It took me some time to get past the fact that the main character of this novel has the same name as Britain’s last-surviving high-street chain of department stores.
John Lewis is also a bit of a National Treasure because of its famous Christmas TV ad which usually just about manages to capture the nation’s Zeitgeist with an allowable dollop of mawkishness.
Among his myriad failings and weaknesses the John Lewis of this story can’t be accused of mawkishness. In this and many other ways, there’s more than a passing family likeness between this John Lewis and “Lucky Jim” Dixon of Amis’s previous novel: both hapless young men, self obsessed, frustrated and disillusioned, incompetent in their jobs, stumbling through life and love. Insecure and “uncertain” underneath the bravado, as the title reminds us.
We discover a great deal about John Lewis from his own rambling egocentric account in the first person:
- He’s aged 26, married to capable self-contained Jean, with two children, little daughter Eira and a baby boy.
- He works at the local public library in a South Wales town where the petty tedium of his job bores him to death.
- He’s already worried about aging and self-conscious about hair loss (“I smoothed the place next to the parting where my hair was just beginning to go” p8).
- He stares at people without blinking to try to “look more formidable” (p8) and enjoys “raising his voice to an official kind of tone” (p10) to give himself an air of importance.
- He feels painfully inferior to people he thinks are posh, like bold and bossy Elizabeth Gruffydd-Williams, and he struggles with a “familiar embarrassed defensiveness at talking to a member of the anglicised upper classes” (p14).
- Though a Welshman himself, he can’t stand people - like self-professed Welsh Bard, Gareth Probert - who “pretend to be wild valley blabbers, woaded with pit-dirt, thinking in Welsh the whole time” when in fact they “come from comfortable middle-class homes and have a good urban education” (p49).
- Rather pervily he’s always eyeing up and judging women by their looks (“She was on the right side of the line dividing the attractive from the rest” p9) and he’s single-mindedly thinking most of the time about “a certain basic human activity” (p14).
- Unusually for those times, Lewis doesn’t smoke, even socially (something he has to remind self-preoccupied Elizabeth four times, p77).
- He’s not someone who feels comfortable showing his emotions (for example, after he and Elizabeth shag on the beach he asks how she is, “feeling slightly alarmed at the tenderness in his manner” p206).
- He often finds himself on the verge of a Turrets-style outbreak in which he feels compelled in public to “start undressing himself or the dentist’s mistress, give the dentist a lovely piggyback round the room, call for a toast to the North Korean foreign minister” … (p47).
- And yet by the end of the novel, he’s rather abruptly developed a conscience and maturity: he’s broken off his affair with controlling Elizabeth; turned down greasy-pole promotion because “it’s a fiddle and I don’t like fiddles” (p211); and abandoned pretentious social-climbing for wholesome family life.
The story is punctuated with surreal capers often with underlying violence or danger, such as:
- The brakes failing on Bill Evans’ parked car, so that it slides towards a precipice, with disaster averted only by the quick actions of a tipsy Italian wedding party (p73).
- Bill’s military service anecdote about a Nazi officer in a drunken stupor who “had a hangover like never before” (p70) when Allied soldiers placed a grenade next to his slumbering head.
- Physical and sexual tensions at the nightclub where the bully who forces himself on Elizabeth finds himself strung-up by his own bow-tie (p91), violence which seems to arouse Elizabeth with “sexual excitement at being fought over” (p92).
- Following the farcical sequence of events when Lewis and Elizabeth are almost caught in flagrante by her husband coming home early, Lewis flees in a woman’s wig and dress (p128), as a result of which he’s abused multiple times (p135).
The novel provides a rich source of detail relating to Amis’s own contemporary post-war period, including things like:
- The government Food Office (p7), reminding us that a decade after the end of the Second World War there were still shortages and rationing.
- Bureaucrats tyrannising every aspect of day-to-day life, with officious regulations like the library rules that Lewis enjoys applying with passive-aggressive zeal (“The ticket has expired and will have to be renewed” p8).
- The local cinema showing the latest films (p11) and the downstairs-neighbour’s son, Ken Davies, “off to a dance-hall on his free evening” (p34) to quick-step, fox-trot and samba (p85).
- Parents relying on total strangers as babysitters (“Don’t worry, Bill’s used to looking after children, even small ones” p35).
- Young men still having to do National Service (p40).
- Attractive new forms of “easy” door-step credit provided by the smart young men from “Premier Checks, brief-case in hand” (p243) - cheekily satirised in the novel “Live Now, Pay Later” by Jack Trevor Story which I enjoyed greatly last year..
- Gin and French as a favourite tipple (p70) along with limeade and dandelion & burdock delivered by the Corona lorry (p243).
- The post-war housing crisis, with young families like Lewis’s having to life in squalid rented rooms (in his case without even a proper kitchen sink, p104).
Insecure Lewis likes to show off his learning and he has an extraordinary vocabulary:
- Elizabeth’s “enormous car, of amphisboenic appearance” (p22), the same bizarre word repeated on p60 and again on p104.
- The women at the library wearing the same kind of “episcopalian” hats and all looking like the “deutero-Mrs Edwards” (p23).
- Perving at young women playing tennis, he feels sweat creeping down his chest “with a faint verminous tickling” (p59).
- Lewis describes reluctantly reading a novel as his “only other possible mental pabulum” (p62).
- Garish posters advertising “kinds of liquor or cigarettes, in every case with a mammose young lady in full colour”(p69).
- The patrons of a busy pub include “a publican or two in subfusc” (p143) which apparently means unobtrusive dark clothing.
Sentences I particularly relished in the novel included these:
- “Vanity, if you train it with enough devotion, can be the best defence against boredom” (p10).
- “She looked about with the irritated wonder of one being shown a very ancient and boring ruin” (p16).
- “His mouth had all the mobility of a partly-collapsed inner-tube” (p38).
- “I peeped in the mirror and saw the bogey. It was large and vermiform and clung to the wing of my right nostril. I removed it, feeling a little downcast” (p158).
- “The dentist’s bride-to-be felt like a little elongated parcel in my arms, trim and snug, though she was more active than most parcels” (p197).
- Paul Whetstone “gave me the glance of a great conductor introduced to a dancing xylophonist” (p56).
And finally, on Paul Whetstone. When Lewis wonders whether Whetstone - wearing “pullover, pastel-shade trousers and suede shoes” - “is homo” (p43), he does so non-judgementally using the “intellectual” language of the times. Now of course, that’s an outdated word that requires a trigger warning as deeply offensive. Curiously “queer” would have been the more offensive word in the 1950s but that word’s now been “reclaimed” and considered progressive.
Which all goes to show how much a seventy-year old novel tells us about our ever-changing attitudes and assumptions. And makes me wonder what future generations will make of Kingsley Amis, and indeed of our own rather judgemental and unhappy age of Critical Theory …