Up here all was luxe, calme et volupte, with nine pink lights and pink-tinted mirrors which made you look just lovely, and the thick grey silence underfoot of finest Axminster.
‘Here’ is Goode’s Department Store in central Sydney, a temple of fashion for the colony in 1959. The priestesses serving the pilgrims on the lookout for a bargain frock or for a last minute party dress are all wearing black uniforms. As the store is preparing for the Christmas rush and for the January Sales mayhem, the regular staff is supplemented with temporary employees. One of them is sixteen years old Lesley Miles, who has just finished high school and is expecting the results of her final exams.
Or should I say ‘Lisa’ Miles?
Changing her name is the young girl’s first step to emancipation, to womanhood and self-reliance. I went through a similar name change when I was 19, so I guess I know a little about the importance of defining one’s independent self.
I know much less about frocks sizes, especially the Australian ones. What the heck is an XXSSW? The novel refers to the 1959 store labels and I wish I had a table of comparison with the current international codes.
So, this is not exactly my usual cup-of-tea, pink walls and hemlines, designers and all that jazz. I was a little apprehensive at the start, but my reservations were put to rest after only a couple of pages or so, mostly by the power of Madeleine St. John’s evocation of her youth in Australia. She was 52, living in London, when she published this, her debut novel. I think she felt she had something important to say, and she does with style, sharpness of observation, wit and, most important of all, compassion.
Lisa Miles is a central figure in the story, but the rest of the ladies in black working in Goode’s department store have stories of their own, just as relevant, as heartbreaking and as inspiring as Lisa’s. Take Mrs. Patty Williams, married to a bastard named Frank, who ignores her and never talks about their failure to have a child. Or Miss Fay Baines, who is getting on in years and is sick and tired of the dating scene: She had travelled this particular road to its bitter and now dusty end and her heart now failed her, but to decline this evening’s engagement had been a thing impossible. Myra would have thought she was mad. Or the secretive Miss Jacobs, who never reveals anything about her life outside the store. They all work in the Ladies Cocktail Frocks department, and they cast critical eyes across the aisle at Model Gowns where the sophisticated Magda ignores them. Lisa, as the new helper, must share her time between the two sections.
The men in these women’s lives are little help, so they have learned to fend for themselves. Lisa’s father thinks girls don’t need an education and has no intention of paying for her to go to university. Patty’s husband Frank is a taciturn moron who doesn’t care about her efforts to conceive. Fay meets only grabby, lecherous bastards on her double dates with her friend Myra. Magda’s Hungarian husband seems to be an exception, but he is a ‘Continental’ with a habit of pretentious discourses, and who even knows what goes on in the heads of these new immigrants?
He was a bastard of the standard issue variety, neither cruel nor violent, merely insensitive and inarticulate. [Frank Williams]
He was a selfish bugger. They all were. But they couldn’t manage by themselves.
What’s a girl, or even a grown up woman, to do in this brutal man’s world?
Buy a new dress, maybe? An injection of self-respect, a daring middle finger to the traditional kitchen and housekeeper role assigned to her. And if the frock comes all the way from a Paris coutourier? A peerless, one-of-a-kind declaration of love that doesn’t need the validation of a man?
Oh-la-la!
Lisa stood, gazing her fill. She was experiencing for the first time that particular species of love-at-first-sight which usually comes to a woman much earlier in her life, but which sooner or later comes to all: the sudden recognition that a particular frock is not merely pretty, would not merely suit one, but answers beyond these necessary attributes to one’s deepest notions of oneself. It had been made, however unwittingly, for her.
Lisa comes to work on a tram, in clothes home sewn by her loving mother. She handles in Magda’s boutique the unique gowns that only the richest matrons in Sydney can afford, the ones that are guaranteed to be unicates that no other lady in town can own. Lisa could never afford such a designer gown. She must save for her plans to go to university and write poetry. But a girl can dream, can’t she?
As the activity at the store becomes more and more frantic with the approach of the Holidays and of the Sales season, as Sydney is broiling under its December summer sun, we get drawn deeper and deeper into the lives of these women who may be dressed in black, but are shining with life, with aspirations.
Some of the details are intriguing, verging on historical trivia from our millennial perspective:
... the Children Shoes Department had an X-ray machine so that you could be sure their foot bones were not pushed out of alignment by their new shoes, and this machine was extremely popular with the better-class mother, until it was discovered that the effect of all those X-rays was somewhat more dangerous than wearing improper fitting shoes, dire as that most surely was.
Some [most] of the human stories are painful, like watching birds with their wings all clipped by the expectations of society.
“Oh Lesley –“ said her mother, “Lisa. If you only knew what being grown up can be like, you wouldn’t want to do it any faster than you have to.”
And there was something so sad about the picture she made, that lone dumpy, self-contained figure, with her hair in a bun, with her half-empty string bag, posting her mysterious letter – that he almost wanted to run down the colonnade and catch her up, and then – well, it was futile. [Miss Jacobs, Mr. Ryder]
Sometimes books help, especially for a young girl who is searching her path to the future or for a woman who is tired of fending off creeps and would rather stay home in the evening and read Anna Karenina. [Fay]
And sometimes you just need to be around other people and let your hair down. Continentals like Magda and Stefan [and their cousin Rudi] are apparently better at this game than repressed native Australians. They sure know how to throw a party, maybe because they learned in their home countries about real pain and about the true value of time, kindness and companionship.
“A nice noisy dinner party is always a good idea, especially when one has had a shock. We’ll kill a pig!”
“And we’ll order an ice-cream cake,’ said Magda, ‘with all their names on it!’
>>><<<>>><<<
After reading Shakespeare in an icy fishing village in Iceland [ [book:The Sorrow of Angels|18250641]], it feels good to move to the hot summer at the Antipodes, reading Tolstoy in a Sydney park during lunch hour. Being a ‘Continental’ myself, I found it easier to relate to the boisterous, uninhibited and culture-starved Magda and Stefan. That chapter about the dinner party in their crowded apartment is all too familiar, and I can’t wait for my next round of ‘petreceri’ this coming December.
As a side note, I found out in the afterword that the author’s grandparents came from Romania, so the Continental link is not entirely imaginary: Madeleine’s adored mother, Sylvette, was born in Paris. Sylvette’s parents were Romanian Jews – Jean and Feigha Cargher – who arrived in Paris in 1915 and fled for Australia in 1934.
I like to think the novel is autobiographical, even in a heavily fictionalized form. The chapters about the young girl who wanted to be a writer were my favorite in the book, so I think it is fitting to close my review with the most beautiful phrase in the whole book, courtesy of the secretive Miss Jacobs:
“A clever girl is a most wonderful thing in all Creation you know, you must never forget that. People expect men to be clever. They expect girls to be stupid or at least silly, which very few girls really are, but most girls oblige them by acting like it. So you just go away and be as clever as ever you can; put their noses out of joint for them. It’s the best thing you could possibly do, you and all the clever girls in this city and the world.”
>>><<<>>><<<
What next? Apparently, there is a movie adaptation, a project that Bruce Beresford, a former friend of the author from her university days, worked for 25 years to complete. I hope to track it down and order it for the Holiday season. This book truly deserves to reach a wider audience and it seems custom made for the silver screen. It has all the ingredients to be called a ‘classic’.
Now then. Young girl. New frock. Box of chocolates. That’s all as it should be!