Norah Hoult was a natural for rediscovery by one of those paperback publishers who revive forgotten works by women writers for the excellent reason that they were women. Personally I think it’s much more fun to be rediscovered by Lord David Cecil and Philip Larkin. The feminist piblishing houses have a whiff of desperation about them and are definitely a last resort. Unfairly but inevitably, they make an author sound like there was no other redeeming quality about her except for the incident of gender.
Anyway, Norah Hoult’s writing career encompassed half a century, and at the start of it critics kept predicting great things for her. But she never captured the popular fancy and went from being a pioneer of socially conscious female literature in the 20s and 30s to a more psychologically-inclined minor novelist for lending libraries of the 50s and 60s, whose books never made it to Penguins or, indeed, seemingly to paperback at all. This is astonishing, given the quality of her writing, but unfortunately not as rare as you might think. Barbara Pym might never have made it either but for a lucky conjunction of her literary stars.
And for A Death Occurred, published in 1954, Barbara Pym is not a bad reference point; except if you replace Pym’s lightness of touch, amiably scatterbrained characters and twinkly irony with the kind of grim humour that springs up in ‘real life’, especially when it’s lived in narrow circumstances, and which may often seem out of place because the situations are not really conducive to humour, and for that reason it’s never appreciated and seldom noticed by those at whose expense it’s practiced.
The central character, the elderly Mrs Fanning, lives in rented rooms and gets gradually more dependent on the charity of her landlady and neighbours; at first for various assistance in her daily troubles, and then also in a purely material sense. Mrs Fanning has a certain image of herself which is somewhat divorced from reality. Among other things, since the death of her husband she cannot really afford the lifestyle to which she is accustomed. When suddenly she goes blind and must be confined to an institution, she picks one that is too expensive. She also thinks it temporary and treats the staff as her servants. Her total concept of her own place and position in life turns to be a more and more painful delusion. The books is pretty relentless in pressing home the tragic aspects of the situation. The attitudes of various characters derive both from their own flaws and circumstances, and from multiple crossed signals which play such a large hidden part in every relationship. The grimness is offset by a sense of humanity: Hoult never goes overboard with tragedy for its own sake. The nuances of character and social attitudes are masterfully done. This is not one of her ‘rediscovered’ novels, and it is perhaps too subtle, restrained and depressing to appeal widely. It’s not a ‘fun’ book in the sense that Barbara Pym’s novels are, but might be termed a grim comedy of embarrassment. Under any label, it is is very good literature completely overlooked.
The copy is one of the First and only Hutchinson edition with a sombrely effective dust jacket by Val Biro. The jacket has minor wear and tear but is almost VG. Best of all, the book is inscribed by the author, to someone called Ione Massada. I love speculating who the recipients of such inscriptions may be. There is an institution called the Israel and Ione Massada Heart Disease Center. Could Ione Massada have been a doctor, could she have treated Norah Hoult herself? Given the book’s subject of old age infirmity and disease, and knowing how much personal experiences contribute to literary subjects, this does not seem unlikely. At the time of writing, Abebooks hasn’t a single copy of this title for sale anywhere in the world.
Twice Lost Blog 