Review: Tipping the Velvet by Sarah Waters

Anyone who has ever read any of my other reviews of Sarah Waters' books will have already heard about - and been immeasurably bored by - my enduring admiration for her work.

They will also be familiar with my mixed relationship with said work, so I won't rehash it again. Suffice to say, Waters' debut novel was the last one I came to and it has stirred up rather heated debate in the little book group in my heart.

It is no surprise that critics and readers alike were gripped and excited by this new writer, who showed a brilliant ability to characterise, to create a sense of place and time, to sprawl her characters' stories across many settings and situations, just as real life itself tends to spew all over the place, rather than just chunter along nicely on a pre-set, pre-destined course.

And for that reason, I liked Tipping the Velvet very much. Not having seen the TV adaptation, the storyline had not already been spoiled for me and I enjoyed the way in which the central character Nancy makes her way from naive starstruck oyster girl, to rent boy and decadent 'tom', as she tries to find her true identity in Victorian London.

Everybody knows that Tipping the Velvet is absolutely bursting with girl-on-girl action and I can confirm that the adaptation was no exaggeration of the book. The central section in particular is so full of heaving bosoms, damp 'spendings' and choice terms for a lady's private parts that I became convinced a crusty copy of this book must be tucked under the mattress of every teenage boy in the land. It's so full-on that it actually becomes boring and loses its titillation factor, but I suspect even that is a purposeful and clever technique employed by the author.

At the beginning of her story, Nancy is young, inexperienced and frightened by her burgeoning feelings for her friend Kitty and the tentative, gentle sex reflects that. Later on, betrayed and jaded by the world, Nancy almost loses herself in the abandon of sex as a way of life, indeed, a way of earning a living. If the reader is bored with the constant depravity, then Nancy most certainly is and this pulls the role of physical gratification back into perspective for both character and reader.

All in all, a highly entertaining read, just don't give it to your gran for Christmas.

Review: Fingersmith by Sarah Waters

A real heavyweight among contemporary storytellers, Sarah Waters is one of my most admired authors. Her last three novels have each been nominated for the prestigious Man Booker Prize and the television adaptation of Tipping the Velvet, her debut tale of lesbianism in Victorian England, was an eye-opening experience for many viewers.

I have not yet read Tipping the Velvet but, after being gripped by her latest novel, The Little Stranger, I have decided to explore Waters' back catalogue. Set in the aftermath of the Second World War, when society has changed and formerly rich families are struggling to maintain their grip on the good life, The Little Stranger tells a slow and creeping story about the effects of decay, both physical and social. Brilliantly narrated by a character who keeps you guessing about his own motives and plays with your sympathies, it touches on the supernatural in an ambiguous way that I find rather thrilling.

So I went on to read The Nightwatch, again set in and around the Second World War, and I was not disappointed. With this novel, Waters seems to excel in telling stories that are kind of about nothing - nothing, that is, other than the complexities and absurdities of human life. Even though it often concerns itself with the minutiae of day to day life - affairs, failed romance, petty and not so petty crimes - the secrets you know are coming still grip and enthral the reader. Telling the story in reverse chronological order, Waters' grasp of structure is awe-inspiring and a useful lesson to all aspiring writers out there.

As a reader, Fingersmith was my first foray into Waters' Victorian period. And to be brutally honest, after the first few pages, my heart was starting to sink. Although it had clearly been intricately researched and was written with as much class as ever, I began to feel uneasy. For the dialogue was too twee, the research shovelled too heavily onto the page, as if the authenticity of its setting had been judged more important than the story or establishment of character. When a chap nicknamed 'Gentleman' turned up, I wondered if I had inadvertantly picked up a Catherine Cookson potboiler by mistake.

But I stuck out this inauspicious beginning and almost immediately, my faith began to pay off. When Waters allowed us to move beyond the grim atmosphere of a thieves' den in Victorian London, the story picked up apace and before long, I was hooked. The twist at the end of part one literally made my jaw drop and now, I cared - I wanted to know what happened to these characters and I had opinions on how their fates should pan out, which is surely the mark of a truly successful storyteller.

Of course there was a bit of lesbo action, but it was handled in a tender and not remotely titillating manner. Indeed, given the behaviour of the story's male population, getting busy with a fellow chick seemed an infinitely more favourable prospect. At one point, I was a little concerned that a subplot about sexual deviancy was going to poison the experience, but it was expertly handled. Without subjecting the reader to the ins and outs of it, so to speak, the deeply unsettling influence is made to pervade the atmosphere, just as it does the lives of Waters' fictional heroines.

Drawing characters that are all too human, Waters leaves you wondering if they deserved their fates; who was good, who was bad and just how far you have to go in order to earn redemption.