Abacus, 2003, 203 p. First published 1989.

This is the tale of fifteen-year old Stella, taken on by a repertory company in post-World War 2 Liverpool to learn the ropes. She soon conceives a fancy for the director Meredith. This is unrequited. The reader soon realises Meredith is gay but of course Stella is ignorant of this – at least until nearly the end of the book.

Stella has been brought up by her Uncle Vernon since her mother left the city some time before the war. Of their seemingly endlessly recounted war experiences, “It was astonishing to Stella how fondly men remembered their darkest hours.” She also has encounters with male abusive behaviour, a member of the company spanks her with a newspaper, another comes out of the toilet still holding his penis, a reporter takes her to a cinema and manoeuvres her hand inside his trousers – all of which prompt her to reflect that “men were constantly worried that an essential part of themselves might have gone missing. They wanted instant access, just to make sure things were in place. What was more puzzling was why they needed everyone else to check as well.”

These incidents are just part of the ongoing nature of Stella’s existence, as she is coming to terms with adult life. They are scattered among the trials and tribulations of the company’s relationships – professional and personal. For a long time, though, it seems as though nothing is happening by way of plot, the major occurrence being an injury to a cast member during rehearsals for Peter Pan necessitating Meredith reluctantly calling upon the services of a relatively famous actor called O’Hara to play Captain Hook. Meredith and he have an antipathetic history. O’Hara’s arrival has ramifications for Stella and the reader’s understanding of her past for which Bainbridge has provided skilfully scattered clues.

Despite the slowness and the apparent inconsequentiality of proceedings it is this which elevates An Awfully Big Adventure to the status of literature even if what transpires does not quite live up to the implied promise of the title. Then again life (even a seemingly humdrum life has its moments) is an awfully big adventure.

Sensitivity warning:- there is a reference to a “nigger.”

Pedant’s corner:- “the curb” (kerb. Kerb was used later,) distainful (disdainful,) “which overlooked the booking hall or the station” (of the station makes more sense,) “a spring of crab apple” (a sprig is more likely,) “she couldn’t breath” (couldn’t breathe,) “she was stood in the wings” (she was standing.) “‘Mr Potter’s a Catholic!’ asked Stella, shaken.” (ought to have a question mark, not an exclamation mark,) “until her remembered” (he remembered,) “old time’s sake” (times’,) hiccoughs (hiccups,) “unearthly yet real of Mary Deare” (????) rarified (rarefied,) “‘in her case its aggravated’” (it’s,) accidently (accidentally,) “waited were he was” (where he was,) “‘before you go down to the nursery, he said, ‘may I remind you’” (is missing the end quote mark after nursery.

Abacus, 2012, 222 p. First published 1996.

I wasn’t at all sure about picking this up, still less reading it, because its ostensible subject matter – the sinking of the Titanic – is such well-worn ground. Any misgivings were soon assuaged however as the quality of Bainbridge’s writing is apparent from the start. Moreover, the voyage and the sinking are almost incidental to the plot which focuses – as do all the best novels – on human relationships. The book also incidentally acts as a portrait of the lifestyle and relatively vacuous activities of the moneyed classes who occupied the Titanic’s first class cabins and salons.

Narrator J Pierrepoint Morgan has an interesting past – his mother married someone of whom her family disapproved and she was estranged from them. His parents both soon died and he spent some time in an orphanage before being plucked from there and brought up by his aunt. He also has connections with the Titanic’s shipbuilders and so worked for a while in the drawing office at Harland and Wolff.

We meet him in London a few days before the ship’s departure when he witnesses the death of a man in Manchester Square and shortly thereafter removes a portrait of his mother – by Cézanne no less – from his cousin’s house. The dead man we later learn is connected to others of the ship’s passengers. Also prior to boarding Morgan comes across a man named Scurra. On the ship he falls for the attractions of a woman called Wallis Ellery, and encounters Rosenfelder, a dress designer anxious to have Adele Baines (travelling separately in steerage to allay suspicions of collusion) show off his creations in a bid to secure a contract to supply stage costumes in New York. Luminaries are mostly in the background but occasional appearances are given to naval architect (and Titanic’s designer) Thomas Andrews, plus White Star Line chairman Brian Ismay. The former died while the latter famously survived the sinking.

Scurra is the fulcrum of the book. In some respects a mysterious figure his function is ultimately to provide Morgan with a measure of world-weariness, at one point telling him that, terms of dealing with women, it’s, “Every man for himself.” Morgan’s relative innocence is underlined by his informing us that, “Later I was to remember that moment; I had mistaken a part for the whole.”

On the vagaries of love we have the declaration that, “‘When a woman declares she has made no demands you can be sure she believes she’s owed something,’” on the importance of circumstance, “There is no way of knowing how one will react to danger until faced with it. Nor can we know what capacity we have for nobility and self-sacrifice unless something happens to rouse such conceits into activity.” When the crisis comes Morgan acquits himself well.

The book is well researched, the descriptions of the ship’s state rooms and interiors ring true and a visit to the boiler room allows the details of the engines’ capacity to be dropped unobtrusively into the ongoing scene. (This is how information dumping ought to be done.) Recurring mention is made of a fire in number 10 coal bunker – due to inadequate hosing down of the coal – which may potentially have weakened the cast iron of the ship’s hull but no-one is at all alarmed and in any case most likely made no difference to the ship’s fate. The references some of the characters make to the speed of the ship’s progress and possible breaking of the transatlantic crossing record would have been a genuine point of interest. That they are qualified at one point by the phrase “barring accidents,” is no more than what is likely to have been said on board at least once (the ship’s “unsinkable” tag notwithstanding.) The well-documented inadequacies of the provision of lifeboats and the organisational chaos attending the sinking are dealt with matter-of-factly and not overplayed. In the writing hindsight is not given any part.

Every Man for Himself is excellent stuff, if overall slightly lacking in conveying emotion.

Pedant’s corner:- “Time interval” later count – about ten. (I didn’t start counting till after I’d noticed a few.) Othewise; Mr Andrews’ (x 2, Andrews’s,) Fenwicks (was possessive, so ‘Fenwick’s’,) Miss Baines’ (Baines’s,) Thucydides’ account (Thucydides’s.)

Little, Brown, 2001, 250 p

Bainbridge is – or was – one of the stalwarts of English Fiction, but I had not read anything from her œuvre before this book. I gather her output is varied though, so I shall not take this as representative.

According to Queeney is topped and tailed by a Prologue and Epilogue describing respectively Samuel Johnson’s body’s removal from the house in which he died and his funeral, the sections in between being an account of his relationship with the Thrale family, one of whose daughters (given name, Harriet, like her mother) is the Queeney of the title.

The individual chapters deal with phases of Johnson’s life from a debilitating illness in 1765 to his eventual fading away and each is appended by a letter from the grown-up Queeney to Miss Laetitia Hawkins of Sion Row Tottenham, who is composing her memoirs which feature Johnson heavily, or, once, to novelist Fanny Burney (by now Madame D’Arblay) in Paris. Queeney’s mother and Johnson had both championed Burney’s writing. These letters provide Queeney’s own perspective on the events. (In one of them, incidentally, she mentions recently staying in Dumbartonshire.)

Johnson is irascible, opinionated and enamoured of Mrs Thrale, whose life is otherwise a constant round of pregnancies and dead children. Since this is an illustration of a more private part of Johnson’s life his biographer James Boswell makes only fleeting appearances in the book. We are also granted glimpses of the actor David Garrick.

Bainbridge’s prose is finely written but unfortunately too much of the proceedings are told, rather than shown. As a result the reader does not feel the emotions implied.

Pedant’s corner:- “was sat” (was seated, or, was sitting,) another “sat” (where ‘sitting’ would have been more appropriate,) “she was of no more interest to him that the stone urns set at frequent intervals along the way” (than the stone urns,) “nought but darkness lay ahead” (nought is the number, zero; ‘naught but darkness’.)