Village Green Preservation Society : A tale of two novels

Village Green Preservation Society

Today’s blogpost brings together my reviews of two very different novels.  One is a whimsical fantasy story featuring antropomorphic bears, written by an author best known for her tales of Gothic horror.   The other is a medieval mystery told in reverse.  Why these two novels are inextricably linked in my mind is anybody’s guess (including mine...).  It possibly has to do with the fact that both are set in isolated villages whose boundaries are set by a river.  Or that both portray society’s where fear of the outside(r) holds sway.  What the two novels surely have in common is that they are well-written and strangely memorable. It’s some time since I read them, and yet, at the most unexpected moments, I find myself revisiting these lost villages...

  

Oothangbart – A Subversive Fable for Adults and Bears

by Rebecca Lloyd

Oothangbart is a strange place. It is somewhat reminiscent of an ancient English village or market town, except that it lies in splendid isolation, surrounded by a river (“long may its waters encircle us!”), its frontiers further confirmed by a frightening forest and a gate at one end to stop the more intrepid amongst the villagers from exploring further. The only link with the outside world is the flotsam and debris occasionally washed up by the river, hinting at the existence of other settlements which the villagers have never seen and which might not even exist. The legendary “Bristol”, for example. 

Within Oothangbart, life is regimented and regimental. Time, in particular, is considered precious and Oothangbart’s inhabitants are obliged to make use of it as the elders dictate. There is also a strict hierarchy, with the Mayor heading a select coterie of officials who make it clear that they rule the roost. Life is designed to be predictable, safe and reassuring – and in such a world, thought and imagination are dangerous.

Most of the citizens are happy to play by the rules, others less so. Take Hutchinson, for instance, who makes it a point to come across as an eccentric loner. Or the novel’s protagonist, one Donal Shaun Hercule Poseidon. Donal sincerely tries to fit in, diligently carrying out his unfulfilling chores at the Department of Found Objects. However, he cannot help dreaming of a different life, and wondering whether the citizens of the outside world (supposing that they exist) have it better. These are dangerous, treasonous thoughts which Donal expresses only in the presence of the closest of friends. Love might have something to do with Donal’s romantic trait. For a long time he has admired Pearl Offering, owner of the village bakery, but he has always been too shy to make the first step. A love letter baring his soul remains, day after day, unsent. 

But things might soon change. Fish have been jumping out of the river and Oothangbart is in turmoil. Donal, who is one of the witnesses of this frightening phenomenon, is catapulted into officialdom and, during a state of emergency, persons who think differently might win the day.

Rebecca Lloyd is best known as an author of dark fiction, with two of her short story collections published by contemporary horror and weird fiction specialists, Tartarus Press. In Oothangbart, however, she opts for a gentler sort of fantasy, a “fable”, as the subtitle itself implies. Oothangbart reiterates what is quite a common literary (and movie) trope, the idea of a “dystopian utopia”, a seemingly perfect community where safety is achieved at the expense of freedom and imagination. What distinguishes this book from others of the sort is its delightful “oddness”. There is quirkiness in the world-building – little touches such as the “Escalator” which the dignitaries of the community ride just to show their importance, or the kite-flying competitions during which the villagers are, albeit briefly, allowed a measure of freedom. There is quirkiness in the characters and in the way they are portrayed, even physically – indeed, it might not be immediately obvious but the inhabitants fo Oothangbart are, in reality, antropomorphic bears. These fantastic elements emphasize the “fable-like” character of the title, which is further conveyed through the imaginative use of archaic-sounding language and expressions which, however, have nothing to do with old English. Thus, all males are “fellows”, females “sweetfellows”, the postman is the “Postal Fellow”. The different times of day have strange names such as “newtime”, “whittletime” or “fishthoughts”. The villagers greet each other with curious sayings – “long may our flags flutter in kindly winds! Long may sweet clouds drift!” Often the main characters indulge in philosophical discussions, hinting at the pressing social concerns underlying this seemingly innocuous fantastic tale.

 
Indeed, the author’s real aims are not far to seek. As Lloyd’s afterword confirms, “Oothangbart” is a satire poking fun at (and occasionally savagely attacking) contemporary society and, particularly, common workplace mores. We live indeed in a context where conformity and productivity are the order of the day and where original thought and imagination are therefore considered “dangerous”. As in Oothangbart’s absurdly inconclusive committee meetings, “group activities” are sometimes merely an excuse in fuelling the self-importance of supposed leaders. I’d like to believe that this is not as pervasive a problem as the author makes it out to be and that there is a place in our world for diverse “fellows” and “sweetfellows” like Donal. But as the characters in the novel ask at one point, what is belief? Is it merely a “hope” to help us get through life? A subversive fable it certainly is... 

Published September 25th 2016 by Pillar international Publishing

The Western Wind

by Samantha Harvey

The Year of Our Lord, 1491. The hundred-or-so villagers of Oakham, in rural Somerset, are celebrating the raucous days of Carnival. This year, however, a tragic occurrence has cast a pall over the revelry. Thomas Newman has disappeared, likely carried away by the churning waters of the river which cuts of the village from the rest of the world. Newman was a relative newcomer to Oakham, having settled there upon the death of his wife and daughter. However, thanks to his financial clout, he acquired much of the surrounding land, meaning that most of the villagers depend upon him for their living. Moreover, despite his unorthodox ideas, he is considered a person bearing moral authority. His sudden death – whether through accident, murder or suicide – can only bring bad tidings to Oakham. Especially since the rural dean has descended on the village to investigate, and there are rumblings of monks setting their sights on Oakham’s fields.

Reading a skeletal outline of the plot, you’d be forgiven for expecting “The Western Wind” to be another “medieval crime novel”. But this is so much more than a “cozy historical mystery”. It is narrated by the village priest, John Reve, who as the repository of Oakham’s secrets, is the closest we get to a detective figure. Interestingly, Reve reveals more about himself than about the villagers – indeed, on one level, this novel could be read as a book-length character study of Reve. He comes across as a person with a mission, one who considers himself as chosen by God, but is torn by feelings of inadequacy. It seems that he is being continuously being weighed (including in a literal sense) and found wanting – whether by his flock, by his ecclesiastical superiors or by God himself. The 'western wind' becomes the metaphor for the deliverance for which Reve prays, to no avail.

A particular characteristic of the novel is the narrative timeline which, in a structure worthy of a Christopher Nolan movie, moves backwards from Shrove Tuesday to the Saturday before. It is a deliberately confusing ploy which leaves the reader feeling thrown into the deep end, much like Newman’s fatal dive into the river. But it’s a brilliant move – as it effectively evokes the feeling of loss and incomprehension shared by the villagers of Oakham.

Early readers praised the novel’s historical accuracy. I do not have enough knowledge of the period to comment about this. However, I did find some aspects of the novel unconvincing. What disturbed me most is the fact that Reve, who otherwise comes across as quite a decent and dedicated priest, displays an uncharacteristically cavalier attitude towards the secret of confession. By the time the events in the novel take place, the gravity of a breach of the “seal of confession” had been established for centuries, with severe canonical and spiritual consequences for whoever went against this strict rule. Yet, Reve lightly discusses penitents’ confessions with his superiors without any feeling of compunction or fear of worldly or otherworldly punishment.

Another slightly puzzling point is that, apart from the “confessions” which are central to the plot, and apart from his ruminations about whether he is a “good enough” shepherd of the Oakham flock, Reve rarely seems to discuss theology, or religious rites, rituals and prayers. Indeed, despite the narrator being a priest and in spite of the fact that the novel touches upon subjects such as faith and superstition, I wouldn’t classify this as a “religious” novel, and it does not delve into the type of theological discourse you will find in novels such as The Diary of a Country Priest, Gilead or, for that matter, the more recent Fire Sermon.

Then again, the feeling I got was that the primary concern of the novel is neither religious nor historical. What the Western Wind gives us instead is a complete immersion into the world conjured by the author. The novel creates an almost physical sense of oppression, of damp, of fetid air; of a sense of poverty and sickness; of helplessness in the face of impending catastrophic change. What counts at the end of the day is not strict historical accuracy - just as the narrative style sounds convincingly “archaic”, without necessarily accurately mimicking 15th century parlance, the novel definitely delivers a sense of “authenticity”.

Hardcover, 304 pages

Published March 1st 2018 by Jonathan Cape