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The Dark Tower
Winn Staines respected God, the royal family, and his regiment; but even his respect for these three things was in many ways he respected nothing else.
His father, Admiral Sir Peter Staines, had never respected anything; he went to church, however, because his wife didn't. They were that kind of family.
Lady Staines had had twelve children. Seven of them died as promptly as their constitutions allowed; the five survivors, shouted at, quarreled over, and soundly thrashed, tore themselves through a violent childhood into a rackety youth. They were never vicious, for they never reflected over or considered anything that they did.
Winn got drunk occasionally, assaulted policemen frequently, and could carry a small pony under each arm. Charles and James, who were in the navy, followed in the footsteps of Sir Peter; that is to say, they explored all possible accidents on sea or ashore, and sought for a fight as if it were a mislaid crown jewel.
Dolores and Isabella had to content themselves with minor feats and to be known merely as the terrors of the neighborhood, though ultimately Dolores succeeded in making a handsome splash by running away with a prize-fighting groom. She made him an excellent wife, and though Lady Staines never mentioned her name again, it was rumored that Sir Peter met her surreptitiously at Tattersall's and took her advice upon his horses.
Isabella, shocked and outraged by this sisterly mischance, married, in the face of all probability, a reluctant curate. He subsided into a family living given to him by Sir Peter, and tried to die of consumption.
Isabella took entire control of the parish, which she ruled as if it were a quarter-deck. She did not use her father's language, but she inherited his voice. It rang over boys' clubs and into mothers' meetings with the penetration and volume of a megaphone.
Lady Staines heartily disliked both her daughters, and she appeared not to care very deeply for her sons, but of the three she had a decided preference for Winn. Winn had a wicked temper, an unshakable nerve, and had inherited the strength of Sir Peter's muscles and the sledge-hammer weight of Lady Staines's wit. He had been expelled from his private school for unparalleled insolence to the head master; a repetition of his summing up of that gentleman's life and conduct delighted his mother, though she assisted Sir Peter in thrashing him for the result.
It may have contributed to his mother's affection for him that Winn had left England at nineteen, and had reached thirty-five with only two small intervals at home.
His first leave had kept them all busy with what the Staines considered a wholly unprovoked lawsuit; a man whom Winn had most unfortunately felt it his duty to fling from a bus into the street, having the weak-minded debility to break his leg had the further audacity to claim enormous damages. The Staines fought the case en bloc with splendid zeal, and fiery eloquence. It would probably have resulted better for their interests if they had not defied their own counsel, outraged the respectable minds of the jury, and insulted the learned judge. Under these circumstances they lost their case, and the rest of Winn's leave was taken up in the Family's congenial pursuit of laying the blame on each other.
The second and more fatal visit heralded Winn's marriage. He had not had time to marry before. It would not be true to say that women had played no part in his experiences, but the part they had played was neither exalted nor durable. They figured in his imagination as an inferior type of game, tiresome when captured. His life had been spent mainly in pursuit of larger objects.
His father, Admiral Sir Peter Staines, had never respected anything; he went to church, however, because his wife didn't. They were that kind of family.
Lady Staines had had twelve children. Seven of them died as promptly as their constitutions allowed; the five survivors, shouted at, quarreled over, and soundly thrashed, tore themselves through a violent childhood into a rackety youth. They were never vicious, for they never reflected over or considered anything that they did.
Winn got drunk occasionally, assaulted policemen frequently, and could carry a small pony under each arm. Charles and James, who were in the navy, followed in the footsteps of Sir Peter; that is to say, they explored all possible accidents on sea or ashore, and sought for a fight as if it were a mislaid crown jewel.
Dolores and Isabella had to content themselves with minor feats and to be known merely as the terrors of the neighborhood, though ultimately Dolores succeeded in making a handsome splash by running away with a prize-fighting groom. She made him an excellent wife, and though Lady Staines never mentioned her name again, it was rumored that Sir Peter met her surreptitiously at Tattersall's and took her advice upon his horses.
Isabella, shocked and outraged by this sisterly mischance, married, in the face of all probability, a reluctant curate. He subsided into a family living given to him by Sir Peter, and tried to die of consumption.
Isabella took entire control of the parish, which she ruled as if it were a quarter-deck. She did not use her father's language, but she inherited his voice. It rang over boys' clubs and into mothers' meetings with the penetration and volume of a megaphone.
Lady Staines heartily disliked both her daughters, and she appeared not to care very deeply for her sons, but of the three she had a decided preference for Winn. Winn had a wicked temper, an unshakable nerve, and had inherited the strength of Sir Peter's muscles and the sledge-hammer weight of Lady Staines's wit. He had been expelled from his private school for unparalleled insolence to the head master; a repetition of his summing up of that gentleman's life and conduct delighted his mother, though she assisted Sir Peter in thrashing him for the result.
It may have contributed to his mother's affection for him that Winn had left England at nineteen, and had reached thirty-five with only two small intervals at home.
His first leave had kept them all busy with what the Staines considered a wholly unprovoked lawsuit; a man whom Winn had most unfortunately felt it his duty to fling from a bus into the street, having the weak-minded debility to break his leg had the further audacity to claim enormous damages. The Staines fought the case en bloc with splendid zeal, and fiery eloquence. It would probably have resulted better for their interests if they had not defied their own counsel, outraged the respectable minds of the jury, and insulted the learned judge. Under these circumstances they lost their case, and the rest of Winn's leave was taken up in the Family's congenial pursuit of laying the blame on each other.
The second and more fatal visit heralded Winn's marriage. He had not had time to marry before. It would not be true to say that women had played no part in his experiences, but the part they had played was neither exalted nor durable. They figured in his imagination as an inferior type of game, tiresome when captured. His life had been spent mainly in pursuit of larger objects.
212 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1916
3 people are currently reading
32 people want to read
About the author
Phyllis Bottome
117 books9 followersBottome was born in 1882, in Rochester, Kent, the daughter of an American clergyman, Rev. William MacDonald Bottome, and an Englishwoman, Mary (Leatham) Bottome.[2]
In 1901, following the death of her sister Wilmott of the same disease, Bottome was diagnosed with tuberculosis.[3] She travelled to St Moritz in the hope that this would improve her health as mountain air was perceived as better for patients with tuberculosis.[3]
In 1917, in Paris, she married Alban Ernan Forbes Dennis, a British diplomat working firstly in Marseilles and then in Vienna as Passport Control Officer, a cover for his real role as MI6 Head of Station with responsibility for Austria, Hungary and Yugoslavia.[4][5] They had met in 1904 at a villa in St Moritz, where Bottome was lodging.[6]
Bottome studied individual psychology under Alfred Adler while in Vienna.[7][5]
In 1924 she and her husband started a school in Kitzbühel in Austria. Based on the teaching of languages, the school was intended to be a community and an educational laboratory to determine how psychology and educational theory could cure the ills of nations. One of their more famous pupils was Ian Fleming, author of the James Bond novels. In 1960, Fleming wrote to Bottome, "My life with you both is one of my most cherished memories, and heaven knows where I should be today without Ernan."[8][page needed] It has been argued that Fleming took the idea of James Bond from the character Mark Chalmers in Bottome's spy novel The Lifeline.[9][10]
In 1935, her novel Private Worlds was made into a film of the same title. Set in a psychiatric clinic, Bottome's knowledge of individual psychology proved useful in creating a realistic scene. Bottome saw her share of trouble with Danger Signal, which the Hays Office forbade from becoming a Hollywood film. Germany became Bottome's home in the late 1930s,[7][page needed] and it inspired her novel The Mortal Storm, the film of which was the first to mention Hitler's name and be set in Nazi Germany. Bottome was an active anti-fascist.[11]
In total, four of her works—Private Worlds, The Mortal Storm, Danger Signal, and The Heart of a Child—were adapted to film.[12] In addition to fiction, she is also known as an Adlerian who wrote a biography of Alfred Adler.[13]
Bottome died in London on 22 August 1963. Forbes Dennis would die in July 1972 in Brighton.
There is a large collection of her literary papers and correspondence in the British Library acquired in 2000 (Add MSS 78832-78903).[14] A second tranche, consisting of correspondence and literary manuscripts, was acquired by the British Library in 2005.[15] The British Library also holds the Phyllis Bottome/Hodder-Salmon Papers consisting of correspondence, papers and press cuttings relating to Bottome.[16]
In 1901, following the death of her sister Wilmott of the same disease, Bottome was diagnosed with tuberculosis.[3] She travelled to St Moritz in the hope that this would improve her health as mountain air was perceived as better for patients with tuberculosis.[3]
In 1917, in Paris, she married Alban Ernan Forbes Dennis, a British diplomat working firstly in Marseilles and then in Vienna as Passport Control Officer, a cover for his real role as MI6 Head of Station with responsibility for Austria, Hungary and Yugoslavia.[4][5] They had met in 1904 at a villa in St Moritz, where Bottome was lodging.[6]
Bottome studied individual psychology under Alfred Adler while in Vienna.[7][5]
In 1924 she and her husband started a school in Kitzbühel in Austria. Based on the teaching of languages, the school was intended to be a community and an educational laboratory to determine how psychology and educational theory could cure the ills of nations. One of their more famous pupils was Ian Fleming, author of the James Bond novels. In 1960, Fleming wrote to Bottome, "My life with you both is one of my most cherished memories, and heaven knows where I should be today without Ernan."[8][page needed] It has been argued that Fleming took the idea of James Bond from the character Mark Chalmers in Bottome's spy novel The Lifeline.[9][10]
In 1935, her novel Private Worlds was made into a film of the same title. Set in a psychiatric clinic, Bottome's knowledge of individual psychology proved useful in creating a realistic scene. Bottome saw her share of trouble with Danger Signal, which the Hays Office forbade from becoming a Hollywood film. Germany became Bottome's home in the late 1930s,[7][page needed] and it inspired her novel The Mortal Storm, the film of which was the first to mention Hitler's name and be set in Nazi Germany. Bottome was an active anti-fascist.[11]
In total, four of her works—Private Worlds, The Mortal Storm, Danger Signal, and The Heart of a Child—were adapted to film.[12] In addition to fiction, she is also known as an Adlerian who wrote a biography of Alfred Adler.[13]
Bottome died in London on 22 August 1963. Forbes Dennis would die in July 1972 in Brighton.
There is a large collection of her literary papers and correspondence in the British Library acquired in 2000 (Add MSS 78832-78903).[14] A second tranche, consisting of correspondence and literary manuscripts, was acquired by the British Library in 2005.[15] The British Library also holds the Phyllis Bottome/Hodder-Salmon Papers consisting of correspondence, papers and press cuttings relating to Bottome.[16]
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Displaying 1 of 1 review
August 31, 2016
Winn Staines is the eldest son of a quarrelsome English upper class family, an army man, keen on bullying servants and waiters, viewing women 'as an inferior type of game'. Not a nice man by any means.
After a fleeting infatuation he marries Estelle Fanshawe, a lying coquette every bit as dislikeable as he is. The marriage is a disaster. The robust Winn starts to exhibit the early signs of consumption.
What of his wife?:
'Estelle knew that her heart was broken, but on the whole she did not find that she was greatly inconvenienced.'
He goes away alone to the Alps for his health, where he falls for a bright, innocent young woman called Claire Rivers, leafing to an unlikely romance.
The Dark Tower is distinctly in the vein of such glib English writing of the first half of the 20th century where all the characters are one-dimensionally ghastly, the humour cooly malicious, completely empty of emotional depth.
I don't have a problem with that as such - I wouldn't be a fan of Evelyn Waugh if I did. So I enjoyed the first part of the book, where Winn behaved like the irredeemable brute he was.
But in the second and third parts with Claire's civilising influence, the author clearly intended to redeem her male lead after all, which simply couldn't be done. It took the deus ex machina of WWI to find a way out of that impossibility.
To give Bottome her due, there were enough indications that he wasn't meant to be admired, that the dire results of the callous nature of an aristocratic English upbringing was being satirised via the horrid Staines clan.
But when they were horrid, they were a lot of fun. The quote below is a good example of when the novel was at its best:
'The homely adage of cutting off your nose to spite your face had never been questioned by the Staines family. They looked upon a nose as there chiefly for that purpose. It was a last resource to be drawn upon, when the noses of others appeared to be out of reach.'
Phyllis Bottome was a successful writer who studied psychology under Albert Adler for a while.
Believe me, this glib effort was written a long time before that.
After a fleeting infatuation he marries Estelle Fanshawe, a lying coquette every bit as dislikeable as he is. The marriage is a disaster. The robust Winn starts to exhibit the early signs of consumption.
What of his wife?:
'Estelle knew that her heart was broken, but on the whole she did not find that she was greatly inconvenienced.'
He goes away alone to the Alps for his health, where he falls for a bright, innocent young woman called Claire Rivers, leafing to an unlikely romance.
The Dark Tower is distinctly in the vein of such glib English writing of the first half of the 20th century where all the characters are one-dimensionally ghastly, the humour cooly malicious, completely empty of emotional depth.
I don't have a problem with that as such - I wouldn't be a fan of Evelyn Waugh if I did. So I enjoyed the first part of the book, where Winn behaved like the irredeemable brute he was.
But in the second and third parts with Claire's civilising influence, the author clearly intended to redeem her male lead after all, which simply couldn't be done. It took the deus ex machina of WWI to find a way out of that impossibility.
To give Bottome her due, there were enough indications that he wasn't meant to be admired, that the dire results of the callous nature of an aristocratic English upbringing was being satirised via the horrid Staines clan.
But when they were horrid, they were a lot of fun. The quote below is a good example of when the novel was at its best:
'The homely adage of cutting off your nose to spite your face had never been questioned by the Staines family. They looked upon a nose as there chiefly for that purpose. It was a last resource to be drawn upon, when the noses of others appeared to be out of reach.'
Phyllis Bottome was a successful writer who studied psychology under Albert Adler for a while.
Believe me, this glib effort was written a long time before that.
Displaying 1 of 1 review