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Varying Degrees of Hopelessness
In an eminent London art institute - the Catafalque - Our Heroine Isabel (she of the obsessional habits, perpetual virginity and peculiar belly button) sit in wistful contemplation of Chardin's brushstrokes and the virile red socks of passing lecturers. Isabel's wholly imaginary love life (based on the romantic notions of authoress Babs Cartwheel) bears little resemblance to that of her flatmate Pol, who prefers to grip reality by the balls. Enter Robert, victim of an American childhood, kitsch memorabilia, academic rivalry, Pol's belly-dancing and Isabel's mute adoration. Can he be perverse enough not to despair?
192 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1991
3 people are currently reading
383 people want to read
About the author
Lucy Ellmann
18 books387 followersLucy Ellmann was born in Evanston, Illinois, the daughter of biographer Richard Ellmann and writer Mary Ellmann (née Donahue). She moved to England at the age of 13 and was educated at Falmouth School of Art (Foundation degree, 1975), Essex University (BA, 1980), and the Courtauld Institute of Art (MA, 1981).
Her highly-praised autobiographical first novel, Sweet Desserts, was awarded the Guardian Fiction Prize. Both her second book, Varying Degrees of Hoplessness, and her third, Man or Mango?, were shortlisted for the James Tait Black Memorial Prize, while her fourth, Dot in the Universe, was longlisted for the Orange Prize for Fiction and shortlisted for the Believer Book Award.
Lucy Ellmann is a regular contributor of articles on art and fiction to Artforum, Modern Painters, the Guardian, the Listener, the New Statesman, and the Times Literary Supplement. She is also a screenwriter and was a Hawthornden Fellow in 1992.
Her highly-praised autobiographical first novel, Sweet Desserts, was awarded the Guardian Fiction Prize. Both her second book, Varying Degrees of Hoplessness, and her third, Man or Mango?, were shortlisted for the James Tait Black Memorial Prize, while her fourth, Dot in the Universe, was longlisted for the Orange Prize for Fiction and shortlisted for the Believer Book Award.
Lucy Ellmann is a regular contributor of articles on art and fiction to Artforum, Modern Painters, the Guardian, the Listener, the New Statesman, and the Times Literary Supplement. She is also a screenwriter and was a Hawthornden Fellow in 1992.
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Displaying 1 - 24 of 24 reviews
January 14, 2019
The second novel from the Scots-based American novelist is abundant in mordant wit and scalpel-sharp solipsism. Ellmann’s anti-heroine, a 32-year-old virgin, refuses to settle for second best in her suitors as her flatmate Pol ruts with the man of her dreams. VDOH is a postmodern parody of the Austen romance—a cynical re-imagining of Austen in a world stiffened by repression, loose morals, and the degeneration of cultural mores. Another lacerating romp for the terminal realist.
October 7, 2019
I don’t plan on reading Ellmann’s Booker-shortlisted Ducks, Newburyport – unless some enterprising soul produces an abridged version of no more than 250 pages – but I was delighted to find a copy of her 1991 novel (just 182 pages, with short chapters often no longer than a paragraph and pithy sentences) in a 3-for-£1 sale at a local charity warehouse. Isabel, a 31-year-old virgin whose ideas of love come straight from the romance novels of ‘Babs Cartwheel’, hopes to find Mr. Right while studying art history at the Catafalque Institute in London (a thinly veiled Courtauld, where Ellmann studied). She’s immediately taken with one of her professors, Lionel Syms, whom she dubs “The Splendid Young Man.” Isabel’s desperately unsexy description of him had me snorting into my tea:
Unfortunately, the Splendid Young Man is more interested in Isabel’s portly flatmate, Pol, who is highly sexual and given to prancing. Isabel transfers her affections to Robert, a visiting American whose study she wandered into one day off the street, mistaking it for a secondhand bookshop. But it turns out that he prefers Pol, too.
There’s a screwball charm to this campus novel full of love triangles and preposterous minor characters. I laughed out loud at many of Ellmann’s deadpan lines, and would recommend this to fans of David Lodge’s academic comedies. At the same time, there’s an edge to the book: if you wish to, you can read it as a cautionary tale about the dangers of romantic fantasies. Ellmann even offers two alternate endings, one melodramatic and one more prosaic but believable. I’ll seek out the rest of Ellmann’s back catalogue – so thanks to the Booker for putting her on my radar.
He had a masculinity.
His broad shoulders and narrow hips gave him a distinctive physique.
He held seminars and wore red socks.
To hold seminars seemed to indicate a wish to develop a rapport with his students.
The red socks seemed to indicate testosterone.
I swooned in admiration of him.
Unfortunately, the Splendid Young Man is more interested in Isabel’s portly flatmate, Pol, who is highly sexual and given to prancing. Isabel transfers her affections to Robert, a visiting American whose study she wandered into one day off the street, mistaking it for a secondhand bookshop. But it turns out that he prefers Pol, too.
There’s a screwball charm to this campus novel full of love triangles and preposterous minor characters. I laughed out loud at many of Ellmann’s deadpan lines, and would recommend this to fans of David Lodge’s academic comedies. At the same time, there’s an edge to the book: if you wish to, you can read it as a cautionary tale about the dangers of romantic fantasies. Ellmann even offers two alternate endings, one melodramatic and one more prosaic but believable. I’ll seek out the rest of Ellmann’s back catalogue – so thanks to the Booker for putting her on my radar.
November 30, 2019
Due to my fondness for Ellmann's award-winning magnum opus Ducks, Newburyport, I began a project to read her entire oeuvre - and this is the final volume in that pursuit. I'd place it about in the middle of her canon, preferring Man or Mango?, Sweet Desserts, and parts of Mimi more. It contains all of the quirkiness and clever satire of Ducks, but as the title would imply, is a bit bleak, especially the ending, which becomes a bit bogged down in matters of mortality (perhaps impelled by the death of Ellmann's own parents).
PS: Kudos to Mio Matsumoto for the brilliant cover illustration.
PS: Kudos to Mio Matsumoto for the brilliant cover illustration.
December 20, 2015
Two years ago, I had a paper copy of this satire on romance novels; I checked the ending, knowing it was the sort of story I'd resent if it was too cheery. It seemed to be just that sort, so I abandoned the book in a charity shop in a bohemian middle-class suburb, from where I thought it had a fighting chance of finding a good home. It turns out now - hooray for the opportunity to read old books legitimately without having to pay for them again - that my impression was partly mistaken. It was for the best, though, I didn't read it then, and I can't say I was 100% resentment-free today, notwithstanding that the book was quite amusing, and unusually effortless to read.
Anyway, I should have read it because it's the only book after which I've named an allusive Goodreads shelf. (I think; even I can't be bothered to look through all those tags, which are intended to bloody well say what they mean.)
Varying degrees isn't quite so off the wall as Ellmann's later Dot in the Universe, in subject or in style (few words are in block caps). There are more distinct resemblances to the traditional English comic novel. Ellmann's anger and originality, however, and a few bizarre recurrent motifs are already there. What is it about abalone?
Satire of old-fashioned romances - the sort of novel Anita Brookner commented on more seriously in the dreary Hotel du Lac - doesn't appeal to me half so much as that of something more modern. It seems too remote. But hey, this was published in 1991, chicklit didn't even exist yet, and allusions to Piper Alpha, the Achille Lauro and 80s London nightclubs were obvious to a wider range of readers. Someone who knew more about art history academia would have got more out of Ellmann's parody of the Courtald and tendencies within the field - I didn't realise how distinct its foibles might be, or how little I knew of them, the subject having been strongly ghettoised as 'Sloanes Only' during my university days.
Nonetheless, I've found something. May have even posted a fruitless recommendation request a while back, because there are hardly any: women writing British comic novels, not memoirs, and not genteel mid-century stuff: either the Adams/Pratchett type, or something vicious and pacy like Tom Sharpe. And this is an awful lot like what I meant by the latter, whilst having its own, equally strong personality. Hurrah.
Anyway, I should have read it because it's the only book after which I've named an allusive Goodreads shelf. (I think; even I can't be bothered to look through all those tags, which are intended to bloody well say what they mean.)
Varying degrees isn't quite so off the wall as Ellmann's later Dot in the Universe, in subject or in style (few words are in block caps). There are more distinct resemblances to the traditional English comic novel. Ellmann's anger and originality, however, and a few bizarre recurrent motifs are already there. What is it about abalone?
Satire of old-fashioned romances - the sort of novel Anita Brookner commented on more seriously in the dreary Hotel du Lac - doesn't appeal to me half so much as that of something more modern. It seems too remote. But hey, this was published in 1991, chicklit didn't even exist yet, and allusions to Piper Alpha, the Achille Lauro and 80s London nightclubs were obvious to a wider range of readers. Someone who knew more about art history academia would have got more out of Ellmann's parody of the Courtald and tendencies within the field - I didn't realise how distinct its foibles might be, or how little I knew of them, the subject having been strongly ghettoised as 'Sloanes Only' during my university days.
Nonetheless, I've found something. May have even posted a fruitless recommendation request a while back, because there are hardly any: women writing British comic novels, not memoirs, and not genteel mid-century stuff: either the Adams/Pratchett type, or something vicious and pacy like Tom Sharpe. And this is an awful lot like what I meant by the latter, whilst having its own, equally strong personality. Hurrah.
April 30, 2020
The title of this book is rather irresistible right now, in the coronavirus times, but I read it as a light interlude and as a break in the mammoth task of reading Ellman’s latest: Ducks, Newburyport. Both books share Ellman’s screwball sense of humour and wacky charm, but this one is an elliptical satire of love, romance and art history, while Ducks encompasses a larger world of problems.
The narrator, styled ‘Our Heroine’, is a virgin in her early 30s with a fondness for tea and toast. She is holding out for a big romantic love, but decides to spend some time studying art history at the Catalfque (a thinly veiled Courtauld Institute) while she waits for LOVE to find her. Isabel is a big fan of Babs Carthwheel’s 391 novels - Barbara Cartland, natch - so she has some rather unrealistic ideas about love. At the same time, she is highly dubious about her own personal charms.
Isabel cannot figure out why her plump, promiscuous roommate Pol keeps making out (and off) with all the men.
It’s all a bit silly, really; but as with all good satire, there’s a few sharp points here and there.
The narrator, styled ‘Our Heroine’, is a virgin in her early 30s with a fondness for tea and toast. She is holding out for a big romantic love, but decides to spend some time studying art history at the Catalfque (a thinly veiled Courtauld Institute) while she waits for LOVE to find her. Isabel is a big fan of Babs Carthwheel’s 391 novels - Barbara Cartland, natch - so she has some rather unrealistic ideas about love. At the same time, she is highly dubious about her own personal charms.
People say that if one loves a man, one should tell him.
The trouble is, I deal with rejection badly.
...
I find it difficult to carry the situation off with aplomb.
I, a thirty-one-year-old virgin with dark hairs that go every which way on my big toes.
I, with a permanent stain on my left eye from a ping-pong accident in childhood.
I, with my knobbly knees.
I, bony as a goat, with a distended stomach to match.
And hardly any breasts to speak of (should I wish to speak of breasts).
I, whose auburn locks are not brought to life by sunlight.
I, whose eyes do not have a translucence.
I, with moles in unmentionable places.
...
How could I say to someone, ‘I love you’?
Isabel cannot figure out why her plump, promiscuous roommate Pol keeps making out (and off) with all the men.
It’s all a bit silly, really; but as with all good satire, there’s a few sharp points here and there.
April 21, 2014
I, a 40-year old man with no allergies, enjoyed this book.
But then I always enjoy books that makes one THINK.
And I frequently LAUGHED.
I have heard that laughing is good for the SOUL.
I am not sure about the thinking though.
But then I always enjoy books that makes one THINK.
And I frequently LAUGHED.
I have heard that laughing is good for the SOUL.
I am not sure about the thinking though.
September 29, 2022
Like a post-modern Barbara Pym: leering art historians, desperately romantic virgins, tea & toast, departmental intrigue. The only thing missing? A Splendid Young Vicar, of course!
December 29, 2019
I've determined to read Lucy Ellmann's complete works in preparation for her new tome coming out in September.
In this second book of hers I've read so far I was at first doubtful. The beginning of the book was not as strong as its middle and end. You have to get the know the characters, I think, to understand what the author was going for. Like Stanley Elkin, Ms. Ellmann sets out to surprise and delight, without regard to readers' defense mechanisms. Many will find passages offensive. But no two experiences will be the same. She rakes society over the coals, and does it wittily and excessively, with verve and elan and aplomb.
The improbabilities don't seem all that improbably in this wholly modern romance novel due to the internal monologues, the narration and the description, which are all superb, though uneven, unpredictable, silly, outrageous, but somehow heartwarming, unutterably sad, and chilling. Ellmann is a writer who appears to be frothing at the mouth. Between her literary jaws she snaps Jane Austen, Bronte, our own romantic naivete, humanists, lascivious art historians, men, women, defenseless old people... Everyone bleeds. But the haphazard juxtapositions are enjoyable, quotable and brimming with subtexts. Like the brushstrokes so delicately inserted into the plot, Ellman's brushstrokes are magnificently irreverent.
In this second book of hers I've read so far I was at first doubtful. The beginning of the book was not as strong as its middle and end. You have to get the know the characters, I think, to understand what the author was going for. Like Stanley Elkin, Ms. Ellmann sets out to surprise and delight, without regard to readers' defense mechanisms. Many will find passages offensive. But no two experiences will be the same. She rakes society over the coals, and does it wittily and excessively, with verve and elan and aplomb.
The improbabilities don't seem all that improbably in this wholly modern romance novel due to the internal monologues, the narration and the description, which are all superb, though uneven, unpredictable, silly, outrageous, but somehow heartwarming, unutterably sad, and chilling. Ellmann is a writer who appears to be frothing at the mouth. Between her literary jaws she snaps Jane Austen, Bronte, our own romantic naivete, humanists, lascivious art historians, men, women, defenseless old people... Everyone bleeds. But the haphazard juxtapositions are enjoyable, quotable and brimming with subtexts. Like the brushstrokes so delicately inserted into the plot, Ellman's brushstrokes are magnificently irreverent.
July 3, 2021
In a way, this book captures many feelings related on how society expect us to be anything but similar. People expect us to be in a relationship or even marriage when turning 30, and expect us to have children. Those expectations are only forced to women, while it is not the same with men.
The short chapter is good but I think it's not something you can read it in between because to connect the dots, you have to understand who's who.
The short chapter is good but I think it's not something you can read it in between because to connect the dots, you have to understand who's who.
July 19, 2024
Fanns en slags hypnotisk satir i språket som jag uppskattade, kan förstå varför man skulle tycka om den här mycket men tyvärr var jag inte på humör.
June 19, 2015
This book is a parody of the idyllic romance novel, the kind where the meek but virtuous heroine yearns for a meaningful (i.e. married) life until her steadfastness is finally rewarded by the apparition of an unlikely hero come to sweep her off her feet. Isabel, the delusional heroine of this novel, lives her life according to the romantic notions found in such novels. Perhaps I’ve made this sound awful, but the style of the book is so manic and angry that it never veers towards becoming a thing that I hate, i.e. books where the writer uses a cute concept to notice all of the quirky aspects of life. In fact, the high jinks of a modern day woman adhering to Victorian notions of propriety and romance is really depressing and funny, especially as it is paired with the behavior of Isabel’s flatmate Pol, who holds the exact opposite philosophy. Isabel’s romantic delusions can be tiresome at times and the satire itself can verge on cliché, but overall this is a completely original and enjoyable novel.
August 14, 2021
What can I say at this point? That I hope LE is mostly done with her next novel? I’m running out of the extant ones!
This might be a good place to start actually? Super swift and funny and angry. Nice formal invention, undermines a lot of tropes in fun ways. All under 200 pages with short chapters.
She’s amazing. Read her!
This might be a good place to start actually? Super swift and funny and angry. Nice formal invention, undermines a lot of tropes in fun ways. All under 200 pages with short chapters.
She’s amazing. Read her!
June 13, 2022
This story of Robert and Sandy was quite interesting. The author had brought a whole new prospective to the environment and the story timeline. Some of the lines were quite different and poetic which made it extraordinary from other writers.
Read
September 16, 2019I didn't make it. Too much of post-Joyce writing style. It was just "no thanks" for me, bored me.
October 5, 2020
I feel like I should have hated this book, but somehow I enjoyed it. Surprisingly clever in places, and manages against all the odds to avoid being pretentious.
November 8, 2021
写了关于一个自认为理想主义(但这种"理想"是否出于被父权控制)的女孩的与她的妥协。我总觉得lucy的结尾都不够有力，并且她有描写病人的偏好(不是说这不好，只是病和老是太重的话题，轻轻挖下去没意思)。喜欢她笔下人物的优柔寡断反复无常。
顺便，想象自己死在罂粟花中，真的很浪漫，我本来以为她会这样结尾，没想到结尾是男主要远离人类世界的爱与链接，冰天雪地里怀念海滩，梦想着更轻浮的关系。
顺便，想象自己死在罂粟花中，真的很浪漫，我本来以为她会这样结尾，没想到结尾是男主要远离人类世界的爱与链接，冰天雪地里怀念海滩，梦想着更轻浮的关系。
November 7, 2023
I don't think I read anything else quite like this. Weird, quite entertaining, albeit sometimes in a way that borders on slightly annoying.
May 19, 2024
2.5 (such unlikeable characters)
May 22, 2024
I also fantasised about my professor
February 6, 2020
This book was weird. We have two roommates, Isabel and Pol - art students. They are totally opposite. Isabel is a reserved person living in a fantasy, waiting for a perfect man. A slave of strange habits, like rearranging food at the supermarket. Pol, on the other hand, is completely realistic and practical. She is open-minded and bold, which makes her get what she wants, despite her unatractiveness. Robert is a sad guy who can't seem to find his satisfaction in life. As soon as he leaves Isabel, he starts missing her. He returns and marries her, while seeing Pol at the same time and living a double life.
That's how the book ends. I could even like the unusual way of how it was written: Isabel's unique monologues. The way how characters are portrayed. But the ending just misses the point and I don't get it. Seems like everyone just continued with their usual habits without any self-improvement: Isabel is living her illusion of happy romance while being actually cheated on. Pol continued with her pointless lifestyle of casual sex and just having fun. Robert still remained miserable, never really liking Isabel or his life and being in a constant search something else.
That's how the book ends. I could even like the unusual way of how it was written: Isabel's unique monologues. The way how characters are portrayed. But the ending just misses the point and I don't get it. Seems like everyone just continued with their usual habits without any self-improvement: Isabel is living her illusion of happy romance while being actually cheated on. Pol continued with her pointless lifestyle of casual sex and just having fun. Robert still remained miserable, never really liking Isabel or his life and being in a constant search something else.
December 23, 2010
If Ellmann thought 'Hey, let's write a book about several troubled grumpy characters with totally surreal and strange minds that nobody is going to warm to and that will be kind of mundane and irritating'... well, she succeeded.
October 15, 2024
The parts of her inner monologue written in caps felt like she was shouting in my head and that effect has really stuck with me since. Impeccable
Displaying 1 - 24 of 24 reviews