This is memoir as exorcism.
“...it represents nothing so much as an emergence from the dark into the light.” Epilogue
Angelica Garnett spent seven years writing this memoir, working through the emotions of her childhood and subsequent marriage, in the hope of extricating herself from their strong grip. Some novelists find writing about loss or the story of a parent therapeutic, which does not always work. In Angelica’s case, she reveals feelings and failings, good and bad, in a remarkably candid and perceptive way. She does not spare herself. Some may call it self pity, and indeed she acknowledges the existence of the Stephens gene of self pity. I call it facing reality as she saw it – a tool for survival in her case, though unfortunately her aunt Virginia did not get rid of her demons. Virginia saw life as it was in the raw, and her vision was exacerbated by the war and her nephew Julian's death. Read about Septimus in Mrs Dalloway.
As is well known, Virginia put stones in her pockets and walked into the river. Here is what Angelica writes:
“Leonard, white from exhaustion, though as always objective and dispassionate, sat in the drawing room and told us how they had found her body in the river that Juliian had loved and where I could remember a dolphin that had once tempted Virginia down to the bank to stand beside us, watching its strange and lovely antics.”
Angelica never forgot her aunt's intense response to the natural world.
Angelica managed to order and resurrect her complex thoughts in the face of the tangled relationships of her parents and their entourage. It makes me almost understand why people in society feel the need for taboos and rules, and why they impose them. It does away with, or at least contains, the messiness of love and sex.
Her mother Vanessa she considered already old. Later came the shock of being told that Duncan Grant was her father, not Clive Bell, Vanessa’s husband.. Duncan was already in the ménage à trois, and Vanessa had long ceased to be sexually attracted to Clive. Clive was a womaniser, as was Duncan. Weren’t they all? Bunny Garnett, too, a friend of the family, whom Angelica married when she was just 19. She had four children before she finally left him. He was considerably older, a father figure who tried to mould her according to his needs. She learnt he had been her father Duncan’s lover, and had also once made advances to Vanessa, which she had rejected. All these emotions, jealousy, love rivalry went into the mix.
It was interesting for me in many ways. She is a shrewd and fair judge of character. The portraits of Leonard Woolf, the Stracheys, Roger Fry and everyone she gets to know are vivid, and tie in with what we have learnt from other sources. She recalls incidents and her surroundings, even those from an early age.
Virginia gave Angelica an allowance, which she often forgot to bring with her:
“...(she) had to ask Leonard to pay me by cheque. It was a little like extracting water from a stone.. Although Leonard did not protest, he went through the process of finding and putting on spectacles, which made him look like a nanging judge, plunging his hand into some inner pocket to draw out his cheque book, then his pen, from which he uscrewed the cap with some difficulty, and finally writing and signing the cheque with a trembling hand in complete silence – all of which seemed a test of endurance. In the end he handed it over to me with a half smile, like the flash of a needle under water. “
During the winter of the war, Angelica meets a young German, Eribert and invites him to her birthday party. Bunny treats her to an outburst of devastating jealousy. At the party, Eribert must have been totally bewildered by that unconventional household in a strange country with hardly any knowledge of the language:
“he found himself in a situation rather like that of Le Grand Meaulnes, in a remote farmhouse full of people of all ages in evening dress, intimate and familiar, related to one another in ways that to him were a mystery. People’s manners were free and easy, they were out to enjoy themselves, there was a defiant abundance of food and drink, and afterwards music and dancing. Every time Clive addressed Eribert, he rose to his feet, clicked heels together and saluted.”
I have long been and still am an admirer of Virginia Woolf. I absolutely loved Charleston farmhouse when I visited it many years ago. Angelica’s writing recalls a lost world, albeit a disturbing one when viewed more closely. Art and painting were paramount in their lives, writing, in Virginia’s case. The demands of sex, of life itself were resisted and indulged equally, creating tensions. For me, the tangle of emotions, the messiness, Vanessa's laisser-faire, Virginia’s astute and perceptivel observations (thought by some to be cruel), are not as important as the works the gifted sisters produced. Reading about their lives does not detract from the paintings, the wonderful Charleston, the novels. I dislike it when they are all lumped together and labelled as “Bloomsbury”, as if it’s a term of abuse. They had to belong somewhere, just like everybody else; they had to have friends and a way of life. That way of life damaged Angelica, yet who knows if she might not have suffered equally under a less relaxed, less indulgent regimen. In any case, she survived emotionally to recreate compassionate portraits and a milieu that still fascinates..