The Caravaners – Elizabeth Von Arnim

I’m hoping this post will get out soon, but (and fresh after my resolutions too) my internet connection has disappeared in a puff of frustration (damn O2 and all their works,) so mostly I’ve spent Sunday trying and failing to get online.

None of which has got anything to do with Elizabeth Von Arnim’s ‘The Caravaners’ which I read over Christmas. So far my Von Arnim experience has generally been of the light hearted ‘Elizabeth and her German Garden’ sort with ‘Vera’ being a shocking exception. Reading ‘Vera’ really upset me; it had all the tension of a horror story (which on a domestic level it is) and got under my skin enough to make me fractious with the men in my life. ‘Vera’ is a version of Elizabeth’s disastrous second marriage and as disturbing an account of mental abuse as has ever come my way, ‘The Caravaners’ is partly a comedy about camping but there are undercurrents far darker than I expected to come across, many of which pre-empt the later ‘Vera’, and not all of which I felt comfortable with.

I realise I’m probably being a little bit unfair to ‘The Caravaners’ and to Elizabeth, it seems that unpleasant men were something of a feature in her life as well as her work, but the plot of ‘Vera’ partly hinges on whether a first wife has an accident or commits suicide but it turns out to be a recycled device that’s used in ‘The Caravaners’ albeit one that isn’t explored as fully here. It bothers me because for the first time in our acquaintance (2 years of novel reading) this is the first time I’ve come away with the impression of Von Arnim as a potentially really unpleasant person.

I could (and partly feel I should) be reading this as an indicator of how desperate life could be for women in unhappy marriages before divorce or even separation were realistic possibilities, and how stifling provincial life with all its carefully protected mores was, but what I came away with was an impression of savagery and vindictiveness. There are lots of funny bits too though, and some very clear sighted warnings about the gathering clouds of the First World War. (‘The Caravaners’ was published in 1909 and there are constant references to Prussia planning to go to war with England)

The tale is told by Baron Otto Von Ottringe, a stern and very German husband who is insisting on celebrating his 25th wedding anniversary because although he’s only been married to his current wife for 5 years, he’s actually as he points out been married for 25, and why should he do without the celebrations when he’s done the time? For reasons partly based on economy, partly flirtation he decides on a month long camping tour of Kent and so off the Von Ottringe’s go.

The problem is that Otto is really quite an objectionable character, he bullies his wife, is lazy, a snob, a bigot, and absolutely convinced that women exist only to attract and serve. Von Arnim constantly exposes this man’s weaknesses as she compares him to his travelling companions who slowly ostracise the Baron until he is altogether abandoned. Meanwhile his wife Edelgard blossoms into a far more independent personality much to the Baron’s consternation and dismay. A lot of it is really very funny, some of it sad, but I found myself confused by Von Arnim allowing Edelgard to begin to taste freedom only to condemn her to being buried alive again back home, and by her clearly identifying with characters who through personal dislike of the husband first take up and encourage the wife and then simply turn their back on her as well as him – to me it’s curiously unsatisfactory.

In the end though I couldn’t help but love a book which contains passages like this:

Since I am an officer and a gentleman it goes without saying that I am also a Conservative. You cannot be one without the others, at least not comfortably, in Germany. Like the three Graces, these other three go also hand in hand. The King of Prussia is I am certain in his heart passionately Conservative. So also I have every reason to believe is God Almighty. And from the Conservative point of view (which is the only right one), all Liberals are bad – bad, unworthy, and unfit; persons with whom one would never dream of either dining or talking; persons dwelling in so low a mental and moral depth that to dwell in one still lower seems almost extravagantly impossible. Yet in that lower depth, moving about like those blind monsters science tells us inhabit the everlasting darkness of the bottom of the seas, beyond the reach of light, of air, and of every Christian decency, dwells the Socialist.

And whilst I don’t precisely share the Baron’s political views I’m right behind him on the joys (or lack thereof) of camping.

Two Hundred (and ten) Virago’s - and counting

It sometimes seems that my mission in life is to accumulate; books of course, but also shells, little pebbles, shoes, postcards, pictures generally, bits of ribbon, odd socks (though I swear they start out as pairs) theatre programmes, stuff for the kitchen – well you get the idea, and all of it collects dust like nobody’s business, but within the general accumulation there are little hoards which are genuine collections and the one dearest to my heart is my collection of Virago books.

I currently have just over two hundred volumes – which is almost double the number I think I had a year ago – the sudden acceleration is due to (mostly) friendly rivalry with the blonde – last time I checked she was about 2 books behind me – but she’s sneaky so I may be behind now... I should admit that I behaved shamefully in the Astley Book Farm a couple of weeks ago over a Nina Bawden – there wasn’t a tussle but only because I moved with uncharacteristic speed and snatched the book moments before she got her outstretched hand on it. In my defence... hmmm can’t think of a defence, but it did turn out to be an ex library copy and the blonde likes her books pristine so we stayed friends this time. The lovely ladies who run Astley have threatened to hold back Virago’s for the purpose of setting up a bidding war between us; they might be on to something.

My love for this publisher stretches back over 18 years which I realise (though not entirely willingly) is half my lifetime. I first discovered those nice green books when I was fresh at university and beginning to realise there must be more to the canon than men and Virginia Woolf. Those were the heady days of discovering Molly Keane, and Rosamond Lehmann, Dodie Smith and E. M. Delafield’s ‘Diary of a Provincial Lady’. After graduating I worked in a bookshop for a while (the Blonde was my boss) and that’s when I started collecting (though I must admit to not really reading many at the time) and then for a while my reading tastes veered off in other directions.

My rediscovery of Virago was a happy moment (Florence King’s ‘Confessions of a Failed Southern Lady’, Mary Renault’s ‘The Friendly Young Lady’s’ Dorothy Baker’s ‘Cassandra at the Wedding’) and the point where I started looking for apples rather than authors on books – a strategy which has lead me to all sorts of happy discoveries – F. M Mayor, Muriel Spark, Barbara Pym, Alice Thomas Ellis, Elizabeth Von Arnim, and Barbara Comyns are all writers I would probably never have read without Virago’s livery to recommend them. I have a list almost as long of writers waiting to be read on my shelves all there for the same reason.

Virago have become more than just a publisher to me, some of the best days I’ve spent over the last couple of years have been with the blonde scouring the countryside for second hand bookshops and those distinctive spines. For someone as unathletic as me hunting down books is as close to sport as it gets. There are rules, sort of, I won’t buy a book I don’t think I’ll read (one of the reason’s I really admire Verity and her Virago Venture) which is why I don’t have a copy of ‘The Well of Loneliness’ (don’t know why, never fancied it). I don’t (generally) buy duplicates of books I already have but then find a Virago edition of (The exception is ‘Mrs Miniver’ but the duplicate copy I now own is going to a new home soon). Amazon purchases are allowed, but we both agree that they just aren’t the same – it’s the thrill of finding a book that makes this such fun for us – finding F. M. Mayor’s ‘The Squire’s Daughter’ or Barbara Comyns ‘Who Was Changed and Who Was Dead’ were almost euphoric moments because I’d wanted both for a while, as was finding Catherine Carswell, and Christina Stead, both new to me, both yet to be read, but both very promising looking.

I’m not fussy about the colour of the cover, although I’m fond of the old green ones; something I like about my collection is the mix of sun bleached old books, pristine bottle green ones, and the whole rainbow of the current covers. The blonde likes her books as immaculate as possible and will buy on that basis; I’m more likely to be attracted by a title (‘Moonraker’!). I’m not entirely sure how many modern classics there are – but I know its well over 600. I hope there are about another 100 or so old and probably out of print again titles waiting for me to find (obviously I really hope it’s far more), and thankfully they keep publishing more so Virago truly should be a publisher for life and not just for Christmas. Meanwhile my little sister is visiting this weekend, and the blonde and I plan to take her out – should we see a bookshop I’m particularly looking for ‘The Thorn Birds’ (don’t judge me) and Ethel M Dell’s ‘The Way of an Eagle’ (really, don’t judge me). Oh and wish me happy hunting!