At the heart of Bryher’s quietly impressive novel is The Warming Pan, a café in central London acting as a hub for a small, local community, Beowulf follows a cross-section of this group over the course of a day and night during the peak of the WW2 Blitz - a period when the city was the target of an intensive bombing campaign that lasted for years and destroyed the homes of over half a million Londoners. There’s no real plot or fixed narrator, place and time are the key unifying factors here, Bryher’s focus is on her characters moving from one to another to highlight their thoughts about their circumstances and their personal strategies for wartime survival.
This is an acutely-observed, carefully-constructed piece that I find hard to adequately represent, at first it seemed almost mundane in its emphasis on representing the minutiae of daily life, queuing for food, worries about shortages and bills but it slowly built in power and momentum, until I was totally caught up in it. There are moments of desolation here followed by scenes of gentle comedy, a series of snapshots in time created out of overheard bus conversations, meetings over cups of tea, glimpses of the toll on individuals of stifling wartime bureaucracy.
All of the central characters seem to exist in a state of longing not just for an end to the war but for a lost time of small certainties and taken-for-granted pleasures. Bryher’s cross-section of urban society is a microcosm of a nation not just under siege but in transition to some radically different way of life. An England where some will thrive while others are left behind. For Selina, the café’s manager, change is loss, typified by the breakdown of ancient class barriers - there’s a wonderfully telling scene where her regulars are unnerved by the sudden influx of shopgirls, unimaginable before the war when steps were taken to ensure no woman would have to socialise with a person who’d served them elsewhere! Aging artist Horatio retreats into memory, eking out his allowance to buy the tea his dead wife so loved. Others endlessly rehash the events leading up to war, the actions of politicians, the routes they’d have taken to avoid conflict. Only Angelina, Selina’s partner, takes everything in her tweed-coated stride, triumphantly installing her life-size model bulldog inside the café, christened Beowulf, he’s a visual reminder of the British bulldog of wartime propaganda fame, signifier of Britain’s supposedly indomitable spirit ‘though his fragile plaster form suggests other possibilities.
In her later memoir Bryher - born Annie Winifred Ellerman she called herself Bryher as part of her rejection of traditional gender roles - noted,
“The English refused to publish Beowulf. They do not want to remember. It was a documentary, not a novel, but an almost literal description of what I saw and heard during my first six months in London.”
And perhaps its origins explain its directness, immediacy and fresh feel. Bryher’s more often remembered, if at all, as the long-term partner of modernist writer H. D. (Hilda Doolittle) but she was an established author in her own right and if this novel’s representative well worth rediscovering - and this edition features a really useful introduction detailing her life and work.