A.S Byatt - The Childrens Book, and the historical novel
Byatt is a writer who considers so called universal themes - love, growing up, childbirth - in the backdrop of historical change. For her it our emotions and our choices are drawn from the influences around us - political and ideological - and her characters react as such. This seems very typical of a writer from a background in literary study - always expertly constructing around a social context, deconstructing the world through her characters and their predicaments. This has never been more obviously so than in The Children’s Book – half an ensemble family drama, half a social history of the end of the Victorian age through to the Great War.
Initially we see this as a book of escapism – a family living away in the woods of the Kent countryside, beautifully depicted as a rural idyll of downs, marshes and cycling inhabitants. They are seen through the eyes of Philip, a young boy from the working classes, who is taken by this Fabian group and thrust into the frivolities of midsummer parties. This is an ideal that permeates through the book – the dream of cultural blossoming amongst the beauty of nature – reflecting the flourishing intellectualism of the Edwardian age. The children play and learn within the environment, and develop their own ambitions of the world they can view objectively, and decide who they want to be – Dorothy - a doctor, Gerald – a banker, and Tom - who wants to stay and live in the woods. They are given free reign under the auspices of their mother Olive Welwood, the writer of the eponymous book, who details each of their lives through individual fairytales which develop and mature with their subjects.
Olive is the creator-figure of this world, blending fiction and reality in a pastoral haze and at first she seems to hold it all in a wonderful fluid of control and harmony. This is only until the children remain children however – the creative life may be able to paint whatever picture it likes, but it cannot affect the inexorable influence of reality.
This is drawn to a peak in a visit to the Paris exhibition at the turn of the century – a culmination of childhood dreams and the ambitions of the age of industry. Here is a display of light and electricity, of huge art and sculpture, where Oscar Wilde and Renoir converse in corners, and where the children begin to be awakened into the world. Wilde is ill. The artistic displays dark and nightmarish, the social gathering permeated by booze and whores. The childish dreams are beginning to be tainted. They begin to learn of the infidelities of their father. Tom disappears into the woods for days on end. Benedict Fludd, the ceramic artist in chief, commits suicide. The Boer War is creating rifts in Europe. Dorothy and Griselda go in a search for their true father. Elsie falls pregnant illegitimately.
Only Philip, alone with his pots, maintains his dream. Civilization is becoming complex.
Sexual interaction takes over the children. Once kept in a cupboard in Fludd’s workshop, it is now out in the open. An Edwardian rule has began and there is an openness and a flourishing of expression and understanding within Britain, and on the continent new theories in psychology are permeating the unconscious.
Desires though, can leave creativity at a dead end and while most of the stories are left as childhood interests, Tom is left with Olive to continue her project. His story is the most vivid, but how much is this to the detriment of his own personality? How much of a self is left after the fictional process drains from the world?
A new seriousness is growing around Europe and Byatt reminds us of the how this is mirrored literary canon – Potter and Kipling have been replaced by auspicious fiction – war-mongering, anti Germanic – anti-cultural. Similar parallels are again drawn in the fictional world of Byatt’s characters. Olive’s play of Tom’s ‘book’ is a resounding success, helped by her German puppeteers and designers – yet the results prove more tragic than any reward art can provide. Is this the final outcome of the creative act? The death of the artist foretold perhaps – certainly a telling lesson of the neglect that art can give to what is real.
The First World War arrives and the narrative changes with a shocking thump. Deaths come quickly and characters are offered no dramatic build up, reflecting the tragic emptiness of the war itself. It feels very much like an epilogue to the tale, but one very necessary to reflect the final outcome of the dreams of the society and the family that Olive has raised. Humans are unable to interact in a world without restrictions. We need to find a place for our selves and must try and hold on to it as best we can. We cannot simply exist as players in an adult game – there is too much independence, too much personality, too much difference, too much changing in our lives – too much that is REAL.
In order to create a new world, we must be willing to accept the death of another. This is what Olive realizes she has done and cannot accept, and this is what the outcome of all the political revolution of the books age – a new world at the neglect of others – an inevitable confrontation.
For all the time we see the simplicities of the beginning of the novel – the city there, the country here – we feel the urban sprawl closing in. Finally the war takes over and fields and villages are flooded and dug into trenches. Some of the children prevail, but it is forever scarred by their experiences.
This is a novel of huge scope and one which I feel may have too much to fully engage a reader. Many of the characters bring the age fantastically to life – Dorothy, Philip, Julian, Tom – but there is a vast amount going on, and the drama suffers from it. The novel still remains a wonderful exploration of incredible change that took place over a short period and the multifarious cocktail of personality and ideas that came with it. Perhaps its problems are indicative of that world itself, and maybe that is what Byatt is trying to tell us. Or is that too much, even for her?
Initially we see this as a book of escapism – a family living away in the woods of the Kent countryside, beautifully depicted as a rural idyll of downs, marshes and cycling inhabitants. They are seen through the eyes of Philip, a young boy from the working classes, who is taken by this Fabian group and thrust into the frivolities of midsummer parties. This is an ideal that permeates through the book – the dream of cultural blossoming amongst the beauty of nature – reflecting the flourishing intellectualism of the Edwardian age. The children play and learn within the environment, and develop their own ambitions of the world they can view objectively, and decide who they want to be – Dorothy - a doctor, Gerald – a banker, and Tom - who wants to stay and live in the woods. They are given free reign under the auspices of their mother Olive Welwood, the writer of the eponymous book, who details each of their lives through individual fairytales which develop and mature with their subjects.
Olive is the creator-figure of this world, blending fiction and reality in a pastoral haze and at first she seems to hold it all in a wonderful fluid of control and harmony. This is only until the children remain children however – the creative life may be able to paint whatever picture it likes, but it cannot affect the inexorable influence of reality.
This is drawn to a peak in a visit to the Paris exhibition at the turn of the century – a culmination of childhood dreams and the ambitions of the age of industry. Here is a display of light and electricity, of huge art and sculpture, where Oscar Wilde and Renoir converse in corners, and where the children begin to be awakened into the world. Wilde is ill. The artistic displays dark and nightmarish, the social gathering permeated by booze and whores. The childish dreams are beginning to be tainted. They begin to learn of the infidelities of their father. Tom disappears into the woods for days on end. Benedict Fludd, the ceramic artist in chief, commits suicide. The Boer War is creating rifts in Europe. Dorothy and Griselda go in a search for their true father. Elsie falls pregnant illegitimately.
Only Philip, alone with his pots, maintains his dream. Civilization is becoming complex.
Sexual interaction takes over the children. Once kept in a cupboard in Fludd’s workshop, it is now out in the open. An Edwardian rule has began and there is an openness and a flourishing of expression and understanding within Britain, and on the continent new theories in psychology are permeating the unconscious.
Desires though, can leave creativity at a dead end and while most of the stories are left as childhood interests, Tom is left with Olive to continue her project. His story is the most vivid, but how much is this to the detriment of his own personality? How much of a self is left after the fictional process drains from the world?
A new seriousness is growing around Europe and Byatt reminds us of the how this is mirrored literary canon – Potter and Kipling have been replaced by auspicious fiction – war-mongering, anti Germanic – anti-cultural. Similar parallels are again drawn in the fictional world of Byatt’s characters. Olive’s play of Tom’s ‘book’ is a resounding success, helped by her German puppeteers and designers – yet the results prove more tragic than any reward art can provide. Is this the final outcome of the creative act? The death of the artist foretold perhaps – certainly a telling lesson of the neglect that art can give to what is real.
The First World War arrives and the narrative changes with a shocking thump. Deaths come quickly and characters are offered no dramatic build up, reflecting the tragic emptiness of the war itself. It feels very much like an epilogue to the tale, but one very necessary to reflect the final outcome of the dreams of the society and the family that Olive has raised. Humans are unable to interact in a world without restrictions. We need to find a place for our selves and must try and hold on to it as best we can. We cannot simply exist as players in an adult game – there is too much independence, too much personality, too much difference, too much changing in our lives – too much that is REAL.
In order to create a new world, we must be willing to accept the death of another. This is what Olive realizes she has done and cannot accept, and this is what the outcome of all the political revolution of the books age – a new world at the neglect of others – an inevitable confrontation.
For all the time we see the simplicities of the beginning of the novel – the city there, the country here – we feel the urban sprawl closing in. Finally the war takes over and fields and villages are flooded and dug into trenches. Some of the children prevail, but it is forever scarred by their experiences.
This is a novel of huge scope and one which I feel may have too much to fully engage a reader. Many of the characters bring the age fantastically to life – Dorothy, Philip, Julian, Tom – but there is a vast amount going on, and the drama suffers from it. The novel still remains a wonderful exploration of incredible change that took place over a short period and the multifarious cocktail of personality and ideas that came with it. Perhaps its problems are indicative of that world itself, and maybe that is what Byatt is trying to tell us. Or is that too much, even for her?
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