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The King of a Rainy Country
A quest for love, and a comic jaunt across Europe that’s “sharp, funny and clever, and fresh as new paint” (The Times)
When 19-year-old Susan takes a job with Finkelheim, the shady bookseller across the street from her flat in London’s grotty, bohemian Fitzrovia, she has no plan beyond making the rent and treading water till something better comes along. One day, however, leafing through the erotic books that are Finkelheim’s main stock in trade, she stumbles across a nude photograph of her old schoolgirl crush, Cynthia. At first she’s shocked, but then memories from seven years ago come flooding back, reigniting her ardor. Neale—her elusive flatmate and not-quite-boyfriend—is every bit as intrigued as Susan, so together they decide to track the angular beauty down. When they discover Cynthia is scheduled to make an appearance at an international film symposium in Venice, the broke twosome embark on a package tour to Italy as travel couriers in charge of a bus-load of American oddballs who’ve scared all the other couriers off. After various detours, breakdowns, and a raid on the bus’s emergency brandy supply, they finally arrive in Venice . . . and that’s where things get really complicated.
More of a boost “than any Omega 3” (Ali Smith), and every bit as “unclassifiable as the sexuality of its characters” (The Telegraph), this—Brophy’s most autobiographical novel—is an incisive, off-kilter story about figuring out who to love, and how.
When 19-year-old Susan takes a job with Finkelheim, the shady bookseller across the street from her flat in London’s grotty, bohemian Fitzrovia, she has no plan beyond making the rent and treading water till something better comes along. One day, however, leafing through the erotic books that are Finkelheim’s main stock in trade, she stumbles across a nude photograph of her old schoolgirl crush, Cynthia. At first she’s shocked, but then memories from seven years ago come flooding back, reigniting her ardor. Neale—her elusive flatmate and not-quite-boyfriend—is every bit as intrigued as Susan, so together they decide to track the angular beauty down. When they discover Cynthia is scheduled to make an appearance at an international film symposium in Venice, the broke twosome embark on a package tour to Italy as travel couriers in charge of a bus-load of American oddballs who’ve scared all the other couriers off. After various detours, breakdowns, and a raid on the bus’s emergency brandy supply, they finally arrive in Venice . . . and that’s where things get really complicated.
More of a boost “than any Omega 3” (Ali Smith), and every bit as “unclassifiable as the sexuality of its characters” (The Telegraph), this—Brophy’s most autobiographical novel—is an incisive, off-kilter story about figuring out who to love, and how.
245 pages, Kindle Edition
First published July 9, 1990
10 people are currently reading
607 people want to read
About the author
Brigid Brophy
40 books50 followersBrigid Antonia Brophy, Lady Levey (12 June 1929, in Ealing, Middlesex, England – 7 August 1995, in Louth, Lincolnshire, England) was an English novelist, essayist, critic, biographer, and dramatist. In the Dictionary of Literary Biography: British Novelists since 1960, S. J. Newman described her as "one of the oddest, most brilliant, and most enduring of [the] 1960s symptoms."
She was a feminist and pacifist who expressed controversial opinions on marriage, the Vietnam War, religious education in schools, sex (she was openly bisexual), and pornography. She was a vocal campaigner for animal rights and vegetarianism. A 1965 Sunday Times article by Brophy is credited by psychologist Richard D. Ryder with having triggered the formation of the animal rights movement in England.
Because of her outspokenness, she was labeled many things, including "one of our leading literary shrews" by a Times Literary Supplement reviewer. "A lonely, ubiquitous toiler in the weekend graveyards, she has scored some direct hits on massive targets: Kingsley Amis, Henry Miller, Professor Wilson Knight."
Brophy was married to art historian Sir Michael Levey. She was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in 1984, which took her life 11 years later at the age of 66.
She was a feminist and pacifist who expressed controversial opinions on marriage, the Vietnam War, religious education in schools, sex (she was openly bisexual), and pornography. She was a vocal campaigner for animal rights and vegetarianism. A 1965 Sunday Times article by Brophy is credited by psychologist Richard D. Ryder with having triggered the formation of the animal rights movement in England.
Because of her outspokenness, she was labeled many things, including "one of our leading literary shrews" by a Times Literary Supplement reviewer. "A lonely, ubiquitous toiler in the weekend graveyards, she has scored some direct hits on massive targets: Kingsley Amis, Henry Miller, Professor Wilson Knight."
Brophy was married to art historian Sir Michael Levey. She was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in 1984, which took her life 11 years later at the age of 66.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 42 reviews
August 28, 2021
Brigid Brophy’s semi-autobiographical book refuses to conform to expectations. When Susan meets Neale at a bohemian party it looks like the stage’s set for romance, maybe even a marriage plot, albeit a slightly unconventional one. It’s London in the early 1950s, a disaffected Susan moves in with Neale almost overnight. They’re so close they can finish each other’s sentences. Susan takes a job as assistant to a sleazy, back-street bookseller close to their flat in a perpetually murky Fitzrovia, Neale washes dishes in a restaurant. But events take an unexpected turn, first Neale brings home a stray Frenchman whose only English is the word “queer,” then Susan uncovers an unsettling image buried in the erotica her boss trades in. It’s Cynthia her former schoolfriend and long-lost love. Suddenly Brophy interrupts her monochromatic story with bursts of colour and it shifts from slice-of-life domestic drama into quest territory with Neale and Susan in hot pursuit of the enigmatic Cynthia. But this too is just another in Brophy’s series of twists and turns.
Brophy tries on then discards various types of narrative, as if, like her characters, they don’t quite fit. She flirts with the kitchen-sink realism that was so popular at the time, but splices it with fragments of a wistful, lesbian, school story. Next, she mixes in generous amounts of droll comedy as her central characters travel across Europe with a coach-load of querulous, Coca-Cola addicted Americans. Finally, Brophy takes inspiration from her favourite Mozart operas as her central characters catch up with their quarry Cynthia in the backstreets of Venice. Everything’s meticulously observed and Brophy’s prose’s disciplined throughout. She often adopts a drily distanced tone that reminded me of the clipped, upper middle-class accents so characteristic of the time: symbol of that repressive era and something Brophy’s clearly commenting on, and playing with here as part of a complex exploration of gender and sexuality. I did find the pacing a little uneven and aspects were infuriatingly oblique - particularly in the deliberately static, opening stages. But as this unfolded it was witty and intriguing enough to capture and hold my attention.
Rating: 3.5
Brophy tries on then discards various types of narrative, as if, like her characters, they don’t quite fit. She flirts with the kitchen-sink realism that was so popular at the time, but splices it with fragments of a wistful, lesbian, school story. Next, she mixes in generous amounts of droll comedy as her central characters travel across Europe with a coach-load of querulous, Coca-Cola addicted Americans. Finally, Brophy takes inspiration from her favourite Mozart operas as her central characters catch up with their quarry Cynthia in the backstreets of Venice. Everything’s meticulously observed and Brophy’s prose’s disciplined throughout. She often adopts a drily distanced tone that reminded me of the clipped, upper middle-class accents so characteristic of the time: symbol of that repressive era and something Brophy’s clearly commenting on, and playing with here as part of a complex exploration of gender and sexuality. I did find the pacing a little uneven and aspects were infuriatingly oblique - particularly in the deliberately static, opening stages. But as this unfolded it was witty and intriguing enough to capture and hold my attention.
Rating: 3.5
March 7, 2022
I’m not sure what to think of this! A solid 4.5 seems fair. I truly enjoyed it, but expected something different going in, so I guess I’m a little thrown. The tone throughout is coolly detached, almost emotionless, and the relationships between characters are hard to crack. Every action and reaction, every motive is never quite what you expect it to be.
The blurb on the back of the Virago edition (which has an amazing cover sadly not pictured here) reads, “Susan, working for a distinctly dubious bookseller, is in love with the elusive Neale, but still obsessed with the memory of Cynthia, a rangy beauty from her schooldays.” First off, yes, Neale is elusive, but nearly all the other characters in the book are just as elusive, if not moreso, specifically Susan. Second, I’m not sure Susan was ever in love with Neale. I think maybe she felt like she should be in love with him, but that wasn’t the reality. It’s hard to say, though, as there’s a lot she doesn’t tell us as narrator.
Brophy’s writing style reminds me slightly of Millen Brand and maybe even Jane Bowles in a way, though less quirky. All their works have a similar off-kilter kind of feel (which I love). The overall ambiguity in regards to sexuality reminded me of Mary Renault, which is always a good thing!
My favorite section was Part Three. I think the conversations between Susan and Helen were the most significant and revealing, and they stuck with me more than any other. I immediately went back to them after finishing the novel because they tied in with the last (perfect!) sentence.
All in all, a very, very unusual book. I think the elusiveness works in its favor and adds to its originality. I’m excited to read more by Bridgid Brophy!
The blurb on the back of the Virago edition (which has an amazing cover sadly not pictured here) reads, “Susan, working for a distinctly dubious bookseller, is in love with the elusive Neale, but still obsessed with the memory of Cynthia, a rangy beauty from her schooldays.” First off, yes, Neale is elusive, but nearly all the other characters in the book are just as elusive, if not moreso, specifically Susan. Second, I’m not sure Susan was ever in love with Neale. I think maybe she felt like she should be in love with him, but that wasn’t the reality. It’s hard to say, though, as there’s a lot she doesn’t tell us as narrator.
Brophy’s writing style reminds me slightly of Millen Brand and maybe even Jane Bowles in a way, though less quirky. All their works have a similar off-kilter kind of feel (which I love). The overall ambiguity in regards to sexuality reminded me of Mary Renault, which is always a good thing!
My favorite section was Part Three. I think the conversations between Susan and Helen were the most significant and revealing, and they stuck with me more than any other. I immediately went back to them after finishing the novel because they tied in with the last (perfect!) sentence.
All in all, a very, very unusual book. I think the elusiveness works in its favor and adds to its originality. I’m excited to read more by Bridgid Brophy!
February 17, 2013
1956 British novel about a drifting young couple of sexually ambiguous London bohemians, by the genre-defying Brigid Brophy. Last seen as a Virago Modern Classic in 1990, now republished by youthful indie fanzine types Coelacanth Press. This edition also comes with a couple of new introductions, helping to argue why this dusty old novel - and Brophy herself - are worthy of wider attention today.
I'd compare it to the later films of Lindsay Anderson, in that it feels both incredibly British, but also very European, trying to kick back at its Britishness at the same time as commenting upon it. There's doses of dazed Camus-style existentialism, plus a hint of Muriel Spark and Beryl Bainbridge's autobiographical works about bright young women in the post war era. It also echoes the genre of gay coming of age novels, and even a touch of the Beats when the location moves to Italy.
Although it's not as experimental as her later works (eg In Transit), I was particularly impressed by Brophy's device of carefully omitting the narrator's own name throughout the whole book, except at one crucial moment (as far as I can make out).
I'd compare it to the later films of Lindsay Anderson, in that it feels both incredibly British, but also very European, trying to kick back at its Britishness at the same time as commenting upon it. There's doses of dazed Camus-style existentialism, plus a hint of Muriel Spark and Beryl Bainbridge's autobiographical works about bright young women in the post war era. It also echoes the genre of gay coming of age novels, and even a touch of the Beats when the location moves to Italy.
Although it's not as experimental as her later works (eg In Transit), I was particularly impressed by Brophy's device of carefully omitting the narrator's own name throughout the whole book, except at one crucial moment (as far as I can make out).
Read
November 9, 2025It is the first book I've read by Brigid Brophy and the one of her earlier novels. It focuses on the friendship between two young people and a sort of a quest they undertake to find a lost friend. It has started well. She writes with self-deprecated humour and nicely conveys the atmosphere of London in the 60s. But then it metamorphosed into a travel satire. They were accompanying a group of American tourists around Europe. It was still funny and well observed, but a bit too light-weighted for me to appreciate it. I am still interested in her later works, especially In Transit and her bio of Ronald Firbank.
November 10, 2016
4.5 stars
First published in 1956, The King of a Rainy Country was Brigid Brophy’s second novel, a semi-autobiographical work narrated by a nineteen-year-old girl named Susan, whom the author once described as a ‘cut-down version’ of herself. Witty, engaging and deceptively light on its feet, the book itself is divided into three fairly distinct parts, each one focussing on a different phase in the story.
As the novel opens, Susan is moving in with Neale in his flat in central London. At first it seems natural to assume that Susan and Neale are girlfriend and boyfriend, but in reality their connection is a little more ambiguous. Maybe they’re just friends; maybe they’re still getting to know one another. Whatever the true nature of their relationship, it’s a relatively relaxed one. Although they sleep in the same bed, sex doesn’t seem to feature here.
We lent each other money without keeping account; we spoke of what we could afford; sometimes we discussed a house we would own. Our relationship was verbal: allusive and entangled. Deviating further and further into obliquity we often lost track. “I don’t think I think you know what I mean.” “We’d better say it openly.” “Much better. But I’m not going to be the first to say it.” “Neither am I.”
Between confidence and the luxury of giving up we veered, straddled or fell. Sometimes Neale warned me to expect nothing of him. At other times it was he who accused me of not trying. […]
We were pleased at being coupled as you two, but also afraid lest, in the unspokenness of our understanding, neither of us really understood. (p.9)
Perhaps unsurprisingly given their bohemian lifestyle, Susan and Neale have very little money to spare. Neale spends his nights washing dishes in one of the local restaurants while Susan takes dictation for a bookseller, a rather dodgy individual by the name of Finkelheim who just happens to be based in one of the houses directly opposite the pair’s flat. One of the joys of this novel is Brophy’s wit, a skill that is plainly evident in her creation of Finkelheim, a man who has assumed a Jewish name as he believes it will be better for business. ‘That way nobody will expect any easy terms from you. You won’t get asked any favours.’ Here’s a brief flavour of the dynamic between Susan and her employer.
Confined together, Finkelheim and I were bound to observe one another and to think what we saw important. We kneaded our relationship for a day or two, and then it took shape: small, lumpish, putty-coloured but reassuring because defined; it created the atmosphere the place lacked. The leer he had given me at our first interview grew into a game. He would say:
“You still sharing with a friend?”
“Yes.”
“You let me know when the friend moves out.”
However, I felt perfectly safe. The game could not grow beyond a certain intensity for lack of material. (pp. 20-21)
It soon becomes clear to Susan that Finkelheim makes his money by peddling pornographic material; the other more respectable books are merely a sideline for the sake of appearances.
One day, when Finkelheim is out, Susan notices a familiar face while leafing through one of the racier titles, The Lady Revealed. The nude in question is Cynthia Bewly, an old friend and teenage crush from school. When Susan spots her former classmate, the memories of her schooldays come rushing back. At the time, Susan idolised Cynthia – and it seems those feelings were reciprocated too, at least to a certain extent…
Cynthia shewed me ways of swerving out of my course into hers. I took up art: and this meant that in free lessons Cynthia and I would draw from the life — from a girl in a gym tunic posed on a desk — while Annette worked at fancy lettering in another part of the studio. I discovered for myself that if I slipped into the wrong queue at dinner time I could sit next to Cynthia. I would watch her profile: I felt unable to eat. Presently this became her feeling too. We would each crumble a slice of bread, each worked on by asceticism. (p. 62)
Filled with a sense of curiosity about Cynthia, Susan is eager to reconnect with her old friend and schoolgirl crush. Neale too is intrigued by the mystery surrounding this girl from Susan’s past, so much so that the pair set about trying to trace Cynthia to see how her life has turned out. If nothing else, the very fact that she is featured in The Lady Revealed is all rather fascinating.
To read the rest of my review, please click here:
https://jacquiwine.wordpress.com/2016...
First published in 1956, The King of a Rainy Country was Brigid Brophy’s second novel, a semi-autobiographical work narrated by a nineteen-year-old girl named Susan, whom the author once described as a ‘cut-down version’ of herself. Witty, engaging and deceptively light on its feet, the book itself is divided into three fairly distinct parts, each one focussing on a different phase in the story.
As the novel opens, Susan is moving in with Neale in his flat in central London. At first it seems natural to assume that Susan and Neale are girlfriend and boyfriend, but in reality their connection is a little more ambiguous. Maybe they’re just friends; maybe they’re still getting to know one another. Whatever the true nature of their relationship, it’s a relatively relaxed one. Although they sleep in the same bed, sex doesn’t seem to feature here.
We lent each other money without keeping account; we spoke of what we could afford; sometimes we discussed a house we would own. Our relationship was verbal: allusive and entangled. Deviating further and further into obliquity we often lost track. “I don’t think I think you know what I mean.” “We’d better say it openly.” “Much better. But I’m not going to be the first to say it.” “Neither am I.”
Between confidence and the luxury of giving up we veered, straddled or fell. Sometimes Neale warned me to expect nothing of him. At other times it was he who accused me of not trying. […]
We were pleased at being coupled as you two, but also afraid lest, in the unspokenness of our understanding, neither of us really understood. (p.9)
Perhaps unsurprisingly given their bohemian lifestyle, Susan and Neale have very little money to spare. Neale spends his nights washing dishes in one of the local restaurants while Susan takes dictation for a bookseller, a rather dodgy individual by the name of Finkelheim who just happens to be based in one of the houses directly opposite the pair’s flat. One of the joys of this novel is Brophy’s wit, a skill that is plainly evident in her creation of Finkelheim, a man who has assumed a Jewish name as he believes it will be better for business. ‘That way nobody will expect any easy terms from you. You won’t get asked any favours.’ Here’s a brief flavour of the dynamic between Susan and her employer.
Confined together, Finkelheim and I were bound to observe one another and to think what we saw important. We kneaded our relationship for a day or two, and then it took shape: small, lumpish, putty-coloured but reassuring because defined; it created the atmosphere the place lacked. The leer he had given me at our first interview grew into a game. He would say:
“You still sharing with a friend?”
“Yes.”
“You let me know when the friend moves out.”
However, I felt perfectly safe. The game could not grow beyond a certain intensity for lack of material. (pp. 20-21)
It soon becomes clear to Susan that Finkelheim makes his money by peddling pornographic material; the other more respectable books are merely a sideline for the sake of appearances.
One day, when Finkelheim is out, Susan notices a familiar face while leafing through one of the racier titles, The Lady Revealed. The nude in question is Cynthia Bewly, an old friend and teenage crush from school. When Susan spots her former classmate, the memories of her schooldays come rushing back. At the time, Susan idolised Cynthia – and it seems those feelings were reciprocated too, at least to a certain extent…
Cynthia shewed me ways of swerving out of my course into hers. I took up art: and this meant that in free lessons Cynthia and I would draw from the life — from a girl in a gym tunic posed on a desk — while Annette worked at fancy lettering in another part of the studio. I discovered for myself that if I slipped into the wrong queue at dinner time I could sit next to Cynthia. I would watch her profile: I felt unable to eat. Presently this became her feeling too. We would each crumble a slice of bread, each worked on by asceticism. (p. 62)
Filled with a sense of curiosity about Cynthia, Susan is eager to reconnect with her old friend and schoolgirl crush. Neale too is intrigued by the mystery surrounding this girl from Susan’s past, so much so that the pair set about trying to trace Cynthia to see how her life has turned out. If nothing else, the very fact that she is featured in The Lady Revealed is all rather fascinating.
To read the rest of my review, please click here:
https://jacquiwine.wordpress.com/2016...
March 1, 2013
It was a few years ago now, but I can still remember the day I found my copy of The King of a Rainy County. I was in Falmouth, for the first time in years, trawling the bookshops with my fiance. I picked up eight green Virago Modern Classics – including this one – in one shop, a few more in another, and a few other books I can’t quite remember. Out last port of call was the Oxfam bookshop and we dropped our bags by the counter while we looked around. When we went back they were gone.
We worked out that another lady who had been there with several bags must have picked ours up too. The lady in the shop didn’t know her, and we didn’t know when she’d notice. And when she did would she realise where she picked them up? Would she know where to bring them back? And if she did, when? Falmouth is just that far away that it isn’t easy to just pop back.
But luck was with us – when we went outside and looked up and down the street I spotted a lady coming towards us with a bag I recognised!
So the book came home, but I must confess I catalogued it, but it on a shelf and forgot about it.
Until late last year, when I received an email from The Coelacanth Press advocating a book that they clearly loved. I realised that it would fit nicely into my Century of Books. I realised that it would work for Venice in February. And so I took my copy off the shelf and read it!
I have to say that it was a very good book, and that I could see that Brigid Brophy had a wonderful talent for writing. A lovely, distinctive way with descriptive prose; the ability to draw engaging characters with a few simple strokes; and the ability to spin a story full of ideas.
That story unfolded in three acts.
Act 1
In grey, rainy, post-war London Susan found a job with a slightly shady publisher. And she moved on with Neale, who might have been a boyfriend, or might have been a friend who was a boy. They lived in a way that some would call bohemian but I’d be more inclined to all post-student.
One day at work, quite by chance, Susan saw a striking photograph of Cynthia. She and Susan had been at school together, they were classmates, and they might have been friends or they might have been rather more to one another.
Susan decided that she must find Cynthia, and Neale showed an interest in finding her too. They discovered that she was in Venice, and decided that they must find a way to get there.
I liked them both, I wanted to know them better and understand their relationship, so I was always going to follow.
Act 2
Susan and Neale showed wonderful initiative, finding jobs as couriers on a coach tour that would end in Venice. And the story shifted into colourful comedy, as the novice couriers were kept busy managing a coachload of brash American tourists. They managed things magnificently, and they enjoyed the journey too,
The shift was dramatic, and I’m not usually a lover of comic writing, but I have to say that I was glad when we arrived in Venice.
Act 3
In Venice the story shifted again, it became more quiet, more subtle, in a way that suited the setting and the story perfectly. Susan and Neale saw the city and they were very taken with it. They found Cynthia, they met her friend, the famous singer, Helena Buchan, and they met a gentleman who might have been her companion or might not.
There are a lot of mights in this book, and they work very well.
I rather liked Helena, but I couldn’t take to Cynthia I’m afraid.
Another story unfolds in Venice, of course it does, but I shouldn’t say exactly what that was. But it was intriguing, it was surprising, and it was entirely right.
As was the ending, back in London. Though it was one of those endings that wasn’t really an ending, it was the start of a different life.
I’d had a wonderful life watching lives full of possibility, seeing wonderful places, and being given so many ideas – both big and small to turn over in my mind.
And yet it wasn’t demanding at all; I found myself reading easily and naturally, and I was always eager to know what would happen next.
Brigid Brophy has a style entirely own, but I’d venture to suggest that if you like authors like Muriel Spark and Beryl Bainbridge there’s every chance you’ll really like The King of a Rainy Country.
I did!
We worked out that another lady who had been there with several bags must have picked ours up too. The lady in the shop didn’t know her, and we didn’t know when she’d notice. And when she did would she realise where she picked them up? Would she know where to bring them back? And if she did, when? Falmouth is just that far away that it isn’t easy to just pop back.
But luck was with us – when we went outside and looked up and down the street I spotted a lady coming towards us with a bag I recognised!
So the book came home, but I must confess I catalogued it, but it on a shelf and forgot about it.
Until late last year, when I received an email from The Coelacanth Press advocating a book that they clearly loved. I realised that it would fit nicely into my Century of Books. I realised that it would work for Venice in February. And so I took my copy off the shelf and read it!
I have to say that it was a very good book, and that I could see that Brigid Brophy had a wonderful talent for writing. A lovely, distinctive way with descriptive prose; the ability to draw engaging characters with a few simple strokes; and the ability to spin a story full of ideas.
That story unfolded in three acts.
Act 1
In grey, rainy, post-war London Susan found a job with a slightly shady publisher. And she moved on with Neale, who might have been a boyfriend, or might have been a friend who was a boy. They lived in a way that some would call bohemian but I’d be more inclined to all post-student.
One day at work, quite by chance, Susan saw a striking photograph of Cynthia. She and Susan had been at school together, they were classmates, and they might have been friends or they might have been rather more to one another.
Susan decided that she must find Cynthia, and Neale showed an interest in finding her too. They discovered that she was in Venice, and decided that they must find a way to get there.
I liked them both, I wanted to know them better and understand their relationship, so I was always going to follow.
Act 2
Susan and Neale showed wonderful initiative, finding jobs as couriers on a coach tour that would end in Venice. And the story shifted into colourful comedy, as the novice couriers were kept busy managing a coachload of brash American tourists. They managed things magnificently, and they enjoyed the journey too,
The shift was dramatic, and I’m not usually a lover of comic writing, but I have to say that I was glad when we arrived in Venice.
Act 3
In Venice the story shifted again, it became more quiet, more subtle, in a way that suited the setting and the story perfectly. Susan and Neale saw the city and they were very taken with it. They found Cynthia, they met her friend, the famous singer, Helena Buchan, and they met a gentleman who might have been her companion or might not.
There are a lot of mights in this book, and they work very well.
I rather liked Helena, but I couldn’t take to Cynthia I’m afraid.
Another story unfolds in Venice, of course it does, but I shouldn’t say exactly what that was. But it was intriguing, it was surprising, and it was entirely right.
As was the ending, back in London. Though it was one of those endings that wasn’t really an ending, it was the start of a different life.
I’d had a wonderful life watching lives full of possibility, seeing wonderful places, and being given so many ideas – both big and small to turn over in my mind.
And yet it wasn’t demanding at all; I found myself reading easily and naturally, and I was always eager to know what would happen next.
Brigid Brophy has a style entirely own, but I’d venture to suggest that if you like authors like Muriel Spark and Beryl Bainbridge there’s every chance you’ll really like The King of a Rainy Country.
I did!
August 26, 2014
From the 50s, a story of bright and bored young twentysomethings pushing at the boundaries of grey starchy post-War London and breaking out in the technicolour widescreen world of Europe. Being before the Sixties there is no declarations of dropping-out or rebellion, these characters are not proto-hippies or beatniks, but they do find their world ridiculous and are in no hurry to settle down in to serious jobs. We see the silliness of the obscenity laws against "dirty books" (all very tame and harmless), and then have a slightly patronising giggle at the American tourists voyaging around. Running through the story are memories of school-time same-sex obsessions, which are respectably declared to be immature and something outgrown, but under the surface the possibility of adult homosexuality as a desirable state is hinted at, as far it could be in 1956. By the end of the next decade, the Brophy of "In Transit" could chat and joke about transgressive relationships more freely, but by then she found young people, of the later "radical" or "liberated" variety, quite dull.
January 20, 2020
This is a novel I spent years intending to read, and I'm so glad I finally did. There's a coolness to it — not "hip" cool but "reserved" cool — that reminds me of Paul Bowles' The Sheltering Sky, but for a novel driven so much by memory (quite literally, as it's a memory of an old schoolmate that sets the characters off on their travels), I was surprised that the memories weren't difficult ones or traumatic ones to be reconciled with — that's such a familiar type of story and Brophy avoids it. What strikes me in The King of A Rainy Country is that the characters don't seem traumatized or damaged so much as bored with the options before them and actively trying to make possible a different kind of life. AndA bohemian life of a "life as art." I don't mean that in a dismissive or cheap way, because Brophy's narrator Susan is so precise, so clear in her vision and so attentive to the world (the descriptions of arriving in and exploring Venice alone are some of the best I've ever read) that there really is a sense of turning the world into art and beauty. The language and style of the novel elevate the characters' desires which could have been mere youthful pretension otherwise. It's very, very funny at times, but also wise and sad, and without spoiling anything the way things turn at one point on two characters who thought they were on the same quest realizing they aren't, and having to decide what to do next, is one of the truest moments I've read in fiction.
September 9, 2025
Loved this window into a smart, unconventional 19 year old queer determined to live fully in 1950s (?) London. Precise, easy-going prose, sad hilarity, traipsing about Europe as a fake tour guide, meeting the love of her life briefly. Will definitely be on my shelves when I'm 90, when I've departed with some other dear books.
July 26, 2025
my boyfriend and I saw you across the bar final boss…..a true slog partially saved in the last 40 pages
November 25, 2020
This was a very pleasant read. Got it from Barbara Grier’s “Lesbiana,” a very thorough listing of any remotely gay content getting published through the 1950s and 1960s. The sexual ambiguity and fluidity of the main characters was interesting to follow, and gave me a better sense of the period. The word “queer” is used as a self-descriptor by one character, but for the protagonist it doesn’t strike her as particularly unusual that she had a crush on a female friend in all-girls’ school, though it’s maybe not something she talks to everyone about. And it certainly isn’t incompatible with heterosexual marriage.
Brophy’s prose is very smooth going—I read 150 pages in one afternoon without noticing how it happened. The adventures in Italy and with the pornographic bookseller are very funny. And the idea that you could get a job traveling the next week just by walking into a travel agency is so thrilling, especially during this pandemic.
I was glad I had some French when reading the first section where there are whole important conversations in that language, but I think it lets up after the first section.
Brophy’s prose is very smooth going—I read 150 pages in one afternoon without noticing how it happened. The adventures in Italy and with the pornographic bookseller are very funny. And the idea that you could get a job traveling the next week just by walking into a travel agency is so thrilling, especially during this pandemic.
I was glad I had some French when reading the first section where there are whole important conversations in that language, but I think it lets up after the first section.
June 6, 2017
"I told some imprecisely imagined interlocutor that each year I hoped to have outgrown being moved by the autumn and each year I hadn't."
This was an interesting one in my reread pile; I remember reading it at least twice in high school or college, I suppose around the narrator's age, but I barely recalled what happened in it. Mostly just a romantic sense of the characters drifting around Europe having Meaningful Conversations in evocative weather, right? It's from the 1950s and... has it aged well? Don't ask me.
I'm not sure I'd love it now as a first-time read, as someone looking for a solid story or deep characters...but as a re-read, expecting to recapture that familiar mood of shabby bohemian aimlessness with a good queer slant, I got exactly what I wanted. Sometimes funny, sometimes tragic, very much full of the feeling of being young and broke and half in love with unsuitable people.
This was an interesting one in my reread pile; I remember reading it at least twice in high school or college, I suppose around the narrator's age, but I barely recalled what happened in it. Mostly just a romantic sense of the characters drifting around Europe having Meaningful Conversations in evocative weather, right? It's from the 1950s and... has it aged well? Don't ask me.
I'm not sure I'd love it now as a first-time read, as someone looking for a solid story or deep characters...but as a re-read, expecting to recapture that familiar mood of shabby bohemian aimlessness with a good queer slant, I got exactly what I wanted. Sometimes funny, sometimes tragic, very much full of the feeling of being young and broke and half in love with unsuitable people.
April 9, 2017
I am glad I found this book in a second hand book shop written in 1956 and my book is a reprint from 1990 with an afterword of the author . It took me to an era of "naive" writing ,I could feel the situations the scenes came to life ,yet it felt some sharp corners were rounded off . I liked it for this .
February 9, 2016
Cheerful book, easy and pleasant to read!
October 5, 2019
I don’t know why I loved this book so much, but I really, really did.
March 3, 2022
Hilarious joyful emotional chaotic bisexual genius.
August 4, 2025
"Sometimes Neale warned me to expect nothing of him. At other times it was he who accused me of not trying.
"All that matters is to try and try. We've got to keep on searching for it."
Once, a third person who was with us demanded: "What is this it?"
"Oh, just it," Neale said.
"I never know what you two are talking about."
We were pleased at being coupled as 'you two,' but also afraid lest, in the unspokenness of our understanding, neither of us really understood."
I've wanted to read this book for years, mostly because of the "bisexuality" and "fucking around Europe for funsies" parts, and I was almost at the point of ordering a used copy online because it was out of print, when I discovered that McNally Editions, my beloved, was republishing it in 6 months, then they kept pushing the publication back, and anyway I was so glad to finally get my copy in the mail this June! I thought this book would be like a long-lost coming-of-age classic on par with THE DUD AVOCADO or THE BELL JAR, but it wasn't quite that. As seen in the very representative quote above, sometimes the language of the book was quite stilted, formal, and purposefully seemed to be obscuring what was actually being said. Much is made, in this book's marketing copy and the plot of the book itself, of Susan's high school crush on her classmate Cynthia, but in the book, no one ever really acknowledges or says that Susan had a crush on her (although, this is probably more accurate to the experience of being a bisexual girl operating under heteronormativity than being direct, lmao). A lot of the book asks that the reader make their own conclusions and connections, which I don't always love. As seen in the quote above: what is "it"? Like, I know what "it" is, at least through my own projections on the characters in response to my own life. But who knows that Brophy meant? But does it even matter?
This book took many turns that I didn't expect it to take, and I found it to be quite interesting and endearing. I loved the chapters about Susan and Neale's travels through France and Italy [especially the chapter about Florence, which made my heart sing, but what else is new], and the evergreen absurdity of being an Anglo-American abroad in Europe. Also, as someone who has had multiple friends drop them with no explanation, I relate to Susan in that I too would go all the way to Venice to find out why a friend [/crush] dropped me lmao. I didn't like the pages upon pages of untranslated French conversation (there's also untranslated Italian, but I can kind of read that so it wasn't so annoying lol) and the ending was pretty much whack on multiple levels, but it did seem to fit the story as a whole. At the end of every novel that I read and think deeply about, I often wonder if the main character has changed much; if the story that we just experienced, the turmoil that I just read through would make a memorable mark on their lives. I think in Susan's case, it would, although I'm not sure quite how. It's tough to be 20 years old, it's tough to not quite know where your passions lie, it's tough to have your quasi-boyfriend end up marrying your grade school crush. But that's not to say that Susan doesn't have a bright future ahead of her: working for a publisher, having her own apartment, maybe finding someone new to love, maybe even finding that elusive and mysterious object of affections that Susan and Neale spend this whole goddamn book trying to find — but then, maybe having something to perpetually strive for is kind of just the whole point.
"All that matters is to try and try. We've got to keep on searching for it."
Once, a third person who was with us demanded: "What is this it?"
"Oh, just it," Neale said.
"I never know what you two are talking about."
We were pleased at being coupled as 'you two,' but also afraid lest, in the unspokenness of our understanding, neither of us really understood."
I've wanted to read this book for years, mostly because of the "bisexuality" and "fucking around Europe for funsies" parts, and I was almost at the point of ordering a used copy online because it was out of print, when I discovered that McNally Editions, my beloved, was republishing it in 6 months, then they kept pushing the publication back, and anyway I was so glad to finally get my copy in the mail this June! I thought this book would be like a long-lost coming-of-age classic on par with THE DUD AVOCADO or THE BELL JAR, but it wasn't quite that. As seen in the very representative quote above, sometimes the language of the book was quite stilted, formal, and purposefully seemed to be obscuring what was actually being said. Much is made, in this book's marketing copy and the plot of the book itself, of Susan's high school crush on her classmate Cynthia, but in the book, no one ever really acknowledges or says that Susan had a crush on her (although, this is probably more accurate to the experience of being a bisexual girl operating under heteronormativity than being direct, lmao). A lot of the book asks that the reader make their own conclusions and connections, which I don't always love. As seen in the quote above: what is "it"? Like, I know what "it" is, at least through my own projections on the characters in response to my own life. But who knows that Brophy meant? But does it even matter?
This book took many turns that I didn't expect it to take, and I found it to be quite interesting and endearing. I loved the chapters about Susan and Neale's travels through France and Italy [especially the chapter about Florence, which made my heart sing, but what else is new], and the evergreen absurdity of being an Anglo-American abroad in Europe. Also, as someone who has had multiple friends drop them with no explanation, I relate to Susan in that I too would go all the way to Venice to find out why a friend [/crush] dropped me lmao. I didn't like the pages upon pages of untranslated French conversation (there's also untranslated Italian, but I can kind of read that so it wasn't so annoying lol) and the ending was pretty much whack on multiple levels, but it did seem to fit the story as a whole. At the end of every novel that I read and think deeply about, I often wonder if the main character has changed much; if the story that we just experienced, the turmoil that I just read through would make a memorable mark on their lives. I think in Susan's case, it would, although I'm not sure quite how. It's tough to be 20 years old, it's tough to not quite know where your passions lie, it's tough to have your quasi-boyfriend end up marrying your grade school crush. But that's not to say that Susan doesn't have a bright future ahead of her: working for a publisher, having her own apartment, maybe finding someone new to love, maybe even finding that elusive and mysterious object of affections that Susan and Neale spend this whole goddamn book trying to find — but then, maybe having something to perpetually strive for is kind of just the whole point.
July 11, 2025
Varied and elusive, in some ways even austere. Whenever I thought I had it figured out, the novel changed tack – but in a way that seemed to reflect its depth rather than its superficiality. Humorous throughout, but left me heartsore.
October 20, 2025
“Now all the desire I had in the world had been fulfilled beyond its own horizons.”
As is often the case with McNally Editions, the initial premise was far more captivating than the novel’s eventual execution.
As is often the case with McNally Editions, the initial premise was far more captivating than the novel’s eventual execution.
August 14, 2023
Semi eccentric, enigmatic Brits. Amusing portraits of Americans abroad. Improbable but enjoyable
May 18, 2025
I liked this so much - like a perfect movie, full of quiet spaces and small scenes, a novel where we have all been
December 12, 2015
The King of a Rainy Country – was Brigid Brophy’s second novel. As the author explains in her afterword to this edition, the novel does have some autobiographical elements, especially in the characters of Neale and the first person narrator Susan. Brophy creates a fascinating world of both London Bohemianism and European glamour, suffused through with humour, depth and for me moments of poignancy. I absolutely loved it.
“O I’m so afraid that it’s true about to travel hopefully being better than to arrive. It might be all in the quest, all in the search, all in the anticipation. When it came, there might be nothing there.”
In this brilliantly stylish, witty novel Brigid Brophy introduces us to the world of two post war impoverished bohemians, Susan and Neale. As the novel opens Susan is moving in with Neale – although their relationship is somewhat ambiguous. On the day she moves Susan manages to secure a badly paying job, working for a definitely dodgy bookseller, coincidently in premises directly across the road from the flat she will be sharing with Neale. The proprietor Finkelheim is a distinctly odd man, his name an assumed one, it isn’t long before Susan discovers his chief trade is in pornography.
On days when Finkelheim is absent, Susan invites Neale over to spend time with her during the afternoons, the pair start examining some of the stock. Leafing through one of Finkelheim’s books Susan is taken aback to see a nude picture of Cynthia – a girl she had known at school, and for whom she’d had complicated feelings. Seeing the picture of Cynthia brings back memories of Susan’s adolescence at school and her all too brief friendship with Cynthia.
Full review: https://heavenali.wordpress.com/2015/...
“O I’m so afraid that it’s true about to travel hopefully being better than to arrive. It might be all in the quest, all in the search, all in the anticipation. When it came, there might be nothing there.”
In this brilliantly stylish, witty novel Brigid Brophy introduces us to the world of two post war impoverished bohemians, Susan and Neale. As the novel opens Susan is moving in with Neale – although their relationship is somewhat ambiguous. On the day she moves Susan manages to secure a badly paying job, working for a definitely dodgy bookseller, coincidently in premises directly across the road from the flat she will be sharing with Neale. The proprietor Finkelheim is a distinctly odd man, his name an assumed one, it isn’t long before Susan discovers his chief trade is in pornography.
On days when Finkelheim is absent, Susan invites Neale over to spend time with her during the afternoons, the pair start examining some of the stock. Leafing through one of Finkelheim’s books Susan is taken aback to see a nude picture of Cynthia – a girl she had known at school, and for whom she’d had complicated feelings. Seeing the picture of Cynthia brings back memories of Susan’s adolescence at school and her all too brief friendship with Cynthia.
Full review: https://heavenali.wordpress.com/2015/...
June 28, 2015
This is a dilettante of a book; it dabbles in comedy & plays at romance. And it is a partial success, creating some good comedy characters (Mr Finkelheim and Mr Gottlieb particularly)and some interesting situations, but underuses them. Brigid Brophy's prose can be really attractive but she leaves that aside when presenting the comedy episodes. The two young bohemians who are the "stars" are slightly non-descript and as the novel continues Neale comes over as a pretentious arse. The novel seemed underwritten to me (in the afterword it is described as "restrained"). You never find out what's going on in anyone's head unless they say so to another character. I found the novel at it's best when describing Susan's school life and when it took itself more seriously. I particularly liked the character of Helena and a novel about her would have been far more interesting. Then Susan and Neale could be characters she met.
November 28, 2015
Brilliant, quite poignant. For all the whimsy and mischief of Susan and Neale's travels, Susan's own quieter personal journey/growth is the true story here and Brophy renders it with great tenderness and understanding. Many times I've read a book and been disappointed and frustrated with the lack of certainty at the end, but I feel perfectly content and even sort of thrilled with the many ambiguities The King of a Rainy Country leaves us with.
Cheers to Coelacanth Press for bringing this book back! I am already planning to reread it.
Cheers to Coelacanth Press for bringing this book back! I am already planning to reread it.
January 7, 2023
Ah what fun! My second Brophy novel ended up being her sevond novel. And what a novel!
The narrator, Susan, takes us on a mad bohemian journey through her job with a dodgy bookseller and then through italy to Venice in a tale of unfulfilled and unrequited love, sapphic longing and general mid-century bohemian shennanigans.
The story is a funny, absurd and moving one full of Brophy's own biographical details (though it is not what one would call 'Autofiction').
I couldn't put it down and was quite moved by the ending!
Note: some of the language and imagery used has aged very badly.
The narrator, Susan, takes us on a mad bohemian journey through her job with a dodgy bookseller and then through italy to Venice in a tale of unfulfilled and unrequited love, sapphic longing and general mid-century bohemian shennanigans.
The story is a funny, absurd and moving one full of Brophy's own biographical details (though it is not what one would call 'Autofiction').
I couldn't put it down and was quite moved by the ending!
Note: some of the language and imagery used has aged very badly.
February 16, 2025
Muriel Spark meets Elaine Dundy in a Lydia Davis novel
Has anyone got Greta Gerwig's address? I'd like to send her this book so she can adapt it into a summer blockbuster.
Has anyone got Greta Gerwig's address? I'd like to send her this book so she can adapt it into a summer blockbuster.
Read
January 1, 2014A beautiful new edition of Brophy's 1956 novel - but still as fresh and appealing over 50 years later. One of Ali Smith's books of the year (Observer).
Deborah
Deborah
August 9, 2018
I registered a book at BookCrossing.com!
http://www.BookCrossing.com/journal/13001404
http://www.BookCrossing.com/journal/13001404
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