Handles by Jan Mark (Puffin, 1985)
#JanMARKuary has, in my mind, become a fixed part of my annual reading as it now enters its third year of existence. I'm delighted to see others join in reading the work and celebrating the legacy of Jan Mark - their posts and the communal sense of joy in reading is a bright spark during the grimmest month. Many thanks especially to Beth and Roy for their regular involvement and enthusiasm, and of course to Jon Appleton whose knowledge about and encouragement of 'all things Jan' is always warmly appreciated. For #JanMARKuary 2022, I have chosen to read a chapter a day of Handles and record random thoughts here in my blog. There probably will be spoilers. There probably won't be many logical lines of thinking. I just want take this chance to record the honest reading of a book by an author I've grown to love.
Jon's exemplary website dedicated to Jan has the details of the book and a few words from the author herself (https://janmark.net/handles-2/); it also includes a link to a blog by Paul May (https://awfullybigblogadventure.blogspot.com/2018/12/jan-marks-norfolk-by-paul-may.html). I try not to 'prep' my reading with too much background information but these two short articles have pointed to a number of 'fingerprints' that I've noticed before in JM's writing: dialogue, a sense of place, real characters. It will be fun to reacquaint myself with that particular voice once more!
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Chapter 1
Straight away we are complicit with Erica. We know the city well ('No, that's the cathedral. This is St Peter Mancroft'). That sense of place again, just a few sketched pencil lines. The town immediately comes to life with its motor-cycle-parks and Castle.
Later, the comfortable strains of family life familiar from other JM stories - Erica's sad feelings about her older brother going away with his friend; mum's clear-as-day wish to have a bit of time to herself during the holidays - but also the deep affection for her characters. Craig, with his awkward height, his desire to become a nurse, despite his father's expected disapproval, and his letting Erica in on mum's secret 'treat', is a particularly lovely example already.
Chapter 2
The bus journey to Aunt Joan's is a wonderful stream-of-consciousness - the lazy ticking off of the landmarks on her mother's directions, the surnames of the Apostles, the 'uncooked jam tart' likeness of the stop button - making time warp and slow down, just as it does in the feel of travelling from the city out to the rural landscapes of Norfolk.
JM's wit is embodied in Erica's shrewd observations of Joan and particularly Robert. The visual joke of Mrs Ames quaint little country-fair stall festooned with corn dollies, lavender bags and the Heath-Robinson rat traps is very, very funny indeed and says more about this place than any amount of straight description ever could.
Chapter 3
A loving and intensely detailed description of the garden and its (seemingly) abundant flora brings JM's non-fiction picture book This Bowl of Earth, and her own passion for gardening, very strongly to mind. The comedy (that must seem deadly serious to Robert's father) of firing off his rifle at the predatory peacock is brilliantly judged.
Chapter 4
One of the things I really do love about JM's writing is its macabre quality. She wrote supernatural stories of course, but even those aren't necessarily filled with ghosts of the traditional variety. I am reminded of this reading Chapter 4 today. The weird, witchy touch is there with daydreams of invasive tendrils, fantastic peacocks 'bestride a lightning bolt' (impeccable, inimitable phrase!) and snorting, piggish marrows; there in spades in the description of the freakish moving potplants! JM really does see the extraordinary in the very everyday ordinary.
Chapter 5
When Erica arrives at Elsie's to deliver the letter, there's a noticeable bringing together of two of her interests we have learned about so far in the novel. Her fascination with mechanical stuff, especially bikes, has been evident already; but so too has her care of the garden produce, whether she is consciously aware of her flickering interest in working the land or not. The spots of motor oil are likened to the camoflage used to disguise soldiers 'as plants'. Her bike feels 'more like a cow than ever'. And my favourite of all, the compressor that looks like 'an armoured wheelbarrow for use by entrenched gardeners who had to weed under fire'.
Occasionally, in reading, I come across a line or phrase where I think 'Why is that there?'. With a writer as meticulous as Jan Mark, I especially wonder that sort thing when the words are seemingly redundant, there for no real reason. But of course they have been chosen to remain, after all the edits. Today I think this when it is mentioned that Erica would choose to have a white telephone if she were ever to own a mechanic shop. What's that doing there? I don't know...but it feels perfect.
JM manages to do so much with so few words. In this chapter there is one paragraph where Robert is rude to Erica and his lip curls like 'a bit of bacon, curling up under the grill'. The simile is crammed with meaning and visual impact, but its the cool continuation of Erica's letter-writing, to finish the paragraph, that packs the greatest punch.
There's a rather strange sense of stalling in this chapter. The fact that little happens is neither here nor there in JM - as with Virginia Woolf, Mark knows exactly what she is doing and I would always put my trust in both writers. But the feeling is odd, the dullness of routine, beautifully described...
Marrows crop up at the start of the chapter and with the chapter heading illustrations by David Parkins, the same artist who illustrated Nothing to be Afraid of, I am reminded of that fine, weird story in there, Marrow Hill.
I'm struck again by the many images of green in this book; when I think of Norfolk, it's the wide blue skies and endless sandy grain of the beaches, but this colour lends a freshness. Perhaps in the same way, Erica does too, just as Flora Poste brings a reviving blast to Cold Comfort Farm.
As the group of mechanics and bikers and Erica come together, there is a torrent of almost incomprehensible nicknames, slang and verbal jokes. It has a slightly alienating feel to me, as reader. The complicity with Erica that I noted at the start of the book isn't present; she has changed, grown. But I'm not in on the 'handles'.
Robert and Aunt Jean have become Dickensian caricatures now that the 'real' characters at the motor-yard have grown. Grubbing over the money - threepence! - Robert is particularly amusing, though the tureen of swede and boiled marrows ends that scene with a flourish of brilliant irony.
Elsie mentions green and how it was so rare for him to see it growing up. Also there is the 'double conversation' about inscribing on marrows (the green, natural world) while Bunny, Elsie and Erica discuss the tinkering with the motorbike (the oily, mechanical world). An interesting comparison to that noticed earlier.
A warm bit of 'old-skool' nostalgia spread through me reading about Elsie's youthful experiences in his teaching job. The Head's charmingly gruff 'appointment' where he hasn't a clue who he is talking to - or why - is very funny.
There is much said-but-unsaid in this chapter about Erica's private world. When Mr Bowen (Arrow) disapprovingly picks up on his 'handle', Erica realises 'some handles [are] not for public use'. Elsie's workshop later becomes the centre of over-elaborate excuses about stamps, envelopes and letters, far out of proportion to what they should be. But JM shows us a girl finding herself; Erica has now seen beyond her mum's irritatingly slack grammar and Aunt Joan's self-righteous household. She is prepared to do anything to keep exploring this world of her very own.
"She was only a name. She had no handle."
These two sentences point to a deeper level of personal realisation for Erica: there is a difference between a name and who you are. As she stands on the very line between childish anonymity and adult complexity, her frustrations are profoundly felt.
Chapter 15
Unless I've missed a specific statement of Elsie's age, I've worked out he must be in his late-twenties or early thirties. (Bunny earlier mentioned that twenty years on from the marrow-inscribing at school, Elsie hasn't changed much!) So, in this chapter, the intent discussion about plagues and occurrences (which excludes Bunny) has made me think more about the relationship between Erica and Elsie. He is slightly too 'young' in outlook to be a father-figure but slightly too 'old' to be a kind of brother (and I don't mean age-wise in either case); yet it is these two almost wholly absent members of her family that are brought to mind. Erica isn't missing home and I'm reflecting now on what Elsie brings to her life that is a gap (or two gaps) elsewhere.
And - once again - more green alongside the mechanical: frogs invade the workshop.
Chapter 16
The reason for the title of the book is becoming gradually clearer - the outward appearances that disguise the real truth; the masks we wear to hide ourselves from others; the personal revelations and re-makings we each go through. In the chapter that ends with Erica noticing the summer coming to a close, the scales fall from her eyes: she is not the same girl she was, nor will be again, and 'no one [has] handles any more'.
Chapter 17
So the marrows ripen fully and, along with a death, there is an autumnal feel to the end of this chapter. I'm reminded of Cold Comfort Farm again in Erica's final reflection: despite all the criticism she knows deep down she has done the right thing. What's worth doing is not necessarily ever easy.
Chapter 18
The Eroica reference here is apt: groundbreaking music, a symphony turning its back on the status quo, a composer unafraid to shake things up more than a bit.
But the weight of that handle, that allusion, feels as though it has come too late. This last chapter is sad and almost painfully awkward, with most things seen through glass and odd angles. In my mind, I watch the bus leave Polthorpe Street. There's no answers here, just glimmers of things to come.
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Jan Mark's Handles was published in 1983 and won the Carnegie Award. It is currently - inexplicably - out of print.
After a very rapid skim through your comments (you'd already persuaded me this should be a must-read) I'm more determined than ever to locate a copy of this to read -- such a lot of individual reflection here ... and Beethoven too! Though unlike you I don't think I could confine myself to just one chapter a day. 🙂
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