Books: David Constantine – Tea at the Midland
Marianne Brooker finds term time solace in this beautifully wrought collection of short stories.
Reading for pleasure is tricky when your degree is made up almost entirely of reading for work. While eighteenth century novels are quite interesting, it’s not the same as reading something just because it’s delightful, or beautiful, or fun. But it’s important, for sanity and general out-of-the-bubble thinking, to occasionally escape the tripos reading list. Sometimes that escape can be a day trip or a night out, but sometimes it can just mean taking root in Nero and reading something Just Because. So I was quite happy when by Varsity magic Tea at the Midland arrived in my pigeon hole.
Constantine’s latest short story collection is a real pleasure. It promises it will be so from the front cover; the vast potentialities of a spawling sea set against a blue-grey sky and damp pier. The space of the image, like the spaces within the stories, is one you can go to to take stock, to play, to wander. It’s also the view from the table at the Midland Hotel, the scene of the opening story. Winner of the BBC Short Story Award, this tale is deftly executed, and quietly shocking. A couple discuss whether or not we can appreciate Eric Gill’s art despite his paedophilia, a taboo very much in the public eye right now. It’s difficult to describe the scene without giving away at least two of the little twists Constantine surprises us with; his talent lies in the way he steers this conversation to reveal deeply personal aspects of the characters’ relationship without melodrama or discomfort. Questions of what constitute beauty sit alongside questions of ugliness and deceit, honest defiance against willing entrapment. ‘An Island’ is the longest of the collection and perhaps a little too meandering, after the clarity and precision of its predecessors. That said, this small collection of letters is full of hope; the narrator’s quiet desperation almost palpable.
The subsequent stories aren’t quite as brilliantly wrought as the first, but that’s only because the first is exceptional. The rest of the book, a joy to return to for little snippets of time here at there, is still very, very good. ‘Asylum’ and ‘Strong Enough to Help’ deal with similar contortions of art and beauty. In the latter, a representative from the Department of Culture, Media and Sport visits an elderly man who dons a suit before reading poetry, a past time which occupies whole days. The stories are subtle and in a sense, unexciting. They deal with the little moments that make up our lives, they shine a bright light on seemingly insignificant absurdities and fleeting attempts at resistance. They are unsettling but also deeply rewarding.
A perfect pleasure for countering term time stress, this collection is sharp and provocative. While there are no sprawling plot lines, each voice is distinct and powerful (defrocked monks to teenagers, mothers to policemen). Constantine’s imagination is at its height here and his prose navigates the precarious paths of madness and curiosity with sheer brilliance.
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