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London Lavender (1912)

Tekijä: E. V. Lucas

JäseniäKirja-arvostelujaSuosituimmuussijaKeskimääräinen arvioMaininnat
1111,737,874 (3.5)16
An entertaining portrait of life at the turn of the century. First published in 1912, the optimism of the new century is accurately depicted as it was before WWI
  1. 10
    Pickwick-kerhon jälkeenjääneet paperit (tekijä: Charles Dickens) (Porua)
    Porua: Charles Dickens' The Pickwick Papers is the only book I can think of that comes close to the sprawling labyrinth of various narratives and its narrator's humorous but good-natured commentary about it all of London Lavender. It certainly left me with the same contented feeling that The Pickwick Papers did.… (lisätietoja)
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I first came across E.V. Lucas while reading a collection of short stories. The short story, which was indeed a very short one, was called The Face on the Wall. It created quite a deep impression on my mind and I’ve been on the look out ever since for the original collection from which this story came.

After a lot of searching I finally found London Lavender, published in 1912. Now, I expected this to be a short story collection of some sort. But when I started reading it I was considerably taken aback. What was this? Shall I call it slice of life? Or is this another one of Lucas’ essay collections with a touch of fiction? I’m not even sure whether to call this fiction or non-fiction. One thing is for sure, this book is definitely not what I had expected.

E. V. Lucas (1868-1938) was an English essayist, biographer, novelist, and journalist among many other things. He was a successful writer of light-hearted non-fiction. His subject matter ranged from sports to paintings to family life. One of his most noteworthy contributions was a series of scholarly works on Charles Lamb. Lucas was known for his easygoing style of narration. But unfortunately his reputation has gone downhill since his own time. Modern readers have mostly rejected his writings as dull. He has been criticized for being impersonal. His biographers maintain that he was very different from his writings and was a bitter man with a taste for the obscene.

In London Lavender a very loosely co-related series of narratives are recounted by the narrator of the story, Kent Falconer. He is the one thing that is common among the various vignettes. The stories are weird if not unrealistic. But of course some of them are not stories at all. There is a peek in to the development of early cinema. A holiday in Italy. At least three evenings spent at the drawing room of a gentleman discussing contemporary politics, literature and supernatural experiences in real life respectively. A day is spent at the races. Various folk songs and dances are recorded. And then there are the various stories recounted by the characters themselves. Of course there are proper conclusions to some of the stories in the end. The readers are not left hanging. But most of the vignettes do not need a conclusion at all.

And then there are the characters. What a vast array of people! Most of them are so interesting. There is a zoo keeper who is unnaturally attached to ‘apes’ (not monkeys, as he firmly states), a family of delightful young girls (I did not know young women in early 20th century were ever allowed to behave that way), a reluctant ‘Knight’, a couple of ‘modern’ young men and women, a movie director/scriptwriter at the dawn of ‘moving pictures’, a man who becomes a thief by stealing his own property and of course the narrator and his wife.

The writing I found very easy to read. I practically flew through the book.

Lucas’ witty insights and often unorthodox way of looking at things really entertained me. In some places I laughed out loud. Like when the narrator asks a young aviator about his experiences while flying (which was, without a doubt, a very novel experiencein 1912),

“What is it like in the air?” I once asked him.

“Ripping," he said.

“But the sensations?” I continued. “How do you feel?"

“Ripping," he said.

“And what does the world look like down below as you rush along?"

“Ripping," he said.


Lucas seems quite liberal towards women. Most of his female characters are strong persons with opinions of their own.

I have only a few complaints about this book. It contains some mild racism and some dull patches. Nothing else really bothered me.

London Lavender was a rather surprising experience for me. Charles Dickens' The Pickwick Papers is the only book I can think of that comes close to the structure of this book. It certainly left me with the same contented feeling that The Pickwick Papers did. London Lavender may easily end up as one of my favourite reads of the year. ( )
10 ääni Porua | Jun 1, 2010 |
ei arvosteluja | lisää arvostelu
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HAVING once decided — very much against my will (such as it is) — to leave my old single rooms at Mrs. Duckie's, the question where to live was before us.
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To-day well, my Utopia, if ever I framed one, would be a land where the laws demanded that people should be vicious. Then one would be able to count at any rate on a little virtue. If no man might live with a woman in any but an irregular union, there would be at once quite a run on honest matrimony and the Law Courts would be full of desperately wicked monogamists; while if every one was expected to steal and swindle, there would soon be an extensive criminal class who respected property.
It is one of the bores of growing old, that one loses the power of dividing the sheep and the goats. When one is young, bad men are bad men and good men good men. As one gets older their boundaries begin to get confused and encroach each on the other; and I suppose that by the time I am seventy I shall not know any difference between them.
I walked back by way of the sea-lions' enclosure to refresh my eyes with the King Penguin's perfect ecclesiastical tailoring. He was pacing moodily about as usual, in what one felt to be the interval between a marriage ceremony and a funeral service. Much better, I thought, to have left the 2000 a year to him. No harm would then be done, and what perfect episcopal garden-parties he could give with it!
“What is it like in the air?” I once asked him.

“Ripping," he said.

“But the sensations?” I continued. “How do you feel?"

“Ripping," he said.

“And what does the world look like down below as you rush along?"

“Ripping," he said.
"How can Nancy know her own mind when she has not got one? She is a dear, sweet girl, and I was devoted to her am devoted to her but she has no mind. It was I who was to give her that."
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An entertaining portrait of life at the turn of the century. First published in 1912, the optimism of the new century is accurately depicted as it was before WWI

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