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I was talking about the lost books, the books which have a special magic in my mind because I loved them as a child, and have not re-read as an adult because I haven't seen them in years. There are other books which have some of the same charm, the personal treasures which no one else ever seems to have heard of, but of which I do, for whatever reason, still have a copy. The Fair to Middling is one of these, and I have just re-read it.
One August Bank Holiday a fair comes to the town of Middling, and the children at the orphanage there are each given half a crown (the book was first published in 1959, so this was a generous allowance) and an afternoon's holiday to enjoy the fair. Technically, I suppose it is fantasy, since it describes people experiencing things which are not realistic, but it doesn't feel like fantasy: the author does not seem interested in the fantastic elements for their own sake, but as a means of confronting his characters with choices which, in the real world, they could not have. This is not to say that his story-telling is schematic or moralistic: there is a wealth of baroque detail, but it springs, not from the joy of world-building but from a relish for the absurdities of language. If you wince at the punning title, you will probably be in pain throughout the book.
There is another respect, too, in which the book is not schematic or moralistic, which is ( - but anything beyond this point is liable to be a spoiler... )
The characters, their problems, what they are offered and what price they are asked to pay: these elements form fascinating patterns, and it doesn't matter that some of those patterns reflect the author's assumptions rather than his intentions. But the real pleasures of the narrative are deliberately crafted: the verbal richness, from the broadest puns to the slyest descriptions, it remains a joy to read.
One other virtue of this book, which I had completely forgotten: it is illustrated by Raymond Briggs.
One August Bank Holiday a fair comes to the town of Middling, and the children at the orphanage there are each given half a crown (the book was first published in 1959, so this was a generous allowance) and an afternoon's holiday to enjoy the fair. Technically, I suppose it is fantasy, since it describes people experiencing things which are not realistic, but it doesn't feel like fantasy: the author does not seem interested in the fantastic elements for their own sake, but as a means of confronting his characters with choices which, in the real world, they could not have. This is not to say that his story-telling is schematic or moralistic: there is a wealth of baroque detail, but it springs, not from the joy of world-building but from a relish for the absurdities of language. If you wince at the punning title, you will probably be in pain throughout the book.
There is another respect, too, in which the book is not schematic or moralistic, which is ( - but anything beyond this point is liable to be a spoiler... )
The characters, their problems, what they are offered and what price they are asked to pay: these elements form fascinating patterns, and it doesn't matter that some of those patterns reflect the author's assumptions rather than his intentions. But the real pleasures of the narrative are deliberately crafted: the verbal richness, from the broadest puns to the slyest descriptions, it remains a joy to read.
One other virtue of this book, which I had completely forgotten: it is illustrated by Raymond Briggs.
