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The Plaster Fabric
"[B]rave . . . plainly the work of an intelligent novelist." - Times Literary Supplement "It is doubtful whether since male homosexuality was admitted as a subject for treatment in English fiction it has inspired a more satisfactory novel than Martyn Goff's The Plaster Fabric." - Spectator "Mr. Goff's earnest handling of his extremely delicate subject, homosexuality, commends him to serious attention . . . The sense of impending doom, of the hostility of society, of insecurity, and the constant terror of betrayal are all well conceived." - John Betjeman, Daily Telegraph When Martyn Goff's daring first novel, The Plaster Fabric, was published in 1957, homosexuality was illegal in Great Britain and both Goff and his publisher risked prosecution for the book's frank treatment of gay themes. Laurence "Laurie" Kingston, a former Air Force pilot now working as a bookseller and artist, is a man with a secret. Born gay, Laurie has spun a web of lies to conceal his homosexuality, which, if discovered, could cost him his job, his friends, and even his freedom. After a chance encounter one foggy night with Tom Beeson, a rugged soldier, Laurie finds himself falling in love. But the situation becomes complicated when Laurie's best friend, Susan, also falls for Tom. When Laurie becomes involved in this complicated triangle, he runs the risk of losing everything as the fabric of his carefully constructed life begins to chip away like flakes of plaster . . . A novel that deserves a place alongside early gay classics like Rodney Garland's The Heart in Exile (1953) and Mary Renault's The Charioteer (1953), The Plaster Fabric is reprinted for the first time in this new edition, which includes a new introduction by Martin Dines and a reproduction of the original jacket art by John Minton.
198 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1957
83 people want to read
About the author
Martyn Goff
22 books5 followersMartyn Goff was born in 1923, the son of a Russian fur dealer who had emigrated to London and established himself with great success. As a youth, Goff read prodigiously, and at 19 he was offered a place at Oxford to read English, but he joined the RAF and served in the Second World War instead. After the war, at age 22, Goff decided to become a bookseller: in 1946, he opened his first shop and before long opened others.
Goff published his first novel, The Plaster Fabric, in 1957, at a time when homosexuality was still illegal in Britain and authors who wrote openly about it could find themselves prosecuted. However, the book earned a rave review from the popular poet and critic John Betjeman, and, as Goff has said, ‘After that, the authorities could hardly condemn it.’ He went on to publish several other novels; three of these--The Youngest Director (1961), Indecent Assault (1967) and Tar and Cement (1988)—dealt with gay themes. He has also published a number of non-fiction works, including books on collecting vinyl records.
Goff is credited by many as one of the most significant figures in modern British fiction for his involvement with the Booker Prize, which he helped to create and oversaw for its first 36 years. Little noticed and even jeered at in its early years, the Booker under Goff’s chairmanship grew into one of the world’s major literary awards, attracting an annual media frenzy and guaranteeing huge sales for winners and shortlisted novels. As Goff approached retirement in 2002, John Sutherland wrote in The Guardian: ‘The current health of English fiction can be explained in two words: Martyn Goff.’
Martyn Goff lives in London with his partner, Rubio Tapani Lindroos; the two met in the late 1960s after the latter, then a student, wrote a fan letter to the author after reading The Youngest Director.
-Biography used with permission from Valancourt Books
Goff published his first novel, The Plaster Fabric, in 1957, at a time when homosexuality was still illegal in Britain and authors who wrote openly about it could find themselves prosecuted. However, the book earned a rave review from the popular poet and critic John Betjeman, and, as Goff has said, ‘After that, the authorities could hardly condemn it.’ He went on to publish several other novels; three of these--The Youngest Director (1961), Indecent Assault (1967) and Tar and Cement (1988)—dealt with gay themes. He has also published a number of non-fiction works, including books on collecting vinyl records.
Goff is credited by many as one of the most significant figures in modern British fiction for his involvement with the Booker Prize, which he helped to create and oversaw for its first 36 years. Little noticed and even jeered at in its early years, the Booker under Goff’s chairmanship grew into one of the world’s major literary awards, attracting an annual media frenzy and guaranteeing huge sales for winners and shortlisted novels. As Goff approached retirement in 2002, John Sutherland wrote in The Guardian: ‘The current health of English fiction can be explained in two words: Martyn Goff.’
Martyn Goff lives in London with his partner, Rubio Tapani Lindroos; the two met in the late 1960s after the latter, then a student, wrote a fan letter to the author after reading The Youngest Director.
-Biography used with permission from Valancourt Books
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Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews
April 16, 2025
He wanted to tell and live the truth. He wanted to be a whole person, not just half a one and the rest filled in with lies, exaggerations and imagined values. From time to time he strove sincerely to achieve his wish, but the plaster fabric of his life hung over him always, and sooner or later a flake would chip from it, flutter down and mar his new-found honesty. p. 57
4.5, rounded up.
Goff is an interesting character - the Director of the Booker Prize for its first 36 years, he was also a bookseller himself and wrote several non-fiction tomes on the joys of classical record album collecting. He also wrote four gay-themed novels starting with this one, published (at great peril!) in 1957.
Although a disclaimer states the characters bear NO resemblance to anyone the author knows OR the author himself, the fact that his MC Laurence (Laurie) Kingston is a bookseller and a former RAF combatant in the war, as was Goff, belies that.
Coming the same year as the Wolfenden Report, the gay elements here, although never very salacious, are quite frank and open for the time. The plot revolves around Laurie's attraction for what would nowadays be labeled 'rough trade', a hyper-masculine Guardsman named Tom (see the cover illustration from the original edition!), who is unafraid to tempt and taunt Laurie's proclivities in exchange for material gain. Laurie also has a 'gal pal' from art school, Susan, a somewhat spoiled and naive Jewess, and when Susan sets her sights on Tom, we are all set for the somewhat familiar triangular relationship, in which no one gets what they really want.
It doesn't QUITE work out that way in the end, and one of the fascinating things about the book is how it both tries to 'normalize' Laurie and yet show how he buys into the then current pathologizing of his 'disorder'. Goff, himself Jewish, also handles Susan's religion in an insightful way, showing the aftereffects of the war a mere decade after the Holocaust.
Although the prose style is nothing very special, proficient yet not overly grand, the book glides along quickly and one does really get involved in the outcome of the characters' dilemmas. Looking forward to reading Goff's other three novels - like this one, two are fine reprint editions from our friends at Valencourt Books, while the fourth I had to dig up on the secondary market.
4.5, rounded up.
Goff is an interesting character - the Director of the Booker Prize for its first 36 years, he was also a bookseller himself and wrote several non-fiction tomes on the joys of classical record album collecting. He also wrote four gay-themed novels starting with this one, published (at great peril!) in 1957.
Although a disclaimer states the characters bear NO resemblance to anyone the author knows OR the author himself, the fact that his MC Laurence (Laurie) Kingston is a bookseller and a former RAF combatant in the war, as was Goff, belies that.
Coming the same year as the Wolfenden Report, the gay elements here, although never very salacious, are quite frank and open for the time. The plot revolves around Laurie's attraction for what would nowadays be labeled 'rough trade', a hyper-masculine Guardsman named Tom (see the cover illustration from the original edition!), who is unafraid to tempt and taunt Laurie's proclivities in exchange for material gain. Laurie also has a 'gal pal' from art school, Susan, a somewhat spoiled and naive Jewess, and when Susan sets her sights on Tom, we are all set for the somewhat familiar triangular relationship, in which no one gets what they really want.
It doesn't QUITE work out that way in the end, and one of the fascinating things about the book is how it both tries to 'normalize' Laurie and yet show how he buys into the then current pathologizing of his 'disorder'. Goff, himself Jewish, also handles Susan's religion in an insightful way, showing the aftereffects of the war a mere decade after the Holocaust.
Although the prose style is nothing very special, proficient yet not overly grand, the book glides along quickly and one does really get involved in the outcome of the characters' dilemmas. Looking forward to reading Goff's other three novels - like this one, two are fine reprint editions from our friends at Valencourt Books, while the fourth I had to dig up on the secondary market.
February 28, 2019
Don't be mislead by the cover art: we have here good literature, not pulp fiction. The choice of this particular art for this particular book is, in fact, no accident. Nor is any explicit sex to be found in the story, only the explicit inner consciousness of being homosexual -- or "queer," as the writer often puts it. The stereotypes just don't bite the way the synopsis implies. The female character even fits as part of the story, not as a shopworn literary device.
All in all, the story is harder to dislike than a modern reader might think. But it's more than that. It's good. This daring sketch of the social environment of post-WWII London provides us with a perspective missing from modern culture, yet vital to a fuller experience of gay life.
All in all, the story is harder to dislike than a modern reader might think. But it's more than that. It's good. This daring sketch of the social environment of post-WWII London provides us with a perspective missing from modern culture, yet vital to a fuller experience of gay life.
December 9, 2018
Originally published in 1957, this short first novel, divided in three parts, and set over a period of about three years, tells the story of a love triangle. Three is definitely the magic number, here!
I have the most issues with the first part, which deals at length with the hand-wringing agonies inflicting upon himself by Laurie, the main protagonist of the book, and the character through whose eyes the whole story is told.
I understand that the period in which The Plaster Factory is set (sometime in the 1950s) was not an easy time for gay men. Homosexuality was still very much illegal (there was a rise in prosecutions, though that aspect is not featured in the book) and it's only towards the end of the decade that public opinion seemed to relax a little. It can't have been easy to find oneself gay in those days.
However, I don't think that someone putting themselves through the levels of stress Laurie inflicts upon himself would be able to remain sane for very long. That aspect of the plot seemed to me exaggerated to the point of improbability. Laurie is also presented to us as a wimp, someone who can't stand up for himself in anyway, or stick to a decision, and who frankly needs slapping out of his pathetic self-pitying.
Thankfully, it seems that the author eventually comes to his senses and Laurie's character becomes more rounded and more believable in the second and third parts. This happens at the same time that the writing also improves and becomes less stilted. The last part is, I think, the most convincing and the better written of the three. Though it's really the first part only that lets the book down, I think.
The text is marred by sporadic misogyny and some casual anti-semitism (even though one of the main characters is Jewish) that wouldn't pass muster nowadays. There is also a good dose of internalised homophobia and slut-shaming. All are probably par for the course in a book of that period, but the narrative at least ends on a reasonably positive note, which is quite rare for the time.
This is not perfect by any stretch of the imagination but on the whole it is a good read.
I have the most issues with the first part, which deals at length with the hand-wringing agonies inflicting upon himself by Laurie, the main protagonist of the book, and the character through whose eyes the whole story is told.
I understand that the period in which The Plaster Factory is set (sometime in the 1950s) was not an easy time for gay men. Homosexuality was still very much illegal (there was a rise in prosecutions, though that aspect is not featured in the book) and it's only towards the end of the decade that public opinion seemed to relax a little. It can't have been easy to find oneself gay in those days.
However, I don't think that someone putting themselves through the levels of stress Laurie inflicts upon himself would be able to remain sane for very long. That aspect of the plot seemed to me exaggerated to the point of improbability. Laurie is also presented to us as a wimp, someone who can't stand up for himself in anyway, or stick to a decision, and who frankly needs slapping out of his pathetic self-pitying.
Thankfully, it seems that the author eventually comes to his senses and Laurie's character becomes more rounded and more believable in the second and third parts. This happens at the same time that the writing also improves and becomes less stilted. The last part is, I think, the most convincing and the better written of the three. Though it's really the first part only that lets the book down, I think.
The text is marred by sporadic misogyny and some casual anti-semitism (even though one of the main characters is Jewish) that wouldn't pass muster nowadays. There is also a good dose of internalised homophobia and slut-shaming. All are probably par for the course in a book of that period, but the narrative at least ends on a reasonably positive note, which is quite rare for the time.
This is not perfect by any stretch of the imagination but on the whole it is a good read.
June 1, 2014
How could this book have remained out of print for so long? Fascinating work of pre-Stonewall gay lit, beautifully written. Kudos to the guys at Valancourt for bringing it back. Bonus points for the gorgeous cover art. Loved the introduction as well (this, from someone who rarely even reads introductions). Very well done.
December 20, 2017
A very good book. It’s the brutally honest account of the inner life of Laurie, a flawed - at times verging on the contemptible - young gay man. It’s the sort of character and concept that would generally leave me frustrated, but I actually liked this book a lot, for several reasons:
1. The main character never seems to indulge in self-pity;
2. He wants to be better than he is and embarks upon a journey of self-development (not in a self-conscious sort of way, but organically, as it were);
3. True, by the book’s end he reaches the conclusion that being gay is a character flaw (but also no more than that); and true, this homophobic touch could be enough to spoil one’s enjoyment of the book; and yet it didn’t for me, because there’s nothing to force on the reader the conclusion that the end of the book is also the end of Laurie’s journey of self-reflection;
4. There are some thrilling - if fleeting - scenes where bodily contact between men - though not explicitly sexual bodily contact - is described; their beauty alone, to my mind at least, overrides the significance of Laurie’s ambivalence towards his same-sex desire;
5. There is a restrained elegance about the writing.
Highly recommended. 4.5 stars.
1. The main character never seems to indulge in self-pity;
2. He wants to be better than he is and embarks upon a journey of self-development (not in a self-conscious sort of way, but organically, as it were);
3. True, by the book’s end he reaches the conclusion that being gay is a character flaw (but also no more than that); and true, this homophobic touch could be enough to spoil one’s enjoyment of the book; and yet it didn’t for me, because there’s nothing to force on the reader the conclusion that the end of the book is also the end of Laurie’s journey of self-reflection;
4. There are some thrilling - if fleeting - scenes where bodily contact between men - though not explicitly sexual bodily contact - is described; their beauty alone, to my mind at least, overrides the significance of Laurie’s ambivalence towards his same-sex desire;
5. There is a restrained elegance about the writing.
Highly recommended. 4.5 stars.
Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews