The Whalebone Theatre

In my overview of books I read in 2023 I mentioned that I might be reading the best book I would read all year at the turn of the year again, just as I did last year with The Great Circle. Now that I have actually finished said book, I do hope that this prediction will not come true, as that would mean a lot of less-than-great books in the year to come.
So the book I was reading was The Whalebone Theatre by Joanna Quinn. And I liked it, I liked it a lot. I just think it was not everything it could have been.

The book centers on a country house in the south of England, where a mixed bunch of characters convene from around the middle of the First to the end of the Second World War. Now if this smells a lot like the Cazalet stories of Elizabeth Jane Howard to you, you would be very right. With the main difference that I still feel like I know some of the Cazalets, I could recognise them on the street and understand how their emotions work, whereas all the Seagraves from Chilcomb remained mysteries to me throughout the story.

As the story opens there are only Jasper and Christabel, father and daughter, with the mother quite recently desceased. Jasper remarries to Rosalind, who is to produce an heir. This is all set during the First World War, with Jasper unable to go to the front because of an old injury. His brother Willoughby is off fighting but manages to be home just at the time Rosalind gives birth. And this is where our troubles begin. I mean, naming the younger brother Willoughby will already give anyone with any literary knowledge an idea of what the fellow will be up to (read up on your Austen if you don't). Inevitably, Rosalind gives birth to a girl (meaning no heir), Jasper dies and Rosalind marries Willoughby to finally produce the male child the estate needs; Digsby. 

Now the above is just the first of five parts to the book, laying the foundations for the rest of the plot. A confused family of five, three children who grow up as siblings but are actually mostly cousins, with a lot of hanger-on characters in the shape of Willoughby's old war pals, the staff, random Russian painters who set up shop in a cottage, and a further rabble of children. None of these characters really do seem to like, let alone care about each other, with the great exception of Christabel, who thinks she has willed Digsby into being by wanting a brother so badly and thus feels solely responsible for his wellbeing. Which is good, for the children are left entirely to their own devices by their parents or step parents.

At some point, the theatre from the title is constructed from the bones of a washed-up whale. Somehow, the theatrics are managed by the children, with the adults taking part but leaving the main operation to three characters hardly older than 10. Any suspension of disbelief that may have lingered, went at that point. I mean, the whole setting just felt so artificial, and these characters were behaving in ways no sane adult would do, especially in the 1920s.

Then follows the start of the Second World War, which clears out the estate as all the characters go off to fight or help out in other ways. This War seems to take up most of the book but is also somehow suddenly over. We find ourselves in the thick of the action with the liberation of Paris, and then suddenly back home at the estate, where the future of the home is set out in broad strokes before the book comes to an end. I finished reading it almost a week ago but in the back of my mind there is still something expecting that there will be more to the story, waiting for it to end, waiting for the outcome of both the war and several characters, who we somehow never see again.

So the plot is, to put it mildly, unbelievable. The characters, as mentioned before, I did not really care for. I enjoyed Christabel's fierceness, but she is not likeable. I enjoyed Flossie's character development into a confident young woman, until that fell flat and she married the most convenient George ever to set foot in the estate. I still don't know Digsby, even though he was the only one all the other characters appeared to like.

So with all that, why did I still like this book? 

For one, the writing is very immersive. There is a bit at the beginning, when Jasper dies, that I could almost see happening in front of my eyes. It was one of the very few parts that really cut to the quick, but it showed the promise of what this book could have been. There are other parts too, especially when Christabel is in France, or when Flossie has German POWs working on the estate, that were captivating to read. As this is Joanna Quinn's debut novel, there certainly is promise in her writing style, if she can find an editor who will help her bring some life into her characters and cut back on all the exposition. 

With the beautiful language come some great thoughts, again mainly from Christabel and Flossie, on the meaning of life, on acting, on friendship. There really are some great ideas in this book, but it is as if the characters, like their author, are not fully equipped to express them. Finally, there were some nice surprises in style; the maid's diary, in poorly written English, reflected on the goings-on and characters in a new light, and there were letters and newspaper clippings and exposition guides to show what was going on in the intermissions between chapters or parts. This is the kind of writing she should have employed far more: show, don't tell.

All in all, not the best read of 2024 (I hope). But somehow, I can't help liking it despite myself. I hope Joanna Quinn will quickly write another novel, to see whether the promise she shows here is really there.