Sunday, February 1, 2015

GWEN RAVERAT, Period Piece (1952)


This one is apparently not even particularly obscure or little-known, so I'm not sure how I had missed it for all these years.  The rollicking, hilarious memoir of Charles Darwin's granddaughter, who became an acclaimed artist in her own right, Period Piece is apparently already familiar to many of you.  Therefore, there's little need for me to go into depth about it and I can—out of pure indulgence—just share a few of my favorite passages.

When I first picked up Period Piece at the library book sale a while back, I was intrigued by its dust jacket, but I wasn't completely sure I had to bring it home with me until I read the first page or two of Raverat's introduction, in which she quotes extensively from her American mother's hilarious (sometimes intentionally, often unintentionally) letters back home to the U.S. from her trip to England, during which she met her future husband.  The letters, and Raverat's own commentary on them, neatly set up the theme of what an astonishingly different—and often ridiculous—world was that of the Victorians compared to more recent periods.  Perhaps it was also meant to be implied that our own period might appear just as ridiculous to future generations.

Self-portrait by Gwen Raverat

Those preliminaries were enough to get the book to my shopping cart, but ultimately it was Raverat's own wonderful, nonconformist attitudes as a child that made the book irresistible.  Her perspective—in her early days at school—on the strange beasts around her seemed like my own feelings right up through high school:

Not that I wanted to leave school; I wanted to stay on, if only I could manage to bear it; for I was very curious about the extraordinary habits of the girls. For instance, that first day, they were all singing: 'I am the Honeysuckle, You are the Bee.' Why? What on earth was it? (I had never heard a popular song in my life.) And they were all busy making hat-pin knobs out of coloured sealing-wax. Now why in the world did they like doing that? Nearly everything they did mystified me.


For the rest, school is rather a dim memory to me; all hurry and scurry; beginning in the morning with the sound of the housemaids' feet racing along the passages, as they carried great cans of water for the saucer-baths, which they pulled out from under our beds; and then, all day long, running myself like a hare, from place to place, at the sound of the bell, in the hopeless endeavour not to be late. And then, the continual strain, the effort, of trying to understand, to imitate, to conciliate the indigenous population of that foreign land, where I never could get higher than the tolerance of 'It's only old Genie' from the kinder inhabitants.

Raverat's particular childhood bête noire, however, was the dance class she was forced to attend.  Although I never had to face the indignity of a dance class (not, I realize, an indignity for many children not as hopelessly clumsy as myself), I felt very much the same about P.E. courses.  Here is Raverat recalling her unfortunate dance instructor just at the moment of calling students to practice the moves together:

It was then that I hated her worst of all; and I stood there wishing death, torture, and the undying worm on the poor lady.

So, in revenge, I did it all as badly as possible; kicked the heels of the child in front of me when we were marching; and toppled over sideways when we were kneeling on one knee and supposed to be making graceful semicircles with our arms.

Alas, I never needed to intentionally be clumsier than I really was.  Oh, how the memories come flooding back!

The illustrations for Period Piece, line drawings by Raverat herself, are almost half the fun of the book.  The drawings and their captions are sometimes just as hilarious as the text, especially when she portrays herself as a child, usually in the most unflattering and befuddled-looking way possible, as when encountering the strange behaviors inspired by romance:


There is also a running gag about the family's long-suffering dog Sancho, as in this portrait of him outside the Hermitage:


And here is Sancho not enjoying at all the family's new bicycling hobby:


Finally, I just have to share a random passage that somehow made me laugh harder than any other in the book.  Raverat is describing a boating mishap, and the final line is still making me chuckle even as I write this:

Now among our guests were two sisters, whom I shall call Cordelia and Jane. The boats were moored in very deep water, beneath a steep bank, perhaps four or five feet high, and Cordelia and I had scrambled into one of them to receive the baskets, when Jane appeared at the top of the bank. A man, standing in my boat, held out his hand and said brightly: 'Jump in.' So Jane simply jumped! From that height! She hit the edge of the boat, which would certainly have upset if I had not instinctively thrown all my weight over on the other side. After wobbling wildly for a moment both she and the man, who tried to hold her, fell with a terrific splash into the deep water. Then, by my side, Cordelia rose grandly to her feet, and with a ringing cry of, 'Oh, Jane!' simply stepped into the river, no doubt preferring a watery grave to living on alone…


If you're a fan of humorous, cheerful memoirs, and you haven't made the acquaintance of Darwin's granddaughter yet, then what on earth are you waiting for?!

20 comments:

  1. Glad you have discovered this! It has been one of my favourites for many years ...

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    1. I'm definitely a latecomer to this party, Ruth, but better late than never!

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  2. Your post got me out of bed (I have a bad cold) to find my copy. But it's not where it should be! I was briefly diverted by what is there. Oh yes. My two biographies of Dorothy L Sayers, that collection of Nora Ephron's articles, Barbara Pym's memoir and Hazel Holt's book about her, various Mitfords, Maureen Waller's book, Ungrateful Daughters, about Queens Anne and Mary which I've still not read... All very interesting but now the ONE book I want to read is Period Piece.  Where is it? I think I may have picked it up the last time you mentioned it, Scott. Which means it should be somewhere here, in my bedroom. But I can't see it. I skim the shelves,  I check the pile on the bed,  I dismantle the two piles at the bottom of the bed and the one next to the bedside cupboard., finding in passing a form I need to fill in. Nothing! No pale pink paperback. I can see it so clearly in my head.  Excuse me. I'm going to have to steel myself to look under the bed. 

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    1. Oh Grace, I know exactly how baffled you feel. My books are constantly doing these these diappearing acts. Lately two new books have vanished from my house within weeks of entering it.

      But I do know where my copy of Period Piece is.

      (Your reading tastes sound very much like mine.)

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    2. Oh dear, Grace, so if you moved it when I mentioned it before and now you can't find it, then in a way it's all my fault?! Your comment made me laugh, but I do hope you found it quickly and got back into bed to nurse your cold...

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    3. Yes, it is entirely your fault, Scott! Not at all my bad housekeeping.

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  3. I have just finished reading this again. It is wonderfully pithy and witty, and so modern in tone. I had a copy of Gwen Raverat in France, now mislaid, but must see if I can find any more of her writings.

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    1. I haven't come across any other writings by Raverat, Lucille. I think she was mainly an artist and illustrator. But if you find other books she wrote, do let me know!

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  4. I'd forgotten that I'd read this - like other posters, I must go search the shelves!

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    1. I hope you find it! I think I'll re-read it regularly in the future.

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  5. Our libraries in Suffolk have several copies still so I've ordered it to read. Thank you for the info, wouldn't have known about it otherwise. I'm finding your blog very helpful, wish I had discovered you sooner.
    I'm in the middle of putting book shelf pictures on my blog and counting as I go

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    1. Oh good, Sue, I'm glad you're finding the blog helpful. I think you'll enjoy Period Piece a lot, and I in turn am enjoying the pictures of your shelves!

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  6. Those illustrations are amazing - I'll have to check out this book. :) Your blog also inspired me to start my own, so it'd be really nice if we could chat sometime.

    https://themiddlebrowdigest.wordpress.com/

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    1. Thank you, Sebastiaan. Wow, I'm not sure I've ever inspired anyone to do anything except possibly eat too much junk food! I'm honored and look forward to checking out your blog.

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  7. Bah. I bet my copy is either in storage or the Czech Republic. Or maybe on the shelves in my bedroom? I reserved that space for special books, and this is certainly one of those. Fingers crossed....

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    1. I hope it's there, Gil! I can't believe so many other people had read and loved this and I was oblivious!

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  8. I've passed this one up so many times. Familiarity breeds contempt. I promise to snatch up the next copy I find. Your review makes me think it could be another People Who Say Goodbye, by P. Y. Betts. That was one of my favorites of 2014.

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    1. Well, the testimonials above say it all, Lisa. But I recall I almost passed on the book too. I think perhaps the cover doesn't do it justice. The Betts book is on my TBR list on your recommendation.

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  9. Ah, a lovely, lovely book - thank you for the reminder.

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  10. Enchanted to find your piece when I was looking for an image of the bicycling-disaster-waiting-to-happen. I grew up reading Period Piece, and I too love the women writers of the 20s and 30s; I'll come back for a good browse soon.

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