Frances has it bad, and that's not good. Normally she's an intelligent, reliable, resourceful young woman, a companion to her widowed mother, keeper of the large house on Champion Hill in which the two of them rattle about, now that the men of the family have died. But then Frances falls in love, and the carefully wrought edifice of her life collapses in a heap of passion and catastrophe.
The Paying Guests, Sarah Waters' superb, bewitching new novel, is set in 1922 London. World War I has recently ended, but not before consuming hundreds of thousands of British lives and leaving the nation economically devastated. Families like Frances' — once wealthy — now find the cupboard bare.
To cope, Frances and her mother decide to take in lodgers, the "paying guests" of the title: a nice young couple a notch or two below them on the social scale. Their names are Len and Lily Barber. He's a bit of a lout, and she's something of a flirt, but in Frances' orderly, boring world, they function the way sunrise does in a gloomy room: Suddenly you're compelled to open wide the window — or in Frances' case, her heart. She and Lily begin a red-hot affair.
Waters is a master of the slow build, of the gradual assemblage of tiny random moments that result in a life-altering love. She captures the deep emotion that can underlie the crude mechanics of sex, the poetry that keeps it from being just a midnight merging of limbs and orifices. Forget about Fifty Shades of Grey; this novel is one of the most sensual you will ever read, and all without sacrificing either good taste or a "G" rating.
Something terrible happens within these pages, of course, and Frances faces a moral dilemma of monstrous proportion. I'm reluctant to say even one more word about the plot, however, because Waters is a consummate storyteller, and for the reader, each twist elicits a small, deeply pleasurable shock. Frances isn't the only one who will do a lot of gasping in the course of The Paying Guests.
This is Waters' sixth novel. I've loved them all, except for The Night Watch (2006), set in London during World War II, which felt contrived. The others are absolutely spellbinding. The Little Stranger (2009), the one prior to The Paying Guests, is perhaps my favorite, but in both, the past is brought before our eyes with exquisite clarity. The very air quivers with lust and expectancy. You'll swear you can hear the clink of the cups and saucers, as well as the mad pounding of Frances' heart when her beloved is near. Here is Waters' description of the latter moment: "It was as if all her senses had been wiped clean of a layer of dust. Every colour seemed sharper. Straight edges were like blades."
My only quibble with The Paying Guests is its length; the last hundred pages or so chronicle a court trial and feel padded, the first time I've ever had that reaction to a Sarah Waters novel. Otherwise, this is a magnificent creation, a book that doubles as a time machine, flinging us back not only to postwar London, but also to our own lost love affairs, the kind that left us breathless — and far too besotted to notice that we had somehow misplaced our moral compass.
Julia Keller's latest novel is Summer of the Dead.
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Transcript
ROBERT SIEGEL, HOST:
It's been a big year for books about World War I since this is the hundredth anniversary of the start of that war. Novelist Sarah Waters has written one of those books, and instead of setting it on the front lines, it takes place in London after the war. It was a time when women were often left to pick up the pieces. Julia Keller has this review of "The Paying Guests."
JULIA KELLER: Frances Wray has it bad, and that's not good. Normally she's a smart, stable, reliable young woman. She keeps her mother company and helps take care of their big house. It's just the two of them rattling around in there now that the men in the family have died. But then, Frances falls in love, and her life collapses in a mess of passion and catastrophe.
"The Paying Guests" is set in London. World War I has ended, but not before it took tens of thousands of British lives. The economy is devastated. Families that used to be wealthy like Frances's now find the cupboard bare. So Frances and her mother decide to take in tenants - the paying guests of the book's title. Their names are Lily and Leonard Barber - a nice young couple, just a notch or two below the Wrays on the social scale. But to Frances, they're like the sun coming into a gloomy room. Frances and Lily begin a red-hot affair.
Sarah Waters is a master of the slow build - tiny moments gradually accumulate and a world emerges. She captures the deep emotions and the poetry beneath the mechanics of sex. Forget about "50 Shades Of Grey." This novel is one of the most sensual you will ever read, and somehow it still manages both good taste and a G rating.
Something terrible happens, of course, and Frances ends up in a series of moral dilemmas that are increasingly dire. I will say no more about the plot because Waters is a superb storyteller, and each twist brings a small, satisfying shock. Frances isn't the only one who will do a lot of gasping here.
I've been reading Sarah Waters novels for years now. I love them for the exquisite way the past is brought before our eyes. The air quivers with lust and expectancy. You'll swear you can hear the clink of the cups and saucers and the mad pounding of Frances's heart when her beloved is near.
It was as if all her senses had been wiped clean of a layer of dust, Waters writes. Every color seems sharper - straight edges were like blades.
My only quibble is the book's length. The last hundred pages or so are about a trial and feel a little padded. Otherwise, this is a magnificent creation - a novel that doubles as a time machine flinging us back not only to postwar London, but also to our own lost love affairs - the kind that left us breathless.
SIEGEL: The novel is called "The Paying Guests" by Sarah Waters. It was reviewed by Julia Keller. Her latest novel is "Summer Of The Dead." Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright NPR.
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