Moon Tiger, by Penelope
Lively – Andre Deutsch, 208 pages
★ ★ ★ ★ ★
A history of the
world, yes. And in the process, my own. The life and times of Claudia H. The
bit of the twentieth century to which I’ve been shackled, willy-nilly, like it
or not. Let me contemplate myself within my context: everything and nothing.
The history of the world as selected by Claudia: fact and fiction, myth and
evidence, images and documents. (p. 1)
Moon Tiger is yet
another fantastic reading experience I owe to the BBC World Book Club podcast.
It’s a book to be savoured, reread, underlined and experienced over and over,
revealing something new each time. It is the internal monologue of Claudia
Hampton, popular historian, who lies dying in hospital and composes in her head
the history of the world – the history of her own life. Central to the story
are her relationships: the complex, incestuous ties to her brother Gordon; the
emotional distance between Claudia and her daughter Lisa; the unlikely yet
lifelong on-and-off romance with entrepreneur Jasper; the strong bond with
Hungarian artist Laszlo, who becomes a sort of surrogate son; and finally, the
achingly brief love affair with Tom Southern in Cairo during World War II.
Chronology irritates
me. There is no chronology inside my head. I am composed of a myriad Claudias
who spin and mix and part like sparks of sunlight on water. (p. 2)
Claudia’s narrative is told from different points of view.
The seventy-six year-old woman is just as much of a character in the novel as
Claudia’s previous ‘versions’ at different stages in her life. Each ‘Claudia’
and the people she interacts with gets a say in the telling of the story,
revealing the ultimate unreliability of the narrator. Gordon’s boring wife
Sylvia, Lisa – the rejected daughter, and the frequently bewildered Jasper
reveal that Claudia is caustic, stubborn, unyielding, and completely unwilling
to adhere to convention. Intelligent, successful, and arrestingly beautiful,
she is attractive but not well liked and certainly not fully understood – not
that Claudia cares! She is certainly one of the most vivid and memorable
heroines I’ve come across in literature, and I couldn’t help but like her.
No one, she thinks,
has ever spoken to me like this before. I have never made anyone happy before.
I have made people angry, restless, jealous, lecherous ... never, I think,
happy. (p. 120)
At the very heart of the novel is Claudia’s biggest secret:
her relationship with Tom, an Army captain in the African campaign of World War
II. For a few short weeks, they enjoy happiness and peace neither of them had
thought possible. Tom tentatively plans for a future together, but Claudia says
nothing, and it’s as if she suspects somehow that Tom will eventually go out to
the front and not come back. For the second time in her life (the first being
wishing her annoying little brother dead), Claudia prays, but there is no
answer, and Tom is killed. There is a child but, devastatingly, Claudia miscarries
a little boy, which may explain her maternal relationship with wild child
Laszlo later in life.
History: it enlarges
me, it frees me from the prison of my experience; it also resounds within that
experience. (p. 159)
This is no trite romance novel; Claudia recovers, goes on to
take many lovers and have a child. She is often seized with a crippling longing
for Tom, but never lets on and certainly tells no one the story. She lives the
life that is perhaps better suited for her, going on to write wildly successful
works of popular history, one of which is made into a film. Obsessively, she
researches the mundane concerns of important yet in many ways commonplace
individuals that go on to make history. She incenses academics, fires the
imagination of the reading public, and fascinates and alienates at the same
time. It is surprising, then, that there is no real partner for Claudia except
her near-genius brother Gordon.
We confronted each
other like mirrors, flinging back reflections in endless recession. We spoke to
each other in code. Other people become, for a while, for a couple of
contemptuous years, a proletariat. We were an aristocracy of two. (p. 137)
This complicated relationship is one of the most interesting
aspects of the novel. Claudia and Gordon grow up together, challenge each
other, share incestuous (or near-incestuous) experiences, and go on to become
each other’s closest friends and confidants. They communicate without speaking,
excluding everyone else from their conversation, and projecting an aura of an
exclusive secret society. This confuses Jasper, saddens Laszlo, and unnerves
Sylvia, all of whom feel extraneous and inadequate when Claudia and Gordon are
together. There quite simply is no match for Claudia but Gordon; even Tom, from
the reader’s perspective, does not seem quite enough for her.
Language tethers us to
the world; without it we spin like atoms. (p. 41)
Well-deserving of the Booker Prize it won in 1987, Moon Tiger is a powerful reading
experience. The language captivates and tempts the reader back again and again
to savour Claudia’s apt and thought-provoking turns of phrase. The war is
described powerfully, believably and without the sentiment that deceptively similar
stories such as The English Patient
reek of. The characters are vivid and captivating, with the formidable Claudia
as mistress of them all. To use a cliché, it’s an absolute must-read.