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2 of 2 people found the following review helpful:
4.0 out of 5 stars
What do you do when an imagined friend becomes reality ..., 4 Oct 2009
Norman and his friend Henry are on holiday in Ireland. They duck into a church to shelter from the rain and the sexton gives them a grand tour after they pretend to know of the old vicar. On the spur of the moment, Norman invents a close friend of the vicar's family, an 83 year old lady whom they know too, called Miss Connie Hargreaves - this makes the dour sexton's day. Norman & Henry then continue to have fun with her, composing and sending off a letter to the hotel where she's staying inviting her to visit Norman at home in Cornford. Imagine the surprise then, when a few days later, Norman receives a telegram saying that she will be with them soon. Mild panic ensues - she can't be real - they made her up! However nothing would keep them from the station platform at the allotted time - just in case.
Miss Hargreaves proceeds to enliven things in the sleepy Buckinghamshire cathedral town of Cornford. Norman is junior organist and she soon gets him into trouble by making him pull out all of the stops, but then she gets in with the Dean. She has a habit of getting Norman into tricky situations and to get out of them he has to invent more back story for her. Everything he says about her takes on a life of its own and things are beginning to get a bit much for him especially as she treats him as her dearest friend and won't leave him alone. All these shenanigans make his mother exasperated, his girlfriend furious, and alienates his best friend Henry too; meanwhile Norman's father Cornelius, a bookseller and dreamer seems to understand but is too detached to react.
This is where the novel, which had been light and full of farce, starts to get rather dark as Norman starts to plan how to get rid of this tiresome woman, but it's not straight-forward as he has developed an attachment to her. Norman is a capable and loyal young man who is totally thrown out of his comfort zone, (think of a young Peter Davison), and panics. He has a big problem to resolve and at first can't work out how to make her go - or rather let her go. When he finally works it out, he becomes strong, but the memories of Connie echo on...
Published originally in 1939, this novel was transformed into a successful play after the war starring Margaret Rutherford, inspired casting. Having read this in the introduction, it was hard to imagine any other image of Miss Hargreaves - prounounced Hargrayves, not Hargreeves by the way, explained in a cheeky author's note. Connie may be the star of the book, but she has a strong supporting cast in Norman, Henry, and assorted clerics; but my favourite was Cornelius, a classic absent-minded professorial type.
`Father,' I said, `I want to have a serious talk with you. I'm very worried.'
`Sit down, boy. Have a cigarette. Woman?'
I nodded. ...
`Women,' said my father, `have never really been my cup of tea. They do not understand major issues, and their passion for realism is something I've never felt agreeable to. Nevertheless, the race, as a race, would crumble without them.'
But then Cornelius goes off on a tangent into his own little world as Norman tries to explain his predicament to him.
`It's this Miss Hargreaves,' I said.
`A fine woman from the sound of her. Plays the oboe, doesn't she? Now the oboe's a funny instrument one way and another-'
`You remember that time you warned me never to make things up? Well-'
`Old Bach understood the oboe better than any man before or after. You might say old Bach made the oboe.'
This novel was delightful from start to finish, full of high farce, real comedy moments and surprising pathos, and the dark edge later provides real tension. A tremendously satisfying read. Like all those lovely reissues from Persephone Books I can't wait to read more of these rediscovered gems from The Bloomsbury Group too.
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2 of 2 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
Welcome back, Miss Hargreaves!, 28 Aug 2009
I am biased, I must confess at the outset, because I suggested Bloomsbury should re-publish this 1940 book - but, having enjoyed something of an underground popularity amongst my friends, I thought it was time the wider world knew of the wonderful, eccentric Miss Hargreaves.
Norman and his friend Henry are on holiday in Lusk - on a dull day they wander into a church, and have to make conversation with an even duller verger. On the spur of the moment, Norman says he has a shared acquaintance with the parish's old vicar - and that acquaintance is one Miss Hargreaves. She's nearly ninety, carries a hip flask, bath and cockatoo with her everywhere, not to mention Sarah the dog. Continuing the joke, they send a letter to her supposed hotel, asking if she'd like to come and stay. When Miss Constance Hargreaves arrives on a train, Norman has some explaining to do, and the strange occurences are just beginning...
She does rather wreak havoc on Norman, his family, and his village - but never purposefully. She is firm, "abominates fuss" but wants everything just-so - at the same time, she views Norman as a dear friend (who should never be left out of her sight) and cannot understand why their friendship is sometimes soured.
It is a cliche of criticism, but Miss Hargreaves genuinely did make me both laugh and cry - and pretty much every emotion in between. I thought the theme would pall, but Baker keeps the momentum going for every page, and I never wanted it to end. And though this is without doubt Connie's book, the secondary characters are also wonderful - especially Norman's bookshop-owning father, Mr. Huntley. The conversations between Norman and his father are a sort of cross-speak which PG Wodehouse would have been proud of - the fact that Frank Baker can write a book which is so very funny, but also moving and thought-provoking, is incredible. The novel never becomes a philosophy and ethics thesis, but the issues surrounding his act of creation are explored - always with unexpected and bizarre results.
If you read one novel this year, please let it be Miss Hargreaves.
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2 of 4 people found the following review helpful:
4.0 out of 5 stars
Eccentric, witty and wonderful, 30 Aug 2009
I was introduced to Miss Hargreaves some years ago by Simon, whose review of this book is also on Amazon and I am deeply greatful that he did as it has become one of my favourite books. It is a one-off and I am delighted that the Bloomsbury Group have decided to republish this title so it is more readily available. Bloomsbury took the unusual yet oh so sensible step, of asking readers what books they would like to see reprinted. Simon suggested Miss Hargreaves and his quote is on the back of this edition. The story is as follows:
Miss Hargreaves, created by Norman and his friend Henry, when they are looking at an exceedingly ghastly church in Ireland in the pouring rain and decide to cheer themselves up a bit and have a laugh at the expense of the ancient of days showing them around, is invented on the spur of the moment.
".... and what is your friend's name?'
'Miss Hargreaves'
It seemed to me there was a sort of stirring of air in the church, like - like what? Rather like someone opening a very old umbrella. I looked round sharply, but couldn't see anything unusual. A ray of feeble sun had broken through the dark clouds and was shining down on the dust in the galleries.
I realised I was trembling"
When he and Henry then send an letter to Miss Hargreaves at an imaginary address and invite her to visit any time she is free, that is an end of what they both regard as a good joke. But then Miss Hargreaves writes accepting their invitation and to their utter horror, turns up complete with cockatoo and hip bath, little extras they had added to their description in order to add a little verisimilitude.
Then the fun starts. Norman is horrified, scared and angry in turn as Miss Hargreaves proceeds to take over his life, his friends and his family. His father, a man of deep understanding of his son's flights of imagination as he is very similar himself, is the only person who believes in how Miss Hargreaves came to be, but he too begins to fall under her spell, and it is at this stage of the book that Miss Hargreaves who, up to now has been endearingly eccentric, begins to assume a slightly menacing aspect. Norman knows he has to rid himself of her by destroying his creation and to prevent her total power over him, but he has become to love her and he is in turmoil at what he knows he has to do. In the end, he and Henry travel back to the church in Lusk, whence she was created, in order to bring the situation to an end.
"Immediately, where there had been that old lady there was now only a greenish darkness, broken faintly by a dusty light from some great windows. Her voice died away, far away, echoing deep and long into space, vibrant at first then then thinner.....I opened my eyes. The wind that had been roaring round the roof, suddenly stopped. Henry and I lowered our heads as if by mutual understanding. We both knew that she had gone from us"
Miss Hargreaves is a fascinating story. It is hilarious and witty, sharply written and with great style, but Frank Baker is also wonderful at creating atmosphere and suddenly a paragraph of sheer beauty will catch your eye and make you realise that he is more than just a writer of fun and froth (not that I would describe Miss H in this way, rest assured). Just look at this:
"The times when I really loved the Cathedral were weekdays when you could look right down the great nave, seeing perhaps only one tripper creeping from pillar to pillar with a guidebook, a vigilant verger stalking him and ready to net him if he so much as sneezed.
In winter you'd see nothing at all except the light from one gas-globe plunged smokily into the remote and vast darkness of the nave roof. Then you really felt that Evensong and the Cathedral meant something. Heralded by old Dyack and his pitch-pipe, Tallis in the Dorian Mode would float down the aisles; a motet by William Byrd weaves its intricate pattern upon the dark silence. At such times I believe we all felt a relationship to the great roof that soared away above us and to the wonderful old monks and people who'd built it all, and wrote that glorious music, centuries ago"
See what I mean?
Great stuff.
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