In my novel, Elijah’s Mermaid, I describe a Victorian artist who is obsessed
with painting his muse in the form of a beautiful mermaid. The Last Days of Leda Grey sees the
mythical creature appear again, this time when an Edwardian actress plays such
a part in an early silent film.
A Mermaid, by Waterhouse
This is not a new preoccupation of mine. Just look at the sidebar of this blog! It began
when I was five-years old, when one of the very first books I loaned from the
local children’s library was Hans Christian Anderson’s Little Mermaid ~ a tragic, far darker story than the Disney version
might imply.
But then mermaids are conundrums ~ these mythical sirens, half-women, half-fish at once
being familiar, and also extremely exotic. From under the waves in which
they swim surrounded by bones of long-drowned men these fantastical deceivers
gaze back up through the mirror of the sea; although, should they be captured
and removed from their natural environment they might become quite different: crippled,
lonely creatures who must weep for the ‘other world’ they’ve lost ... unless,
of course, they are the fakes displayed as curiosities in museums, or
private collections.
I describe one such fraudulent creature, known
as the Feejee Mermaid, a taxidermist’s masterpiece combining a monkey’s upper
corpse joined onto the tail of a giant fish. And now, this monstrosity lives again
through another historical novel that I simply couldn't wait to read even though it won't be published until January next year.
How lucky I am to have received a proof of The Mermaid and Mrs Hancock, a gloriously
entertaining Georgian romp by Imogen Hermes Gowar.
Portrait of Mary Robinson by Hoppner ~ and perhaps a model for Angelica Neal
This delightful literary romance conjures
so vividly to life the unlikely and charming friendship between our hero, Mr
Hancock, a widowed, middle-aged ship owner who trades from his humble East End home, and the golden-haired, somewhat down-on-her-luck, London
courtesan Angelica ~ officially known as Mrs Neal, and rather charmingly described as being "as cool and fragrant as rosewater custard."
The two of them are introduced when Mr Hancock ~ “a portly gentleman of forty-five, dressed
in worsted and fustian and linen, honest familiar textures to match his
threadbare scalp, the silverfish fuzz of his jowls, the scuffed and stained
skin of his fingertips” ~ finds himself the unwitting owner of a hideous
stuffed mermaid that Mrs Chappell ~ a
brilliant caricature of the most decadent brothel ‘madam’ (just read and rejoice in the
humour of her peeing in a pot in a carriage) is intrigued with the freakish
mermaid and hires it to show in her ‘nunnery’, hoping the curiosity
will draw a larger clientele.
Mr Hancock is also invited to enjoy the
grand unveiling, but is then so shocked by what he sees performed by Mrs
Chappell’s whores (all of which Hermes Gowar conjures with such salacious wit and colour) that
he flees the brothel in disgust. However, he cannot forget the voluptuous
charms of the lovely Angelica ... and so their relationship begins, though it's not at
all the type to which Angelica is used.
As the novel progressed I found myself
developing such affection for this oddly mismatched couple, both of whom are
deeply troubled by events from inescapable pasts. Both are trapped in webs
created from their self-delusion, also self-preservation, with Hancock often
imagining the baby son who died at birth to be living, still part of his real
world in scenes which are movingly disclosed. And then, when it comes to Angelica,
so well-versed in the art of deceiving men, she also succeeds in deluding
herself. Much like the fake stuffed mermaid, she may beguile her clientele, but for how long can she go on without losing her very own heart and soul?
Such is the central theme of this novel
where illusion and shameless trickery are linked to scandal and financial gain,
where the glittering surface of beauty and wit conceal a darker underworld of
sin, of neglect, of despair, and grief. Through such a mire the survivors try to swim ~
and sometimes sink below the surface too ~ which only makes us love them more.
In this clattering Georgian London are extremes
of wealth and poverty, with everyone striving to survive whether morally, or
immorally. There may be gorgeous shell grottos and pretty girls in West End
shops, but these scenes bear stark comparison to
the animal activities going on at the hands of blood-stained butchers, or in the filth of
night-time alleys in which women far less fortunate live out their doomed
existences. As Angelica knows all too well, the future is precarious. “Simply go on as best you can ~ the wheel
will turn. It always does.”
But which way will the wheel turn for her?
As the story rolls ever onwards towards its final dramatic scenes, at
times with shocking outcomes, the book almost transcends its bounds, becoming
something more profound as it forces its protagonists ~ and also the reader observing
them ~ to take a long hard look at their reflections in a mirror: to find the
courage and the hope to face the truth of what they are.
As seductive as any siren's song, this remarkable, glittering Georgian tale has a heart of purest gold.
Imogen Hermes Gowar ~ a wonderful new literary talent
