Summer seems to have finally arrived here in the UK, for a few days at least 🙂 So I thought I would post about a summer read which I really enjoyed recently. The Feast by Margaret Kennedy was published in 1950 and it’s set in 1947. Republished by Faber in 2021, they’re definitely marketing it as a summer read:
To describe the premise of The Feast is to do it a disservice in a way, because it sounds so trite and contrived. But I promise you that Kennedy is such a skilled writer that it works beautifully.
She sets it up the plot enticingly in the prologue. Two clergyman are holidaying together, but one of them has to work. Within Reverend Bott’s Cornish parish, there has been a catastrophe. A cliff has subsided into the sea, burying Pendizack Manor hotel and several of its inhabitants. Others escaped as they were at the titular picnic at the time, and they’ve told him quite a story… we then go back to seven days before the event to meet all the guests and staff who were there in run-up to the disaster.
It’s here that the overarching contrivance occurs – among the characters are representations of the seven deadly sins. We have the guests: Lady Gifford as greed; Mrs Cove as covetousness; Mrs Lechene as lechery; Canon Wraxton as wrath; and Mr Paley as pride. Amongst the staff we have owner Mr Siddal as sloth and housekeeper Miss Ellis as envy. Some of these characters are monstrous in their behaviour and yet Kennedy always keeps them recognisably human.
Lady Gifford is comparatively benign, albeit entirely self-serving, self-pitying and unconcerned with the impact she has on her family. Her husband no longer loves her, and the holiday brings their marriage to breaking point:
“For a few minutes he could not reply. At last he said, “I shall never live with you again. There’s nothing in life you value more than your saucer of cream.”
“Why shouldn’t I? I can afford cream. Why shouldn’t I go to live where the cream is?”
“I won’t live with you any more. You’re not human.”
Lady Gifford closed her eyes and lay back upon her pillows. Hard words break no bones, as both of them knew very well. He left her and went downstairs.”
While the Gifford’s children are disregarded, Mrs Cove actively wishes her children harm. She is one of the most disturbing characters in the book, neglecting her children to the point of abuse. As her daughter Blanche reflects:
“She did not love her mother. None of them did, nor had it ever occurred to them that they ought to do so. She had never asked for their affection. But neither did they criticize or rebel against her. She pervaded and ruled their lives like some unpropitious climate, and they accepted her rule as inevitable, evading its harshness by instinct rather than by reason. […] Nothing of importance had ever been said to them in their mother’s voice and many characters in their favourite books were more real to them than she was. They seldom thought about her.”
The younger members of the Gifford and Cove families join forces and provide some solace – and danger – for each other.
“The children vanished, rising up like a flock of starlings immediately after luncheon and betaking themselves to some hidden place. They retired into their own world, as children will when their elders misbehave. Bewildered, unable to judge, they turned their backs upon the ugly memory.”
Meanwhile, among the adults, alliances are forged and romances begun. The biggest change occurs in Canon Wraxton’s brow-beaten daughter Evangeline. At the start of the novel she has deeply worrying habit:
“Perhaps it was a waste of time, to grind up glass with a nail file, but surely nothing worse? Because she would never use it, she would never do anything wicked with it. And that little pill box full of powdered glass was such a relief to possess. They said it could never be detected in a person’s food…It was a very powerful little treasure, that box. She kissed it sometimes.”
But she develops a really touching friendship with Mrs Paley, whose marriage to the prideful Paul is utterly dead, and things start to change for them both:
“They found a comfortable little hollow in some heather close to the shelter and lay upon their backs, side by side, watching the stars come out and discussing the best way to make the tea ration last. Neither felt the least impulse, just then, to confide in the other. But they knew what united them. They were a little astonished at themselves and inclined to giggle, as women will when they embark upon some daring adventure.”
But if I’ve made The Feast sound very dark, I’ve done it a disservice. Kennedy doesn’t shy away from the worst of human nature and her astute characterisation makes the behaviour all too real. But there are lighter moments too. Those of you who dislike historical fiction might enjoy Mr Siddal’s description of Anna Lechene’s craft:
“She writes well. Everybody does nowadays. She writes this biographical fiction, or fictional biography, whichever you like to call it. She takes some juicy scandal from the life of a famous person, and writes a novel round it. Any facts that don’t suit her go out. Any details she wants to invent come in. She’s saved the trouble of creating plot and characters and she doesn’t have to be accurate because it’s only a novel, you know.”
I also enjoyed this description of Sir Henry’s politics, breaking up a tense scene:
“Everybody seemed to be very angry. They were saying many things which Sir Henry himself had thought during the course of the day, but with which he now began to disagree. For he was a Liberal – the kind of Liberal which turns pink in blue surroundings and lilac at any murmur from Moscow.
In Pendizack Lounge he inclined to pink.”
The tension in the narrative occurs precisely because the reader knows what is going to happen and as the portraits of the various characters built over the week, I really hoped some of them ended up under the cliff while others survived!
The Feast is an enjoyable, compelling read with plenty to say and plenty to entertain.
To end, an English PEN event took place when Faber re-released The Feast. The discussion is really interesting particularly in giving some wider context around Kennedy’s writing:
madame bibi lophile recommends 