Good Morning, Midnight: Jean Rhys (Penguin Modern Classics)

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Tomasulo states that Sasha has come to Paris 'to drink herself to death' and she certainly drinks as much as she can, arranging her life methodically as though in single-minded pursuit of passing the time, yet more than anything else, she reminisces. Tomasulo argues that for her the underground is 'a fluid space of memory' where, by remembering through her body (pulling the past over her head like a blanket) she begins to undo her alienation from others. It's possible to imagine an end of this process of working through the past, a recovery of sorts, but Sasha doesn't worry herself with hope, she lives beyond hope, in the freedom of the depths. You get a sense of where you're not wanted, eventually. Where it's not safe to be. Only seven or eight, and yet she knew so exactly how to be cruel and who it was safe to be cruel to. One must admire Nature..Well of course you must spend your last penny on the latest gilt! How else do you expect to be able to go out in public and be seen by respectable folk? And there’s always crying. She hates crying but so often it’s all she can do, it’s the only way of facing what can’t be faced when the armour is not there and the drink won’t mask the dark … Every word I say has chains round its ankles; every thought I think is weighted with heavy weights. Since I was born, hasn't every word I've said, every thought I've thought, everything I've done, been tied up, weighted, chained? And mind you, I know that with all this I don't succeed. Or I succeed in flashes only too damned well. ...But think how hard I try and how seldom I dare. Think - and have a bit of pity. That is, if you ever think, you apes, which I doubt. Sometimes, the only thing between life and death is a great deal of oversensitivity to the mood swings of general opinion. Especially when they've taught you nothing else.

Since I’m having discussions with Violet through buddy reading - I don’t feel compelled to make this a lengthy review. But Violet got me going on BAD HAIR DAYS. I couldn’t NOT see the ‘word’ hair again with any neutrality - no matter what context - after Violet planted the ‘hair-seed’.

She contemplates suicide, not once, more than once, perhaps even with some regularity when things are going especially badly. Even friends or at least acquaintances in London, joking at her, asking why she doesn’t drown herself in the Seine … ah so funny, just what she needs to hear. What to say about the protagonist? She has a name, seldom mentioned, since the narrative is in the first person - but I won't bother looking it up - let's just call her "Jean" - will that do? I’m making this sound very depressing and of course it isn’t a light comedy, but there is no wallowing in self pity. It is though a masterly study of the human condition and Rhys is a sharp and perceptive observer of relationships between men and women and is very good at setting mood. Her everyday descriptions are beautifully observed. Sasha Jansen, a middle-aged English woman, has returned to Paris after a long absence. Only able to make the trip because of some money lent to her by a friend, she is financially unstable and haunted by her past, which includes an unhappy marriage and her child's death. She has difficulty taking care of herself; drinking heavily, taking sleeping pills and obsessing over her appearance, she is adrift in the city that she feels connected to despite the great pain it has brought her.

A disjointed narrative, hard to decide when this piece and that piece are taking place, but mostly in Paris, between the wars, Jean a woman who has had some happiness, but little enough.When she got home on the 25th, her tenants, Mr & Mrs Besant, were lurking in the hallway (they rented the upstairs rooms). According to Jean he said There was another section in this book that I did a lot of thinking about. Sasha was only 25 years old - single - she saw herself too thin, dirty and haggard. Her clothes were shabby, her shoes were worn out, she had circles under her eyes and her hair was straight and lanky. She was so incredibly critical of herself. Sasha DID experience suffering from loss and tragedy ..... Rhys’ intimate meditations on the “improbable truths” and hypocrisies of life bring about sharp observations on the dynamics among classes and the correlation between physical spaces and social decline towards the complete annulation of the self. A man needs that sort of thing, you know. Keeps the spirits up, refreshes the soul! The wife never need know, cold and heartless bitch that she is. And besides, those girls aren't fit for anything else, not if they expect to eat. It seems appropriate to end with the poem for which this novel is named. It’s worth reading it alongside the novel: