Sarah Waters - Tea Party in the Crypt - LiveJournal. Sarah Waters - Velvet Claws Literary Awards and Nominations

Victorian lesbian novels brought fame to the Englishwoman Sarah Waters - very good literature with a savoring of the historical realities of the era and moderate doses of plot twists. But “Little Stranger” (2009), like the “Night Watch” that came before it, can no longer be shoved into the category of prose of sexual minorities. Waters' main theme, it turns out, is not minorities, but outsiders in general. In the first novels, they were lesbians at the end of the 19th century. In The Night's Watch, which takes place during World War II, the heroes are lovers: the war brought them short-lived freedom, and the world returned to its usual state of melancholy and disappointment. The Little Stranger depicts post-war Britain and its aristocracy relegated to the historical margins. The Ayres family, the owners of the once ceremonial estate of Hundreds Hall, is barely making ends meet, patching up the rapidly falling apart house with their own hands and remembering its former greatness. The rural doctor Faraday observes this sad plot and unwittingly participates in how the estate seems to be taken over by an evil ghost, “a certain gloomy embryo, an insatiable ghostly creature, a “little stranger”, nurtured by the disturbed subconscious of one of those who were associated with Hundreds Hall."

In 2009, The Little Stranger was the Times Book of the Year and the most successful book on the British Man Booker shortlist, selling twice as much as its closest competitor. An elegantly constructed novel, very carefully handling both the language and the realities of the era, in translation turned into a shadow of its former self (of course, the difference between the Soviet and British post-war years has an impact, but this does not excuse the translator’s use of the word “this”). But even this shadow gives a sense of Waters' mastery. Her ghost story, of course, pays tribute to the literary tradition, and above all to Henry James: the local poltergeist, just like in The Turn of the Screw, can be found a rational explanation, which is what Dr. Faraday is trying to do. But the doctor cannot be called an impartial storyteller: he is fascinated by the house, the best times of which he was able to see as a child, so much so that he falls in love with its inhabitants, realizing at the same time that he is “no match for them,” turning into an annoying clingy, a provincial upstart , striving to jump from rags to riches. So perhaps the little stranger the title refers to is not a ghost at all, but the doctor himself, invisible behind his bag. "I - zero. Most often I'm not even notice." Or perhaps the young maid Betty. After all, the house begins to go crazy precisely with their appearance. They are like a mercilessly advancing history, in which there is no longer any place for beautiful fairy tales about the aristocracy. The Ayres themselves are certainly not attractive: a crazy mother, an ugly daughter, an invalid son - they, as the doctor notices in a sudden epiphany, themselves do not understand how ridiculous they look in their old clothes and attempts to maintain arrogance. They have nothing of the charm of Brideshead's Flytes: if they foresee dying, then these are already dead, preserved in wedding dresses, like Dickens's Miss Havisham.

And although the outcome of their battle with history is obvious, Waters manages to build her novel in such a way that the tension does not weaken for a second. But it is not built on the jokes of the spirit of the estate, such as inscriptions appearing through the walls, sudden fires, spontaneously locking doors, the madness of some heirs and the death of others, but on the constant promise to the reader of a rational explanation for these jokes. While waiting for the tricks to stop, the magician will reveal all the secrets, and one can read the book simply as a requiem for the British aristocracy. This, of course, does not happen, but the evil poltergeist becomes a metaphor for history, an otherworldly “something” sucking the life juice out of the family - a metaphor for the Labor government. And although the novel does not contain nostalgia for the old days, it itself, in all its grace, evokes nostalgia for the good old literature.

Sarah Waters- British writer, became known as the author of psychological lesbian prose in Victorian settings. Born July 21, 1966 in Neyland (Pembrokeshire, Wales). Her family consisted of her father Ron, mother Mary and older sister. His mother was a housewife, and his father worked as an engineer at an oil refinery. Sarah describes her family as "very idyllic, peaceful, loving." Her father, a “fantastically creative person,” instilled in the future writer an interest in creative work and new discoveries. The father even composed science fiction and mystical stories for his little daughter.

Waters says: “When I remember myself as a child, I see myself making something - from plasticine, papier-mâché or a children's construction set. As a child, I wanted to be an archaeologist, like many children. I did well at school and really enjoyed my studies. No one in my family had a higher education. I remember my mother telling me - one day you will go to university and then defend your dissertation. And so it happened. Apparently, I was a capable child...” She was a “tomboy” as a child, became interested in feminism in her teenage years, and her first love was with a special female person.

After leaving school, Waters attended university and received degrees in English literature. She completed her bachelor's degree at the University of Kent, her master's degree at Lancaster University, and her PhD at the University of London. I managed to work for a short time in a bookstore and in a library. While working on her doctoral dissertation (“Lesbian and gay prose from 1870 to the present”), she gained material and inspiration for future novels. As part of her research, she read 19th-century pornography, which is where the title of her first novel, Tipping The Velvet, comes from - Victorian slang for lesbian sex. The title of the novel “Fingersmith” also comes from old slang - it means a pickpocket and, in addition, a midwife. While reading lesbian/gay-oriented fiction, Waters noticed that this literature has changed little since the 19th century - these are, as a rule, books of a low level, “light”, without serious ambitions. Waters made it her mission to write novels that were much more complex and of higher quality.

Before becoming a writer, Waters worked as a university lecturer. Immediately after defending her dissertation, she began writing her first novel, which gave her real pleasure to work on; she had to do serious research work, and this is exactly what she loves. At that time, Waters became a member of the North London Writers literary circle, whose members included Charles Palliser and Neil Blackmore. Waters' journalistic articles were published in various magazines, the topics of the articles were history and sexuality.

Waters' first three novels are set in 19th-century England. The fourth novel, Night Watch, set during and after the Second World War, became the most stylistically complex work, with various literary and cinematic allusions visible here. In The Little Stranger, Waters moves away from lesbian themes and for the first time in her work the story is told from the point of view of a male character; The novel takes place again in the post-war 40s of the 20th century. In his next novel, Waters plans to set the historical period of the 20s and 30s of the 20th century, and lesbian characters will probably appear again. All novels include tangible elements of thriller, detective; Sometimes the influence of the Gothic tradition is noticeable. The author competently works with historical realities, social context and psychological characters. Collecting material and writing a novel can take her up to 3-4 years.

Among his favorite authors, Waters mentions Charles Dickens, Robert L. Stevenson, Leo Tolstoy, the Brontë sisters, Donna Tartt, Antonia Byatt, Peter Carey, Hilary Mantel, John Fowles, Kazuo Ishiguro, Patrick McGrath and many others. He does not consider himself the author of genre historical prose and avoids the stereotypes of historical novels.

Waters now lives in Kennington, south-east London, on the top floor of an old 1790s building with high ceilings.

Literary awards and nominations:

I haven't written about books for a long time. Because it’s been a while since I’ve come across something that gave me pleasure. And then I came across a lot at once.
Let's start with the most shocking.
Eksmo published three books by Sarah Waters in the Mona Lisa series.
“Delicate Work”, “Night Watch” and “Velvet Claws”...

Moreover, from afar, without any disclaimers regarding the fact that the author - okay, in her personal life she is a lesbian, it might not matter! – but she is also an active figure in the lesbian movement, studies the history of feminism and lesbianism, and writes only about what interests her. That is, in each of her novels the main intrigue is that a girl loves a girl.
First I read her novel “Delicate Work.” He made me wildly delighted. And I’m not the only one, judging by the fact that he was shortlisted for the Booker Prize - and I didn’t understand, different information on different sites - either Sarah received the Booker for him or not... The book was already published in Russian in 2004 in Rosman, if memory serves, and it is so exciting, and there are so few descriptions of intimacy that even a person who does not really understand how a girl can love a girl can experience it. In addition, the plot there is complex and exciting, quite a detective story with secrets, exquisite allusions and in general - it’s a must read! In addition, there are no descriptions of intimacy.
Velvet Claws, which I just read, is a purely drama about the difficult life of lesbians in the late 19th century. There are only lesbians and nothing but lesbians. And no one. That is, there are a number of gays and even straight people, but they are third-rate characters.
In my opinion, this is wrong. I mean, it’s wrong to publish such books without disclaimers.
“Delicate Work” is Waters’ second novel; she wrote it after realizing that the general reader needed something more than a description of lesbian feelings and the homosexual community.
But it was a shame that “Velvet Claws” was published with such a neutral cover and with a neutral description of the plot.
Because those who might be uncomfortable with this will be shocked. And those who might be interested will probably skip this book... Although, probably, those who are interested are tracking the publication of similar books in Russian.

Here is the publisher's blurb:

“Nancy lives in a provincial English town, her father runs a seaside oyster bar. Every evening, dressed in her evening dress, she visits the music hall, where Kitty Butler performs a burlesque number. Gradually the girls become closer, and when the new impresario offers Kitty a London engagement, Nancy follows her to the capital. Soon the whole of London is talking about their joint number. Nancy is happy, not yet realizing how close separation is, to what bottom she will have to sink to find herself, and what predators are found in the bottom waters...”

Well, yes.
This almost seems true.
Only here the girls are dancing in men's clothing. And they play male parts in performances. They are drag queens, which was a new thing back then. They both have short hair and wear false braids off stage. This was also new then. And Nancy falls desperately in love with Kitty and seduces her, and they become lovers, but then Kitty, out of fear of being labeled a lesbian, breaks off her relationship with Nancy and gets married. Kitty hopes that she will be able to kill two birds with one stone: she will be considered married and continue her relationship with Nancy...
Only the passionate Nancy cannot survive this. She runs away - without things, without money, without a hat. He wants to drown himself. But the fear of death overcomes the reluctance to live.
To see Kitty again to pick up her things from the shared apartment - no, she simply cannot, it is unbearable for her. And Nancy goes to the theater, where a little of their common money is kept in the dressing room - no, she doesn’t rob Kitty, she takes much less than she was owed! - and she also takes men’s suits, she really liked them, she can’t leave them...
Then Nancy rents a wretched room, hides there, she has a long depression, severe depression, she doesn’t go out anywhere, cries all day long, barely eats and doesn’t wash at all (I don’t know how anyone can agree to this voluntarily, from the feeling of dirty skin and unwashed hair, any depression will stop... But I clearly don’t understand anything about real passions).
The depression ends the day when, on a piece of newspaper in which the maid brings her a bun, she sees Kitty's wedding photograph. After this, Nancy decides that she needs to survive and return to the world.
Only her decent clothes are purely men’s. And so Nancy, with short hair and wearing men's clothing, goes out into the street. She looks so much like a handsome young man that homosexuals, mistaking her for a male, begin to pester her. The first time she agrees for the sake of an experiment, and then she starts making money like this... She portrays a touchy young man who does mostly “manual work” with clients. She thoroughly learns the world of the London bottom - however, not quite the bottom - the world of corrupt homosexual love.
And then she is taken in by an experienced, rich lesbian, who was able to see that Nancy is not at all a young man, gentle as a girl, but a girl dressed as a young man. Nancy comes to live with her, indulges in sophisticated debauchery and enters the club of aristocratic lesbians... And so it begins! With all the details. I felt nauseous in places. But still I read with rapture - because, in addition to debauchery, there was a lot of interesting life, bright and lively characters, relationships and in general everything that is “part of” good literature.
Nancy has a conflict with an aristocrat, and the aristocrat throws her out onto the street penniless and with a black eye. Next, Nancy ends up with Florence, a socialist and suffragette who helps the poor, fights for rights and... and she's also a lesbian! It's a coincidence. And all her friends are lesbians, and Florence introduces Nancy to the company of lesbians who not only enjoy piquant relationships, but who think and fight for the right to be the way nature created them.

And this made me very sad. No, not that they think and fight, but that literally all the women with whom Nancy brings fate turn out to be lesbians. In my opinion, this does not happen. Because of this, the book reminds me of Harry Potter fanfiction (though I haven’t really read the others): where everyone turns out to be gay - Harry, Draco, Snape, Sirius, Lucius, and... well, All!
Probably, the author herself later realized this and created “Delicate Work,” where the topic that interests her is at the forefront, but it’s not just about that, and in general there are only two lesbians - the main characters.

Meanwhile, “Velvet Claws” is a good, strong book. And the characters are all very alive. And Nancy herself is far from ideal - far from it, she’s even quite a nasty young lady... Calculating and lustful.
Sarah Water is a master of words, a master of literary psychology, and a master of plot. She knows history - at least "her" period, Victorian - in the smallest detail. She loves the world of things, she loves writing about everyday life, and she recreates the era in volume and vividness. Funnily enough, anyone who has studied Victorian studies has encountered the specifics of Victorian pornography. And Sarah Waters was so “hurt” by this that she has libraries of porn literature in both books - although in “Delicate Work” there is more about this, there is an uncle-collector and a niece-reader who earns money by writing porn...

Sarah Water is interesting to read, great to read, real literature. But - not for everyone. Not for everyone at all.
I read a lot of explicit books. I've read descriptions of homosexual love. But I have never read such ripping open, turning the soul outward, such details about the sensations experienced during intimacy between a woman and a woman.
There is no trace of anything like that in “Fine Work”.
But I must say, Waters sometimes goes off scale: it would be better if there were fewer detailed descriptions.
By the way, along the way I had a lot of “technical” questions to which, probably, no one will give me an answer...

In general, I envy Sarah Waters with white envy: this is how I would like to write.
True, not about what she writes about, but - so juicy, bright, lively.
And yet... I envy her herself! What interesting, what powerful feelings she herself must have experienced, since she writes about feelings, about what is in the heart, in the soul, under the skin - and writes in such a way that the reader himself begins to feel all this... You can’t imagine such a thing .
If she would write about men and women - just like that! – would probably become one of the greatest living romance novelists.
She is still one of the greatest, it seems to me, but it’s not for everyone. And I would like to read from her about the passion of a man and a woman. It's a shame she'll never write something like that. Because Sarah Waters clearly only writes about what she has studied well.

Sarah Waters

Sarah Waters with friends at the presentation of the book "Night Watch"

Sarah Waters' office: this is where she creates

Still from the film “Velvet Claws”.
...As soon as “Tipping The Velvet” was not translated, even when the three-part film appeared and was released on pirated DVDs - “Velvet Fingers”, “Velvet Legs”, although they explained to me that in fact it turns out something like “ Touching the velvet with the tip of your tongue” - I was told that this is English lesbian slang. However, it doesn't matter. “Velvet Claws” sounds good. Now I want to watch this film... Anyway, in the cinema there will not be such explicit scenes as described in the book. So it's not scary to watch... :)

Sarah Waters is an English writer, Ph.D.

Fame came to her after writing the best-selling lesbian novel “Tipping The Velvet” (“Touching the Velvet with the Tip of the Tongue” (an allegory of lesbian sex), in the official Russian translation: “Velvet Legs”) (1998). For this book she was awarded the Stonewall Book Award, which is presented by Britain's leading LGBT organization Stonewall. Waters' book was adapted into a three-part television series of the same name for BBC Two in 2002. She also wrote the novel Affinity (1999), which received the Stonewall Book Award and the Somerset Maugham Prize, as well as Fingersmith (2002). . “Delicate Work” was also shortlisted for the Orange Literary Prize.

Waters' The Night Watch was shortlisted for the Man Booker Prize and longlisted for the Orange Literary Prize. The Night Watch follows the lives of several lesbians, gay men and their friends in 1940s London. Sarah Waters won the Stonewall Literary Prize for her new novel The Night Watch.

In 2009, her new book “The Little Stranger” was published, which was named the best book of 2009 by the Times newspaper.

Waters' books have been translated into many languages ​​around the world.

Sarah Waters

Velvet Claws

WORDS OF GRATITUDE

Thanks to everyone who read Velvet Claws in its various stages of completion and provided critical comments; this is primarily Sally O-Jay, but also Margaretta Jolly, Richard Shimell and Sarah Hopkins. Thanks to Caroline Holiday, Monica Forti, Judith Skinner and Nicole Paul - all of whom provided encouragement and advice during the writing of the book and subsequently; thanks to my editor at Virago, Sally Abbey, and my agent, Judith Murray. Finally, thanks to Laura Gowing, who shared so much amazing knowledge with me about history and love.

This book is dedicated to her.

Part one

Have you ever tried Whitstable oysters? If you have, you will, of course, remember them. Thanks to some special bend of the Kentish coast, this local species (which is Whitstable oysters) has no equal in England for size, juiciness, bright and at the same time delicate taste. Whitstable oysters enjoy a well-deserved reputation. For their sake, famous gourmets - the French - regularly cross the English Channel; on ships, in barrels of ice, these oysters are delivered to the dinner tables of Hamburg and Berlin. And the king himself, as I heard, makes a special visit to Whitstable with Mrs. Keppel to eat oyster stew at a private hotel; As for the old queen, according to rumors, she never went a day without these oysters, except perhaps the day of her death.

Have you ever been to Whitstable and seen the oyster restaurants there? My father ran a restaurant like this, where I was born - do you remember, halfway from the High Street to the harbor, a narrow clapboard house with blue paint peeling off? And the arched sign above the door announcing that “Astley's Oysters, the best in Kent” awaits you inside? Or maybe you have ever pushed this door and stepped inside into a dark room with a low ceiling, full of aromas? Remember: tables with checkered tablecloths, a blackboard with the menu written in chalk. Alcohol lamps, melting pieces of butter?

Or maybe you were served by a lively, red-cheeked girl with curls? This is Alice, my sister. Or was it a man, rather tall, stooped, in a snow-white apron that covered him entirely - from the knot of his tie to his shoes? This is my father. Have you ever noticed, when the kitchen door opens, the lady frowning in clouds of steam next to the pot where oyster soup is boiling, or with the sizzling grate? This is my mother.

Wasn’t there an unremarkable girl with her, thin and pale - the sleeves of her dress were rolled up above the elbows, her smooth colorless hair was always in her eyes, her lips were moving, repeating some song from a street singer or from a music hall?

Like Molly Malone in the old ballad, I was a fishmonger because that's what my parents did. They kept a restaurant and rooms above it; I have been making oysters since childhood, and the aromas of this craft have imbued me through and through. I took my first steps among tubs of chilled oysters and barrels of ice; Before chalk and slate, they gave me an oyster knife and taught me how to use it; barely pronouncing the alphabet under the guidance of a school teacher, I knew the entire kitchen of an oyster restaurant: blindfolded, I could identify any fish by taste and tell how it was prepared. Whitstable seemed to me the whole world, Astley Hall my country, the oyster spirit the environment in which I exist. I did not believe for long in the story told by my mother (I was allegedly found as a baby in an oyster shell, when a gluttonous visitor was already preparing to have breakfast with me), but for eighteen years I never doubted my love for oysters, my inclinations and plans for the future. were limited to the confines of their father's kitchen.

I led a strange life, even by Whitstable standards, but it was not unpleasant or too difficult. Our working day began at seven in the morning and lasted twelve hours; my responsibilities remained the same all this time. While my mother cooked and Alice and my father served, I sat on a high stool by the tub of oysters and brushed, rinsed, and wielded an oyster knife. Some diners prefer raw oysters, and these are the easiest to serve: you pull a dozen oysters out of a tub, rinse them off with seawater, and place them on a plate with parsley or watercress. But for those who like oysters boiled, fried, baked in the shell or separately, as well as oyster pies, they had to work harder. It was necessary to open each oyster, remove the gills and transfer it to mother’s pot without damaging the tasty contents or spilling or staining the juice. Consider that a dinner plate holds a dozen oysters, that oyster soup is an inexpensive dish, that our Hall was not empty and could accommodate fifty visitors - and you can estimate how many oysters my knife opened every day, and also imagine how blushing and By evening my fingers were sore, constantly in contact with salt water. More than two decades have passed since I parted with the oyster knife and left my father's kitchen forever, but to this day my wrists and knuckles respond with a subtle pain to the sight of a barrel of fish and the shouts of an oysterman, and I still I can smell the oyster juice and brine under my nails and in the folds of my palms.

I said that in my early years I had nothing but oysters in my life, but that's not entirely true. Like any girl who grows up in a small town and belongs to a large old family, I had friends and relatives. There was my sister Alice - my most beloved friend; She and I slept in the same bed and shared all our secrets. I even had a gentleman or something like that - a young man named Freddie; He, along with my brother Davey and Uncle Joe, hunted in Whitstable Bay on smack.

And finally, I had a love - one might even say a passion - for music hall; more precisely, I loved listening and humming songs. If you have been to Whitstable, then you understand that this addiction did not promise an easy life: there is neither a music hall nor a theater in the city, there is only a lonely lamppost in front of the Duke of Cumberland Inn, where groups of traveling singers perform from time to time and In August the puppeteer puts on his own show with Punch and Judy. However, Canterbury is a quarter of an hour's train ride from Whitstable, and there was a music hall there (the Canterbury Variety Show); the programs lasted three hours, tickets cost sixpence, and the performances, according to experts, were the best in all of Kent.