If books were food, Gillespie and I by Jane Harris would be a decadent chocolate torte with layers of cake separated by cherry filling and covered with a rich ganache accompanied by a steaming hot cup of coffee. In other words, absolutely and ridiculously delicious. Given enough uninterrupted reading time, I would have gorged myself on it and devoured it in as few sittings as I could muster. It's a fairly long novel, however, but the book itself appears quite trim. You never get the sense of it being a particularly long story even though it has over 500 pages. When a story is this good, you don't worry about how many pages are left or when you will finish, you just let yourself be carried along by the telling.
Do you remember the Common Reader book catalog? Some worthy reads were bestowed the "thumping good read" mark of approval, which is a rave I sometimes will give a book (not to be handed out lightly mind you). If you want to know what makes a "thumping good read", just pick up Gillespie and I. Actually you could also pick up her earlier novel, The Observations, too, which I read a number of years ago and was also thoroughly impressed by. Harris does a very convincing Victorian pastiche à la Charles Dickens or Sarah Waters (and I realize I am picking an author who is the 'real thing' and one who writes as if she is also the 'real thing' because Harris could be plopped down amidst the best and hold her own). This is a story that is twisty turny and baroque in feel. You know, a good Victorian tale that doesn't shirk on the telling--neither with characterization nor plot nor atmosphere, a story that seems like one thing but maybe turns out to be something else.
That's Gillespie and I. It seems like one thing but turns out to be something else. How much can I tell you without giving too much away? "Gillespie and I" is the story Harriet Baxter is writing about her more 'youthful' experiences with the Scottish artist Ned Gillespie. A memoir, if you will. It all begins with a woman choking. Harriet is nothing if not practical. A take-charge sort of woman of early middle years, who I suppose I would call a spinster (though I hate that term). After the death of her aunt she moves from London to Glasgow for a change of pace and a break from being attendant on the sickbed. It is freeing for her, a bit of independence.
It also happens to be the year of the first Glasgow International Exhibition. Such an exciting time and the city filled with people from all over the world to take part. Native Glaswegian, Ned Gillespie, as an artist, has been kept busy by the exhibition. His artwork has been getting some attention and he is hoping that his work will catch the eye of the Queen. If he can be chosen as the royal portrait painter (and there is something of a competition on for that very reason) then the commissions will follow. Though for Ned it isn't so much about the money (only to support his family) than it is about the art.
One day as she is walking down a busy Glasgow street Harriet happens across a woman who is anxious and showing signs of real distress. Her mother-in-law is flat out on the pavement and seems rather grave--her lips turning blue and no one has any idea what's happened. Having attended some First Aid lectures in London she feels she can be of some assistance, and as it turns out she is able to discern something lodged in the woman's throat. As it happens, the lady seems to have partially swallowed her false teeth and now lies there unable to breathe. A bit of fumbling about, fingers just able to dislodge it, and. . . yes, the lady can breathe once again.
Harriet has saved the day and saved the woman's life and so is invited to share a meal with the Gillespie family--Ned and his wife Annie and his mother, Elspeth (she is, you won't be surprised) quite taken with Harriet, and their two daughters and other sundry relatives. Harriet falls in quite easily with the Gillespie brood and spends much of her time at their home, which as it turns out is just around the corner from her own lodgings. She practically becomes one of the family and a mentor of sorts to Ned--if not a mentor then one of his greatest supporters. With their best interests at heart Harriet inveigles her way into the Gillespie's world.
It's a bit comical to think of a woman choking on her own false teeth. It's okay, you can think so, too. I think Harris does this purposely, and there are things about this story that are a little comical, and Harriet is a most ardent storyteller and fan of the Gillespie family. The story she tells is both in the moment (or feels like it as she writes her memoir) as well as from a distance of almost 50 years as she reminisces over the happy experiences she has with the family.
But not all the experiences are happy and as the story progresses and you realize Harriet is telling the story, and as assured as she is and compelling as her voice seems, you do begin to wonder about her and the things that are happening and her motivations. The tone turns from one that is almost light-hearted to something darker and broodier more and more questions form in your mind. The experience of reading the story might be like eating rich cake, but the story itself goes overripe very quickly. And I mean the events and not the telling. The telling is always spot on, and that is the beauty of it all. Just as in The Observations, Harris is a surprising storyteller (and so for that matter is Harriet!). There is more than meets the eye in Harriet Baxter. She's a woman you might (or might not?) admire, but you won't soon forget her.
Good writing like this is never to be rushed, but please Ms. Harris, tell us you are working on a new book!