Rites of Spring

A couple of weeks ago I decided to read Jessica Duchen's first (?) novel: Rites of Spring. The book arrived late last week. The novel, for the most part set in contemporary London and its suburbs, had a number of wonderful characters, all of them sympathetic, especially Liffy (Olivia) a twelve-year old who wants to dance professionally, and lives Ballet. There are a pair of twin younger brothers, usually noisy and obnoxious, interesting and colorful parents, grandparents, an aunt hopelessly in love with a concert pianist.

The first part of the novel --all I have read so far-- chronicles the gradual falling apart of Liffy's comfortable world, and for various reasons, the worlds of everyone around her. The rest of the novel must salvage something for most of those who survive this multi-dimensional upheaval, or I will never forgive Jessica Duchen. I suspect that Liffy will be the price that has to be paid for the redemption of the characters and their situations.

As in Rebecca West's The Fountain Overflows, we witness the suffering of people of greater than ordinary sensitivity, especially when their relationships go wrong, and they find it impossible to communicate. When dull, ordinary people suffer due to their obvious mistakes in communication, we can sigh, and point the finger at their dullness, and at their limited communication skills. But when bright, scintillating people get their wires crossed, or allow their too-sensitive perceptions to interfere with connecting with those they love, and when their enormous needs battle their satisfaction with what they have, one is at a loss for a simplistic recipe for a way out.

I often feel put upon in these novels where everything goes wrong. In the present instance, though, I have to admit that everything that does spiral out of control does so very plausibly. It is chock-full with emotional action, as if Ms Duchen is packing it with ten stories for the price of one. They all have the ring of truth, the stamp of an eyewitness, and perhaps in years to come some enterprising graduate student will greedily deconstruct this work, revealing it to be at least semi-autobiographical. [Added later: the story is based on facts, but is not autobiographical.] It is this note of truth which makes it unreasonable to point at the seeming clutter of the action. Often it is the clutter of life, the myriad oppressive details that drive one to the depths of despair. At this point in my reading, we are approaching the depths. I would like to recommend this book at this point, even while anticipating the worst. Never have I been less proud of being either a liberal or an intellectual. It remains to be seen whether either characteristic can bring some resolution to the mess towards which things seem to be heading.

[Added later:] Having finished the book, I must say that I join the host of critics who have applauded it. There is great humanity in it, and though the main protagonists have been brought low, they save themselves in believable ways. And I'm delighted to report that Liffy survives the novel with most of her sweet character intact. Despite being the principal voice of the novel, Liffy manages to be a relative unknown. We see deep into her mind, and we see her watching everything else, but at the end we are left feeling that we don't know her very well. (Or that we do, and there isn't much to know.) I can't help contrasting her with Paloma, the young person in Hedgehog, and they do provide as great a contrast as possible in two characters with whom I have great, great sympathy. This book does not set out to give us lessons in life. But there are little thoughts that Ms Duchen could not help putting in there, and I leave them to you to discover. Living in this age is a challenge, and for a sensitive child, growing up in Western society is difficult indeed. This book is a chronicle of what might be considered a narrow escape.

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