Book Review: Master Georgie by Beryl Bainbridge

Read: July 2010

Master Georgie in one tweet-sized chunk:
Short and apparently simple, Master Georgie is an enjoyable snapshot of lives and the Crimean War.

It is a rare delight to encounter a book of such apparent simplicity as Master Georgie. The narration – split between three voices – is compelling and smooth, the prose wonderfully uncluttered. It is overloaded neither with explicit themes or complicated ideas. There is no sense of a writer trying to be clever. Master Georgie is storytelling of the finest order.

And yet I use the phrase ‘apparent simplicity’ advisedly, for the simplicity of style masks a cunningly composed narrative which questions how one can ever know something simply by looking at it. In Master Georgie, Beryl Bainbridge confronts the reader with an oddly compelling statement: you cannot know these characters.

When war breaks out in the Crimea George Hardy, surgeon and photographer, sets off to provide whatever services he can offer in support of the British effort. With him travel his adoptive sister Myrtle, amateur geologist Dr Potter and photographer’s assistant and fire-eater Pompey Jones. The narration is split between them, starting in the cold back streets of 19th century Liverpool, travelling through sweltering Constantinople and on to the battlefields of the Crimea. As each seeks to shed light on Master Georgie (as Myrtle terms him) a picture begins to develop of everyone but him. He remains the dark spot on the plate.

The Crimean War was the first to be extensively documented by photography and one gets the impression that Bainbridge spent a great deal of time searching for inspiration for her characters by looking at these pictures, only to come up with more questions than answers. That is how the book reads: a snapshot of a long dead, anonymous person who can never be resurrected, not even through literature. Master Georgie is all about what lurks beneath the surface of a photograph: the context, facets of themselves people choose to hide from the world, the misinterpretations that people ascribe to surface images. At one point a fellow character enquires as to why Myrtle often looks sad. “It’s the way I am on the outside”, she replies. “Inside, I assure you I’m quite happy.” This seems to sum up Master Georgie nicely.

There is an element of satire here, too. There are two targets for this: specifically the bombast of Tennyson’s ‘Charge of the Light Brigade’ and generally those who gallantly march off at the first hint of war assuming victory. It reminded me very much of The Siege of Krishnapur by J.G. Farrell with its portrayal of out of place Britishness, a pompous sense of worth that is never fully punctured, even while confronted by death, disease and defeat. There are some absurdly funny moments. The wealthy British bring trunk -loads of possessions and are accompanied as far as the Constantinople by their spouses and children as though for a bit of a summer jaunt. There is a funny scene when, having arrived in Constantinople, they go to the opera only for it to descend into a brawl over a perceived indiscretion towards Myrtle.

The satire is not biting though, and surrounding it is a tender portrayal of life, war and the consequences of our actions. Like the best war books, one comes away feeling that it was all so bloody pointless.

Yet none of this is to say that Master Georgie is an easy book. It is slippery, never quite giving the reader what one wants or expects. The drama is quiet, unassuming. Some of the supposedly dramatic aspects – particularly the shared and mysterious guilt the synopsis promises – didn’t really resonate with me at all. The prime feeling I came away with was puzzlement: I knew I had enjoyed the prose and the journey without really engaging with any of the characters; without being able to identify why. Others I know have reacted to it with utter indifference. Yet the fact remains that I enjoyed reading it, and it continues to challenge and interest me a month later. This was my first Beryl Bainbridge novel but I’m certainly going to read more by her in the coming months.

7 out of 10

Abacus, 1998, 9780349111698, 212pp

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Siege of Krishnapur - J.G. Farrell

Read: July 2008

Voted by the good people of a Scottish village as their favourite of the Best of Booker shortlist, The Siege of Krishnapur is J.G. Farrell’s humorous take on the British Empire in India, 1860’s style.

After years of global supremacy, the age of Britain’s unrivalled Empire is coming to an end. The Indians are finding their voice, and a series of mutinies have broken out in small cantonments. Small and isolated, Krishnapur could be next. How do we know? Because chapattis have begun to appear all over the place, in collections of three. No-one knows exactly why, or what it means. But to the Collector, obsessed with the demonstration of human potential at the Great Exhibition, it spells disaster. It is an example of the new speed of communication between people hostile to British rule, their organisation, and impending threat.

First of all he is mocked. People whisper that senility is claiming him. But soon his fears are proved correct. And as the Sepoys close in on Krishnapur, the British are forced to retreat to the Collector’s residency and build their fortifications. But they are a ramshackle bunch of administrators, retired servicemen, women and children; against the organised enemy they stand no chance. So, with falling rations, awful sanitation, and no contact with the outside world, they set themselves to wait out the siege until someone comes to rescue them. Yet with resolute determination and imperial arrogance the soldiers just about manage to repel the attacks in their makeshift, stumbling sort of way. But as the months pass by, more and more is sacrificed to defend both the lives of the people living within the compound, and the British way of life itself. But if help doesn’t arrive soon, they are doomed.

The Siege of Krishnapur is witty, intelligent at interesting. There is a fascinating battle between the two doctors, one a quiet young Scottish physician; the other a superb orator, confident, learned, absolutely convinced of his methods. When an epidemic of cholera breaks out the two are brought into conflict for the hearts and minds of the people, and the validity of their scientific methods questioned. The people of Krishnapur take sides, following like sheep with wilful abandon, transforming their loyalties at the flick of a switch. They carry cards indicating which doctor they wish to treat them, and often these cards demonstrate that they have switched allegiances regularly. Old orators may rule the roost, but faced with life and death it is practical results which will judge who is correct.

And for the Collector there is an even greater test: will his treasured new technology be able to save their lives?

There is one great problem with this book, however. At no point in the plot did I really feel involved in the action. There are various characters and they are involved in some pretty hairy situations, but to be honest, I didn’t really care whether they survived or not. There is the Collector, who is reasonably interesting, a young lad named Fleury who is wet as a fish, a deluded and arrogant doctor, another quiet and reasonable doctor, a committed but out-of-touch reverend, and a bunch of other people with generic names such as The Magistrate. Half the time, I wasn’t even sure who was who! Many say this is a great, exciting novel. But to be honest, I found it pretty slow going. In my opinion it doesn’t matter whether a book is intelligent and witty, if it doesn’t have a narrative which compels you to read on, then it will never be the joy it should be.

That the people of the Scottish village rated this book is probably enough praise for you to buy and read it. And you will probably enjoy it. But in my opinion, The Siege of Krishnapur is not in the same league as Salman Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children, or J.M. Coetzee’s Disgrace. It’s doesn’t even belong to the same universe.


6 out of 10