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I adore Robert Harris the novelist. His books are full of history. He knows how to tell a great story. He balances on that fine precipice between truth and fiction.
On the one hand such a novelist doesn’t have to invent a world. Do the research and everything is presented, often with historical documents - newspapers, maps, photographs - that show exactly what happened.
On the other hand, is there anything fresh to be gained from mining old history? Any stories have been told, they are in the public record, a reader might as well look up the Wikipedia article.
And if there are any invented stories, they must wriggle in between the gaps of fact. Just how much room for invention can there be when some nerd can quote a passage in a book that blows away your fantasy?
But Lincoln could never have fathered Dame Nellie Melba’s child. Although she was born in Richmond, it was a suburb of Melbourne in Australia, not the city in Virginia. How could you have missed such an obvious error, you great nong?
Nevertheless, novelists and storytellers manage to find space for fiction. I’ve done it myself, with an unfinished and partially published tale of the Normandy landings told from multiple viewpoints.
Told skilfully, a fictional tale set amongst historical surroundings can appear as a truthful rendering of actual events. There’s a basis for the statement “truth is stranger than fiction”; all too often real life throws up coincidences and oddities that no novelist would dare to use.
Another factor is that good storytelling requires events to happen in a certain order and a certain timing to build up suspense or to keep the reader involved through what in actuality might have been a fairly undramatic period.
Robert Harris’s latest book, Precipice, just released in hardback - and of course in e-book and audio formats - describes an exciting period in history.
The story begins with Europe on the brink - the precipice - of the First World War, and British Prime Minister Henry Asquith is focused on affairs of state. Not only does he have to deal with a restless population in Ireland, keen to move away from centuries of British domination, but his own political party - the Liberals - is on a continuing shaky verge of falling apart.
He has Lloyd George and Winston Churchill in his Cabinet, both with outsized egos, and the ongoing threat of resignations - some threatened, some actual - is an ongoing drumbeat in the political story.
He has domestic, international, and political affairs to keep him occupied but Robert Harris introduces a romantic affair to fill in any spare moments the embattled Prime Minister might have.
Asquith, we are told, is hopelessly besotted by a young woman from a wealthy family, Venetia Stanley. Part of a scandalous set of young idle rich - the “Coterie” - she is the latest in his line of young women companions, to the mortification of the Prime Minister’s wife Margot, who scornfully calls them “the harem”.
The pair of lovers exchange letters daily - or sometimes multiple times a day - in which they confess the deepest feelings for one another. They also meet frequently, sometimes going for long chauffeured drives in the Prime Ministerial limousine, curtains discreetly drawn over the windows, including that separating them from the driver.
Discretion is required as Asquith picks a careful path between crises while the world moves inexorably toward war but he delights in sharing tidbits of confidential information with Venetia, sometimes including decoded telegrams, or minutes of confidential Cabinet meetings.
Venetia - and through her, the reader - is better-informed of the dire situation of the United Kingdom in mid-1914 than almost anyone else in the kingdom.
Precipice of war
The novel begins with a tense attempt to resolve the Irish Question, where even the King gets involved. Asquith shares details with Venetia but very quickly the developing situation in Europe pushes these important matters aside. As the European powers react to the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand in Sarajevo, demands are made, ultimatums given, armies mobilised, and forces begin crossing borders. Each event is communicated to the British government by ambassadors and agents, and Venetia winds up in possession of many of these documents.
The documents, along with the copious intimate correspondence, are provided to the reader, giving a flavour of these affairs in early 20th-century London.
Although there is hope that the UK might avoid being drawn in, this proves illusory as we learn from Asquith’s sharing of confidences. Asquith’s already shaky government is beset by fresh scandals and dangers. Winston Churchill, as the head of the Royal Navy, is embroiled in one risky scheme after another and Asquith has his work cut out reining in his impetuous underling who is all for leading his own invasion force, personally, if possible.
Even when Venetia retreats to the countryside with her family, there is no escape from the Prime Minister. He bombards her with letters - each of which she promptly replies to - and does his best to visit her for stolen moments in forest glades.
The spooks get involved
The author introduces us to Paul Deemer, a police detective, who is drawn in through an investigation into a couple of deaths involving Venetia’s Coterie friends.
A rather likeable chap, Deemer soon uncovers the correspondence between the lovers, along with the appalling breaches of confidential government information.
He pursues Venetia in a risky undercover operation, penetrating one of the enormous country houses of the Stanley family, and for the remainder of the novel he keeps we the readers informed as each fresh war crisis and twist in the relationship is revealed.
At one point, Harris lays the blame for the disastrous Gallipoli campaign of 1915 on Asquith’s obsession with his far younger lover. Instead of attending to a Cabinet meeting, he is writing a love letter and consequently misses a chance to head Winston Churchill off from a naval campaign against Turkey.
This predictably goes pear-shaped, more and more forces are drawn in to counter each new disaster and in Australia and New Zealand the day of the invasion is remembered a century later as one of military sacrifice and poignant loss.
Because a British Prime Minister was distracted by a dalliance.
Class in the UK
Robert Harris does a good job of outlining the inequality that defined the British Empire.
At the pinnacle, we see the ultra-privileged ruling class. Henry Asquith and his political cronies, Venetia Stanley and her Coterie, the various lords and royalty who bob in and out of the tale; they might suffer embarrassment now and then, but they all have their grand homes, their fancy cars, their legions of household servants, and they are never going to be short of a crate of champagne or an excuse to drink it.
Lower down we see the middle class perhaps exemplified by the upwardly mobile police detective sergeant Deemer, diligent in his job, earning the trust of his superiors, appalled at the way the ruling class gets away with the most outrageous acts and his participation in the corruption.
And at the bottom, we enter the world of the working class, struggling in dire circumstances but still supportive of the toffs and their leadership, even as their young men enlist and are sent off to endure the most harrowing of military misadventures, often leading to death.
In this, at least, they share some of the dangers with the sons of the nobility, who are despatched and disfigured at about the same rate.
A rattling good yarn
Precipice is a jolly good read. The period is one of crisis and onrushing disaster, and we are skilfully taken into the minds - and hearts - of those at the centre of decision-making.
We might question the wisdom of Prime Minister Asquith at times but we feel for the poor bloke, trapped in a romantic affair. We’ve all shared in that particular madness, I trust, and can sympathise with the two lovers, as well as those caught up on the fringes, such as Asquith’s long-suffering wife, forced to endure her knowledge but also to maintain a façade of politeness.
Paul Deemer, the fictional police detective, is another soul we can feel kinship with. He has his job to do and he has to do it, no matter how distasteful it becomes. The security of the British Empire - and his prospect of advancement - depends on his intrusion into the affairs of the rich and famous.
Every chapter has the reader wondering how they are all going to get out of the deepening mess. Will there be a disastrous scandal? Will Asquith turn out to be capable of holding his government together with bare hands? What hare-brained military adventure will Winston Churchill come up with next? Will Detective Deemer lose his patience and arrest the upper-crust distributors of government secrets?
The book ends with a few twists. It is well worth holding on for the revelations, including one that absolutely knocked my socks off.
Five stars from me, but I’m already a fan of Robert Harris and his historical stories.
Buy the book, listen to the audio, download the e-book and enjoy the ride. Let me know how you got on, will you?
Britni