, the story of Robert and Katherine turns into something very different. Their everday life is woven into a narrative which filters their experiences through the lens of world events; so as the pair struggle with meetings and marches and discussion of their beliefs, the narrative switches to conferences, conflicts, disasters and progress. This makes for a fascinating way to view the story of two individuals, because the issues they face are mirrored by, or often caused by, the wider world events.

He had read somewhere that the universe was slowing down. That life on the earth flared up, as it were, in belts of a few million years between the ice ages. Protozoa, like jelly-fishes, and swamps; and then the protozoa froze frozen out, only a few holding on, adapting to conditions: the world getting warm again and reptiles where the protozoa had been. A few thousand centuries of basking reptiles. Then ice again, and only a few intelligent reptiles compromising with the new conditions, lumbering out on legs from the freezing swamps. Mammoths.

However, Trevelyan is careful that we never lose sight of the humans involved in this bigger picture; Robert and Katherine are never swamped by the world story, and we watch them grow together, develop, change and fracture as the world becomes a difficult place in which to live. We are reminded that this was a time when married women could not teach in Local Authority schools (as is also a feature in a recent release from the British Library Women Writer’s series, “War Among Ladies”); there was little in the way of a welfare state; and a couple like the Thomases, who fell between the stools of lower and upper class, had nothing to fall back on, particularly as their families were impoverished or far away. They have no other resources to draw upon, and this ends up by turning them against each other.

Underlying this all, really, is Trevelyan’s contempt for the machine of progress which is rushing on and destroying people on its way. Robert in particular suffers a kind of breakdown during the phase of unemployment, and in many ways never recovers, though he does seem to see life more starkly afterwards, recognising the modern world for what it really is. Both characters start out with ideals and belief in the world to come but are simply ground down by the system, and many of Robert’s views are ones we would recognise as still relating to the human condition in 2022 – which is really rather alarming.

Because the resources of the Earth were being used up: coal, oil, and finally water: water being used for power. Power being gradually drained from the earth, used up for speed and armaments and an increasing number of trivial, unnecessary purposes. Every housewife putting on an electric iron in her kitchen using up a bit of power from the earth’s centre. Like a lunatic on a tree, sewing off the branch he sits on. The world living on its capital.

Reading “Two Thousand Million Man-Power” was a really powerful experience; whether Trevelyan was aware of the experiments of John Dos Passos in his “U.S.A” trilogy is, I think, irrelevant because he brought the real world into his work by interspersing chunks of newsreel and the like in the books. Trevelyan, however, with her narrative of world events woven together with personal events, in the same paragraph, creates a very different effect and it’s really memorable. This is a profound and important book (you’ll notice a theme running through some of the quotes I’ve pulled out), and why it’s been out of print for so long is quite beyond me…

So another winner from Recovered Books and a most marvellous find; they really are to be applauded for their series of reissues, and in particular for championing an author like Trevelyan. Brad’s afterword indicates that they hope to get more of her work back into print sooner rather than later, which is wonderful news! In the meantime, my copy of “Appius and Virginia” definitely needs to move closer to the top of Mount TBR… ;D

“The bitter pill of taking help…” @neglectedbooks @bhousepress #tessslesinger

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Regular Ramblings readers will recall that I wrote in glowing terms last December about the first release from a new imprint, Recovered Books, from Boiler House Press. That book was the marvellous “Gentleman Overboard” by Herbert Clyde Lewis, and it seems to have been wonderfully recieved by readers. So I was excited to hear they were issuing more titles, and very happy indeed to receive a review copy of one of these: “Time: The Present – Selected Stories” by Tess Slesinger.

Slesinger is an author I’d never heard of before, and that fact in itself is shocking – because she’s incredibly good and I can’t believe her work isn’t better known (but then I guess that’s what Recovered Books are here for!) A Jewish New Yorker born in 1905, she was considered one of the most promising young writers of the 1930s, publishing widely in everything from Vanity Fair to the New Yorker. A left-winger, it’s clear from these stories that she supported those who struggled to make a living, and her politics were never hidden. Slesinger wrote one novel, “The Unpossessed“, and died tragically young at the age of 39. “Time: The Present” was originally published in 1935, and is reissued here with an introduction by Vivian Gornick and an afterword by Paula Rabonowitz.

The book opens with “White on Black” from 1930 and closes with “A Hollywood Gallery” which was published posthumously in 1979 (I think the original final story of the collection was probably the one before this, “A Life in the Day of a Writer” from 1935). It’s clear from the very start that Slesinger is a fine writer, with the opening story observing the changing attitudes of white schoolchildren towards their fellow pupils of colour as the group grows up; told in the first person plural, the narrator watches these changes with a detached eye, and it’s clear that the external pressures to stick to your own caste are being imposed upon, and learned by, the group.

Life began at fourteen. We became acquainted with the interiors of taxi-cabs, and in the whirling little rooms we learned to drink like acrobats – on the wing, straight out of the flask. We discovered tea-dancing to fill our afternoons – we went to more times than we were allowed (dressed in our jerseys and outlandish felts, our bright bright red mouths and flat-heeled shoes) to the Plaza, the Commodore, the Biltmore; we felt our power as we crashed place after place and captured it by making it unendurable to the older generation – and then when we had taken a place by storm, we coldly abandoned it and caused the rush to some place else. We began to crash the night-clubs too, and, pretty soon, there was no place in town where our parents were ashamed to be seen that we youngsters didn’t know.

As well as a relatively straightforward narrative in some stories, Slesinger also writes very modernist prose, exploring her characters’ thoughts in stream of consciousness prose; and this form is particularly effective in “Jobs in the Sky“, a story focusing on one day of work in a department story where at any moment the axe will fall and a staff member (or two) will be out of work. Slesinger’s prose is brilliant here, capturing the frantic pace of the day, the pressures of selling and the emotions in play from those who will or will not go home still employed. In fact, employment is a recurring theme, with Slesinger well aware of the difficulties of her times and the poverty abounding in the 1930s; “Ben Grader Makes a Call” is another sharply-observed story of unemployment and also the effect it will have on a marriage.

I mentioned earlier Slesinger’s sympathies with the underdog, and “The Friedmans’ Annie“, with its impressionistic prose, captures the sheer drudgery and exploitation of a serving girl employed by a wealthy family, who gaslight her with gifts of cast-offs so she won’t forge out on her own and make a new life with her boyfriend. It’s a moving story, and one which makes you furious for Annie and the employers who manipulate her.

Included also in this collection is a groundbreaking work first published in Story magazine in 1932; “Missis Flinders” deals explicitly with the subject of abortion, and its emotional effects. It’s a powerful and heartbreaking piece of writing, and apparently Slesinger expanded it and incorporated it into the first paragraph of “The Unpossessed”.

Those are just a few of the highlights of a collection which is brimming with brilliant writing and unforgettable stories. Slesinger moved to Los Angeles in 1935 with her second husband, the screen writer Frank Davis; here they had two children, and Slesinger turned her talents to writing screenplays herself, including “The Good Earth” and “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn” (together with Frank, and for which they won an Oscar nomination). Her early death robbed the literary world not only of a talented scriptwriter but also of a remarkable prose author; and I’m just glad that Recovered Books have reissued this marvellous collection. I’ve seen Slesinger described as one of the finest short story writers of her generation and I heartily agree; a wonderful author, thankfully back in print! 😀

(Review copy kindly provided by the publisher, for which many thanks!)

“How cruel, oh how cruel!” @neglectedbooks @bhousepress #gentlemanoverboard

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Well, I seem to be on something of a run of wonderful reads at the moment! Today’s post is on a recently reissued and much neglected book which has been languishing in obscurity for decades – and I have no idea why… The book concerned is “Gentleman Overboard” by Herbert Clyde Lewis, and it owes its welcome reappearance to the efforts of Brad Bigelow, founder of the Neglected Books blog. Brad reviewed the book back in 2009; since then it’s gradually been creeping back into print in translation, but it’s taken until 2021 for it to reappear in the language it was written! Rather wonderfully, it’s the launch book for a new series ‘Recovered Books’, from Boiler House Press, inspired by Brad’s passion for rediscovering lost works – how wonderful is that!

“Gentleman Overboard” was first published in 1937, and author Lewis had a tragic life; a restless man, moving from place to place, job to job, he ended his life alone and in obscurity in 1950, having been blacklisted by Hollywood. Reading his book, it’s really hard to see why it’s been so forgotten, even taking into account the fashions and vagaries of publishing, as it really is quite a marvellous read.

As the book opens, a man steps on a spot of grease and fall off a steamship into the Pacific Ocean; this is the gentleman of the title, one Henry Preston Standish, and the word ‘gentleman’ is of prime importance here. Henry is comfortably off, living a respectable life as a partner in a firm of stockbrokers; happily married to Olivia, with two children, he is a supremely careful ordinary man:

He did everything carefully. His apartment was always in spotless array, his larder full. He drank moderately, smoked moderately, and made love to his wife moderately; in fact, Standish was one of the worlds most boring men. Though psychologists may assert it is impossible, Standish was neither an introvert nor an extrovert.

Yet despite all his material comforts, something is not quite right. Henry decides he needs to travel to refresh himself and his health, and the first voyage stretches into more than one. It is on a later voyage that the slip happens, and Henry is left afloat in the middle of the Pacific to await rescue and consider his life…

More than this I shall not say, because part of the genius of the book is the gradual revealing of Henry’s personality and past, as well as his realisation of the predicament he’s in. The fact that Henry is such a gentleman is what makes up who he is and also contributes to the tragedy which befalls him. Alas, his response to his fall is conditioned by his class…

Standish‘s thoughts during these seconds were strangely enough more concerned with shame them with fear. Men of Henry Preston Standish‘s class did not go around falling off ships in the middle of the ocean; it just was not done, that was all. It was a stupid, childish, unmannerly thing to do, and if there had been anybody’s pardon to beg, Standish would have begged it.

His personality has been so set that he fails to call out for help as it’s not the thing a gentleman would do, which turns out to be a major mistake. Because he’s such an undistinguished character, nobody aboard ship notices he’s missing at first, and his fellow passengers (as wonderfully portrayed as the main character) continue about their business as if nothing has changed. As Henry fights to stay afloat, physically and emotionally shedding the trappings of his previous life, the book builds to a perhaps unexpected climax which really knocked the stuffing out of me.

… now he saw clearly that life was precious; that everything else, love, money, fame, was a sham when compared with the simple goodness of just not dying.

I really don’t have enough superlatives for this little gem of a book. The story itself is only around 120 pages, yet it crams so much in. The writing is crisp and excellent, and Lewis nails his protagonist’s character quite brilliantly, portraying vividly the changes Henry goes through as time passes while he treads water. His character is so firmly delineated at the start of the book that it’s somehow a bit of a shock to see his attitudes adjusting along with his situation. It really is a powerful story and I simply cannot believe it’s been unavailable and unrecognised for so long.

I feel I must mention how beautifully produced the new edition is; Boiler House Press are part of the UEA Publishing Project (so my neck of the woods), and the book is wonderfully presented, with French flaps, lovely images inside the covers and flaps, and stunning cover design. There is an excellent foreword by George Szirtes and a detailed afterword provided by Brad which explores the author’s life and the afterlife of his masterpiece. And I do feel masterpiece is the right word here, as the book explores so much more than you might expect; the meaning of life, how to cope with isolation and what is exactly the most important thing to human beings. All of this is compressed into 120 or so unforgettable pages, and I can only thank those involved for rescuing it… If you get a book token for Christmas, buy this; if you don’t buy it anyway. It’s wonderful!

(Review copy kindly provided by the publisher, for which many, many thanks! You can read Brad’s original review here)

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