The Mission House by Carys Davies - Review by Terry Heiser
I have recently read this novel and thought it was excellent. The review, below, by my father-in-law, Terry, which appeared on my previous blog, gives a perfect sense of what makes this novel so good.
I have noticed how some authors seek to attract a younger generation of readers by scattering their pages with references to Twitter, Instagram, Zoom, Filter, Messenger - even to emails, not realising that the young text rather than email - the dark web, and dark matter. They do not convince.
And so, I was attracted to Carys Davies' second novel, that seemed in its subject matter to harken back to a more thoughtful and reflective age of novel writing. Oota is a hill station in South India. British soldiers had arrived in Oota on horseback in 1819 in search a location for a field hospital. They built shops, houses, a club, a library, a racecourse, an Assembly Room. A Scotsman from Kew had then laid out a Botanical Garden.
The main character in the novel is Hilary Byrd, who had been a librarian in Petts Wood, a suburb in South London, for 25 years. He had led a celibate, repressed life. His sister Wyn had kept a worried eye on him. He became disenchanted with his life as librarian with the arrival of: “…new shelves on wheels and new self-check-out stations, and the new Mothers and Toddlers music group, the noisy new librarian called Margaret, the removal of the dictionaries and small wooden tables, and how he had been sworn at by a young girl in a flowery dress and an old man in a white sweater.” So, he decided to make a break with is old life and go for an extended stay in Oota.
He takes up residence in a bungalow near the house of the elderly Padre Andrew, who has a young Indian servant, Priscilla. She had been born without thumbs and a partially deformed foot. The Padre’s main aim in life seems to be to see Priscilla securely married.
Byrd also develops an unlikely and unexpected friendship with an elderly auto-rickshaw driver, Jamshed. The latter has a nephew, Ravi, whom he grossly overindulges with financial gifts. Ravi want to be a pop singer and star. This is the new India , not the India of E.M.Forster.
Byrd falls into a routine of daily trips with Jamshed along what becomes a fixed route through the little town:“He visited the Botanical Gardens and the lake. He called at the King Star Chocolate Shop and bought 6 ounces of Fruit and Nut in a vacuum-sealed foil bag. He replenished his supplies at the market and at the Modern Stores. He ate lunch at the Nazri Hotel. He visited the library and Higginbotham’s bookshop…..” His attitude towards the Indians he meets is informed by an inherited cultural view of an Empire created and civilised by the British - that of a sahib, polite but slightly condescending.
The author writes in the third person and reveals Byrd from a number of different perspectives - especially Jamshed, Priscilla and the Padre. The most illuminating is that of the auto rickshaw driver, Jamshed, who listens over his shoulder to all Byrd has to say about himself on the daily drive through the town. Jamshed not only listens, but unknown to Byrd, can speak and write English and at night keeps a dairy and creates a sensitive portrait of Byrd seen through sympathetic but Indian eyes.
Byrd meanwhile develops an affection or even love for Priscilla, and adjusts his behaviour to win her affection and the Padre’s endorsement. But he is utterly out of his depth and things do not turn out as he had hoped.
There is an illustrious list of books by British authors about India, of which E. M. Forster’s “Passage to India” is perhaps the most famous. There has also been a stream of later books and memoirs about Europeans and Americans seeking enlightenment from gurus, and learning mantras. But Carly Davis has time for none of this. She creates a picture of India today, in one tiny hill town that the British tried to turn into a “corner of England”, and that very few of the present population want or care about. She also has a sharp ear for the way in which her characters speak - you can tell who is talking without a name being attached; and she has a precise use of language that is rare these days.
Well worth reading.