Meaning in the Margin: the Letters and Works of David Garnett

MEANING IN THE MARGIN: THE LETTERS AND WORKS OF DAVID GARNETT

Ryan Scott Fletcher

APPROVED BY SUPERVISORY COMMITTEE:

______Michael Wilson, Chair

______Patricia Michaelson

______Sean Cotter

Ryan Scott Fletcher

RYAN SCOTT FLETCHER, BA, MA

DISSERTATION

Presented to the Faculty of

The University of Texas at Dallas

in Partial Fulfillment

of the Requirements

for the Degree of

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY IN

HUMANITIES-STUDIES IN LITERATURE

THE UNIVERSITY OF TEXAS AT DALLAS

December 2020 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A special thanks to my committee chair, Professor Michael Wilson, for his encouragement and sound advice. I also want to thank my committee members, Professor Patricia Michaelson,

Professor Sean Cotter, and Professor Fred Curchack, for their continued support throughout the duration of this project. Thank you to Linda Snow, library liaison, and Professor Tim Redman for making me aware of this special collection of letters at The University of Texas at the Harry

Ransom Center.

September 2020

v MEANING IN THE MARGIN: THE LETTERS AND WORKS OF DAVID GARNETT

Ryan Scott Fletcher, PhD The University of Texas at Dallas, 2020

ABSTRACT

Supervising Professor: Michael Wilson

David Garnett (1892-1981) is mostly known for his minor role as a member in the Bloomsbury

Group, meeting in WWI. The Bloomsbury Group is made up of artists, writers, and even a famous economist during the early twentieth century, i.e. Virginia Woolf, Lytton Strachey, and

John Maynard Keynes. Scholars rarely notice or even mention Garnett’s impact in shaping modernism as a writer, critic, and editor, especially in London. In this dissertation, I utilize

Garnett’s personal letters housed at the Harry Ransom Center at the University of Texas as well as research surrounding the Bloomsbury Group to reveal Garnett’s significant and often underestimated role. Meaning in the Margin posits as an important and resourceful writer of the time. His letters during WWI show a young man in transition, revealing his struggles as a conscientious objector and his developing relationship with the Bloomsbury Group. The letters after WWI highlight a knowledgeable writer and critic in London, expanding a network of his

own. Garnett’s novels, Lady into Fox (1922), A Man in the Zoo (1924), The Sailor’s Return

(1925), Go She Must! (1927), Beany-Eye (1935), and Aspects of Love (1955), emphasize a

concern for the psychological and man’s relationship to the animal. This work concludes Garnett

is worthy of attention for scholars due to his letters and literary contributions.

vi TABLE OF CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS……………….……………………………………………………….v

ABSTRACT………………………………………………………………...……………………vi

INTRODUCTION……………………………………………………………………………....viii

CHAPTER 1 BLOOMSBURY’S PUPIL: THE TRANSFORMATION OF DAVID

GARNETT…………………………………………………………………………………….…..1

CHAPTER 2 LONDON’S SECRET: DAVID GARNETT’S LIFE AS MENTOR AND

EDITOR……………………………………………………………………………………….…43

CHAPTER 3 THE ANIMAL WITHIN: AN ANALYSIS OF DAVID GARNETT’S

NOVELS……………………………………………………………………………………....…80

CONCLUSION…………………………………………………………………………………123

WORKS CITED………………………………………………………………………………..126

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH………………………………………………………………...…133

CURRICULUM VITAE

vii INTRODUCTION

MEANING IN THE MARGIN: THE LETTERS AND WORKS OF DAVID

GARNETT

In March of 1923, many influential artists gathered to celebrate a friend’s birthday in

London. The artist Duncan Grant offered his home as a location to celebrate. John Maynard

Keynes, the esteemed twentieth-century economist, brought his girlfriend, Lydia Lopokova, a member of the Ballets Russes. They congregated to offer their congratulations for a job well done on a recent literary award, the James Tait Black Memorial Prize, which is one of Britain’s oldest. Previous award recipients before 1923 included D.H. Lawrence and Lytton Strachey.

Mina Kirstein, who would become a future supporter of American theater and a biographer, accompanied her friend, Henrietta Bingham, a wealthy American, to the party. The two women contributed a large cake that was decorated with an image from the award-winning novel, Lady into Fox. Lydia honored guests with a dance, and Henrietta sang a few African

American spirituals. The celebratory night brought artists together from different sides of the

Atlantic as well as different media. Worlds collided because of this honored guest, bringing a diverse experience to all who attended. The cake honored the 1922 recipient of the James Tait

Black Award, none other than David Garnett (Knights 181).

David Garnett (1892-1981), also known as Bunny to friends and family, grew up outside

London near Crockham Hill in Kent. He was the only child of Edward and Constance Garnett.

Edward was a publisher and Constance was a famous translator of Russian novels and stories.

Garnett grew up to study science, but WWI would interrupt his plans. As a conscientious objector in the war, Garnett began to write. After the war, he along with Francis Birrell and

viii Francis Meynell opened the Nonesuch Press. In all, Garnett authored twenty novels and two

collections of short stories. He also wrote a three-volume autobiography during the late 1950s.

He went on to edit and work for The New Statesman and Chatto during the 1920s through the

1940s, writing reviews and reading manuscripts. Eventually, he became a publisher along with

Rupert Hart-Davis and Teddy Young (Knights 384-386).

Sadly, David Garnett’s name remains lost to many. No one has heard of him except for a select few, mostly those who are familiar with some of his closest friends. He may be regarded from time to time, as will be shown and discussed, but there’s nothing of note. His contributions to the literary world have mostly gone unnoticed, without much more than mentions in a few scholarly texts, which discuss another author’s work at great length.

Even with such a prolific career and numerous important relationships in and outside

London, Garnett continues to be largely forgotten by the general public and only peripherally accepted by some scholars as a Bloomsbury Group member; the Bloomsbury Group was a collection of artists and writers in the early twentieth century, including members like Virginia

Woolf and John Maynard Keynes. Most scholarship on the Bloomsbury Group has focused more on writers that have made their way into the canon. However, Garnett’s books, his impact on others, his unique experience in the war, have all been omitted or circumvented by other writers and important figures.

A possible answer to this conundrum might be that the art and literature of WWI was rife with experimental artists and a few only subsequently have gained some attention. This dissertation in turn hopes to highlight David Garnett and bring him into focus for other

ix Bloomsbury scholars. I will analyze his letters, currently housed at the Harry Ransom Center at the University of Texas, and his novels. For too long scholars have misplaced David Garnett and spent too much time on what is popular and already being explored. David Garnett, looming in the background, deserves attention for his work and impact on the literary world. This dissertation will give him a place amongst his peers.

I first began my research with David Garnett in 2012 after looking for archival information in regard to Bloomsbury Group members, particularly Virginia Woolf. This path led me to question what other archival information existed for other Bloomsbury Group members, like Garnett and even Vita Sackville-West. I had heard of David Garnett, but I knew little about his professional and personal life, even after working on a master’s thesis about Virginia Woolf at the University of Central Oklahoma and studying the Bloomsbury Group extensively at the

University of Texas at Dallas. After some time working with local librarians at UTD, I located

Garnett’s archival information at the Harry Ransom Center at the University of Texas. I was very fortunate since most British authors’ letters remain in London. Not David Garnett’s, though. His collection is housed at the University of Texas; this put me in a special situation since I reside within driving distance. I made plans to visit over the summer.

Surprisingly, upon my arrival, I discovered the Harry Ransom Center possesses seventeen boxes of uncatalogued letters to and from David Garnett throughout his life. Each green or gray colored box contains anywhere from five to seven folders. Each folder has numerous letters, anywhere from twenty to forty on average. The letters themselves had not yet been catalogued by the HRC other than a little guessing on a few dates, mostly the year if

x known. I was only allowed to carry a camera, a few sheets of paper, and a pencil into the archival room. This would be a time-consuming endeavor. First, I decided to look at the war years, 1914-

1918, since they interested me the most at the time. The library only allowed me to have one box at a time. As I opened the first folders, important names started to fly off the pages. How could this be? So many recognizable names in history and literature appeared, and the letters have not been published or even seen by more than a few scholars. Many of the letters, however, are hard to transcribe due to not only Garnett’s handwriting, but his companions’ as well. So, the first few days I visited, I mostly took pictures of the letters so that I could transcribe them at home and not waste time in the library. I would return to the HRC many times. After spending several weekends and some holiday time in-between semesters visiting, I realized there was much to be

explored. I was reading a story in parts, Garnett’s life story.

Since the letters were uncatalogued at the time, some organizing had to be done. Many of the images I had taken at random at first, hoping to gain some insight. Typing out many of the letters led me to first think about a possible timeline. Context would be important in my research.

Not only was finding a timeline difficult but figuring out words was a challenge. A few boxes of letters belonged to before the war, a few during the war, and many after the war. Unfortunately, only about half of the letters are dated adequately. The HRC did a nice job with coupling them as best they could. A search online quickly revealed that there was a not a biography of Garnett or an analysis of his extensive letters to family and friends. With so many letters and friendships, why had David Garnett been forgotten? This experience of discovering the undiscovered was like putting together a puzzle, piece by piece until a picture coalesced.

xi The collecting, organizing, and transcribing led me to see that there are parts of Garnett’s life that carries meaning and significance. He played a unique role in WWI as a conscientious objector, giving readers a new perspective of the hardships such as the manual labor and the

bullying from communities and the government. Also, he corresponded with many well-known

figures of the time; he was a product of their teachings and ideas. His writing and his

relationships proved to be worthwhile and relevant to current scholarship. In all, this process

revealed that no one had taken the interest or time to organize the collection.

During the course of my research, however, a biography of David Garnett was released; I

was unaware of this project until its publication. Sarah Knights’ Bloomsbury’s Outsider (2015)

gives a detailed account of Garnett’s life but lacks an analysis of what makes him such an

integral part of literary history. Her account is detailed and provides an A to Z approach that’s

useful in a biography. The book lacks an introduction with a thesis; it’s organized as a step-by-

step guide. In the first chapter, Knights states: “Like Edward and Constance, David considered

himself a congenital outsider, attracted to experimental living, to life beyond the mainstream. He

liked to define himself in terms of genetic inheritance and evolution: nature as opposed to

nurture” (4). This is as close as the book comes to a single focus, comparing David to his

parents. Garnett may have seen himself as an outsider as Knights states, but he was a part of

many people’s lives, as his letters show. He is a very complex figure, and he found himself as a

central figure in many circles. Until the publication of Knights’ biography, my research was

mostly biographical just as hers was. What I discovered would add to and build upon Knights’

information.

xii After spending weekends and holidays visiting the library, I wondered what else in the world of scholarship had been completed by scholars about Garnett. The answer is nothing, at

least with him as a focus or as an important figure. He is recognized on occasion in the accounts

of many people’s lives, but no one has made the important connection that he was a center or

nucleus of the literary world at the time. Other scholars only saw that he was helpful to certain

individuals, their chosen research topics.

There are also a couple of collection of letters that have already been published. The first

was The Letters of T.E. Lawrence (1938), published by Garnett. The second collection was

published later. Sylvia and David (1995) highlights a friendship between David Garnett and

Sylvia Townsend-Warner, but the edition only published the letters; it does not analyze them.

The collection was published by Richard Garnett, son of David Garnett. These two books

highlight the importance and significance of Sylvia Townsend-Warner and T.E. Lawrence rather

than David Garnett since they are more recognized as part of the literary landscape. What about

Garnett? Who is he? What do these friendships reveal?

I noticed that altogether the letters at the HRC and the published correspondence that

exist reveal an important twentieth-century literary figure. The letters written during WWI reveal the transformation of a young man into an erudite and enlightened mind, a man of the era, as well as a close, intimate relationship with other artists like Vanessa Bell and Duncan Grant. His letters after the war show Garnett as important in assisting other authors, such as Dora

Carrington, Sylvia Townsend-Warner, Wyndham Lewis, T.F. Powys, Seigfried Sassoon, H.G.

Wells, to name a few, and his involvement in the Modernist movement as an editor and critic.

xiii His networking gives scholars a new angle to explore in line with the current, critical focus on how networks have influenced literature and the arts. Garnett’s novels reveal an intellectual writer concerned with social issues and the world of fantasy. Considered as a whole, Garnett’s life and work warrants attention from scholars.

Some scholars of the Bloomsbury Group have demonstrated a strong connection between

Garnett and the other members, but only in passing. Typically, in some of the most acclaimed works of scholarship on the Bloomsbury Group, Garnett is only mentioned on a few pages even though he was a close friend during WWI and thereafter for several years. These moments of allusion show a relevance to my research since Garnett is indeed recognized as part of the group, just not analyzed and discussed. Leon Edel, in Bloomsbury: A House of Lions (1979), engages with Garnett in a similar way. S.P. Rosenbaum fails to analyze or discuss Garnett’s large body of work and impact in A Bloomsbury Group Reader (1993). These few books mention Garnett as a member, but fail to mention his close, and sometimes intimate, relationships with many of its members. Rather, Garnett is treated as someone who is only affected by the Bloomsbury Group and not as someone who played an integral role in it.

Mark Hussey, a contemporary scholar on Bloomsbury, neglects Garnett in his pinnacle work, Virginia Woolf A to Z: The Essential Reference to Her Life and Writings (1996). In it, he mentions the Garnetts, but says nothing about David. The Cambridge Companion to the

Bloomsbury Group, published in 2014, only contains factual information about Garnett, and he is only mentioned a few times. Most of the references for Garnett only make general comments, such as “he lived with so and so” or “he married her,” but there’s nothing of substance, and

xiv definitely little analysis. Scholarship for the Bloomsbury Group has mostly revolved around a few of its original members, like E.M. Forster, Virginia Woolf, Lytton Strachey, and John

Maynard Keynes, through the years. Each of these members have been discussed at length in various contexts, especially Virginia Woolf, but not Garnett. Although he was not an original member, Garnett’s participation positioned him as a confidante, supporter of the arts, and an important writer in the twentieth century.

The 1980s and 1990s released scholarship based upon facts and references, like Who’s

Who in Bloomsbury (1987) by Alan and Veronica Palmer. This title includes a three-page, short biography with many dates, but nothing about Garnett’s contributions, especially on his impact and importance to others. Other titles during this time include various biographies: Lytton

Strachey: A New Biography (1994), Duncan Grant: A Biography (1997), and probably the most

important biography, Virginia Woolf (1999) by Hermione Lee. Most of the criticism of the time

outside biography about the Bloomsbury Group discussed issues related to women, war, social

class, and writing styles. These books mention David Garnett but deal with him in an indirect

way; he is not the focus and not the one being analyzed.

More recent scholarship regarding the Bloomsbury Group has turned towards the group’s

personal lives and what scholars gather from their way of life and where they lived, like Among

the Bohemians: Experiments in Living 1900-1939 (2005) by Virginia Nicholson.

As nonconformists, the Bloomsbury Group’s lifestyle and ideas of free love challenged

the period’s societal constraints; thus, recent scholars focus more on their personal lives and the

effects of the group’s work.

xv Current Bloomsbury Group scholarship, such as Queer Bloomsbury (2016) by Brenda S.

Helt and Madelyn Detloff has secured Bloomsbury’s place within gender studies and queer

theory. In this book Helt and Detloff provide a collection of essays, both old and new, for

acknowledging the Bloomsbury Group as part of an important subculture when it comes to

understanding and exploring queer studies. Michael Hone’s The Bloomsbury Set: Homosexual

Renaissance (2017) also shows interest in the personal lives and connections of the Bloomsbury

Group. However, Garnett is not the focus in these works like earlier scholarship, even though his

life, letters, and works encompass such ideas.

The reader in due course discovers Garnett is missing in literature; he is missing in

Bloomsbury scholarship; he is missing in Gender Studies. He must be excavated for the modern

scholar. These books show an interest not only in the Bloomsbury Group’s work but also the

friends and lovers they were making along the way. This review of both old and new scholarship

reveals that interest in Garnett will go beyond literary scholarship, which makes this contribution

even more worthwhile. The Bloomsbury Group, historically speaking, is not only interesting

because of their many works but because of the lives they were leading; and, Garnett played a

part in all aspects.

The group’s beginnings began with a select few. The Bloomsbury Group began through a network of college friends, who later enticed some family members to participate. In 1900, the group met for the first time. The men of Bloomsbury, Thoby Stephen, Leonard Woolf, Lytton

Strachey, and Clive Bell, to name a few, became friends while away at school in Cambridge.

Later, Thoby Stephen would soon introduce his comrades to his sisters, Virginia and Vanessa

xvi Stephen in Bloomsbury, a fashionable neighborhood in central London. This meeting place led to the name of the group over time. G.E. Moore, a Professor of Philosophy and founder of analytic philosophy, at the University of Cambridge influenced the first members of the group, and his teachings led to a discussion between classmates. His book Principia Ethica, which was published in 1903, argues that the word “good” is indiscernible. His teachings and questioning led to the Bloomsbury Group’s own philosophy—observe and question everything in life.

By 1910, they were in full swing and meeting regularly. Matthew Ingleby states:

The Bloomsbury Group met at 46 Gordon Square, the home of Virginia, Vanessa,

Adrian, and Thoby Stephen from 1904-1907. It was there that they hosted their

‘Thursday evenings’, informal weekly parties that were attended by Thoby’s

Cambridge friends. When Vanessa and Clive Bell remained together there after

the pair married, the ‘open house’ conviviality that had been established when

they were all single continued. From 1911-1912, Virginia and Adrian shared 38

Brunswick Square with Grant, Keynes and Leonard Woolf—the two Bloomsbury

households loved in triangles and lived in each other’s pockets. (98)

Together, this group initiated an intellectual revolution that Garnett would play a part in.

In January 1913, Garnett became a close friend to the Bloomsbury Group. As Leon Edel, a Bloomsbury Group scholar, describes: “David Garnett, barely twenty [around 1912], was introduced into Bloomsbury at this time by Adrian Stephen and found himself dazzled by the worldliness and elegance of some of the parties in Gordon Square” (190). The Bloomsbury

Group enticed Garnett; in this group, he would find people who challenged him and encouraged

xvii him to express himself freely. In a letter to his mother, Constance, Garnett, while still attending the Imperial College of Science around 1910, writes: “as I had been invited to Duncan Grant’s again (near Bosham). I went down there. We were a very jolly party –Maynard Keynes, Mrs.

Clive Bell, Duncan, Margery Olivier, Marjorie Strachey, and myself. I actually had a dip in the sea on Sunday afternoon. It was cold but not icy.” Garnett found that he was quickly accepted, and he began spending leisurely time with the Bloomsbury Group’s main contributing members.

At a different time, Garnett expresses even more intrigue:

I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed myself so much & I’ve made two acquaintances

(Lytton Strachey and Duncan Grant) into friends. On Christmas eve more dead

than alive Francis and I got to the cottage. Half an hour afterwards others arrived.

The party was: Lytton Strachey (the most interesting creature), James Strachey,

Daphne, Noel, Duncan Grant, Francis, and myself. We were in a lovely little

cottage near the downs & we ate a great deal, read, went for walks & talked

incessantly. Conversation is the one important thing in life & I heard a lot of it.

(c. 1912)

Spending Christmas with the Bloomsbury Group set Garnett on a new path. The intellectual

conversations he speaks of demanded his attention, and he was excited to be a part of this new

camaraderie. The Bloomsbury Group fostered Garnett’s intellectual growth; they helped him

discover his true identity.

Garnett became a central figure to their discussions and lives just before the Great War.

Gadd continues: “Enthusiastically received into the Bloomsbury circle after his Christmas with

xviii Lytton and Duncan at the Lacket, he was to remain the truest of their younger friends, on intimate terms with them all, and to be, in his autobiography and other works, a faithful recorder of their doings and personalities” (115). The Lacket was a small cottage just outside the

Lockeridge village, near Marlborough, Wiltshire that Strachey rented. Luckily for Garnett his role became one of observer, recorder, and student. His relationship with Bloomsbury opened many doors, just as his familial relationships had done.

Garnett’s connection with Bloomsbury grew stronger throughout WWI (1914-1918).

Gadd adds: “When in 1916 Duncan rented Wissett Lodge in Suffolk, and, with David, set up as a fruit farmer, it was Vanessa who took charge of their domestic arrangements for most of the summer…Wissett, for that summer, was an outpost of Bloomsbury” (117). It was here that

Garnett experienced care from the Bloomsbury Group. He found friends that he could relate to and that changed the path of his life. The Great War reinforced Garnett’s place in the

Bloomsbury Group. Without the war, Garnett would have only been peripherally involved attending a few meeting and parties, not such an integral member and maybe not a lifelong companion. The Great War allowed Garnett to become more than he was as a student of science.

By spending more time with the Bloomsbury Group during this time he would evolve and create deeper, more meaningful relationships.

His relationship with some Bloomsbury figures went beyond friendships. Vanessa and

Duncan’s affair during WWI, which mostly took place between the years 1916-1918, led to the birth of Angelica Bell, Vanessa’s youngest child, in 1918 after the war ended. Duncan Grant and

Garnett also were lovers during WWI. Garnett later married Angelica in 1942, daughter of his

xix one-time lover, Duncan. Angelica revealed this deception by Bloomsbury figures and her family

in her book, Deceived with Kindness (1984). She was never told about the close, intimate

relationship between David Garnett and her father until she and Garnett parented four children.

Angelica Garnett states: “Bunny, although he had talked to me much of his years at Charleston in

1916-18, had been less than explicit about his love affair with Duncan—he was indeed never

completely open about it. Neither had he told me that when I was born he had boasted that one

day he would marry me” (146-147). This betrayal by Angelica’s closest family members, like

her mother, Vanessa, and her aunt, Virginia, besides Garnett, shows the complicated relationship

amongst the group’s members. All was kept from Angelica, even though they cared for her very

much. Perhaps they thought it was unnecessary to tell her since so much time had passed, or they

didn’t want to change Angelica’s views of her soon-to-be husband. Either way, the outcome was

all the same; relationships were strained. The Bloomsbury Group was nonconformists in their

lives and in their art, making them very modern.

Garnett’s arrival at the height of Bloomsbury’s influence and creativity speaks to his

poise and character. Frances Spalding comments: “His [David Garnett] appearance on the fringes

of Bloomsbury owed much to chance…Garnett enjoyed many friendships with many talented

and intelligent people, having himself a marked independence and a confidence in his own point

of view” (The Bloomsbury Group, 159). His participation as a young man placed him as an equal

to the group in a sense. The Bloomsbury Group would come to admire and value him. The

lessons and discussions they shared with one another show the Bloomsbury group to be very

similar to a classroom, one of mentor and student. They helped one another. Garnett now not

xx only had an external understanding of Bloomsbury and its figures, but he had an internal view as well.

In a sense, David Garnett was a naïve child encountering heroes when he entered the

Bloomsbury world. Little did he know that his involvement with the Bloomsbury group would save his life, both artistically and physically. At first Garnett was unsure of his talent, but his new friends quickly remedied the situation. Before writing during the war, Garnett tried his hand at painting. “He [Garnett] turned away from the study of science and for a while, under Duncan’s influence, took up painting with enthusiasm, showing sufficient talent for Roger Fry to compare one of his works to a Monet” (Gadd 115). Later, John Maynard Keynes encouraged David

Garnett to write (Gadd 115). With their support, and coming out of the war, Garnett published his first book in 1919, Dope Darling, under the pseudonym Leda Burke.

The first chapter, Bloomsbury’s Pupil: The Transformation of David Garnett, reveals

Garnett’s relationship and involvement with the Bloomsbury Group. Garnett transformed from a young man interested in science to a more confident writer and critic. His time as a conscientious objector changed his life and his path. In many ways, this was Garnett’s official introduction into not only the Bloomsbury Group, but the artistic world at large. In short, the Great War for

Garnett was a time of transformation from a young, naive man to a knowledgeable artist and scholar; he was a student of the Bloomsbury Group’s teachings.

Readers will see the impact that the Bloomsbury Group had on a young, impressionable man. Essentially, David Garnett is an example, or product, of Bloomsbury’s values, such as their beliefs with art, free love, pacifism, and gender. The group provided him with their many

xxi teachings in art and life. Furthermore, Garnett’s letters give scholars a peak into how

Bloomsbury’s ideas expanded. And his letters provide scholars with an image of what

Bloomsbury’s teachings look like through a personal experience, David Garnett’s experience.

In the second chapter, London’s Secret: David Garnett’s Life as Mentor and Editor, I will

observe Bloomsbury and David Garnett after WWI, focusing on the publications, the

relationships, extended families, etc. through Garnett’s letters, roughly between 1919 and 1960.

The networks in which he was involved in will be of interest to current scholars, as many of

them are exploring new, undiscovered networks and ways authors and artists have influenced

one another. Jason Harding, Andrzej Gasiorek, and Daniel Moore, as scholars of literary

networks, already find contemporaries of Garnett worth a look. For example, Jason Harding

explores networking during the early twentieth century with his work, The Criterion: Cultural

Politics and Periodical Networks in Inter-War Britain (2002), which Garnett played a part of but is not given any attention.

His letters reveal an Anglo-American network scholars will be interested in reading.

Garnett’s letters disclose that he was not only a writer, but someone who assisted others in their endeavors. Garnett’s mentorship and support of other artists made him indispensable. For example, his job as an editor and critic at The New Statesman from the 1920s to early 1940s solidified his position. Garnett became the link between Bloomsbury and other authors during the mid-twentieth century. Many artists of the era have Garnett to thank for their popularity and significance. These letters show a new era for Garnett and cover his life as a husband and father.

He wrote books, reviews, and gave advice.

xxii In the third and final chapter, The Animal Within: An Analysis of David Garnett’s

Novels, I will introduce the early works of David Garnett and their literary merit. His early

novels can be separated from later works because of the main theme. In his use of

anthropomorphism, sometimes external and sometimes internal, Garnett introduces a struggle for

many of his characters. In his writing, Garnett explores what it means to be human in a world of

social constructs that leads to a more primitive, animalistic self.

Caroline Hovanec has connected science and literature through comparative psychology, something Garnett’s work entertains. Moreover, this chapter will place Garnett in ongoing research, both literary and scientific. For Garnett, the animal and human are the same. From

Dope Darling (1919) to Lady into Fox (1922) to Man in the Zoo (1924) to Sailor’s Return (1925) to Go She Must! (1927) to Beany-Eye (1935), Garnett describes the human experience in regards to the animal. Unfortunately, only a few of Garnett’s novels have been written about critically and only on occasion, but many more novels exist. His novels will provide scholars with a larger view of the British novel in the early twentieth century, specifically with his use of the animal. I hope that this chapter will leave the reader wanting to read his fiction, especially after filling gaps of information on his character.

Garnett’s letters reveal two elements: an important literary figure in the twentieth century that many have ignored and a broader understanding of the time period. He warrants attention because of his relationships and work. His letters give scholars a new viewpoint to what has already been considered; I intend to bring the pieces together, into a collective whole. His time as a Bloomsbury member, a writer, and critic place him alongside other well-known figures, like

xxiii Virginia Woolf and E.M. Forster. Besides his stories and literary awards, his letters redefine the literary landscape of the twentieth century.

xxiv CHAPTER 1

BLOOMSBURY’S PUPIL: THE TRANSFORMATION OF DAVID GARNETT

Until 1914, David Garnett’s life was one of exploration. While not in school, he spent much of his time outside, discovering the hidden parts of the natural world. His interest in nature would ultimately shape his youth and even lead to his lifelong nickname, Bunny. Frances

Spalding, a Bloomsbury Group scholar, notes: “The nickname came into being as a result of a

Randolph Caldecott illustration of Baby Bunting crawling on the floor in a rabbit skin. This provoked in the small child [Garnett] such adoration that a rabbit skin was obtained, cured, and made into a cap for him to wear, as a result of which the village boys began calling him ‘Bunny’ and the name stuck” (The Bloomsbury Group, 160). Garnett’s new accoutrement was an example of his interest in nature. And this attachment to nature would stay with him throughout his life.

When Garnett was able to, he relished his time alone exploring. Sarah Knights, the biographer of David Garnett in Bloomsbury’s Outsider, mentions: “Relief came at weekends and holidays at The Cearne where he continued the independent and solitary education he enjoyed.

On one occasion he walked ten miles by footpath from The Cearne to Sevenoaks Weald” (33).

The Cearne, located south of London in Crockham Hill, was a childhood home for Garnett and would remain in his family. Its location allowed Garnett to experience both urban and rural life, a perfect place since Garnett enjoyed the company of others and the quiet solitude offered in nature. The time alone Garnett found as a young boy around his home would lead him to study science, but also would inspire his imagination and creativity. Along the way, he befriended not only those of his own age, but became a friend to others, like D.H. Lawrence. He would soon be able to engage with a literary world that many only dreamed of.

1 As Garnett’s letters reveal, he would later become the center for many groups and circles.

Many people were drawn to his dynamic, alluring personality. By the time he was a young man,

Garnett was already living a life of vogueishness by conversing with popular authors and attending parties with London’s literary elite. Garnett was in his element from the start. His upbringing allowed Garnett to become more confident and learn about the concerns of artists, something that would help him throughout his life. Garnett’s relationship with his parents, D.H.

Lawrence, and the Bloomsbury Group all had a hand in Garnett’s transformation and who he would ultimately become. More specifically, Garnett proved to be a good pupil during WWI, learning about art and free love; thus, he was a product and an example of the Bloomsbury

Group’s teachings and ways of living.

Before becoming a part of the Bloomsbury Group, Garnett’s path was already taking

shape, if only in small steps. His life with his parents initiated an environment that Garnett came

to be very comfortable with. Due to his parents’ occupations and interests, Garnett’s path crossed

many artists’ lives. His parents were important figures during the late nineteenth century and into

the early twentieth, changing literature for the English-speaking world. David Gadd, author of

The Loving Friends (1975) and scholar of the Bloomsbury Group, notes: “As the son of Edward

Garnett, Duckworth’s reader, who recommended the publication of The Voyage Out, and

Constance, the brilliant translator of the Russian classics, his [David Garnett’s] background was,

however, entirely literary and artistic, and he was completely at home with Lytton and his other

guests” (59). He was well suited for a life of intellectual conversations and friendships due to

Edward and Constance.

2 Edward Garnett’s friendship with D.H. Lawrence defined his career; the two came to converse regularly. It’s possible to say that D.H. Lawrence may have remained outside of literary society without the support and advice of Edward. Helen Smith, biographer of Edward Garnett, states: “Lawrence reiterated his gratitude when he inscribed Edward’s copy of Sons and Lovers,

warmly acknowledging the support he had received during one of the most turbulent and

momentous periods of his life: ‘To my friend and protector in love and literature Edward Garnett

from the Author’” (233). This one example of camaraderie shows Edward’s lasting impact on

literature and the authors he assisted. Surprisingly, E.M. Forster also told David Garnett at one

point that Edward influenced his writing more than the Bloomsbury Group (Smith 203).

Richard Aldington, in a letter to Garnett about D.H. Lawrence, once stated: “Lawrence

owed your father [Edward] a great deal for his help and advice in early literary days, and I have

tried to bring that out” (January 1, 1950). Edward served as a mentor to some of the most

discussed authors of the time. Without his influence, one could argue, the literary canon of

British literature would look much different than what we know today. In many ways, Edward

can be compared to Maxwell Perkins, the editor who is said to have discovered Ernest

Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald in the United States around the same time. “He [Edward] is

principally remembered as one of literature’s great enablers” (Smith 1). Edward also encountered

members of the Bloomsbury Group around the same time as his son, David.

Edward published Virginia Woolf’s The Voyage Out, her first novel, in 1915. One may

wonder if it was Garnett who introduced Virginia Woolf to Edward, but no evidence has been

found. To think Edward assisted Virginia in her beginnings shows his eye for the new,

introspective literature of the modern era. Although Woolf’s true greatness in literature came

later with her use of stream of consciousness, her ideas in The Voyage Out were revolutionary, including ideas about homosexuality and women’s suffrage. Edward Garnett also encouraged other authors like Joseph Conrad and Ford Maddox Ford, all of whom David Garnett also knew and with whom he exchanged letters throughout his life. Helen Smith adds: “The discovery of a writer was always the greatest pleasure of Edward’s professional life” (19). Edward’s involvement with Gerald Duckworth and Company, amongst other publishing companies, brought his family into literary society in London.

Constance’s translations of Leo Tolstoy, Anton Chekhov, Fyodor Dostoevsky, and Ivan

Turgenev made her famous and important to the literary world. Many of her translations are still available and can be found in any bookstore. Only recently have a few of her translations been replaced, and her translations are still being published. She worked tirelessly on translating. She was the first translator to take on such a vast array of Russian literature. In The Translator in the

Text (1994), Rachel May notes: “Constance Garnett’s translations of Dostoyevsky’s major works was, at least in its immediate effects, one of the most important literary events in modern English literature” (Heilbrun qtd in May 32). Constance believed her purpose was worthwhile; she wanted to share the greatness of Russian literature with others as quickly as possible. Rachel

May continues: “Constance Garnett brought Russian literature within reach of English readers, and the popularity and longevity of her works is testament enough to their value. The most common adjectives applied to her by sympathetic critics have more to do with the quantity than the quality of her work” (37). Remarkably, “without Garnett, the nineteenth-century ‘Rooshians,’ as Ezra Pound called them, would not have exerted such a rapid influence on the American literature of the early twentieth” (Remnick 53). Constance’s translations had a lasting impact on

British as well as American writers, as Pound notes. Imagine what Russian voices may have been able to offer an up and coming English writer--perhaps a new viewpoint and understanding of writing and realist fiction. Nonetheless, Garnett’s parents ensured a path to the artistic world.

The parent’s close friendship with D.H. Lawrence led to a companionship between Garnett and

Lawrence.

Garnett’s friendship with D.H. Lawrence represented a time of confidence and innocence in his youth. Though his time with Lawrence and his wife, Freida, was spent in conversation about science and the natural world, Garnett was able to see an artist at work and begin to see artistic expression up close. Garnett’s parents were talented and skilled, but their work was arguably not always creative. With Lawrence, Garnett witnessed creative thought as well as a creative life.

Around 1912-1913, Garnett visited Lawrence and his wife often, mostly due to his excursions to do research and talk to other botanists. In one letter to his mother, Constance,

Garnett writes:

Dearest Mother,

I came down here yesterday and Lawrence [D.H.] asked me to stop for the night.

Mrs. Lawrence is at Wolfratshausen [a village in Bavaria, Germany]. I walked

down there with Lawrence and we all went for a walk—over the Isar. It is a

splendid river going about 8 mph, an extraordinary blue white or green white

colour. It effervesces the whole time—you can hear it—like soda water. (1912)

The fact that Garnett visits the Lawrences without his parents speaks to their own mutual interests and connection. The three were comfortable with each other and saw each other as

family, even when traveling. Along the Isar, which flows through Austria and Germany, the amount of vegetation and animal life must have fascinated Garnett because of his interest in botany. The long hikes also allowed Garnett and Lawrence to bond. Lawrence often refers to the

Isar in his own stories and poetry, like “All of Roses” and “1914: Seeing the Soldiers Off.”

Together they found nature conducive to creativity and imagination. Garnett later writes in his autobiography about the effect of nature on both of them: “Every few yards, Lawrence or I would find some new flower and tear it up by the roots to add to my herbarium, which was enriched in three days by nearly two hundred Alpine species. Lawrence was interested in botany and loved flowers, which at that time played a part in his symbolism and personal mythology”

(The Golden Echo, 247). In watching Lawrence, Garnett found how nature complements art and vice versa.

The way Garnett addresses D.H. and Frieda also implies a respect for their relationship, a camaraderie. In a later letter, Garnett asks his mother: “Write to me and tell me about the people and about Lawrence. I want to hear of him” (1913). Garnett’s friendly tone speaks to the influence Lawrence may have had on him over the years. Although Garnett was not pursuing writing as a career at the time, he often conversed with Lawrence; Lawrence’s ideas must have resonated later with Garnett since many of his own stories encountered similar themes, especially the psychology of relationships. Garnett and Lawrence wrote novels dealing with unbridled passion and obsession, like Lawrence’s Sons and Lovers (1913) and Lady Chatterley’s Lover

(1928). These works can be compared to Garnett’s works like Man in the Zoo (1924) and Beany-

Eye (1935), which will be discussed in Chapter 3. Lawrence could be responsible for seeding

Garnett’s future interest in writing.

These two also shared a strong, personal bond, or more of a reciprocal bond. John

Worthen, author of D.H. Lawrence: The Life of an Outsider, mentions Lawrence’s relationship with Garnett several times. He speaks of an encounter between the Lawrences and Garnett, the same one as in the 1912 letter written to Garnett’s mother mentioned earlier:

He [D.H.] and Frieda were happy, too, in visits from Garnett’s son David in late

July; outgoing, full of youthful bounce, Bunny was an undemanding companion

who seems to have fallen in love with them as a couple, and whom—in their still

shocked and uncertain state—they found very cheering. Lawrence described him

to Garnett père: ‘You should see him swim in the Isar, that is effervescent and

pale green, where the current is fearfully strong. He simply smashes his way

through the water while F. sits on the bank bursting with admiration, and I am

green with envy.’ (Worthen 420)

Their time alone in nature only strengthened their bond. It was nature that brought

Lawrence and Garnett together, but it was art that would ultimately solidifiy and bring meaning to their relationship. Lawrence learned more about science because of Garnett, and Lawrence brought art into existence for Garnett. In another letter to his mother in 1912, Garnett expresses his interest in botany as well as his relationship with Lawrence:

Dear Mother

Yesterday I dressed in a butterfly cellar & looked awfully content [sp] & went to

call on Gochel, here known as Dr. Karl Ritter von Goebel…Well, I didn’t find

him but this morning I aim to go to the Pflanzenphysiologie Institute & see him.

And this morning I have got a letter from Lawrence telling me to come this

afternoon to Icking…

Again, science and art meet because of Lawrence. The letter shows Garnett’s ambition and how it took him to see a renowned botanist. Dr. Goebel had a successful career and spent many years in Munich, Germany, a convenient place for Lawrence and Garnett to meet once in a while.

Garnett’s proactive nature speaks to his intrepid sense of self and his ambivalence towards those who are more esteemed. While meeting with important scientific figures, he is also meeting with

D.H. Lawrence. This Edwardian connection and comfortability with literary and scientific greatness, like the Lawrences, shows Garnett’s flexible nature.

While a student of botany before WWI in 1912, Garnett introduced one of his friends,

Harold Hobson, to the Lawrences. This relationship, however, would cause trouble for Lawrence and his wife, Freida. Worthen notes: “They stayed in Mayrhofen just over a fortnight, joined for the second week by Garnett, and [Harold] Hobson a few days later still. Lawrence and Hobson got on very well, and indeed all four seem to have had a riotously happy time” (428). The fun though would not last long. D.H. and Freida found themselves at odds with one another.

Worthen continues: “Lawrence and Garnett went scrambling off up the mountain sides looking for flowers to go into the botanist Garnett’s collection; while they were gone, Lawrence later learned, Freida and Harold Hobson made love in a hay-hut. It had not been the first time that

Freida exerted her belief in free sex” (428). This infraction fortunately was not held against

Garnett, and Lawrence continued to see Garnett. Lawrence was able to see no fault in Garnett and continued their explorations.

In one letter, David Garnett relays information about this particular trip to his mother,

Constance, in 1912. In it, he states:

Dear Mother

Please don’t worry about money with regard to me. I shall only owe Harold about

15/- when I get back. Yesterday we walked 7 miles up one of the trails –the

Zenntal –and back with Lawrence and Freida. This afternoon we set off—

everyone is packing up hard. We are walking to Starlinger(?) and shall get there

Wednesday night. I shall be back late on Friday at the Cearne I expect. Harold

isn’t particularly wealthy—in fact only just enough to get home.

He is very well & frightfully funny & keen on things & gets on wonderfully with

Freida & with Lawrence. (1912)

This letter is a good example of Garnett’s observational abilities. It is as though he noticed something more occurring between Harold and Freida, or at least speculated about their interest in one another. He acknowledges Lawrence as a kind of afterthought in the letter, mostly through his phrasing, which shows his knowledge of Freida and Harold’s closeness. Nonetheless, as a dutiful son, Garnett promises to be home soon—at the Cearne, the family home of the

Garnetts.

Garnett’s relationship with Hobson seemed unaffected. It’s possible Garnett knew very little about the affair or was not willing to share the details. All that Garnett says of the occasion in his autobiography, The Golden Echo, is that Freida and Hobson got along nicely. He never really admits that Hobson slept with Freida while Lawrence and Garnett were taking a walk.

Rather, Garnett states: “Leaving Harold and Freida to amuse each other as best they knew how,

Lawrence and I climbed together up a wild tumbled scree of rocks, almost to the permanent snow-line snatching at the new saxifrages we found. We were both absolutely exhausted when we returned, and as Freida and Harold also seemed tired, we went to bed early” (The Golden

Echo, 247). He seems to refer to Harold and Freida’s playful or even flirtatious personalities in this quote. In seeing Lawrence and Freida’s personal relationship firsthand, Garnett’s curiosity about human nature and desire only expanded.

It’s possible the comings and goings of the Lawrences influenced some part of Garnett’s views on sex as a young man. He had many lovers throughout his life and often avoided accepted ideas of sexuality, something the Lawrences also practiced throughout their lives. As we shall see, Lawrence in his prime influenced Garnett’s choices when he was left with so few because of the war, not only ideas about sex but how art and nature work together.

Garnett did not give up on his studies of science quickly. He stayed true to his choice for as long as possible. Only the war caused Garnett to change paths. Even after spending some time with Lawrence, Garnett continued to pursue his scientific goals. On another occasion, Garnett asserts:

At this minute I’m in the Geology lab with Holmes. It is nearly midnight & we

have been here hours taking microphotographs of Calycella & of some little

crystals of native gold. Both things are about equally rare…But to go on about my

little Calycella…Farmer came into the laboratory today so I showed it to him. He

was extremely pleased and friendly—and told me to go on & make all I could of

it & make it into a paper. (1913)

One can see Garnett’s enthusiasm for science in the letter; he was extremely interested and curious. He asks for approval from his superiors as a good student often does. These kind of observation skills would serve him well later in his artistic endeavors. John Bretland Farmer, who is spoken of a few times by Garnett, was well known in the botany community. “Farmer was a pioneering botanist in the study of cell structure, who contributed to extending the boundaries of the Darwinian hypothesis of pangenesis (by which cells were understood to share in the transmission of inherited characteristics” (Knights 56). He wrote several books and was eventually knighted in 1926 for his work in science, after the war.

Garnett continuously surrounded himself with influential people whether in science or the arts; he knew the way to greatness. Around 1912, Garnett begins to wonder about his future as a botanist while working with Farmer. The time with Lawrence begins to take hold when opposition arises. In a letter to his mother, Garnett writes:

Farmer told me I haven’t the ghost of a chance & that it was practically certain

that someone else would get it...I sent in the form however chiefly as a declaration

of independence. I had at the same time a rather serious row with Dobell. Don’t

lament it –it has cleared things up a lot though it left me in a shattered condition

for nearly a week. I don’t know of course what I shall do in the future or how I

shall earn my living. (c. 1912)

Garnett’s tenacity here speaks to his work ethic and ambition; he was one who is not easily deterred. His confidence and passion are to be commended. Furthermore, this experience with not only one important scientist, but two left Garnett at a fork in the road. Clifford Dobell worked at the Imperial College from 1910-1919. The “row” Garnett mentions appears

conspicuous; however, it may have been a difference of opinion. “Dobell was an agnostic, but nevertheless believed evolutionary theory inapplicable to proto-zoology” (Knights 56). Although he did continue to pursue science after this experience, Garnett’s scientific career was short- lived. His contact with Lawrence brought about new interests and different goals. After learning and spending so much time with the Lawrences around 1912 and 1913, Garnett’s life was about to take another turn.

The summer of 1914 tested England’s strength as well as Garnett’s. The Great War would change the course of Garnett’s life completely. His friends, his family, his interests, his sexuality, and his skills would all be tested. If it wasn’t for the Great War and his time as a conscientious objector, the Garnett we know today would have been much different. His influence on others and his writing may have never occurred. His letters document his difficulties as a conscientious objector, his new and growing friendships, as well as a budding creativity and interest in writing. The fates of Garnett and Europe during WWI were now tied together, forging ahead into the unknown.

Many men went to war to defend their country, not realizing the actual cost. Most would lose their lives. One important literary critic, Paul Fussell, writes in The Great War and Modern

Memory: “For the modern imagination that last summer has assumed the status of a permanent symbol for anything innocently but irrevocably lost” (24). For those who lived through it, it seemed that nothing remained the same after WWI; everything believed to be true about life before WWI was only a memory that now seemed like a dream, including Garnett’s younger self.

At the beginning of war, around 1914, Garnett did not think conscription was a possibility; his naiveté though would soon end. In a letter to his mother, Constance, Garnett writes:

I went with Francis yesterday to see Ruth Fry & then the doctor, who passed us,

and then Roderick Clark. I think there is not much chance of our being sent out.

All we could do was get on the waiting list where there are lots of people already.

Until the Germans retreat further they won’t send out more people. I shall wait a

month or six weeks, and then if nothing can be done then, I shall go into the

Officers Training Corps. Pat sends me a letter saying it takes at least 3 months to

get a commission and that they have no power to give me in any branch other than

the one I will apply for –which will be the A.O.C. Then no doubt they will keep

me several more months in England. I think there is no reason to expect

conscription at all.

In this excerpt, the waiting and anticipation when there is so much uncertainty about the future definitely gave rise to disbelief. Garnett supposed if he planned accordingly he could avoid being sent even if conscription began in England. Visiting people like Ruth Fry, a famous Quaker with a lot of political experience, seemed to give him some direction. He would train as an officer if needed to save him some time from the front. The A.O.C. is an acronym for Advanced

Operations Course in the military, in other words, officer training. This letter captures the fear that Garnett and his friend, Francis Birrell, were feeling at the time. There is an urgency in his tone, and his inquiries and list of people and things to do in the letter show an anxiety about what may come next. The last few sentences sound hopeful, yet uncertain.

His friendship with Birrell was a close one as the war began. Sarah Knights explains:

“Bunny met Francis Birrell (known as Frankie) at a party given by the Pophams and did not immediately take to him. In contrast, Frankie instantly fell for Bunny, trailing behind him like a devoted dog” (72). The two had each other to confide in and relate to at a very uncertain time in

England. The two shared time together before, during, and after the war. Birrell invited Garnett to meet Lytton Strachey, a central member of the Bloomsbury Group around 1910 (Palmer 19).

Before the war, they went to school together. During the war, they were both Quakers and spent time away from London. After the war, in 1919, the two came to own a bookshop (Palmer 65).

Before February 3, 1916, the beginning of conscription, Garnett joined Francis Birrell in France to build temporary houses for victims of the war with the Friends’ War Victims Relief Mission

(Richard Garnett 290). The Quakers assisted communities affected by the war by re-building, assisting medical professionals, and providing civilian relief (“Friends War Victims Relief

Committee in WWI”). The first groups were sent to France to assist in the battle of Marne in

1914 (“Friends War Victims Relief Committee in WWI”).

Garnett’s experience as a Quaker from around 1913-1915 opened his eyes to many issues in society and contributed to his worldliness. Quakerism led him to stand up for what he believed in more. In one letter to his mother, he writes:

Dear Mother-

Last night we were in Cologne. We sat up on dock until we had started & passed

there an illuminated bridge of boats. Cologne—or rather Kilm—was very nice. I

think I wrote & told you before…I told you of the American quakeress—I went

with her to act as an interpreter & carry her letters of credit etc. There are two old

poor ladies—fellow subjects of King George [V]—who cast glances of horror at

us when we were first seen talking—what would the darlings think if they knew

we had gone to a ferox halle [?] together. It seems to me you have a phylogenetic

pull over other people if you are a quaker (that is the way Farmer lectures).

Because your germ plasm has ventured several stormy centuries untroubled by

alcoholism, veneral disease—or any drug habit. And so now you can cut the laces

of your religious cuirass & breathe freely. The girl has loosened her armor but not

caste it quite—she has gone to the Russian ballet and enjoyed it but wouldn’t play

cards for money (nor should I but because I have Scottish ancestors not quakers).

(c. 1915)

Throughout, Garnett gives a glimpse into his own struggles with being a Quaker. He believes in their cause, but seems to struggle with their philosophy, especially their prudish ways. He’s not one to follow strict societal standards of etiquette, or he at least questions their purpose. Although Garnett’s life as a Quaker was short-lived and possible a way to avoid conscription, he was able to discover what bothered him most about society. It’s around 1916 that Garnett would need more help to avoid conscription. Luckily, he had already met a few

Bloomsbury figures before the war.

The Bloomsbury group, already established by the time of the war, gained support and members as a result of WWI. Most of the Bloomsbury Group were around ten years older than

Garnett. The older, original contributors were mostly born around 1880; Garnett was born in

1892. David Gadd, in The Loving Friends: A Portrait of Bloomsbury, notes: “There were friendships which survived the upheavals and dislocations of war, in many ways were even

strengthened by them. Bloomsbury, when it was all over, found itself better equipped than ever to live the life it desired” (63). The war for the Bloomsbury Group had both positive and negative effects. For example, new ideas emerged which inspired new art, ideas, and relationships. This awakening gave entry to new artists like David Garnett. Gadd adds: “Partly as a result of the expedients to which they were driven, and partly for other reasons, the war permanently altered the pattern of their lives. It was through the war that a number of younger people were drawn into their circle. And it was during the war that London ceased to be the single focus of their lives” (114). The Bloomsbury Group operated as a family during the war, supporting one another financially, emotionally, and physically.

Essentially, the Bloomsbury Group was protecting Garnett and Duncan Grant from war, but more importantly from wasting their lives with a mundane life without art. Duncan Grant was an aspiring artist and cousin of Lytton Strachey; thus, Grant and Garnett were welcome to participate and attend meetings hosted by the Bloomsbury Group. Garnett joined Duncan Grant as a conscientious objector to the war. They were the pupils, protected by a thoughtful and eclectic group. Garnett and Grant stood between the old and new, like a bridge. Together they would endure the hardships of being conscientious objectors as well as young men finding their potential as artists and exploring their sexual identities.

After a party one night, before the war, Duncan made his feelings about Garnett known.

“Very nervously Duncan admitted that he was in love with Bunny. Such a thought had not apparently crossed Bunny’s mind, for he was so surprised that at first he thought Duncan was lying. Together they walked back to Duncan’s studio, where Bunny stayed the night, chastely,

Duncan merely holding his hand as it hung out of the bed” (Spalding, Duncan Grant 164). The

sexual relationship that would later ensue between the two probably would have never happened

if it wasn’t for their close proximity during the war. Garnett was known to be attracted to women

throughout his life (Spalding, Duncan Grant 163). Nevertheless, Garnett and Grant would become lovers during the war.

The complexity of their relationship was not mentioned until much later. Angelica

Garnett, Garnett’s second wife, in her book, Deceived with Kindness (1984), states: “Bunny, although he had talked to me much of his years at Charleston in 1916-18, had been less than explicit about his love affair with Duncan—he was indeed never completely open about it” (146-

147). On one occasion in his autobiography, Flowers of the Forest, he speaks of Duncan fondly, but never mentions their affair. “His [Duncan’s] friendship was a great piece of good luck for me, particularly as it came at a time when I might have succeeded in my ambition of becoming a purely conventional person. He effectively prevented that” (Garnett, Flowers of the Forest 28).

This is as close as Garnett comes to admitting a physical relationship with Grant. Others would

write about it as an understood fact; the two were entwined.

Besides the intimate connection, their artistic endeavors also connected them. “In

Duncan’s company, I learned how an artist approaches his work, and when I came to write, I

approached my subject as a conscious artist” (Garnett, Flowers of the Forest 28). Garnett learned

much from the company of others during this war period, especially Duncan. He was formative

in showing Garnett what it means to be an artist. In a moment of unrequited love, Grant writes:

Darling, darling, Bunny, I adore you because I think you capable of being so

splendid and so good…All I want to say my angel is that I’m not going to be

selfish and spoil your life. I really want you to do what you want. Be happy and

love as many people as are worth it, and remember that this is my real point of

view. I am silly. After all I have my work to which I am passionately devoted, I

suppose you had better learn this” (Grant qtd in Spalding, Duncan Grant 165).

Grant’s tone suggests he is upset their relationship is ending, yet they both still have their work.

By observing others, Garnett, too, would soon be committed to his own art.

His relationship with Duncan Grant became more intimate as they spent time together, working and talking. “Association with Duncan drew him [Garnett] further into the Bloomsbury circle, where homosexuality was treated lightly, almost as a stylish gloss to friendship, not as something that shocked or displeased. Within Bloomsbury there was not attempt to conceal homosexual affairs and Lytton could not resist teasing Duncan about Bunny” (Spalding, Duncan

Grant 165). For the Group, sexual intimacy could occur between any individuals. Sex was a way to experience the world and find a connection with other human beings. Interestingly, their connection became a love triangle, as Vanessa Bell, an artist and older sister of Virginia Woolf, developed feelings for Duncan during 1916 while the three of them were away at Wissett during conscription. Wissett offered them a place away from society, without judgement, and the freedom to explore. However, Duncan and Garnett were not always alone.

Spalding continues: “Like all such relationships, it [the relationships between David,

Duncan, and Vanessa] required tact, forbearance and restraint to keep the tangle manageable. If

Bunny’s absence was prolonged, Duncan began to fret. Vanessa, mindful that jealousy could poison her relationship with Duncan, had to judge when to stand back and when to offer him the assurance he needed” (Duncan Grant 166). This trio had to learn to live with each other’s desires and feelings. Each was pulled in a different direction. Vanessa was married. Duncan was

primarily homosexual, and Garnett was also interested in women. Spalding describes Garnett in one instance:

At the age of twenty-two, Bunny Garnett was a tall, well-built, blue-eyed young

man, very aware that both men and women found him physically attractive.

Travelling home one night in a taxi he suddenly flung an arm round the shoulder

of his close friend Francis Birrell and kissed him. As Birrell was homosexual,

Bunny’s friends gossiped about this embrace but concluded that nothing further

would come of it, as Bunny’s interests clearly lie with the opposite sex. (Duncan

Grant 163)

Although Garnett and Grant’s physical relationship may have been ephemeral and convenient during the war, their relationship was steadfast. The ménage-a-trois only further intrigued

Garnett; he did after all succumb to their experimentation and sexual exploits. He was now exposed to extramarital affairs not once, but twice with different artists—D.H. Lawrence and

Frieda as well as Vanessa and Duncan. In Vanessa Bell (2019), Spalding discusses Vanessa’s personal life, her marriage to Clive Bell and affair with Duncan Grant, a situation Garnett personally experiences in his letters. In “One Among Three,” a chapter in Spalding’s biography, she discusses the love affair with Duncan more intently, especially with their similar interest in painting. Garnett is referred to of course a few times but his experience of the triangle is omitted.

The love triangle, with Duncan Grant at the center, of the Bloomsbury Group highlights the group’s experimentation and lives as homosexuals during the war. The life of an artist for

Garnett meant having a freer, more sexual existence. “Bunny understood from Lytton’s story

[Ermyntrude and Esmerelda] that the chief virtue in love or lust was sincerity. It liberated his

desire to have a love life unclouded by sentimentality and a sex life unfettered by the constraints imposed by religion or conventional morality” (Spalding, The Bloomsbury Group 163).

Duncan’s effect on Garnett was just as important as perhaps D.H. Lawrence.

It’s important to also mention that John Maynard Keynes played an integral role, regarding Garnett’s transformation and artistic inclinations. Keynes, popular and well-known, could assist Garnett and Grant. It was Keynes who guided Garnett through his appeal for conscientious objection. “Maynard Keynes persuaded him and Duncan [Grant] that their chances of exemption would be better if they were already doing work of national importance such as working on the land” (Richard Garnett 293-294). Keynes, amongst other Bloomsbury figures like Lytton Strachey, served as mentors to both Garnett and Grant. Keynes was a bi-sexual like

Garnett and Strachey was gay like Grant. All four men supported one another and found refuge in each other’s presence.

Around 1916, with his name and influence, Keynes would defend Garnett and Grant in their endeavors and to remain outside of the war. His help eventually lead to Garnett and Grant’s conscientious objection status. In one letter to his mother, Garnett writes:

Dearest Mother,

I thought I had written but I suppose my letter got lost. We are helping Limpsfield

get in his harvest and I’m looking forward to Sunday. Thank you very much for

the letter dear mother. We have had trouble with the Pelham

committee…However, Maynard is going to see them. (1916)

Keynes stepped in with his political influence to assist Garnett. His standing in the community would be an asset for the Group, especially for men of the younger generation.

As Vincent Barnett, a biographer of John Maynard Keynes, asserts: “Many of his intimate male friends such as Lytton Strachey, Duncan Grant, Clive Bell, David Garnett, and

Gerald Shove were at least theoretically eligible for conscription, and some were simultaneously conscientious objectors” (69). Keynes’s concern grew during this time and in some ways he felt responsible for Garnett and Grant. He would do anything he could to help his comrades and their artistic goals; he must do everything he can to see to their futures. “Keynes was personally concerned that the lives of some of his Bloomsbury friends would be lost if they were forcibly conscripted, and was also worried about how his personal support for the war would appear to the wider Bloomsbury circle, who were, more often than not, against the pursuit of military conflicts on moral grounds” (Barnett 69). Keynes did not want to be found in contradiction to the group’s code of non-violence, or this could lead to a kind of social ostracization assumedly.

Garnett was, after all, a young, impressionable man at the time. Ultimately, Keynes was able to use his influence by being present during the proceedings (Barnett 69). With Keynes support,

Garnett and Grant could pursue more artistic goals.

Life as a conscientious objector only illuminated Garnett’s ambition as an artist. The difficulty of being a conscientious objector offered a new perspective on society and the legal system, specifically his experience with the Tribunal, typically a collection of local citizens, and the Pelham Committee. The Pelham committee that Garnett speaks of in the previous letter was an appointed committee by British government and the Central Tribunal during the war. John

Rae, in Conscience and Politics, relays: “On 28 March it was announced that the Board of Trade had appointed the Committee on Work of National Importance under the Chairmanship of the

Hon. T.H.W. Pelham an assistant secretary to the Board of Trade” (25). It was the job of the

Pelham Committee to review cases for those seeking conscientious objection before sending them on to the tribunal. “The value of the committee was also limited by the fact that it had no real authority: it could only make recommendations [whether or not one would be allowed to be a conscientious objector] and could not help in a particular case unless the applicant was referred to it by the tribunal” (Rae 125). In 1916, Garnett and Grant achieved conscientious objection status from the Tribunal, but it was not an easy process.

Keynes assisted Garnett and Grant throughout this process. He would also have to help prove that the work Garnett and Grant were performing should be considered “nationally important.” This would prove a struggle since the Pelham Committee was undervalued by the

Tribunal. John Rae notes:

The Tribunals did not hear many applications from men who had no religious or

political affiliation. The free-lance pacifist, so common in 1940, was

comparatively rare in 1916. 199 men working under the Pelham committee are

described simply as ‘moral’ objectors. In the majority of cases, their objection to

war would not have differed radically from that of the Christian pacifists working

alongside them. (Conscience and Politics 81)

The Tribunal sought to undermine COs, or at least prove faulty their reasons for not fighting in the war.

At the tribunals COs were questioned on the sincerity of their beliefs. Tribunals

had the power to grant absolute or conditional exemption but COs were frequently

rejected. COs who were denied exemption were considered soldiers absent

without leave and expected to report for duty. Those continuing to refuse military

orders were often sent to prison.

In 1918 the Representation of the People Act…banned certain conscientious

objectors from voting or standing for election for five years. (“Quakers and

WWI” para 16-17)

Conscientious objection, in the beginning and especially without permission, meant strong punishment. The war made Garnett more socially aware of his own existence—not all was well and fair. The members of Bloomsbury asked for an allowance based upon a higher cause, a philosophy if you will, of non-violence in solving a conflict. This way of thinking aligned not only with an impetus for remaining outside of the war, but also with their endeavors as artists.

There are better ways to deal with conflict than war. As Rae argues:

But a more individual moral objection was put forward by those intellectual

opponents of the war who belonged to the close group of friends known

collectively (and by their critics, derisively) as ‘Bloomsbury’. Not all the

members of the Bloomsbury Group who were of military age became

conscientious objectors although the philosophic and aesthetic views to which

they subscribed provided a possible basis for refusing service (Conscience and

Politics 81).

The Bloomsbury Group, including Garnett, made strides towards a more general conversation about conscientious objection. In fact, Lytton Strachey in a letter to Philip Morrell, a well-known liberal politician of the time, states:

I have a conscientious objection to something, by any deliberate action of mine, in

carrying on the war. This objection is not based upon religious belief, but upon

moral considerations, at which I have arrived after long and careful thought. I do

not wish to assert the extremely general proposition that I should never, in any

circumstances, be justified in taking part in any conceivable war; to dogmatize so

absolutely upon a point so abstract it would appear to me to be unreasonable. At

the same time, my feeling is not simply against the present war: I am convinced

that the whole system by which it is sought to settle international disputes by

force is profoundly evil; and that, so far as I am concerned, I should be doing

wrong to take any active part in it. (1916)

This kind of morality Strachey speaks of is a guiding force for the Bloomsbury Group’s art, and ultimately for Garnett’s conversion. Strachey suggests the Bloomsbury members were not just against the First World War and their place in it, but against the whole idea of violence to solve political issues. This allusion to non-violence in the letter reminds me of Leo Tolstoy and what became known as tolstovsto. Speculatively, if anyone in the Bloomsbury Group understood

Tolstoy, it was probably Garnett since his mother knew him and translated much of his work.

In a letter to John Rae much later and after the war, published in Conscience and Politics,

David Garnett stated that he adopted a somewhat different view than that of his comrades; he insisted that it was wrong to represent one’s conclusions by conforming to orders without inquiry

(82). Garnett thought it right to at least ask some questions and explore one’s own beliefs before doing what others, like the government especially, wanted him to do. Although slightly different in its goal, this idea builds upon Bloomsbury’s. Inquiry demands debate before coming to any

conclusions. These philosophies of war and violence accentuated the practical issues with conscientious objection, especially the legal obligations. While going through this tedious process, a worried Garnett writes:

Dearest Mother

It is amazing and it is sunny and warm and lovely. The other day Duncan had to

rush up to London to see his tribunal who said his case must be tried by the

Halesworth district. I suppose the same will happen to me. As the St. Pancras

tribunal is very bad we will try our own luck here—every delay is as much to the

good, as the best informed believe the War will be over this autumn or late

summer. (April 3, 1916)

Their optimism was ephemeral, however. The war would carry on a couple of more years. David

Garnett’s meeting the Tribunal would go much the same way, more questions than answers.

However, Garnett was supported and surrounded by his closest confidants. The following letter reveals the closeness of his connection to the Bloomsbury Group. They were with him for the rest of his life.

Dearest Mother,

I appear before the Halesworth Tribunal at 10:30 on May 4 morning. Duncan also

comes up at the same time. Maynard, Philip Morrell, Adrian Stephen, Vanessa

and possibly Clive will be present, so the home here will be full. I am rather

against you and Dad coming unless either of you particularly want to—it will be a

dull show and unpleasant. However, I’ll send you a telegram telling you what the

result is. I hope there may be a delay in appearing before the appeal Tribunal, so I

shall be able to enjoy some of this amazing weather. (1916)

With the help of some of the original Bloomsbury figures, Grant and Garnett were hoping to be

released. This letter indicates that Garnett felt at home with the Bloomsbury Group, enough to

exclude his parents from an important event. Certainly with the support of Keynes and Philip

Morrell, Duncan and David’s case would come out in their favor.

The life of a conscientious objector in Britain was not an easy one. The following letter

shows Garnett’s journey with Grant from Wissett to Sussex during the war. Many times, Garnett

experienced prejudice from nearby communities. This type of oppression would only awaken

more artistic sensibilities for Garnett later. At the very least, these experiences motivated Garnett

to pursue a life in support of the arts. Not even the farms, so isolated and small, kept him away

from harm. Lois S. Bibbings says: “merely expressing doubts about the war beyond the safety of

like-minded circles could be expected to cause problems for the individual concerned…Such

men were at best greeted with puzzlement, incomprehension, suspicion or derision, at worst by

hatred, ill-treatment and violence” (Telling Tales About Men, 60). In this letter to his mother, it seems as if Garnett feels lost and confused. Notice the short sentences and lack of organization within the letter. Everything he mentions appears hurried and without focus.

29 September 1916

Dearest Mother,

I haven’t written before…all has been chaos and confusion. A local farmer, with

prejudice against us, influenced his friends, the Suffolk War Agricultural

Committee to send…a damaging report on our work to the Pelham Committee,

who refuses to recommend Wissett [a small community and village in England] to

the Central Tribunal. This upset us a good deal. All our work wasted—a good

deal of money thrown away, etc.

Garnett shares the grim details of life as a conscientious objector. Many were shunned and unable to carry out their lives freely, even though they were going about it in a legal way. They were working and were only persecuted for not joining the war. Garnett, among others, was hoping Wissett would be a place they could call home during the war, but the place would have to be approved as a legitimate farm by the government, a farm that would be contributing to the war effort. In the same letter dated in September 2016, Garnett continues:

The best solution has been found I think. Vanessa has taken a house in Sussex and

a farmer Mr. Hicks will employ Duncan and me and will teach me farming. He

has two farms—grass and arable, and he is a very nice man aged 28 with no

prejudice against conscientious objectors. He won’t pay us till he has a better idea

what we are worth and was quite willing to let us have some time off

occasionally…Fortunately, Duncan had only taken this house till October 1 so

there’s no money worked in that way. I shall be able to come over quite easily to

see you at the Cearne with infinitely less expense than at present. I shall be able to

go to London more often, have friends from London down etc. without the

hideous expense.

Your loving son,

Bunny

The War Agricultural Committee that Garnett mentions was an organization supported by the

British government. They were in charge of different areas in Britain and could control farmers’

land, e.g. what they planted. The War Agricultural Committee had their own ideas about the war

as well as the usefulness of the land. Rae adds: “attempts to persuade local War Agricultural

Committees to employ conscientious objectors on land drainage schemes or on individual farms

were unsuccessful” (183). The government relied heavily on the committee for reports and

results. However, since conscientious objection was new, everything was chaotic; many mistakes

were made (Goodwin 84). The planning and governmental laws and regulations were new and

ineffective. Leigh Goodwin states: “The Times highlighted how the lack of a coherent policy

subjected conscientious objectors to potential abuse and injustice. It suggested there was need to

define what constituted legitimate conscientious objection” (84). One has to wonder if this was

the British government’s intent, cause enough hardship and many will instead enlist. This kind of

hardship and political involvement in the system for Garnett would begin his journey into other

interests, perhaps more sociopolitical interests. These injustices and time spent as a conscientious

objector would only lead him to pursue a more artistic path later and begin to help others as he

was helped.

Not only did objectors face community prejudice, but they also had competitors, prisoners of war. Another historian of World War I, T.H. Middleton, states that: “while prisoners of war rapidly established themselves in favour, it was impossible to make much use of conscientious objectors; the feeling against them in country districts was strong and efforts to place them on farms met with small success” (qtd in Rae 183). Interestingly, prisoners of war were more respected than conscientious objectors by the same communities that they were

serving. Suffolk was one of the “country districts” that Middleton mentions; therefore, Garnett’s fear and claims in the previous letters are accurate and reflect the mindset that those unwilling to go to war were considerably looked down upon during this time period.

As Garnett’s letter suggests, Vanessa Bell took charge of the situation and came up with a solution for them. She lived with Garnett and Grant during this time (1916-1918); she took care of the house and participated as an intellectual equal during discussions about art and life. In a later biography, Garnett states: “Her [Vanessa’s] mind and manners were not in the least masculine, yet she was the only woman that any of us knew that could join in the talk of a group of men and allow them to forget that she was a woman, forgetting it herself. Her brain was original and logical, and she was a quick reasoned, never hesitating to put forward her views”

(Garnett, The Flowers of the Forest, 26). Vanessa’s personality was more practical than

Virginia’s. Garnett adds in his observation: “She [Vanessa] never produced the same impression of being a brilliant conversationalist as Virginia, but she was witty and fond of making bawdy jokes” (The Flowers of the Forest, 26). This move to Sussex from Suffolk county for Bell, Grant, and Garnett would allow more of a social life than they had at Wissett due to numerous visits by other members, stimulating and motivating their art. This location was ideally placed near

London as well. The house, known as Charleston, was a central meeting place for the group during the war. In all, Vanessa created a room for not just Garnett and Grant to live freely outside of societal constraints, but also the other members.

Fortunately, the Bloomsbury Group banded together during the war very much like a family, sharing rooms, houses, and influence. In another letter, to his mother, Garnett writes:

My Darling Creature,

29 I’ve just got your letter—previously I had Dora’s [Dora Carrington] and couldn’t

understand what had happened. My poor creature I am so sorry I wrote in such a

cold way. I daresay the letters from Olivier and Hobson will be very useful and I

shall certainly use them. I met old Hobson in the street the other day. He is such a

fine old chap. I’m very glad you managed to see Maynard. He is an absolute

darling. Meanwhile, there is nothing to be done by worrying too much about it. I

have a clear idea of the points they will probably make and a clear idea of the way

to answer them. It is no good getting rattled. Don’t you make yourself believe

they will let me off—I don’t think they will. However, we shall see what will

happen. (1916)

Garnett hopes his letters of character from childhood friends and support of the Bloomsbury

Group will save him from war, and he prepares his mother for a negative outcome (Spalding

160). By this time, Garnett had given up hope even though he has the support of many known

acquaintances in England. With this letter, Garnett tries to soothe his mother’s worries as well as

his own.

Besides prejudice and legal proceedings, conscientious objectors lived a harsh life as well. The days were long and often exhausting for those working as farmhands. Luckily, Mr.

Hicks was sensitive to their situation (as stated by Garnett in a previous letter), but still needed work done on the farm. This farm near Charleston provided vegetation as well as livestock in the community. Garnett discusses his experiences often. This one letter to his mother synthesizes his experience:

Yesterday and today we have been engaged in a disgusting job—mangel pulling.

One stoops the whole time and rapidly pulls up the mangel by the leaves and

slices them off and throws the mangel onto a heap of others without straightening

one’s back. In the morning, the leaves are cold and wet. This afternoon we

worked till half past three in soaking rain when Mr. Hicks stopped and we came

back. It is a pity because Duncan is very depressed and rails against me a lot—

then I lose my temper and abuse him and then we both feel colder and wetter than

ever. I wish we had more time. There are a thousand things here I want to do—but

I daresay there will be more leisure in the winter. A fox came and took three of

our ducks on Saturday night. I heard the fox yelping and the ducks quacking and

slipped into my trousers and rushed out about three in the morning and found only

five left. I shut them up every evening now in our walled garden. There are any

amount of foxes here. (October 1916)

Mangels are known to be a hearty vegetable, very beet-like, and reach far into the earth with their roots. Harvesting the vegetable would take a lot of strength, something few educated young men may have had, however full of energy they may have been. The hard work led to short tempers between Garnett and Grant. The work they had to do to remain legal conscientious objectors consumed their time, while Garnett was beginning to paint and write. Charleston was basically a studio during the war. The walls were covered in paintings completed by Duncan and

Vanessa.

The farm work would affect one physically if they weren’t used to the work. Within this letter are many other examples of life on the farm for a conscientious objector. Objectors were

forced to prove themselves to their country to avoid prison and war; their options were limited

(Bibbings 59). Objectors had little time to themselves for their own pursuits, like painting for

Duncan and writing for David. These artists’ minds were seeking escape and thought, only to be returned time and again to mundane work in the fields. In the same letter to his mother, Garnett proclaims:

I have just been brought pen and ink so I go on with my letter. I began the day

today stacking poles. Then I spent half an hour or more bathing a horse’s knees.

She fell and broke them badly last week. Then I carted maize with a very

charming farm boy. Altogether, the people strike me as very nice. They aren’t at

all uncivilized and have quite good manners and are much more simple than the

East coast suspicious people. The boy cut the maize while I loaded it-then we

carried it to the pasture and sprinkled it about for the cows to eat. Then we carted

hedge trimmings and rough grass for the pigs. (October 1916)

In this particular letter, one can see the role of social class and its stereotypes, especially between an urban culture versus a more agricultural culture. Garnett learns to appreciate the farm’s simplicity as well as the lifestyle of those who reside there. He notices their wholesomeness and kindness. He is inclined to be outside and work with animals and plants; he sees them in all their complexity due to his educational background. The beginning of the letter shows how little resources were available; not even ink was easy to come by.

In the winter between 1916 and 1917, there was also illness to consider. Garnett adds:

My Dearest Sweetest Mother

You musn’t let your hair turn gray on my account. I am quite well now except for

a slight cold & a most horrid spot on my tongue. As it’s a horrid day I’m not

going out – no hardship as there is no where particular to go to. The doctor said I

was not to work for a day or two –so I’m obeying her instructions – though

chafing like a race horse to get back to my mechanics. (c. 1916)

Conscientious objectors worked to serve their interests and not for money (Rae 180). Around

1917, because he was not making money, Garnett tried to explore his more artistic side while being away from family as well as city life. And sometimes there were injuries whether because of work or simply accidents. Garnett writes to his mother:

If you think of giving me a Christmas present, I shall ask for something in the

way of bees. However, this isn’t the weather for them. Really I did not expect to

survive this afternoon. The East wind was fearful and we were exposed for hours

to its fury—digging a drain in a field & trying to mess about with slabs of clay in

freezing water. The wind still rages (1917)

Even when the coldest days arrived, the men were working and assisting in the survival of the farm. The letter continues with:

Did I tell you Duncan had fallen through a glass door? It promised him a holiday

of three or four days but he has healed up – a cut in the arm very quickly. Also, he

has to design the scenery for Twelfth Night in the next three weeks & execute

some of it – for the Theatre du Vieux Colombier who are going on an American

tour. There is a chance that he may applied for by the French Govt to be allowed

to design scenery, as this tour is supported by the French Govt as a means of

33 getting money out of America –part of a general mobilization of manufacture of

luxury for export. In that end he will still live here & be free to paint. (1917)

Since Garnett and Grant were not accustomed to farm life, mistakes were sometimes made.

However, working on a field in the cold at least afforded them the chance of living one more day; whereas the war would have most certainly taken their lives.

The hard labor Garnett endured was exhausting and time-consuming. Garnett explains:

“Usually I care about writing but somehow I don’t care when I read the Old Wives’ Tale [sic].

Perhaps there is some flaw in the book but I can’t see it. Perhaps it is simply that I’m rather too exhausted myself” (c. 1917). Garnett’s life was now one of work and labor instead of artistic endeavors. He comments further in a different letter: “During the last week Duncan and I have heaped dung…at Tilton. There are four carts which go to and [sic] from one dung heap to the land for soil for mangels. The wind is bitter northeast & sun shines brightly but icicles hang all day from the horse’s whiskers. We keep warm and get off at a quarter to four in the afternoon.

However, we begin at eight” (c.1916). The days were long with labor and demanded all of

Garnett’s strong will.

Although the work was strenuous, there were moments of relief. On occasion, Garnett had some down time; he was visited by other Bloomsbury figures. He writes to his mother:

Thank you for the changes. I sent you this delayed fulmination which doesn’t

represent my novel at the moment. Yesterday I painted beehives & Woolf & the

bunnies manager…came to tea. He was the stupidest man I’ve ever met. Nessa

and I quarreled about whether his stupidity was that of the average person. Nessa

34 said that most people were stupid & I claim they are far more intelligent. Ask

Dad. (August 12, 1917)

It appears there was time for mundane conversation time to time as Vanessa and Garnett discuss a man’s intellectual ability; the tone is humorous nonetheless.

In another letter to his mother, Garnett discusses a trip to London—it begins very

positively, but the war looms:

I saw Tatlock again. He is writing…There is also a Russian from whom a good

deal can be learned…I saw Gerald, Fredigard, Alix, Lytton, Maynard, James &

Sheffield, all sorts of people. Could you possibly give me some money? I want to

buy some bee appliances & also for another undertaking which I shall tell you

when I am sure more about it. However, there is no hurry. There was an air raid

when I was seeing Tatlock in Gordon Square a bomb hit the St. Pancras hold but

we didn’t hear much of it really. Now the lights have been put out…the horrors of

war. (c. 1918)

The organization of the letter shows a frightening acceptance of the harsh conditions of war. His

letter moves easily between a meeting with friends to a bomb exploding nearby without

hesitation and transition as if it not a traumatic event or something to fear. For Garnett, the bomb

was only a sound, which shows his indifference. But for others who were there, lives were lost.

The farm work and service took a toll on Duncan Grant. Grant seems to have wanted care

and protection more than Garnett, and care he received. In one instance, Garnett expresses: “I

should have written before but I have been very busy & very tired. Duncan has been ill for over a

week…but he is now better and goes back to work on Monday” (1917). Later, during the

pandemic that infected millions, Garnett expresses concern: “Duncan has been out for three days with Spanish influenza but is now recovered” (c. 1918). Luckily, Vanessa and Garnett were around to care for him. His illnesses only continued, which speaks to some of the risks involved in hard labor like farm work.

Garnett also experienced his fair share of illness. As the two worked more and more on the farm, they became more sensitive to the work and weather. In another letter, Garnett expresses concern once again:

Dearest Mother,

Please forgive this delay in writing, but nothing was settled till yesterday. I shall

begin my holiday next Saturday and have over a week and possibly a fortnight—

though I know Mr. Hecks well enough to be doubtful of that. I shall come first off

to the Cearne and stay a week if that suits you, and then go to London till I am

called back to the farm…We have both got more horribly stale with this

continued work and a holiday seems impossible—I scarcely believe in it. I am

really more done up I think than Duncan. He gets ill physically from hard work—

his weight goes down and he gets very tired and sleepy—but I am mentally

affected which is really worse. My nerves go to pieces during the last hour of

overtime and I have severe headaches and a heinous outlook. As a matter of fact

we haven’t been doing hard work the last fortnight but have been doing a good

deal of overtime—not so hard as what we should do in the garden but

exasperating. However, I have had time to read the occasional book. Last night, I

read a very bright novel called “The Loom of Youth.” (September 19, 1917)

Not only were there physical concerns to consider, but also one’s mental state. The long hours took this toll on Garnett. To call his own outlook “heinous” implies a bitterness towards life, something he would have to learn to live with during the war, but at the end of the letter he acknowledges his reading, a kind of hope in the midst of chaos. In addition, Maynard continued to be involved in Garnett and Grant’s plight.

In the following letter, Garnett mentions Keynes’s parental guidance and sympathy.

Garnett says: “Thank you very much for the cheque. I shall put it by as Maynard has given me what I most needed –a flannel suit complete with two pairs of trousers. My father promises me a pair of breeches for the summer so I’m well off…” (c. 1918). In context, Garnett may be referring to Maynard as a father and not his real father. In this show of respect, Garnett feels a strong sense of admiration and fondness for Keynes. In a way, Bloomsbury members were guiding and teaching Garnett and Grant, sharing and shaping their ideologies of life and art.

Besides their tendency towards exhaustion and illness, Garnett and Grant would endure the hardships together until the end of the war in 1918. Vanessa Bell’s third child, Angelica, was born in Sussex on Christmas Day in 1918. Though her biological father was Duncan, she was raised as Clive Bell’s daughter. Interestingly, Garnett wrote his mother on Christmas Day when

Angelica was born.

Dearest Mother,

Vanessa had a daughter born at 2 a.m. this morning, so I am very glad I was here.

It is a queer little creature, very lovely and full of character and independent life. I

went about half past nine, and Duncan and I sat up until it was over. Then we

were able to have a look at it. It weighted 7 and a half pounds being put in a card

box on the kitchen scales. Clive will be very glad it is a girl, so will Virginia who

thinks highly of her own sex; Vanessa doesn’t, and is probably rather

disappointed.

It is a curious emotional experience waiting for even someone else’s child to be

born—as Duncan says rather brutalizing and reducing me to the state of an

animal. Vanessa had a good deal of pain without any break…Maynard is

spending Christmas here. I have had a slight appurtenant [a legal term that shows

an attachment] with him. He will leave the government service after the Peace

Conference and is fighting Mr. Hughes tooth and nail over German indemnities

and I believe will beat him easily. Maynard has also refused an income of 10,000

pounds a year and a knighthood…and he won’t work at what he doesn’t want to.

You see there are respectable traits in his character. (1918)

Garnett’s reference to Mr. Hughes most likely is a reference to William “Billy” Hughes, an

Australian politician and at the time was Prime Minister of Australia; he led a delegation during the Paris Peace Conference. Maynard’s attention to the matter was lost on Hughes as he was solely interested in his own personal gain (“Australia and the Paris Peace Conference”).

Although Maynard was highly regarded with gifts, he showed his displeasure by leaving.

Also, in this letter, Garnett shares a nebulous thought about Grant. Why an “animal state”? Garnett is aware of the intimate relationship shared by Vanessa and Duncan, so his thoughts towards Grant’s statement are full of emotion. Also, why even mention Grant’s reaction here? This implies Grant has more of a claim than Clive, Vanessa’s husband. Grant is the one waiting up at Charleston until Vanessa gives birth; Clive is away. Garnett divulges, perhaps too

much, that Grant was extremely anxious about the delivery, as only a father would be.

Seemingly, Garnett is aware that the child is Grant’s, but cannot disclose that openly to his mother.

Angelica’s parentage was a secret kept within the group, mostly because outsiders would find it awkward and unacceptable according to British norms. Angelica herself did not know

Grant was her biological father until many years later, during her adult life. In her personal account, Deceived with Kindness, published in 1984, she speaks to the complicated relationship held by Garnett, Grant, and Bell during and after WWI:

With the arrival of peace, however, the ménage à trois was to split up; though

Duncan and Bunny were both there when I was born, they were longing to get

back to a semblance of normal life in London after the rigours and isolation of the

war, and Bunny, whose tastes had been only temporarily homosexual, was already

attracted by the idea of other and quite different love affairs. Vanessa was the

only one who was immobilized—worried by a domestic crisis and almost

certainly by the fear that Duncan might finally desert her, in spite of the fact he

was now the father of her child (39).

This time away from London served as a kind of utopia for the trio. It solidified their beliefs and allowed them to live outside of the public’s eye. Perhaps the knowledge that the war would come to an end lowered inhibitions. They were to remain lifelong friends, dropping in and out of each other’s lives. In the end, the war marked a time of intimacy between these close friends.

39 As the war ceased and the last gun shots were fired, Garnett’s views began to take a turn. He realized the freedom that awaited him, but also acknowledged the costs, the costs for himself, those closest to him, and everyone he would encounter.

Dearest Mother,

Yes I wondered what had happened to you. No doubt you have been wondering

about me. I have not written for ages. Sometimes it is difficult to begin anywhere

in the tumult of impressions & the last week or so have taken much a weight off

one’s back. Relief –oh blessed blessed relief. They have almost stopped fighting

& I can’t help believing that one will be able to live happily again occupied with

decent things & not as deemed probably a few weeks ago, always be fighting with

one’s fellows for things that are conceded everywhere but in war & nightmares &

getting up in fear every morning & lying down in anger every night. (c. 1918)

He may get to leave the farm and return to an urban lifestyle, but he is deeply aware of some of the problems that lie ahead. His tone is hopeful, but frustrated. Towards the end of the war, many were barely holding on to any kind of normalcy. Garnett captures the anger as well as fear. The only escape lay in nighttime hours—and even then there are the dreams to endure. This letter was written shortly before the end of war. But in the following letter Garnett realizes actual freedom.

Dearest Mother,

Well my dear how extraordinary all these events are. Thank God for Mr. Wilson

for without him this certainly wouldn’t have happened. Our volatile rulers seemed

fortunately susceptible to good influences as well as bad and indifferent ones. I

40 suppose Lloyd George and his supporters will be triumphantly returned and then

in the two or three years the tide will turn—in fact a repetition of events after the

S. African war. I have the greatest faith in the soldiers. I have made friends with a

most delightful one. The most charming, cultivated, completely open minded

young guardsman Captain Robert Silwell—it is most encouraging to meet anyone

of that class boiling over with hatred of tyranny.

I see in today’s paper that Tribunals cease and the National Service people do not

intend to pursue under the Military Service Act. That means Duncan and I are

free. Duncan from today and I have given Mr. Hecks ‘whatever he considered

reasonable notice.’ To that he replied that I had better finish this week. So I

suppose next week I shall be free. (c. 1918)

For Garnett, the end of the Tribunal meant the end of the war, but he promises Hecks he will finish the week. A new chapter is on the horizon for himself and all of the Bloomsbury Group.

Garnett captures the mood of the time, towards the end of the war. Many were grateful for

President Wilson’s influence because it brought an end to their misery, but his influence would be all for naught because the treaty ultimately would lead to WWII. WWI shattered lives, but in some cases it strengthened them, helping some find their voice.

For the Bloomsbury Group, WWI provided a kind of freedom, to explore their art, avoid social constraints, and live sexually open lives. The younger members of the Group, like Garnett, were young and impressionable, looking for guidance. Luckily, the Bloomsbury Group saw potential and offered to help. This gave the members of the group a chance to share and mentor.

Garnett, the pupil, and the Bloomsbury Group, the teachers, were now one, not only sharing

ideas on art and life, but living the way they desired. Garnett entered the war as a young man interested in science, but became a self-assured man interested in writing and the world of art.

Overall, Garnett’s relationship with Lawrence, the Bloomsbury Group, and his experience in the war prepared him for a literary future in London, one that he would relish.

These experiences motivated him and set him up for a new chapter, a new future. From science to art, he found a new purpose. He would go on to pursue a writing career as well as serve other artists and writers, to mentor them into success. His first novel, Dope Darling, would be published in 1919, although he began working on it at the end of the war. In a letter to his mother, dated 1917, Garnett says, “Thank you for the changes. I sent you this delayed fulmination which doesn’t represent my novel at the moment.” His parents assisted him in his endeavor while he was living at Charleston with Vanessa Bell and Duncan Grant, giving him feedback and direction. His relationship with the two artists gives scholars insight to their complicated relationship and Garnett’s feelings on the two. And his writing served as an escape from the detriments of war but would also contribute to his future. Garnett’s transformation would be an important step in securing London’s literary future. If there was someone to know after the war as a writer, it would be with David Garnett.

CHAPTER 2

LONDON’S SECRET: DAVID GARNETT’S LIFE AS MENTOR AND EDITOR

In a letter to David Garnett, Ernest Hemingway, the famous American novelist, exclaims:

“you [David Garnett] are the only writer of our generation whose writing means a damned thing to me!” (c.1930). Despite Hemingway’s praise in the letter, Garnett’s writings have been largely forgotten. He remains perceived only as a writer who conversed with a select few, mainly within the Bloomsbury Group; however, his letters reveal his involvement with a more diverse group of writers and artists after WWI.

During the conflict, David Garnett, who was only 22 when the war began, matured. By the end of the war, a truer, more confident Garnett came to be. The Great War gave Garnett time to develop as a budding artist, thinker, and colleague. Although most of his time was spent farming as a conscientious objector, he got to know more of the Bloomsbury Group and take part in their discussions. His relationship with different Bloomsbury figures strengthened and gave him more confidence in his writing. Through their advice, Garnett developed an aptitude for discussing art and writing, or at least a way to be constructive and encouraging to others, as his letters show. If not for the Bloomsbury group and his parents, Garnett’s role as a mentor and editor to others as well as a writer would have been transitory. Essentially, while he was trying to avoid conscription and hard labor, he was honing his craft and deepening friendships.

After the war, Garnett’s work and relationships flourished. He not only became more of an important figure within the Bloomsbury Group as a contributing member, but he began casting a wider net across London and even across the ocean to the United States. His influence and interest not only led him to assist others in writing literary fiction, but science fiction and

fantasy. His letters prove that he was not only part of literary society, but an important figure,

someone who was admired and often sought by many.

Published collections include his correspondence with Sylvia Townsend Warner in Sylvia

and David: The Townsend Warner/Garnett Letters (1994), and his discussions with T.E. White, published by Garnett himself in 1968. However, these publications are only the beginning of what his letters reveal about his close relationships after the war; there’s much more to discover about his relationships, both personal and professional.

These collections often display a close relationship between Garnett and others, but often lack an analysis of the letters, especially the T.E. White collection created by Garnett. The relationship is an important one, but the reader learns very little about the actual individuals and their personalities. Kirkus Review states: “Although one learns a little about Mr. Garnett and his family, there is even less about T.E. White…” (“The White/Garnett Letters”, 1968). His letters go beyond a couple of close friends though. They span years and many circles of friends:

Bloomsbury, Townsend-Warner and White, London literary society, and American literary

society. Ultimately, Garnett became a confidant, critic, and adviser to many who were writing at

the time, even to some he met before the war; his networking most of all gives readers a glimpse

into London’s literary landscape during the inter-war period, a time for unique and new literature as some scholars are currently perusing.

Before becoming enmeshed only with Garnett’s effect, it’s important to see how these

letters and Garnett’s time as an editor will be important to scholars of today. Recent literary

scholarship suggests an interest in these types of literary circles and friendships, or at least in

how networking impacted certain authors and writers; who knew who? what effect may this have

had on someone’s work? Community is key in understanding not only one author but seeing the

bigger picture, which is of interest to contemporary scholars of literature. For instance, in The

Criterion: Cultural Politics and Periodical Networks in Inter-war Britain (2002) Jason Harding

argues that T.S. Eliot’s time at The Criterion reveals a wider circle that may be of interest to

scholars; the same is true for Garnett’s letters. His letters will provide scholars with a concrete

demonstration of how networks operated. Garnett is mentioned in Harding’s text as someone

whom Eliot requests contributions from while he works at the Criterion (13).

Similarly, Ford Madox Ford: Literary Networks and Cultural Transformations (2008),

edited by Andrzej Gasiorek and Daniel Moore, discusses Ford’s relationship to the literary

world. Interestingly, again, Ford was a contemporary of Garnett. However, these two, recent

books that exist on the theme of networking during Garnett’s time do not acknowledge Garnett’s

own connections and influence. Most recently, Square Hunting: Five Writers in London Between

the Wars (2020) by Francesca Wade explores connections outside the Bloomsbury Group with

Virginia Woolf, another contemporary and friend of Garnett. These works show that there is a renewed interest in British literature between the wars, moving beyond canonical figures of modernism. A recent, academic journal notes the significance of this same time period, The

Space Between: Literature and Culture 1914-1945. Within this scholarship, there’s new interest in literary and cultural networks. This scholarship would be amplified and clarified by making reference to Garnett, which it does not. Current scholars of British modernism are missing an important part of London’s literary networks, those who knew and worked with David Garnett.

Looking at Garnett’s letters will help scholars discover a deeper connection to Bloomsbury’s impact overall and, more specifically, Garnett’s impact during the early twentieth century.

Garnett seemed to be connected to most of English-speaking literary society. The 1920s and the 1930s were very productive for Garnett—his relationships grew and he authored at least sixteen books during this time. The writing of Dope Darling, published by T. Werner Laurie in

1919, was Garnett’s entrance into the wider literary world of London, when many acquaintances and friends would be made. Laurie also published Yeats and Wilde among others. Garnett’s first book, Dope Darling, was written under the pseudonym Leda Burke. The reasoning for Garnett’s use of the pen name is a mystery, but probably had something to do with it being his first venture as a writer and the subject matter, cocaine addiction. Perhaps he also thought that this type of story would be better received by the public if they thought a woman had written it.

Nevertheless, the publication of Dope Darling and his personal letters to different authors show his development as a writer and the significant and integral role he played as mentor and critic in many author’s lives.

Dope Darling is one of the first signs of Garnett working outside of the Bloomsbury

Group. The book was not released until after the war; it was just a small step for Garnett, but the book brought him into view. Unfortunately, only first editions remain, and mostly out of the public’s view. The book mostly involves a love triangle between a man, Roy, and two women,

Beatrice and Claire. Roy and Beatrice have a typical romance until Roy meets Claire. She’s exciting and full of adventure; they marry soon after. However, Roy enters the war and is wounded. Beatrice nurses him back to health. Unfortunately, Claire succumbs to her addiction with cocaine and dies in the end. Although Claire dies, both Roy and Beatrice learn that life can be passionate and exciting. One scholar of drugs in literature, Marek Kohn, discusses Garnett in a chapter of his Dope Girls (2003). He says: “the banal redemptive ending distinguishes Dope-

Darling from the literature of the tragic embitterment of the Great War” (24). The characters struggle with their feelings of love versus addiction; in the end, the two are the same in this story.

Garnett explores the psychology between feelings of love, eroticism, and addiction, a new and challenging topic especially for a wide audience, which makes his first writing attempt truly modern. Kohn continues: “Its [Dope Darling’s] promptness entailed back-projection: on the eve of hostilities, its characters are already stricken by the crisis of the spirit that was actually born of the subsequent mass slaughter [the Great War]” (24). The aspect that makes this novel worthwhile is not so much the writing as much as it is the theme of cocaine and war.

Cocaine was known in Britain during the early twentieth century, but Britain, like

America, was still fighting other issues, like alcohol. Cocaine was not made illegal in Britain until 1920, after the war, by the Dangerous Drugs Act of 1920; around the same time, Garnett published Dope Darling. Cocaine as a literary topic was unique and daring for the time. This first venture as a writer exhibits Garnett as someone with his finger on the pulse so to speak.

Garnett’s attempt to bring cocaine use to the forefront communicates his newfound concern for social issues. Before WWI, Garnett was not considering writing as a career, especially about a controversial topic.

Claire, the character dealing with addiction in the novel, may have been inspired by the well-known dancer and singer, Betty May, whom Garnett came to know after the war. She was one of the first performance artists Garnett encountered. Virginia Nicholson writes in Among the

Bohemians: Experiments in Living 1900-1939, “Claire is recognizably Betty May, whom Bunny knew well. Betty herself admits that she was powerfully attracted by drugs” (276). Betty May’s relationship with Garnett turned out to be part of his growth as a writer. In Sarah Knights’s

recent biography of Garnett, Bloomsbury’s Outsider, she mentions Betty May only in passing, but makes an interesting point: “Bunny did not approach his subject [in Dope Darling] from a moralistic or paternalistic viewpoint, but in satirizing media headlines, he highlighted the plight of real women like Betty May who came up from the countryside to an unfamiliar urban world where they could easily be exploited by unscrupulous men” (144). Garnett learned a lot during the war, mostly to see issues from different viewpoints, as his novel reveals. Knights notes that women during this time were being taken advantage of due to city life and that there was cause for concern, something Garnett again picked up on after the war, very much like his recognition of cocaine use.

Although Garnett’s ideas and concerns evolved after the war, that doesn’t mean his first book was well received, unfortunately. Whether it was the topic, the writing, or both, reviews were not favorable. Virginia Nicholson comments: “Dope Darling is a banal tale, but one which nevertheless reveals an awareness of the dark side of drugs” (276). Although Nicholson does not admire the book, she can see and appreciate its significance and what it was trying to accomplish. Garnett’s strength to take on a sensitive topic must not go unnoticed. In the end, taking on a challenge is what makes art worthwhile. Knights includes another negative review in her biography: “[Dope Darling] revolts the reader without convincing him” (The Times qtd in

Knights 144). Whether the novel is convincing or not often depends on the context and reader.

Furthermore, seeing that this was Garnett’s first venture as a writer, critics took little time to ridicule. The challenging topic nonetheless shows Garnett strived for uniqueness in his literary works.

48 Soon after, Garnett’s second novel, Lady into Fox, was published in 1922 by Chatto and

Windus. This title situated Garnett among other well-known writers of the time. And for the first

time, he received recognition for his writing. Unlike his first novel, he chose to publish the book

under his own name. Because of his efforts with Lady into Fox, he won the James Tait Black

Memorial Prize and the Hawthornden Prize, two of Britain’s top literary awards. These two

prizes were created in 1919 and are still being awarded today. Since Garnett was one of the first

recipients of the awards, this kind of recognition definitely showed others’ support of him and

his work. Lady into Fox was only his second novel and he was being compared to already established authors like D.H. Lawrence, his first literary companion and inspiration. Hugh

Walpole and Waltar de la Mare also won the award before Garnett. Others who won the award

later include Siegfried Sassoon and Aldous Huxley. In short, Lady into Fox was a milestone for

Garnett. His name was now on the minds of London’s literary elite, and not just with the

Bloomsbury Group. His first attempts at writing widened his own circle; his network would only

grow. 1922 was an important year, taking Garnett from a writer with a few friends to someone

who was known by all.

The following example exemplifies what a few years can do, when one is not forced to be

working on a farm during a war. It highlights Garnett’s network, his progress, and his entrance

into the artistic world—a crowning moment. His network not only encompassed London’s

literary elite, but others as well. Virginia Nicholson adds:

March 1923: it is Bunny Garnett’s thirty-first birthday party in Duncan Grant’s

studio at 8 Fitzroy Street. There are twenty-five guests, some old Bloomsbury,

some new, some American. A huge birthday cake is decorated with a design

representing Bunny’s fictional creation, ‘Lady into Fox’. Duncan has talked

Bunny into affording Vouvray and still champagne. The studio fills up.

Carrington is there; she’s bewitched by the beautiful American Henrietta

Bingham, who as the evening ends captivates the company by singing Negro

spirituals ‘in her soft, faintly husky Southern voice’. Then Lydia Lopokova

arrives from Convent Garden, in time to provide them with a grand finale: ‘She

was not too tired to dance for us again’. (Among the Bohemians 259)

This is a moment of success for Garnett. By 1923, Garnett was now well-respected and knew many people from different parts of his life. The party reveals that Garnett’s influence as a mentor went beyond the literary world at times; in short, his network was interdisciplinary.

For example, Henrietta made an impression on Garnett, so much so he invited her to his party of close friends. In a way, he helped Henrietta reach out and become a part of London society. As an icon of the Jazz Age, Henrietta became involved with the Bloomsbury Group, and

Garnett obliged her. Schillinger adds: “The daughter of Robert Worth Bingham, a Kentucky newspaper publisher and politician, and Eleanor Miller Bingham, Henrietta cut a swath through some of the most compelling actresses, athletes, writers and artists of her generation” (“Henrietta

Bingham’s Jazz Age Life”). Her friendships and sexual exploits reverberated throughout Europe, and Garnett is partly responsible for that transatlantic connection. Through Garnett, Bingham went on to have a relationship with Dora Carrington.

Sarah Knights asserts: “But he [Garnett] was dancing attendance on one particular woman: Henrietta Bingham. Bunny commemorated their affair by commissioning Henrietta’s other lover—Tommy [Stephen Tomlin]—to sculpt her head” (186). Garnett’s influence stretched

50 to anyone with artistic endeavors, even sculpting. Although Tomlin was a friend of the

Bloomsbury Group, the fact that Garnett commissioned an art piece also shows his involvement with other artists, not just writers. Interestingly, in Gerald Brenan’s A Life of One’s Own, an autobiography, he says: “he [Stephen Tomlin] was a young man of around twenty-three, the son of an English judge, who had been discovered by David Garnett” (75). Not only was Garnett helping those who sought him, but inviting others into the fold.

Furthermore, Garnett’s relationship with Dora Carrington was a close one. Garnett was actually present when Carrington died. Carrington’s relationship with Garnett is discussed in her collection of letters, which he edited and published. The collection, Carrington: Letters and

Extracts from her Diaries (1970), would eventually lead to more interest in Carrington and other books about Carrington, such as a biography by Gretchen Holbrook Gerzina in 1989. By publishing his letters with Carrington later in life, Garnett made Carrington accessible to the public and other artists. He was one of the first to acknowledge Carrington in a scholarly way.

One can argue that without this collection that he compiled, the world would not know as much as they do about the life of Carrington. His contribution shows his support for Carrington even though she was a painter and not a writer. Also, the fact that he tried to preserve Carrington and make her more important to the artistic world during his life exhibits his extraordinary prowess in supporting another’s work.

One important part of Garnett’s network began around the same time as the publication of Garnett’s second novel was his relationship with Sylvia Warner Townsend. The two would exchange letters for many years, discussing their views on literature, their own work, and their personal lives. Their letters were edited and collected by Richard Garnett, son of David Garnett,

in 1994. He thought it was important to commemorate their long, platonic relationship since both had gained some acclaim over the years (Richard Garnett, vii). His letters show the influence

Garnett possessed by the time of his second novel. Not only was Garnett becoming a well-known writer, but an even more important critic. This relationship with Townsend took Garnett out of his normal circle of friends and colleagues, particularly with the Bloomsbury Group. He was now more independent and respected for his own artistry and knowledge.

Townsend published her first novel, Lolly Willowes, in 1926; thus, Garnett was part of her introduction to the literary world and assisted her in her success. Jane Dowson, in Women’s

Poetry of the 1930s: A Critical Anthology, observes that Garnett was someone to motivate

Townsend to write fiction (149). With his encouragement and advice, Townsend would publish several more novels in the 1920s and 1930s but also poetry. Perhaps finding he had more to offer than being only a writer, Garnett found a new path, to help and assist others. Garnett enjoyed reaching out to others by this time and helping in any way he could. The correspondence between the two is often playful, respectful, and honest. Early in their relationship she asks

Garnett for some help in regard to T. F. Powys’s work in 1922:

One book of his [Powys] has been published by Melrose. It is called Soliloquies

of a Hermit. Not a novel, but a long, meditative meandering essay. Personally I

think he is much better within the framework of a story than spread abroad in

soliloquy. The book fell flat in this country—it was published just after the war—

but has had considerable sale in America. He has tried various publishers for his

other things, but so far has had no encouragement from them. I need not say that

52 if you can do anything to help him find one, he would be most grateful” (Sylvia

and David 3-4).

This particular letter speaks to the already established influence Garnett possessed early in his career. Townsend is asking Garnett to use his influence to help Powys find a publisher in

London. Not only is he assisting Townsend in her efforts, but now Powys as well. His established name lead him to know most of the acclaimed writers of the time. In another letter to

Garnett from Townsend, but later in 1925, she writes:

The true hearted Englishman Mr. Prentice is now reading my novel. The Espalier

is coming out in April. It is to be bound in mottle, like Garnett, only blue. It is a

short square page, called I believe Pott. Did you see the prospectus? They put me

next to Milton. I hope you will review me for Vogue, and any American papers

you may have a hand in. You have done so much for me already (dear David) it

would be a pity not to add a few substantial coping-stones.” (Sylvia and David 19)

Townsend pays homage to Garnett when she says “like Garnett” in the letter. She makes it seem as if she hopes to live up to his reputation one day due to the quality of his own book and advice.

And she asks for some good reviews to help her in her own success. She refers to his critiques as

“coping-stones” which means any comments he can make she will consider are perhaps the nicer or most important part of her success. Also, this phrase suggests Garnett has already helped her progress and make something of herself, so he should be the one to add any last sentiments and finish what he started by encouraging her work.

Besides helping Warner, Garnett assisted others around the same time, widening his network. Wyndham Lewis (1882-1957) was a painter and writer, and he also served as an editor

for Blast, a literary magazine during WWI. In the following letter, Lewis asks Garnett for his thoughts. He writes:

Dear Mr. Garnett,

Here is the book as promised. This book is about 125 thousand words I believe

then will be about 150 thousand more. You will keep in mind what I said about

my great anxiety lest any person except yourself should prematurely get sight of

this proof: I know I can rely on you to show it to no one but may I suggest that

should you have people staying with you in the house you should lock it up or

hide it? The Herald Tribune have expressed themselves delighted at the news that

you have emanated [sic] to do the […] I hope that you will be interested in the

book.

Your sincerely,

Wyndham Lewis

PLEASE SHOW TO NO ONE

(May 12, 1923)

Even though Lewis has great anxiety he still sees Garnett as a necessary part of the process.

Garnett can assist him in many ways if he is to help. Lewis even suggests to “hide” his work because he has a hard time trusting anyone. It is hard to discern which book that Lewis is referring to; Lewis may be talking about Childermass (1926). In Lewis’s biography, Some Sort of Genius, Paul O’Keefe states:

Marie Meloney, editor of the New York Herald Tribune’s Sunday Magazine, had

written to ask Lewis for an article to be called ‘Modern Philosophy and Bunk’ or

54 for ‘something on sign posts and posters’. She also asked if he could suggest

‘some well-known writer’ who could produce a ‘personality sketch’ of him. She

thought that if these two pieces were published together, in the pages of the

Sunday Magazine, they might help sales of the next book he had published in the

United States. It was for this reason that Lewis approached David Garnett and

asked him to write the ‘gossipy article of two thousand words’ that Mrs Meloney

was prepared to pay $100 for. (277)

Garnett was sought out by Lewis because he was known and respected as a writer, as well as someone who obliged many artists in their endeavors. If Garnett would write his sketch of Lewis, then Lewis may gain some attention in America as well as Britain, as this quote shows.

O’Keefe later reveals Garnett did write the article for Lewis as well as gave him feedback on his novel (278). In a different instance, Garnett assisted another aspiring writer.

Dorothy Edwards, too, was a writer and completed a collection of short stories known as

Rhapsody in 1928 and a novel, Winter Sonata, in 1929. Although this is some years after the publication of Garnett’s first novel, it was during the early 1920s that Garnett met Edwards. His collection of letters does not show an intimate connection with Edwards, but letters can sometimes miss the more intimate details. Nonetheless, he was a part of Edwards budding career as a writer.

Surprisingly, Edwards lived with Garnett and his wife, Ray, or Rachel Marshall, for a time in London before she took her own life in 1934 by jumping in front of a train. One can assume Garnett assisted Dorothy in her writing since their friendship ignited around 1922. One biography on Dorothy Edwards by Claire Flay notes: “Garnett was eager to introduce Edwards,

55 whom he dubbed his ‘Welsh Cinderella,’ to literary society” (76). The name he gave to Edwards says more about their relationship—that he in fact was of a different class and assumes some kind of power over Edwards, perhaps fatherly. Garnett believed he could help her. In one letter to Beryl Jones, Edwards comments:

He [Garnett] has offered to help, even to take charge of the business-side of my

writing. He thinks I ought to make a certain amount of money & says that one

ought to write as little as possible & see that one gets paid enormous prices for

what one does write…He betrayed the utmost anxiety to be the person to

introduce me to literary London…I am excited and thrilled at the thought of

staying with him & at the party. I hope he doesn’t change his mind. (Edwards qtd

in Flay 76).

In this letter, Garnett proves himself to be of assistance and guidance to not only the Bloomsbury

Group, but literary figures of all kinds. He has made himself indispensable to the publishing world; he was a business man at the height of his own career who appreciates the arts. His advice would help Edwards as she began to publish more. In Edward’s excitement, one can see the respect Garnett has gained in just a few short years after the war.

In another instance Garnett saw himself as provider. During Edwards’s money troubles,

“Garnett devised a means to provide Edwards with a haven in which to write. He invited her to live in the attic of the Endsleigh Street flat that he shared with his family” (Flay 86). However,

Garnett did not fully realize her situation. She was living between two worlds: Welsh and

England, lower class and middle class, woman and man. Her sense of self was torn. Although the

56 relationship between Garnett and Edwards is seemingly platonic, Angelica confirms suspicions in her earlier comments.

The 1930s proved to be just as exciting and busy as the 1920s for Garnett. Gerald Brenan exchanged letters with Garnett for many years. Gerald Brenan, a noted Hispanist, became known through his works, The Spanish Labyrinth (1943) and South from Granada: Seven Years in an

Andalusian Village (1957). Not only did Brenan engage in a relationship with Garnett, but with

Dora Carrington as well. Nicholson writes: “Carrington’s capriciousness caused her lover Gerald

Brenan endless heartache and loneliness, which he assuaged by the obsessive picking-up of shop girls or homeless teenagers off the streets of London” (50). Brenan’s promiscuity would not have gone unnoticed by Garnett, as he was very similar in his sexual exploits. The tone of many of their letters reads like they were aware of each other’s treatment of women.

Besides their similar personalities, the two also engaged with each other’s work and professional life. When Brenan published his autobiography, A Life of One’s Own (1962), a play on words which derived from Virginia Woolf’s famous essay, A Room of One’s Own, he dedicated it to David Garnett. This dedication alludes to Garnett’s effect on Brenan; this wasn’t a story, but a life story that was dedicated to Garnett, almost as if Garnett had the biggest impact on him. One book, The Face of Spain, was recently re-printed in 2010. In a similar fashion to

Sylvia Townsend Warner, Garnett assisted Brenan.

December 19, 1933

Dear Bunny,

I was very touched by your review in The New Statesman. No one could have said

anything that could please me more, and though your opinion is too good and

57 though I am not the person to always say it, I agree with Charles that it is one of

your best reviews. I believe you have really set the sales going—anything I get

from this book I owe to you.

Gerald

September 19, 1934

The beginning of this letter encapsulates Garnett’s role in Brenan’s life as someone who supports his efforts. Without Garnett, Brenan acknowledges his life and success would be much different.

Also, this letter shows Garnett as someone whose opinion matters amongst literary society. If he likes something, people pay attention and consider his criticisms. Garnett was someone to know if a writer wanted to be successful in London.

In his Personal Record 1920-1972, Brenan elaborates more on Garnett’s effect on his life:

I have already drawn a portrait of David, or Bunny, as he was called, in South

from Granada, so all I need say now is that he was the most delightful of

companions, slow and leisurely in mind, but with an endless number of stories

about the literary world, in which he knew everyone. I felt especially drawn to

him because he was a man of courage and independence who got on well with

people of every class and condition. He was not intellectual, but he had a great

experience of life and one could trust his judgement on everything from literature

to practical affairs and politics. (92)

Brenan’s kind, honest words summarize Garnett’s personality and work. In this quotation,

Brenan understood Garnett’s value to London and literary society; he knew everyone in literary

58 society. His connections allowed him to help many, and his ability to socialize and assist positioned him at the center of people’s lives. He knew literary society better than anyone during this time. Although Garnett was only involved in a couple of literary publications, one can liken

Garnett to the influence that Gertrude Stein or even Ezra Pound possessed during their own lives and circles, at least by helping others. His influence mattered.

Some of Garnett’s influence can be attributed to his position at The New Statesman, as

Brenan alluded to earlier. Garnett became the literary editor of The New Statesman and Nation in

1933 (Knights 262). The New Statesman is a British magazine that concentrates on politics and

culture, specifically literature; this gave Garnett a way to influence literary society. Its

publication was in 1913, and the journal is still currently being distributed. In the end, part of

Gerald Brenan’s success as a writer is owed to Garnett, as seen in some of his remarks in letters

discussed later. The New Statesman provided Garnett and his friends with an advertising avenue, a way of getting their works recognized.

Dear Bunny,

I’m sending you some verses I had wrote last night on Roger [Roger Fry]. I

thought you might care to print them in The Statesman as a tribute to him.

Generally, Statesman, lawyers and people in public life get pages & columns

when they die: great men rarely get much attention paid to them…for the sake of

the ideas for which they stand; I think we ought to share in every way possible

way what we think of such calamities. Roger’s death was almost as premature as

Shelley’s or Keats’ and will appear and impoverish the incoming age in much the

same manner.

59 I hope a number of life and letters will be devoted to him—as a number of N.R.F.

was to Proust—and that one shall all have an opportunity of contributing a page

or two.

I am so glad to have seen you in London.

Ever yours,

Gerald

It’s possible that without Garnett’s help Roger Fry’s importance may have escaped many, except those who knew him of course. Roger Fry’s ability to paint and teach others, like Vanessa Bell and Duncan Grant, made a lasting impression on the artistic world. Fry died in 1934 and his biography by Virginia Woolf would not be published until 1940; thus, it was his friends who would share his legacy. Gerald, in particular, expresses his frustration with the current publication’s focus. He believes Garnett can make an impact, just as the Nouvelle Revue

Francaise did for Proust; so, this request is a true testament to Garnett’s own influence. Besides his work with The New Statesman, Garnett presented his criticisms and advice to authors both old and new; he was a teacher in his own way.

Sunday

Dear Bunny,

I have ventured to encourage a young woman, Angela Churchill (late Culme-

Seymour) to ring you up and show you a mss of her novel. She is a very great

friend of mine and I think you may find her as charming and as lovely as I do—

else certainly I should not have suggested you seeing her. As to her book, she has

written what I think is a very gay and agreeable novel, which she can’t get

60 published, it is unlike other first novels of young women—it is not in the least

autobiographical, and it shows complete mastery of the plot and it is well written.

I think she is a born writer: the quickness and care with which she writes proves

this: how interesting her work may become is another matter. It may be that you

think this book a little too…youthful. She was over 21 when she wrote it and it is

not the work of a very original mind and it does not show any unusual approach to

life…

With much love,

Gerald

Don’t be under any misapprehension—A. never has been and never will be

anything but my most platonic friend.

A quick search reveals that Angela published her novel with Beshara in 1976. She later published an autobiography by the name of The Bolter’s Grand-Daughter; in it, she highlights her many love affairs. The autobiography was finally published in 2002 when she was 89, and she died at the age of 99 in 2012. The fact Gerald reached out to Garnett to assist Angela solidifies that Garnett possessed influence in London’s literary world. Gerald looked up to

Garnett, and he continued to ask for Garnett’s advice.

Dear Bunny,

I am writing to you to recommend to you a mss which I think you might like to

publish. It is a selection of the diary of Anthony a Wood, an antiquarian who lived

in Oxford in the 17th century. The original edition is in 5 or 6 very large volumes

and except to a scholar, I should say, unreadable…This selection has been made

by Llewelyn Powys. I would never recommend to you one of his books, as I know

what you think of them but this selection, in my opinion, he has done remarkably

well. He is well read in the 17th century and has a natural taste for it: and he has

written an introduction which is quite straightforward. (November 1)

Ultimately, Powys published The Life and Times of Anthony a Wood in 1932, shortly after

Brenan sent the text to Garnett. Even when Garnett appears to not get along with someone, he

stays true to his objective, to assist. Moreover, Garnett’s dislike did not get in his way of

assisting with the project; he was professional as ever. Not only was Garnett contacted to help in

one’s career, but he was contacted by Louis Morgan about his own writing.

Morgan wrote a book entitled Writers at Work in 1931, the time during which she

corresponded with Garnett. The book concentrates on a writer’s craft. She interviewed notable

authors of the time like WB Yeats, Richard Aldington, Sinclair Lewis, Sylvia Townsend Warner,

Edgar Wallace, Wyndham Lewis, Somerset Maugham and AE Coppard. In one letter, Garnett

writes to Louise Morgan: “It’s very nice of you to write. I’ll be delighted to give you an

interview, though I don’t know whether I shall be able to give an intelligible method of my

work” (April 23, 1930). In these few words, one gathers that Morgan has contacted Garnett in an

effort to do research for her book, and possibly include him. However, she decides not to include

him for reasons unknown, but to even be considered along with the likes of Yeats, Lewis, and

Maugham as notable writers to interview speaks to Garnett’s work as comparable and as having

literary significance.

In the 1930s Garnett again comes to the assistance of T.F. Powys for a different reason.

T.F. Powys (1875-1953) was a short story writer and novelist. Many of his stories are allegorical

and fantastical, which is very similar to Garnett’s own work. His most famous work is Mr.

Weston’s Good Wine (1927) in which the main character was believed to be God. Many of his stories use biblical allusions. Garnett cared enough for Powys and his work to put together a group of writers and intellectuals to write to the Prime Minister and support Powys during a difficult financial time. He writes:

Dear Sir,

I am writing on behalf of various friends of T.F. Powys, who are anxious to get

him a Civil List pension. I understand from J.M. Barrie, who has already written

to the Prime Minister, that I should apply for a form which shows the kind of

information necessary. Could you please send it to me here?

(November 28, 1933)

The Civil List Act began in 1837 as a way for those who have served their country in some way,

particularly in the sciences and literature, to receive money if needed. If enough people wrote to

the Prime Minister on Powys’s behalf, his contributions to England would be validated. This

letter reveals Garnett even knew and spoke to J.M. Barrie, the famous children’s literature writer

and author of Peter Pan. Again, Garnett’s connections knew no bounds, and he was able to pull

many together to help Powys; his situation was dire. Another letter to Garnett from Brenan in

1933 reads:

Dear Bunny,

I am writing to you as the only accomplished man of the world of my

acquaintance to suggest that something should be done to assist Theodore.

Doris has now left them to look after her step father and all the work of the house

falls upon Violet. She was seriously ill this spring and they had to have a hospital

nurse in. Now she has had another attack of the same complaint and she cannot

afford to do what she ought to…which is to rest.

Theodore has never really got over an attack of the flu he had some time ago and

he looks ill and tired.

Gerald Brenan shows his deep affection for Garnett, and he believes Garnett will have a voice to help Powys. Violet was the wife of Powys; they were married for many years until his death in

1953. The flu, during the 1930s, was not always an easy virus to treat. It could sometimes lead to pneumonia, and then death. Let’s not forget that Garnett and his comrades were alive during the

1918 pandemic so dealing with the flu in the early twentieth century was like dealing with some viruses today.

A few more letters were exchanged during this time to gain support. Garnett reached out to many friends and acquaintances to secure a living for Powys. He wrote to them and many replied with support since he was speaking up for Powys. Many admired Garnett and his family, so they were ready to assist when the time came.

Dear Bunny,

I am glad you think that somebody can get something done about the pension. I

think that points of stress are Theo’s age, ill health, his having lost a son recently

in Kenya under tragic circumstances, having a baby dependent on him and a son

who has been may again become so. Then that of his wife, who hitherto has done

all the work of the house, has been ill and will never be able to work in the same

way again. And I don’t think it will do any harm to point out that he is the son of

a clergyman. If you are getting up a petition, Arthur Waley and Bertrand Russell

will both sign it. The latter is a great admirer of Theo’s. (August 4, 1933)

Garnett’s orchestration of events shows his support of a fellow friend as well as of the written

word. Arthur Waley and Bertrand Russell even want to help. Waley translated Chinese and

Japanese poetry, and Russell was a philosopher and author of many books. Interestingly, Garnett

uses a poem that Waley translated later in his own novel, The Sailor’s Return. Garnett also sent a

few letters to others.

Dear Mrs. Hardy,

Augustus John tells me that you are supporting the memorial to the Prime

Minister to get Theodore Powys a pension. He said that you would approach

Barrie. I wonder if you have done so and what the result is. I want to send the

memorial in as soon as possible, or it will be too late for this year. So far I have

got you, Augustus John, T.E. Shaw, Virginia Woolf, E.M. Forester, Professor

Grierson, Lady Ottoline Morrell, Bertrand Russell, I.A. Richards and Arthur

Waley. I have just written to Masefield and Wells. If we can get these and Barrie I

think we shall have enough. What is your opinion? I only wish we had a bishop,

but I suppose we cannot hope for that. (November 22, 1933)

Garnett writes to Florence Hardy, an accomplished children’s writer and second wife to Thomas

Hardy, another example of Garnett’s network in London. This letter proves Garnett’s connections are multitudinous. All of them know and correspond with Garnett, and they appreciate his efforts in protecting artists. He supports their causes and believes in their abilities.

Through his network, Garnett can support many whether through editing or putting someone in

65 touch with another for various reasons. Some are Bloomsbury figures whereas others belong to the wider literary world in London. This is just another example that Garnett was a central figure and one who could help. She responds:

Dear Mr. Garnett:

I have seen Barrie & talked to him at great length about Theodore Powys & he

has written privately to the Prime Minister. When my husband was alive he

attained more than one pension for writers in this way & I thought Barrie could do

the same… I could ask the Bishop of Salisbury, whom I know. I am rather afraid

he won’t be inclined, although he is so fond of writing about the country clergy. I

suppose he really is very poor. A friend who knows him well tells me he lives in

the way he does because he and his wife like it. I am only too anxious to help and

get him a pension though, for I think he is a great writer.

Yours very sincerely,

Florence Hardy

P.S. I will let you know immediately when I hear from Barrie.

Ultimately, Garnett’s connection to Florence enabled him to secure a pension for Powys. Barrie was around the age of 60 and no doubt was acquainted with Florence because of their interest in children’s stories since he was the author of Peter Pan, and most likely was acquainted with her late husband. As a Sir, he had a direct line to the Prime Minister of England, Ramsay McDonald.

Powys was one of eleven siblings, all were either writers or artists of various sorts.Regarding

Powys’s work though, Garnett was just as helpful if not more so. Garnett originally met Powys in the early 1920s because of Towsend’s interest in his writing (Graves, The Brothers Powys

157). He would act as a type of go-between to ensure Powys was published. One biographer of

Powys, Richard Percival Graves, comments:

Tommy Tomlin brought David Garnett to visit Theodore, and Garnett announced

he enjoyed Hester Dominy, and suggested an approach be made to the publishing

firm Chatto & Windus…On 22 September he [Powys] wrote to Chatto enclosing

The Left Leg, and Garnett smoothed his path by lunching with Charles Prentice of

Chatto, and trying to interest him in Theodore’s work. Prentice was soon asking

to see further stories, and before long he had received typescripts of Tadnol, Black

Bryony, and Hester Dominy” (The Powys Brothers, 157-158).

Garnett’s connections to the publishing world ensured Powys’s beginnings as a writer. He went on to publish several novels and collections of short stories. On a different occasion, “Garnett’s work on Powys’s behalf included showing his stories to Virginia Woolf” (Graves 158). At the time Virginia and her husband Leonard, owned and operated the Hogarth Press. Their publishing house later published Powys’s Mister Weston’s Good Wine (1927), one of his most popular books. Thus, Garnett would go to any lengths to help a friend, writer, or both.

At one point, he also corresponded with Seigfried Sassoon, a well-known WWI poet.

In this letter, Sassoon thanks Garnett for his review. He writes:

Dear Garnett,

I want to thank you for your very nice review. I am so thankful that you see the

point of Sherston. Apart from these ‘literary qualities’, I very much wanted the

memoirs to be effective as quiet propaganda for peace, and for that reason I tried

to make Sherston, as far as possible, an ‘ordinary sort of chap’. Had I made him

more complicated as a character the directness of his appeal would have been

lessened, I think…

Yours sincerely,

Siegfried Sassoon

(September 12, 1936)

As is noted in many of his poems, Siegfried spoke against the war and its detriment. His trilogy,

Sherston’s Progress (1928-1930), say as much as his poems. His words may have been lost on many but for those who have been entwined in war his words only speak the truth. Garnett notices his intent nonetheless.

On another occasion, Garnett assisted a famous American writer, Ernest Hemingway.

Garnett and Hemingway became fast friends upon a review written by Garnett, as their correspondence shows. For several years the two exchanged letters. Hemingway writes:

I can’t tell you how much it means to get your letter. I hope to god what you say

about the book will be true. Though how we are to know whether they last I don’t

know. But anyway you were fine to say so. After I read The Sailor’s Return all I

did was to go around wishing to god I loved to have written it. It is still the only

book I would like to have written of all the books since our father’s and mother’s

times. As you see I can’t write a letter, …conversation is always, for me, to

replace or indicate emotion with profanity, but you are the only writer of our

generation whose writing means a damned thing to me! After I read The Sailor’s

Return I would not go back to read the Lady into Fox and Man in the Zoo because

if there was any brag about how it was done, the writing, I didn’t want it. I only

wanted the book. You have meant very much to me as a writer and friend. I think

you have written me another letter –I should feel very fine. But instead see what

happens is that I don’t believe it –don’t believe I have the letter. I don’t believe it

when I read it –don’t believe a damn thing…I am so happy you liked the book –

you have my very great admiration & I am no good at saying that –but it is god’s

truth. I thank you again for writing and I hope everything goes well with you and

that it always will. If you ever decide the book –A Farewell T.A. is no good and

want to take back what you said please do it –it will be all right with me. But you

were awfully damned nice to write it now.

Yours always,

Ernest Hemingway

(c. 1930, December 10 -6 rue Friou in Paris)

In this particular letter, Hemingway acknowledges Garnett’s eye for literature as well as his own writing abilities. Hemingway even appreciates his support through his written reviews, helping and encouraging sales for Hemingway. Even Hemingway wishes he had thought of the story that

Garnett published on his own, A Sailor’s Return. And Hemingway sees Garnett as perhaps even a better writer than himself with phrasing as “I loved to have written it” and “you are the only writer of our generation whose writing means a damned thing to me!” I’m sure Garnett was very honored to receive such a letter from a well accomplished American writer of the time. His words also speak to Garnett’s importance for his contemporaries. Also, Hemingway doubts the success of his own book, A Farewell to Arms, at one point, which is about to be released. They also exchanged letters and ideas about others’ works.

Dear Garnett:

I was very interested in your review of Frank Tinker’s book. About the fear

business; I think Tinker could describe it quite well if he experienced it in the air.

I knew him very well and I think fear, while flying, was as lacking in his as some

people might lack an ear for music. One reason might be that he, Whitey Dahl,

who is now a prisoner in Salamanca, Albert Baumler, and some of the other pilots

were not men like Yeats and Day Lewis who volunteered for the war when you

only needed to be physically sound and keen to get into R.F.C. or the R.A.F. and

were with other normal men who to do a patriotic duty. Tinker and Whitey were

products of our Kelly and Randolph Field training. Tinker had also done

Pensacola, the U.S. Naval Flying school…

(c. 1938)

Garnett doubts if Tinker truly understands the idea of fear in his work. Hemingway suggests one

idea for that here. Tinker was an American volunteer fighter pilot in the Spanish Civil War who

died in 1939 at the age of 30 by suicide. His book is a collection of articles entitled Some Still

Live. Baulmer as well as other names mentioned by Hemingway show a deep respect for aviators

of WWII and the Spanish Civil War. Garnett was also fond of aviation.

Although the two seem to disagree in the following correspondence a bit, Hemingway

and Garnett’s tone suggest they respect each other’s opinions nonetheless. Another time,

Hemingway addressed a Mr. Rider—perhaps a nickname for Garnett due to his interest in flying.

Hemingway discusses the work of William Faulkner. He states:

Dear Mr. Rider –

Thank you very much for your letter. The most readable of Faulkner is Sanctuary

and Pylon. I think he is a no good son of a bitch myself. But some of the Southern

stuff is good and some of the negro stuff is very good, also a short story called

“The Bear” is worth reading. His last book A Fable isn’t pure shit. It is impure

diluted shit and there isn’t a shit tester at Ichang, where they ship the night soil

from Chunking to [sp], but would fault it […] Good luck to you and don’t bend

anymore airplanes.

Best always,

Ernest Hemingway

Here, it’s as if Garnett has asked Hemingway to suggest a book by William Faulkner. Although

Hemingway uses some profanity to discuss Faulkner, it’s likely he still liked his work and appreciates his themes. Hemingway’s frankness with Garnett presents a friendly relationship.

Unfortunately, Knights’ biography of Garnett omits the strong connection and relationship between these two writers probably due to other significant moments in Garnett’s life at the time.

Nonetheless, the two were comrades in their shared interests and writing.

Another known writer Garnett helps in the 1930s was H.G. Wells. In the following letter, he assisted a science fiction author; his expertise was not limited to pure fiction. Unfortunately, again, Wells’s biographies omit the relationship between the two. But their letters obviously show at least some camaraderie and interest in each other’s work. Most of the letters in the collection between them were written after 1936, when Garnett ensured publication of H.G.

Wells’s The Croquet Player (Knights 298). There are several letters between Garnett and H.G.

Wells (1866-1946).

71 January 20, 1937

Dear David,

I’ve been seeing into The Coming of the Martians again…I shall have to go to

work upon it again & you must revise later. Bless you. I hope your flu is better.

H.G.

Again, Garnett helps another friend revise and edit their work before publication. He evens asks

Garnett to revise for him. Wells’s writing is so very hard to read due to legibility but a few letters were typed or written by his secretary, with that in mind. The two were friendly. Garnett and

Wells were similar in that they were interested in the unexplainable.

January 13, 1937

Dear David,

When are you coming up for a night or so in Mr. Mumford’s room?

Often, Wells invited Garnett and his wife at the time, Ray Marshall, to stay with him. There

visits were frequent as this is only one example with an invitation. Besides time spent together,

they also corresponded about books they were writing at the time. H.G. Wells even asks Garnett

for advice about a title:

Dead David,

What do you think of They are Here or The Changelings?

H.G.

This shows Garnett as a respected critic, someone whose opinion matters. Also, this shows

Garnett had an eye so to speak for what the public wanted to read and what may be marketable.

Garnett seemingly had a proclivity towards business as much as the arts. This of course made

him indispensable to many writers. With connections, a literary background, and a business

mind, there wasn’t much Garnett could not achieve. Another time, H.G. Wells writes:

Dear David,

I believe almost hungrily the stupendous things you say about YOU CAN’T BE

TOO CAREFUL. You are an affectionate chap and just now biased in my favour,

but allowing for that, I know you have a critical conscience and your good

opinion leaves me in a state of very happy inflation. Tell Angelica I have fallen in

love with her too but for many reasons it must be “Platonic”. Bless her.

Yours ever,

H.G.

(December 30, 1942)

Wells appreciates his criticism and sees his opinion as valuable and worthy. Again, Garnett’s

reviews and writing support authors in all circles. You Can’t Be Too Careful was published in

1941 and is a bildungsroman. Besides conversing across the Atlantic with Hemingway and helping well-known writers of the time like Wells, Garnett also entertained authors like himself, those who were writers and critics.

Garnett shared letters with Edward Sackville-West, a critic and writer. Sackville-West

also had connections to the Bloomsbury Group. Unfortunately, this relationship and connection

also did not make its way into Garnett’s biography. The letters are hard to organize since the

relationship lasted many years.

In a letter to Edward Sackville, Garnett writes:

Dear Eddy,

I am absolutely delighted to get your letter as I have felt your absence &

wanted very much to see you & talk to you. Would the weekend after the

one you suggested do as well, November 5? I am just sending T.E.

Lawrence’s Letters to press. It is a huge book -830 pages or so and I don’t

know for sure if the index will be done by then. If it isn’t, I shall be

working 16 hours a day through Saturday and Sunday. I have never

worked harder or longer hours than with this editing job. It will be

wonderful to have got it done. I’m pleased with it by the way (c. 1938)

Edward Sackville was a critic himself, but mostly of music, and he wrote some stories.

Seemingly, the two shared a camaraderie due to their somewhat affluent backgrounds and interest in art. Another time, Garnett writes:

Dear Eddy

No Mrs. Morris wasn’t hurt seriously. They looked at the bruise at the hospital &

sent her away at once. It was on the left thigh so she must have run into the car

from the right hand side. I had imagined her as having come from the left &

couldn’t understand how I hadn’t seen her while she crossed in front.

Yes, we will dine together again soon. I am trying to begin a new book & can’t

find the right language. I want something very different from the last one & am

afraid I may relapse into it. (c.1940)

Sadly, this letter notes an incident in which Garnett hit someone while on the road. Fortunately, though, no one was badly injured. He treats it lightly as if someone made a bigger deal of it than was necessary. In the letter, Garnett most likely was speaking of either The Battle of Britain or

74 War in the Air, both published in 1941. Both of these selections move from a fictional, psychological narrative to one more about flying, a new theme for Garnett. His interest in flying would be the basis of many of his later works. Then, he writes of more intimate details:

I am sorry you are going to Dresden. It is delightful you are coming here on

October 1; I should have written to ask you to come about then before now if I

hadn’t always been on the move. I have been in London chiefly, or else in the

train & I have seen no one but Ray who is in a nursing home (coming out the end

of next week). I took Gerald Brenan to Epping Forest one night; it is a lovely

place; one of the wildest parts of England. Do you know it? (c.1940, August 13).

As this letter shows, Garnett’s concern for his wife only grows during this time. The two parented two sons during their marriage. Ray was an illustrator who died of breast cancer unfortunately in 1940 (Knights). Garnett cared for her during her illness, and Edward offered his friendship during this difficult time. The letter also speaks of ‘Epping Forest,’ an adventurous and natural setting in England, and Garnett admires it. And later in 1953, Garnett writes:

It was most delightful to get your letter and to know that you liked my book. I am

trying to get the material down for Vol. 2. It is not only the evasions that present

problems –at least not only the ones you are thinking of –but walking about the

living people with whom one has lived on one set of terms & now much on

another. I realise only too well why so many books of this kind are a mess of

hearty clichés. (December 3, 1953)

Garnett authored a three-volume autobiography during the 1950s in which he discussed different parts of his life and his different influences: The Golden Echo (1953), Flowers of the Forest

(1955), and The Familiar Faces (1962). His eye for his own life is to be commended. After reading the autobiographies however, readers will realize Garnett omits the more personal stories to provide privacy for himself and others. His letters show the more intimate details of his life, or at least his closeness and often positive impact on others, his network of writers and artists. The autobiographies affirm some of Garnett’s network, but they do not include all of his relationships; they are only the beginning to understanding Garnett. For example, his friendship with Edward, among others, lasted for many years. By the time the late 50s arrive, Garnett’s relationships are various and show his ease with many. The language in his letters show a more settled Garnett. He now has enough of a background and esteem to appear more comfortable in his relationships.

One of the relationships to last a lifetime for Garnett as well was his correspondence with

G.E. Moore, the philosopher and writer responsible for the beginnings of the Bloomsbury Group.

Garnett’s letters with George Moore seem to reflect a more established friendship and camaraderie, even more at times than those Garnett remained close to in London.

Not only did Garnett advise others, but asked others to critique him, like G.E. Moore:

Dear David Garnett:

Your book is written in your own beautiful style, but I don’t think it as well

composed as some of your other books. Do come here to lunch on the first

available opportunity. (May 23, 1929)

Besides serving and working for others, Garnett was often seeking advice as well concerning his own writing. Not many letters exist that discuss Garnett’s own work, so it’s interesting there are so many between Moore and Garnett. Moore was a prolific writer and influenced authors like

James Joyce (Richard Ellman). For many, he sometimes is recognized as the first Irish modern novelist. In addition, Garnett appears open to criticism when it comes to his writing. When he wrote Go She Must! Moore replied:

My dearest Garnett:

I read your beautiful English story with much pleasure –may I say English, for a

more English story, I think, has rarely been written. The highways and the

byways, the changing aspects of the fields when autumn develops into winter and

winter passes out of snows into spring –all are in your story and part of it. One of

the things I appreciated, and intensely, is the legend you tell of the burning of the

Manor House. The grocer’s wife proved herself to be an excellent narrator and the

narrative itself made the homely life of the village clear to me. This simple day to

day existence contrasts well with the girl who has to go. You do not run black

lines round your characters and you are better without them. The person is real

amid his birds under the apple tree, very real because he is not too real.

Everything in your story is so compact of the English landscape that I’m sorry

you had to take Anne to Paris to be married. (January 11, 1927)

In Go She Must! Garnett explores ideas of love in the city versus the country, a popular theme for some Modernists. Moore offers kind words about it. But Garnett only expected honesty from

Moore. Specifically, Moore comments on the English-ness of Garnett’s tale. Perhaps that’s why

Garnett sought Moore; he was an outsider looking in. Moore seems to be pleased with Garnett’s characters. Another time the criticism is much harsher:

My dear Garnett,

The fact that Mr. Maynell has not answered my letter leaves me very little doubt

in my mind that he is not very much taken with the story of Ulick and Soracha.

As it cannot well be the writing of the book which meets with his disapproval; it

must be the story, and it would be strange indeed if the story appealed to him; for

nearly all of us like stories that resemble other stories, and the story of Ulick and

Soracha bears no resemblance in English, French, or Russian…How about

another matter, more pleasant to write about, your own book, The Sailor’s Return.

I remembered this morning that the book is going to be translated into French, and

it is possible that you might think it worthwhile not to change the ending but to try

to get a little more out of the ending than you have gotten out of it. (n.d.)

Moore believes Garnett can change the ending for a specific audience. The ambiguity of the conclusion, he fears, may not sit well with the French. Eventually, Ulick and Soracha was published in 1926 by Nonesuch Press. Moreover, Francis Meynell, referred to here as Mr.

Maynell, was a knighted publisher and poet. Garnett’s The Sailor’s Return was published in

1925, and subsequently published in other languages later. In 1934, Moore commented:

Meanwhile it may please you to know that I often think of your zoo story, I do not

know if it is better than the vixen story, but I am sure you are writing on a good

theme and I wish you every success with it (February 15, 1934).

The two novels which Garnett seems to receive accolades are the two that Moore mentions, Lady into Fox and Man in the Zoo. Also, Moore notices Garnett’s theme as being important and his difference from other writers of the time. Garnett’s concern for the other, or the animality of humans, catches Moore’s attention. Garnett was at least building on something

that other authors were thinking about. How do we come to understand our identities in an ever-

changing society of expectations? Whether Garnett was helping others, or they were helping

him, his letters prove that he was a central, undeniable nucleus to literary society.

In all regards, Garnett’s networking in the twentieth century paid off. To this day, many

of the writers he advised or talked with have continued to be discussed and honored in

scholarship and college courses across Europe and America. A few of these authors are regarded

as the beginning of something new and are credited for their efforts. Garnett’s abilities took

many writers to the next level of success. Without him, many may have never been published or

had a writing career. Garnett, often looming in the background, made dreams come true for

many. He also in many ways shaped what would be read and discussed for many years because

of his reviews, critiques, and advice. If anything, he gave voice to the voiceless of the early

twentieth century.

One bit of correspondence exists between Garnett and Virginia Woolf, both at the height of their writing careers in the 1920s. Garnett offers Woolf some congratulations on Jacob’s

Room in 1922. “You are perfectly free of a heritage that didn’t suit you—the legacy of a realist”

(Garnett qtd in Goldstein 268). The two shared moments of sincerity, and at other times were distant, perhaps because of their personalities and the years that separated them. “His letter at least assured her there was beauty in what she had achieved” (Goldstein 269). In one instance,

she asked Bunny: “Septimus Smith?—is that a good name?” (Woolf quoted in Goldstein 269).

Although this may seem like a minor question between writers, the fact that Woolf asks is very

telling about Garnett’s abilities and what he came to represent. I only hope that scholars will now

see Garnett as a major player in London’s literary scene.

CHAPTER 3

THE ANIMAL WITHIN: AN ANALYSIS OF DAVID GARNETT’S NOVELS

As I retrieved one of David Garnett’s novels from the University of Texas at Dallas

library, I realized the pages of the book had not been cut. Upon further inspection, I noticed the

book was also a first edition, which suggests no one had read this copy, ever. As I found when

working with his letters, little of the work of David Garnett has been examined or discussed. Few copies of his books are available and some of those held by libraries have aged quite a bit over the years and cannot be consulted.

During his life, Garnett wrote over twenty novels and many short stories. His first book

was published in 1919 and his last appeared shortly before his death in 1981. Except for a couple

of works, most of his novels had only a first edition. At the beginning of his career, Garnett’s

books were routinely reviewed and authors like Ernest Hemingway and T.S. Eliot admired

Garnett, but later attention for his work diminished sharply. He is without a doubt someone who

has come to live in other authors’ shadows. E.M. Forrester, Virginia Woolf, and James Joyce

were writing around the same time as Garnett and have been given a fair share of attention throughout the twentieth and twenty-first centuries.

In recent decades scholars have realized that it’s important to now look at a broader range of contemporaries and the relationships that created them (see Chapter 2). David Garnett’s work was hard to place for many critics and scholars, as will be shown, which may be the cause for some of his absence. As I will argue, his oeuvre merits attention. Garnett took on many themes of continuing relevance in literature, such as intimacy, drugs, race, gender and the dark side of human nature. For his deeds, the difficulty of navigating life often leads to a change, or rather a

metamorphosis into either an animal or the psychology of an animal. For Garnett, though, the animal and human are more of the same; the only separation between the two lies in a person’s perceptions.

In many fictions of the early twentieth century, characters were either approached by anthropomorphic figures (often considered the Other), like in fables or children’s literature, or would turn into one themselves, such as Gregor Samsa in Franz Kafka’s Metamorphosis (1915).

Garnett, on the other hand, redefines literature as a way of reconciling the internal with the external through his use of anthropomorphism. He exposes the struggle between man and animal psychologically within one being, especially when these characters are faced with opposition in society like the constraints of gender, race, and class. Rosemary Jackson in Fantasy: The

Literature of Subversion (2008) states: “a literary fantasy is produced within, and determined by, its social context. Though it might struggle against the limits of this context, often being articulated upon that very struggle, it cannot be understood in isolation from it” (3). Therefore, one way of understanding Garnett’s novels is to consider fantasy literature.

Fantasy yields many interpretations, especially for an author like Garnett whose characters are often entangled within an oppressive society, trying to find a way out. Gregory

Frost in the Cambridge Introduction to Fantasy Literature states: “Their [fantastical stories’] concern remains the telling of a story about humans in crisis, solving problems, as often as not with an entire universe hanging in the balance” (155). The “universe” for Garnett simply refers to the civilized world that many live in while ignoring their more uncivilized or animalistic self; he challenges readers to accept that the two are ever-present and natural. Moreover, many of

Garnett’s characters are confronted with some external expectation that is at odds with their true

81 self. Frost continues: “The fantasy is not absurdist. The stories remain, ultimately, stories of the human heart” (155). Most often Garnett’s characters are trying to escape an environment that is not conducive emotionally and psychologically, very much like an animal in a cage. Jackson goes on to mention: “Literary fantasies, expressing unconscious drives, are particularly open to psycholanalytic readings, and frequently show in graphic forms a tension between the ‘laws of society’ and the resistance of the unconscious mind to those laws” (6). Unfortunately, Garnett is missing from the discussions of fantasy and the “psychoanalytic readings” Jackson alludes to;

thus, the subject of science also encompasses Garnett’s work.

The connection between literature and science entices one recent scholar. In Caroline

Hovanec’s book, Animal Subjects: Volume 1: Literature, Zoology, and British Modernism

(2018), she argues literature and science go together, in particular during the late 19th and early

20th centuries. She sees a connection between literary techniques and the observational tactics of

scientists, something Garnett would have been akin to as a student of science before the war. She

discusses authors such as H.G. Wells, D.H. Lawrence, and Virginia Woolf. These are all people

Garnett corresponded with during his life (as shown in chapter 2); however, he is not part of

Hovanec’s discussion. Hovanec’s omission of Garnett makes her argument incomplete. One

could argue no one more than Garnett committed to anthropomorphic studies within the

Bloomsbury Group, and his contribution would add to Hovanec’s discussion.

Hovanec even includes a chapter in her book on the Bloomsbury Group (without mentioning Garnett), “Bloomsbury’s Comparative Psychology: Bertrand Russell, Julian Huxley,

J.B.S. Haldance, Virginia Woolf.” She argues: “Rusell, Huxley, Haldane, and Woolf’s views on animal perspectives drew on the legacy of comparative psychology, a discipline that emerged in

the late Victorian period and flourished until the rise of behaviorism in the 1920s. Comparative psychologists aimed to understand human and animal minds from the inside” (Hovanec 159).

This description coincides well with Garnett’s intent, to understand ourselves as part human and part animal. Mauricio R. Papini, author of Comparative Psychology: Evolution and Development of Behavior (2008) and Professor of Psychology at Texas Christian University, defines it:

Comparative psychology is almost an interdisciplinary area by definition…The

main goal of comparative psychology is to uncover common and divergent

behavioral processes among species, including humans. The ‘comparative’ part

addresses the assumption that this discipline will ultimately provide a better

understanding of the evolutionary origins of human behavior and a clear view of

the unique and common behavioral properties of our own species, relative to the

rest of the animal kingdom. (2)

Not only is Garnett a good example of comparative psychology, but he builds on it by showing animal and human behavior are the same, which goes beyond suspicion and a few similarities.

Garnett’s characters’ anthropomorphism mostly goes unnoticed by the characters who have transformed either mentally or physically; he or she is simply being themselves. In this chapter I will examine Garnett’s first five novels, along with a few others from the middle of his career, as they reveal an internal/external struggle between what it means to be human and finding contentment with natural, uninhibited instincts.

In his first novel, Dope Darling (1919), Garnett tried to establish himself as a writer of the modern age by taking on the controversial topic of cocaine use. As I’ve discussed, his descriptions of his characters are visceral and inhuman. Garnett’s second novel, Lady into Fox

(1922), proved to be the book that brought Garnett into the spotlight. Literary society took

notice, and he won the James Tait Black Memorial prize, only the fourth recipient. The plot

inserts a bit of magical realism when a young newlywed metamorphoses into a fox but the

couple continues as if nothing has changed. In A Man in the Zoo (1924), a young couple is at

odds with one another, and the man physically exhibits himself in a zoo to prove a point. In The

Sailor’s Return (1925), Garnett introduces a couple whose lives are disrupted because of their

interracial marriage. His descriptions once again highlight animal imagery. Go She Must! (1927)

sends readers into a motherless home where a daughter must find herself in a world she does not

yet understand. She stands between a traditional way of life and a modern idealism. She finds

that events are not always as they appear; there’s an element of the bestial or animal among

humans. Later, in 1935’s Beany-Eye, Garnett takes readers into a family home where a convict is hired to work. His treatment of the other characters frightens them, and he is hard to catch; in other words, he is an animal on the loose. Garnett’s late novel Aspects of Love (1955) represents the troubles of a passionate love without reason. The characters in this novel must cope with unbridled feelings of passion as well as primal instincts. The novels at hand contain characters’ portrayals as intense and animal-like. In his novels, David Garnett illuminates the negative effects of social constructs of gender and race through his plots, descriptions, and supernatural elements. As a result, Garnett’s novels both address the problems of modern life and set him apart from other writers of the time. Scholars of fantasy, anthropomorphic studies, and science will discover meaning in Garnett’s contributions.

Early in Garnett’s career as a novelist, T.S. Eliot noticed these aspects of his work in a

1927 article published in the Nouvelle Revue Francaise. In the article, Eliot compares Garnett’s

work to that of Virginia Woolf, D.H. Lawrence, and Aldous Huxley. Eliot states: “Mr. Garnett, another well accomplished writer, is without a doubt, one of the most interesting examples of psychologism. Garnett’s intention, on a first reading, is to revive the simple and direct story into a wonderful tale” (669, my translation). Eliot notes Garnett’s writing style as perhaps relating to an earlier generation like the Edwardians because of its “simplicity,” but he appreciates Garnett’s efforts to create a discussion on a more psychological level due to his characters.

After Eliot, Garnett was largely ignored by literary critics, perhaps because his fictional efforts proved to be too distinctive and hard to define. Other than a few select articles by authors like W.R. Irwin, who authored Game of the Impossible: Rhetoric of Fantasy in 1976, and D.B.D.

Asker who wrote Aspects of Metamorphosis: Fictional Representations of the Becoming Human in 2001, Garnett’s body of fiction has consistently been overlooked by scholars of modern literature. Both Irwin and Asker make efforts to discuss Garnett, but only do so in regard to Lady into Fox. This novel, of course, sets Garnett up for success; however, some of his later novels assist in answering the question about his intent. Irwin claims that Lady Into Fox reveals that with Garnett “metamorphosis is as viable in the twentieth century as it was in the remote, unchronicled times when mythologies were forming’” (161-162). These later critics see

Garnett’s work as reminiscent of ancient storytelling and its significant impact. Garnett’s work though is hard to define.

I begin my consideration of Garnett’s fiction with the grotesque, the primal, and the animal, but even these concepts cannot define Garnett’s work completely. It’s in the space between these definitions that one will find Garnett’s work and meaning. This disconnect can mostly be seen when looking at the grotesque. “Grotesqueries,” Geoffrey Galt Harpham notes in

On the Grotesque (1966), “both require and defeat definition: they are neither so regular and rhythmical that they settle easily into our categories, nor so unprecedented that we do not recognize them at all” (3). This broad definition encompasses some of Garnett’s work, especially the blurred lines in the human psyche, but not entirely. One definition will not do when looking at Garnett’s oeuvre; he strives for uniqueness. Harpham continues: “They [grotesqueries] stand at a margin of consciousness between the known and unknown, the perceived and unperceived, calling into question the adequacy of our ways of organizing the world, of dividing the continuum of experience into knowable particles” (3). Harpham offers readers a way into understanding Garnett since Garnett wants readers to reconcile the contradictions in life and the space of the unknown, more specifically the line between animal and human. It is not surprising, with Garnett’s background in science and his experience with his relationships during the war, that his own perceptions of the world and relationships within it stand somewhere in-between.

Garnett most notably recognizes the primal instincts that exist within the human psyche, or the misunderstood side of humans that causes them to act primitively, especially in relationships. Bachelard argues that “in order to achieve grotesqueness, it suffices to abridge an evolution” (Harpham 14), something Garnett tries to do. Harpham adds: “The grotesque occupies a gap or interval; it is the middle of a narrative of emergent comprehension” (18). This is where the reader typically finds themselves through the actions of Garnett’s characters as well as how they are described.

Garnett’s characters struggle with their place in the world throughout. They are often caught between two ideals and are unable to be utterly and completely themselves. Because of this, they seek understanding from the world around them. As part of this struggle in regard to

either race, gender, class, or feelings of love, Garnett’s characters compete for acceptance of

themselves in an uncertain society. For instance, in Dope Darling, the characters struggle with

their feelings of love versus addiction. How does one tell them apart? In Lady into Fox, a young married couple tries to define their relationship in the midst of society’s expectations. In Man in the Zoo, Garnett shows the reader another young couple unable to let go of others’ perceptions and live life to the fullest. These dichotomies lead to the bestial, whether physical or mental.

Garnett shows that between perceptions and expectations lies an uncertainty within individuals which leads to a more primal self. Some philosophers speculate and find interest in the human’s connection to the animal, like Charles Darwin, Sigmund Freud, Friedrich Nietzsche, and Jacques Derrida. Each one brings new light to the issue of animality and the human psyche, something Garnett tried to reveal in his books. These four philosophers led many other scholars to speculate on the idea of the line between human and animal, if there is one. Mikhail Bakhtin and Tzvetan Todorov also attach themselves to the importance of the human and animal in understanding ourselves.

Charles Darwin’s publication set England and the rest of the world aflame with his idea that humans may have descended from apes. His book, On the Origin of Species, published in

1859, posits the idea that evolution is possible over the years through natural selection. He builds upon this thought in 1871 with The Descent of Man when he argues men may have come from beasts. And once again in 1872, he published The Expression of Emotions in Animals and Plants in which he shows examples that animals and humans share characteristics through behavior.

This is seemingly an appropriate title for Garnett due to his interests; he may have certainly been

87 aware of these titles while a student of botany at the Imperial College before the war. Darwin sets the pace for later theorists concerning man versus animal.

Freud, in an interesting way, picks up where Darwin leaves off. Freud’s 1919 essay, “The

Uncanny,” defines psychologically that some things are “strangely familiar” versus

“mysterious.” And some of the novels Garnett writes rests on this idea. His characters’ actions in particular surprise other characters but only to an extent—one must suspend disbelief. For

Garnett, there is a play between the physical and psychological. Most everything in the story for

Garnett is realistic except for one occurrence or event; thus, familiarity makes the odd occurrence more easily to accept. Rosemary Jackson, in her book, Fantasy: The Literature of

Subversion, explains: “The ‘uncanny’ is a term which has been used philosophically as well as in psychoanalytic writing, to indicate a disturbing, vacuous area” (63). For example, some characters in Beany-Eye (1935) accept his behavior as normal while others question it and see it as peculiar, with some strange kind of motivation. Garnett explores this unknown, mysterious space between.

Also, Freud’s Civilization and Its Discontents, published in 1930, asserts that the individual is at odds with society because of instinct, something that’s very primal. “Necessity alone, the advantages of work in common, will not hold them together. But man’s natural aggressive instinct, the hostility of each against all and of all against each, opposes this programme of civilization” (Freud, 82). Freud speaks to man’s innate instincts, or, perhaps, parts of ourselves that we cannot always control, like an animal. This idea mostly translates to

Garnett’s Beany Eye, which was published in 1935, not too long after Freud. Freud continues:

“One comes to learn a procedure by which, through a deliberate direction of one’s sensory

activities and through suitable muscular action, one can differentiate between what is internal— what belongs to the ego—and what is external—what emanates from the outer world” (15). How does the human reconcile the internal with the external? The position is a tricky one and leaves humans mostly flustered and falling back on the instinctual. And these kinds of actions and words are perceived as “strangely” familiar, due to our evolution.

Nietzsche also discusses the primal instinct of the individual in Beyond Good and Evil

(1886).

It must then sound hard and be distasteful to the ear, when we always insist that

that which here thinks it knows, that which here glorifies itself with praise and

blame, and calls itself good, is the instinct of the herding human animal, the

instinct which has come and is ever coming more and more to the front, to

preponderance and supremacy over other instincts, according to the increasing

physiological approximation and resemblance of which it is the symptom. (66)

All believe they are innately good; while others may perceive them as bad, so many continue in their endeavors without question. Does the animal not know he is bad? Does the human not know whether they are good or bad? It’s interesting to mention that Garnett named a dog

Nietzsche in Beany-Eye (1935), an appropriate allusion for his story as readers will notice.

Nietzsche also states: “Among men, as among all other animals, there is a surplus of defective, diseased, degenerating, infirm, and necessarily suffering individuals; the successful cases, among men also, are always the exception; and in view of the fact that man is the animal not yet properly adapted to his environment, the rare exception” (44). Garnett’s characters also

go along with this idea; they are trying to inhabit their own environments. For Nietzsche, man

and animal are alike, however negative his views may seem.

And Derrida, who wrote much later, concerns himself with the same ideas. He wrote a

book, The Animal That Therefore I Am, based on his ten-hour lecture entitled “The

Autobiographical Animal” in 1997. Similar questions trouble him: where do humans draw the

line between human and animal? He states:

One doesn’t need to be an expert to foresee that they [humans] involve thinking

about what is meant by living, speaking, dying, being, and world as being-in-the-

world or being-within-the-world, or being-with, being-before, being-behind,

being-after, being and following, being followed or being following, there when I

am, in one way or another, but unimpeachably, near what they call the animal. It

is too late to deny it, it will have been there before me who is (following) after it.

After and near what they call the animal and with it—whether we want it or not,

and whatever we do about this thing. (11)

Animals and humans may consider the same ideas when thinking, according to the quote, so what separates the two? Humans are afraid to accept any equality because of their superiority complex; however, there are characteristics that make animals and humans the same. The words we use to describe the connection only separate the ideas even more, and we often speculate that humans are beside animals, when in reality we are one. Nietzsche argues that language should not determine our perception. In all, this debate is ongoing and is surrounded by many ideas.

Garnett helps readers to see this debate and its uncertainty in his characters and stories, which is something that is completely modern.

In Garnett’s second book, Lady Into Fox (1922), which he dedicated to Duncan Grant,

Garnett takes the reader into an alternate dimension of sorts where the supernatural is a part of

reality and accepted by many of the characters as “normal.” This particular title won Garnett

recognition in England at the time with the James Tait Black prize, and the reviews were mostly

positive. In her biography, Knights mentions: “Lady into Fox was a literary sensation, achieving

both critical and popular acclaim. Gerald Gould, in the Saturday Review [27 January 1923] stated

it contained ‘not one false note’” (178). This novel was seen as an artistic expression rather than

a farce. Knights continues: “The Times Literary Supplement (TLS) [2 February 1923] declared the book ‘a real morsel of art’, in which Bunny’s words ‘spread an eighteenth century aroma, an atmosphere where all is sensible and lucid’” (178). For Garnett, the line between reality and fantasy are blurred; they coexist. It’s surprising with such positive reviews of Lady into Fox that many scholars avoided Garnett through the years.

Lady into Fox contains many themes that reside in other works by Garnett, like the psychological effects of love and intimate relationships. Garnett wonders and often sees sexual tensions that cannot always be explained in life as worth exploring, very much as in his own life.

What others may see as different or strange, he sees as intimate, seemingly natural even.

Harpham argues: “Sex dramatizes the incongruity of the human; straining for sublimity, we ape the beasts” (13). This lack of harmony persists throughout much of the text. The same occurs for many of Garnett’s characters. Once sex or sexual tension arises, the characters find themselves in a type of limbo, exploring their identities. For instance, the couple in Lady Into Fox carry on as husband and wife as much as possible after his wife miraculously turns into a vixen. The beginning of the novel emphasizes the couple has only recently married, thus, introducing a new

side to their relationship, a more sexual relationship obviously. Garnett writes: “She was married in the year 1879 to Mr. Richard Tebrick, after a short courtship and went to live after their honeymoon at Rylands, near Stokoe, Oxon” (Lady into Fox, 4). The secluded countryside offers a chance for the couple to become more intimate as well as become their true selves.

When Lady Into Fox begins, the omniscient narrator tells the reader that the woman will metamorphose and no one understands why. Garnett writes: “For the sudden changing of Mrs.

Tebrick into a vixen is an established fact which we may attempt to account for as we will.

Certainly it is in the explanation of the fact, and the reconciling of it with our general notions that we shall find most difficulty, and not in accepting for true a story which is so full proved” (Lady into Fox, 3). This passage highlights how Garnett feels he is on to something new and must caution the reader as they begin, hoping that it is more believable if he acknowledges the strangeness. There are of course events that happen we cannot always explain as the narrator affirms. “The unnamed narrator makes no concealment or apology for the incredible. He is puzzled by it and gives the event his credence only after his doubts are overcome by incontestable evidence. As befits such a narrator, the presentation is scrupulous, objective, sufficiently detailed for cohesiveness and credibility” (Irwin 102). Furthermore, his tone is light and matter of fact. He wants to make sure the reader notices his efforts.

The narrator goes on: “Yet I would not dissuade any of my readers from attempting an explanation of this seeming miracle because up till now none has been found which is entirely satisfactory. What adds to the difficulty to my mind is that the metamorphosis occurred when

Mrs. Tebrick was a full-grown woman, and that it happened suddenly in so short a space of time” (Lady into Fox, 3). He empathizes with the reader, which puts him on the same side,

92 creating some credibility or ethos. Basically, Garnett is asking the reader to accept not knowing

why or how, as that is part of the story and its significance.

In the first description of Mrs. Tebrick, before she turns into a fox, the narrator notes her

womanly features:

It is perhaps worth noting that there was nothing at all foxy or vixenish in her

appearance…she was a more than ordinarily beautiful woman. Her eyes were a

clear hazel but exceptionally brilliant, her hair dark, with a shade of red in it, her

skin brownish, with a few dark freckles and little moles. In manner she was

reserved almost to shyness, but perfectly self-obsessed, and perfectly well-bred.

(Lady into Fox, 5)

Although the narrator assures the reader that Mrs. Tebrick is a woman, the words used to

describe her indicate otherwise. All of the details about her appearance make her look like a fox

or beast. And her behavior as “reserved with shyness” (5) represents how a human being may

describe a fox when they see them. Lest we not forget, she is also “well-bred” (5) in the

narrator’s eyes, which is how one may describe a hound they are about to purchase. The two are

more of the same rather than one as woman and one as fox. His intent may be two-fold: 1.) to create some humor as he foreshadows, or 2.) to show how humans are very much like animals, even in their physical attributes. Thus, human beings may like to think of themselves as different from beasts, but they are the same. In a way, he’s asking the reader to consider the same notion.

By the time Mrs. Tebrick metamorphoses in the story, readers already identify with her as an animal because of Garnett’s description; her transition is much more accepting.

Mrs. Tebrick goes on to change into a fox shortly after her marriage to Mr. Tebrick. In

this case, Garnett suggests metamorphosis can be subject to the limitations on women, especially

in marriage. On a walk, the two lovers hold hands. When they hear a hunt going on nearby, Mr.

Tebrick rushes to see the spectacle. Before reaching the hunt, he loses his wife’s hand. He turns.

“Where his wife had been the moment before was a small fox, of a very bright red. It looked at

him very beseechingly, advanced towards him a pace or two, and he saw at once that his wife

was looking at him from the animal’s eyes” (Lady into Fox, 6). The two are now one. The metamorphosis occurs in a moment of excitement in the text as well, at a moment when her husband is excited about something besides his wife, the hunt. He is the one chasing after an idea or object, in this case the fox. The relationship between these two lovers is very much like a hunt, one pursuing the other for personal gain. The hunt represents Mrs. Tebrick’s submission to

Mr. Tebrick; the transformation is now complete. As Ann Barr Snitow summarizes:

The seamless beauty of Lady into Fox lies in Garnett’s success in having it all

ways, his unabashed mixture of blood and grief…His satire on sly, hoydenish

wives and on their eagerly repressive husbands never undermines the other side of

the story, the fairytale of fear and transformation. By taking everything literally,

he achieves constant surprise, pushing us further and further into the world of

animals. (154)

Before the reader has time to question whether they believe in Mrs. Tebrick’s transformation, the reader is caught up in the excitement and empathizes with the two characters.

This may be part of the lesson of the fable. “One fancy that came to him [Mr. Tebrick]

because he was so much more like a lover than a husband, was that it was his fault, and this

94 because if anything dreadful happened he could never blame her but himself for it” (Lady into

Fox, 7). As a “lover” he feels guilty for bringing this newness and change upon Mrs. Tebrick, like a young man who has helped his young lover discover their first orgasm. Mr. Tebrick was now responsible for this new identity or transformation. Intricate notions of guilt and remorse resonate throughout the text. How does one mentally reconcile this transformation? “Between his sobs kissing her [Mrs. Tebrick] quite as if she had been a woman, and not caring in his grief that he was kissing a fox on the muzzle” (Lady into Fox, 7). Mr. Tebrick’s emotions keep him from the reality of the situation. He is passionately kissing a fox. The physical world is now not so important to Mr. Tebrick; together, they have crossed a line they cannot return from. He has taken away her innocence in a sense. She has changed physically, and he has changed psychologically. The metamorphosis is now complete.

Metamorphosis becomes a modernist trope, originating from ancient writers like Ovid.

As Rosemary Jackson states:

Fairy tales, allegories, medieval romance situate metamorphosis within a frame

which gives it a teleological function. It serves either as vehicle of meaning within

the narrative, as concept, or metaphor, or symbol of redemption. Ovid’s

metamorphoses records Daphne’s famous transformation from woman to tree, but

the change is affected through divine intercession, fulfilling Daphne’s wish to be

free from her female body. (81)

Is this the case for Sylvia in Lady into Fox? By anthropomorphizing, Sylvia escapes some of the constraints put on her as a woman, especially a newly married woman. But there are other comparisons to make.

To show Lady into Fox’s significance, W.R. Irwin compares it to Kafka’s Metamorphosis in his 1958 article, “The Metamorphoses of David Garnett.” “Lady into Fox may profitably be compared with Die Verwandlung of Franz Kafka. Kafka’s fantasy is unmistakably based on total metamorphosis…The entire tissue of narrative illusion is spun on the one decisive fact, which

Kafka, unlike Garnett, does not investigate or discuss” (389). Irwin gives more credit to Garnett for his approach and fulfillment of narrative qualities. It’s Kafka however who has received attention. Irwin’s attempt to compare Garnett to Kafka’s work speaks to Garnett’s abilities and insight around the same time.

As time passes in the novel, Mr. Tebrick decides to shelter himself and his wife away from the world since he feels no one will understand their relationship. However, a servant, who took care of Sylvia Tebrick her entire life, sees his secret and understands and accepts it because of the love they share. Mr. Tebrick hopes they can find some solace in the world. He takes care of her and the house while living in the country. At one point, “He propped her up in an armchair with some cushions, and they took tea together, she very delicately drinking from a saucer and taking bread and butter from his hands” (Lady into Fox, 9). By this point, and sometime after the transformation, Mrs. Tebrick is a fox, but living as a young woman. He tries his best to serve her and hide her away from the world; he feels he must protect her.

Mrs. Tebrick’s transformation may indeed be wrapped up in the patriarchy’s view of women, which suggests women cannot take care of themselves and are little pets that need care.

“All this showed him [Mr. Tebrick], or so he thought, that his wife was still herself; there was so little wildness in her demeanor and so much delicacy and decency” (Lady into Fox, 9). Their personalities match just as much as their physical characteristics. He even says: “Though you are

a fox I would rather live with you than any woman” (Lady into Fox, 13). As a fox, Mr. Tebrick can cage and hide Mrs. Tebrick. This idea gives him more comfort than actually being with a real woman.

Mr. Tebrick cannot understand why Mrs.Tebrick wants to leave the house and return to the forest. “‘I am your husband, and if I keep you confined it is to protect you, not to let you run into danger. Show me how I can make you happy and I will do it, but do not try to escape from me. I love you, Sylvia’” (Lady into Fox, 39). Instead of being rid of this challenge in his life, Mr.

Tebrick holds onto it with desperation. He tries to fill the fox’s head with promises, but she has her own will and natural inclinations, like any human being. The words Mr. Tebrick sounds very much like an argument between a husband and wife, not so much a pet owner.

Eventually, Mr. Tebrick gives way and she escapes. “He leant forward then and put his lips to her snarling fangs, but though she kept snarling she did not bite him. Then he got up quickly and went to the door of the garden that opened into a little paddock against a wood.

When he opened it she went through it like an arrow” (Lady into Fox, 46). The fox, or Mrs.

Tebrick, comes to resent him, so he must make a hard decision: to set her free. The exchange however with lips touching signifies a romantic exchange and a mutual respect. She does not bite him, and she does allow him to kiss her goodbye. She feels drawn to a natural side of herself and she is unwilling to bear a fake façade any longer. She must stay true to herself. Garnett implies women need to be given freedom in marriage; otherwise, they may come to hate or despise their husbands.

The next time Mr. Tebrick sees Mrs. Tebrick, she has given birth to several kits; Mr.

Tebrick names his favorite Angelica. “His favorite was Angelica (who reminded him so much of

her mother [Mrs. Sylvia Tebrick] in her pretty ways)” (Lady into Fox, 59). Now that Mrs.

Tebrick has had kits, Mr. Tebrick struggles with his perception and how he remembers her. This struggle only takes place after the two spend time apart and Mrs. Tebrick is in her natural environment, something Mr. Tebrick had nothing to do with. On a side note, a few years before this book was published, Duncan Grant and Vanessa Bell’s daughter was named Angelica.

Garnett was always fond of her, even as a child. Garnett was also friends with Sylvia Townsend

Warner, a writer, around the same time. Consequently, one can speculate that Garnett sees himself in Mr. Tebrick in many ways.

The ending of the story is somber, as are those in many of Garnett’s novels. Mr. Tebrick hears a hunt from afar while he is at home. Shortly after, he exits his house to check on Mrs.

Tebrick and she is running towards him with hounds behind her. “Sylvia coming towards him but very tired with running and just upon her the hounds. The horror of that sight pierced him, for ever afterwards he was haunted by those hounds—their eagerness, their desperate efforts to gain on her, and their blind lust for her came at odd moments to frighten him all his life” (Lady into Fox, 76). The way the narrator refers to the female protagonist throughout changes from beginning to end. She is Mrs. Tebrick in the beginning and Sylvia at the end, perhaps noting her independence from him. Mr. Tebrick also still deeply cares about Sylvia. He refers to the hounds that chase her as filled with “blind lust” (Lady into Fox, 76). These hounds mean to possess her and make her submit; it’s almost a sexual experience. “His vixen had at once sprung into Mr.

Tebrick’s arms…then at that moment there was a scream of despair heard by all the field that had come up, which they declared afterwards sounded was more like a woman’s voice than a man’s” (Lady into Fox, 73). It’s interesting that the sound of the fox is described as a woman’s

voice in contrasts to a man’s and not a fox’s yelp. Why a woman’s and not a fox’s? The reader can assume that the fox has now metamorphosed back into a woman, and that gender is all that matters now that she has changed back. In the end, the hounds attacked both Mr. and Mrs.

Tebrick.

Since Mrs. Tebrick runs back and towards Mr. Tebrick, it’s easy to see she still has feelings for Mr. Tebrick and sees him as a protector. Garnett asserts: “Mr. Tebrick had been terribly mauled and was bleeding from twenty wounds. As for his vixen she was dead, though he was still clasping her dead body in his arms” (Lady into Fox, 73). This consummation between the Tebricks implies emotions still rule even though these feelings cannot always be explained.

To the world, and for all appearances, he only lost a pet or favorite animal, but to him, he lost an intimate partner and lover. For Mr. Tebrick, she was his connection to an emotional self. And for

Mrs. Tebrick, he was her connection to the physical world and society, a place to take shelter. It must be said that although the tone in the beginning of the story is light and witty, the conclusion reveals a much more important message. Garnett helps readers find their way to the natural and often bestial world; they are the same and interchangeable, depending on the situation.

“I believe that David Garnett,” W.R. Irwin argues in The Game of the Impossible, “hoped to show the limits of fidelity far more than he wished to recommend extreme fidelity as a virtue”

(27). Although Irwin picks up on a different theme, fidelity coincides with ideas of love and reconciliation, the physical and the psychological together. The idea of “limits” reveals that both the physical and psychological binary prevents humans in their relationships from becoming one.

One is either more human than animal or more animal than human.

Moreover, Garnett’s particular description of the aforementioned scene gives the impression of something sexual, perhaps gendered, since he refers to Mrs. Tebrick as a “vixen.”

This particular word choice does indeed encapsulate his object as a fox, but the connotations of the word “vixen” cannot be ignored. It indicates that Mrs. Tebrick, or women in general, are objects to be tamed and in need of supervision. Women throughout history have had to avoid this kind of description as to separate themselves from the negative perception this word captures. He also refers to the fox as a “woman” and not so much animal; he uses the terms interchangeably.

At the end, the two ideas merge in a moment of extreme chaos and intensity. Mr. Tebrick continues to hold the vixen, or Mrs. Tebrick, even though she is dead; thus, human and animal are now one instead of struggling apart. It’s the love the two shared that brings them together.

Garnett’s next novel finds its place in the same fashion.

Garnett’s third novel, A Man in the Zoo (1924), encompasses similar themes. His characters, John Cromartie and Josephine Lackett, again are intertwined in a love story very much like the two lovers in Lady into Fox. The two are about to be engaged. They are madly in love, but what to do about society and family? Knights argues: “Reviewers mainly perceived the book as a fantasy engaging with metamorphosis in the style of Lady into Fox. Instead it was a more philosophical and scientific enquiry into the nature of man at the apex” (191). Knights’s quick judgment here possesses value but it’s not so much man at the center or tip in the story, but man as equal to beast, like a circle. It’s important to note that no one physically metamorphoses in this story, but rather John becomes one with beasts psychologically.

To that end, Garnett seems very much concerned with the beginnings of young love in many of his novels and how primitive their emotions appear. Love entangles his characters in a

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maelstrom of intense feelings, feelings that his characters can’t always control, which translates

into bestial behavior. He finds the psychology of young love instinctive and primeval. The two

lovers begin to argue in the beginning of the novel: “They came soon to the wolves and the

foxes, and stood still opposite a cage containing an animal very much like a dog. ‘Other people!

Other people! You are always considering the feelings of other people,’ said Mr. Comratie. His

companion did not answer him” (Man in the Zoo, 1). Josephine’s silence is very telling since she

really doesn’t understand the problem. This also happens in front of a dog-like creature that is unidentifiable, very much like the misunderstanding. Furthermore, this occurrence is most likely not coincidental; Garnett likens foxes and dogs most often to women or an issue women are having. The fox symbolizes a femininity for Garnett; he denotes women as sly and clever.

Another important characteristic about foxes and other wild dogs is their ability to be often seen or viewed as almost domestic; they straddle a line of acceptance in society. Some people even come to own wild dogs as pets in society. Garnett sees women as straddling a line between a life of societal expectations, a façade, and more natural, independent being.

In the beginning, while on an outing, the two visit a zoo and the story begins with an intense discussion about their future. The lovers continue to argue:

You never talk to me about anything except what other people are feeling, or may

be going to feel. I wish you could forget about other people and talk about

yourself, but I suppose you have to talk of other people’s feelings because you

haven’t any of your own.’ (Man in the Zoo, 1)

The setting for this discussion is interesting because they are visiting a zoo and having a discussion about imprisonments of their own. It’s a bit ironic seeing that they are actually

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physically free. They are not the animals in cages, but themselves—at least physically anyway.

The question arises throughout the novel: who really lives in the cage?

During the episode, “The beast opposite them was bored. He looked at them for a moment and then forgot them at once. He lived in a small space, and had forgotten the outside world where creatures like himself raced in circles” (Man in the Zoo, 1-2). Garnett tries to show that the difference between human and beast is non-existent. Since Josephine concerns herself with others (as patriarchal society suggests), Cromartie wants her to only think about what she wants, but for her it’s impossible; there isn’t any kind of option. She doesn’t even realize this injustice; this way of thinking is so ingrained. No one has ever asked her what she wanted. She has most likely gone through life pleasing others.

Josephine’s parents, particularly her father, do not approve of the match so she feels they should separate. She says: “And if you drive me to choose between you and everybody else, I should be a fool to give myself to you” (Man in the Zoo, 2). She finds him contrary in this instance, but sees everyone else as a whole more important. Instead of considering what

Cromartie suggests she dismisses him. Cromartie replies: “Poor little dingo…They do shut up creatures here on the thinnest pretexts. He is only the familiar dog” (Man in the Zoo, 2). In this reply, the reader wonders whether Cromartie is referring to Josephine as a dog, or is he rather diverting his attention to a cage nearby which possesses a dingo? Cromartie insinuates that he looks down on Josephine because she is restrained and imprisoned by society and her family. In this moment, Josephine is the dingo. Garnett wants readers to see the animal and human as more similar than different. For Garnett, the line is blurred, or rather does not exist.

102 The lovers continue to walk throughout the zoo. Cromartie remarks: “Mankind wants to catch anything beautiful, and shut it up, and then come in thousands and watch it die by inches.

That’s why one hides what one is and lives behind a mask in secret” (Man in the Zoo, 5).

Cromartie’s philosophy mirrors Garnett’s; people are afraid of being themselves in view of the

public, especially women. He sees his companion as beautiful and she should not be hidden

away, as is what often happens in marriage during this time. If one explores their own

individuality and uniqueness, they could find peace and comfort.

Later, and in a moment of anger, Lackett suggests he be put into the zoo as well, like a

gorilla or chimpanzee, and Cromartie says: “I will be. I am sure you are quite right. I’ll make

arrangements to be exhibited” (Man in the Zoo, 7). Cromartie believes he can physically show

the problem to Josephine. The physical is not what perplexes Josephine though, it is what’s

mental and psychological. She finds his views strange and without reason. Thus, he becomes a

member of the zoo, in a cage next to monkeys. Only Darwin could truly appreciate this show of

similarities. Garnett begins to make the unfamiliar familiar.

Cromartie’s time in the zoo challenges the characters’ perceptions. As time passes, the

zoo becomes more popular and everyone wants to visit the exhibit with a man. Many in the story

find it peculiar to sit and watch a man. He reads as well as sleeps and people watch in

astonishment. “The crowd was noisy, some persons in it calling out to him very persistently”

(Man in the Zoo, 17). On one side an orangutan resides and on the other a chimpanzee. On one

occasion, the orangutan attacks Cromartie and injuries him. For some reason, the orangutan feels

threatened by him; he doesn’t see Cromarite as human but as beast. The monkey sees him as an

equal now instead of a spectator.

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Cromartie’s exhibition dehumanizes him. Lackett visits often, sometimes unbeknownst to

Cromartie. She can’t figure out why he has done this. At one point, the way Garnett describes

Cromartie as another caged animal: “Back and forth he walked the wire division with his hands behind his back and his head bent slightly, until he reached the corner, when up went his head and he turned on his heel. His face was expressionless” (Man in the Zoo, 29). Cromartie is no longer human in the eyes of spectators. He’s something to be scrutinized and observed, very much like a tiger. In another instance, Cromartie is the animal that he hears:

And then he heard the Beast moving restlessly behind some partition; he heard the

rustling of straw and the great creature slowly licking itself all over; and then its

smell, sweet, and warm, and awful, swallowed him up, and he lay quite still on

the floor of the cage, listening to its tail going thump, thump, thump on the floor

beside him. Terror could go no further, and at last he opened his eyes and slowly

understood that it was his own heart which was beating and no beast’s tail…

(Man in the Zoo, 75)

The two, animal and man, are in rhythm with each other for the first time. Cromartie was actually afraid of himself and not the animal. He had crossed into another view of himself—his conscience had changed. Garnett later notes: “It was Cromartie now who was embarrassed and shy; Cromartie who could not talk simply about what he felt, at least not for a considerable time”

(Man in the Zoo, 85). It’s as if being on view changed him. Josephine expresses her frustration with Cromartie: “I’m going to get savage about it, or go mad or something” (Man in the Zoo,

86). Josephine has almost realized what Cromartie wanted, which is to realize one’s own emotional self.

104 Before too long, the two talk more. “Josephine shook her head vigorously to get the tears out of her eyes, like a dog that has been swimming” (Man in the Zoo, 91). Again, in realization,

Josephine is now described as a dog—a point of no return. The story ends with them running away from the zoo. It took him doing something completely drastic to catch Lackett’s attention and get her to think about her own place in the world. Ann Barr Snitow comments, in her summary of A Man in the Zoo:

In this Freudian daydream, animals and humans dance to the strange tune of their

different but interlocking necessities. Mr. Cromartie loses a finger and once he

lacks it, he’s one step close to Miss Lackett, while she has admitted that he who

bears ‘the Mark of the Beast’ holds her attention, that she wants him more than

the stuffy life beyond the bars, where, as Cromartie tells her, one ‘lives behind a

mask in secret.’ Like Mr. and Mrs. Tebrick [in Lady into Fox], these two form an

animal pair only death can dissolve, a pair impervious to the fussy, chattering,

ogling crowd. (156)

By losing a finger, Cromartie has now physically changed. He’s no longer whole as human but

divided as animal and man. For Lackett this is a desirable feature; Cromartie is now as exotic as

the animals he shares room with. Lackett learns as much as Cromartie does during the

imprisonment. She sees the importance of connecting with her own emotions and primal instincts

rather than engaging with the thoughts and expectations of others.

Garnett’s fourth novel, The Sailor’s Return (1925), takes readers on a new journey with

an interracial couple. But Garnett’s descriptions still remain animalistic at times. Garnett

challenges ideas about love with his first three novels, but, here, he takes on ideas about race and

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prejudice in England during the 1850s. Although this novel is set in an earlier time period,

Garnett challenges readers with their own preconceived notions about race. Knights states: “The

Sailor’s Return was an unusually brave book for its time, as its subject was inter-racial marriage and the prejudice that ensued” (200). To write a novel on such a sensitive topic in the 1920s, before prejudices had been realized and addressed by British citizens, represents Garnett’s interest in beginning a new conversation in literature. Knights continues: “Some praised the honesty and ‘truthfulness’ of the story: ‘Mr. Garnett […] does not shirk the truth of things, and the reader who has followed the poignant story from beginning to end will be forced to admit that it must have happened so, though he will also reflect mournfully on man’s inhumanity to man’ [The Scotsman, 24 September 1925]” (203). Also, it’s important to mention that this book is the one Hemingway mentions that he would like to have written in his letter to Garnett

(mentioned earlier in Chapter 2). One scholar notes Hemingway’s similar interest in animals and identity: “Everywhere, Hemingway’s writing is impelled by the conviction that the man can step out of the empty artifice of modern living and into truth—that is, an authentic and immediate relation to the vital essence of existence—by means of the struggle to the death between human and beast” (Armstrong 150). Garnett’s work reveals the same kind of struggle.

In The Sailor’s Return, the small English community of Dorset reckons with an estranged community member, William Targett, and his new family. Targett arrives in the coastal town with his new wife, Princess Tulip, a black woman from West Africa. She is often described in an animalistic way, sometimes in passing and other times in more overt ways, as will be shown.

Garnett’s language towards Tulip can seem harsh and crude, but, in all likelihood, he is trying to show her as someone who is seen differently and as inferior by the characters in the book. Rather

106 than show the line between man and woman as bestial in this novel, like his previous novels,

Garnett shows the line between the understanding of different races as bestial. The tension here is not so much sexual as it is social.

The people in this small village will never accept Princess Tulip because she is black; she is the Other in this instance. Ann S. Johnson, in her article about the backstory of Sailor’s

Return, comments: “The main sweep of action moves relentlessly in one direction, depicting first the villagers’ curiosity with suspicion, then their harassment of the couple, and finally their overt violence” (171). Even though the place she comes from views her as royalty and special, the community of Dorset can only see her skin color. This begins the disconnect in the community between Tulip and community members. Tulip does not understand the extent of their hatred at first. Essentially, the people in the community, including Targett’s family, ostracize him and his wife. Targett knows that bringing her to England will be a challenge but he mistakes how big a challenge it will be.

The interracial marriage in the story tests many of the characters’ beliefs. In the beginning of the novel, Targett gets off the ship with a black woman dressed as a man and a large storage chest. Targett seems to have been protecting his wife from mischief on the boat, or was he hiding the fact he was married to an African? Either way, Targett seems to take many precautions. “He was in no hurry to go ashore and waited half an hour for the confusion to be straightened out on board, and the turmoil to subside on land, before he motioned to the young negro who accompanied him to bear a hand with a large basket of woven grass” (Sailor’s, 1). He probably realizes the danger of the interracial marriage and tries to avoid conflict until they are in a more controlled environment, away from view.

107 Garnett’s description of Tulip in the beginning of the novel reflects the psychological tension between the animal and human. Garnett writes: “His [Tulip] savage bones were small and delicate; one might have fancied them light as a bird’s, and like a bird’s bones filled with air.

The features were regular; the nose short, but straight and thick, and as powerful as a tom-cat’s”

(Sailor’s, 2). “Savage” suggests that someone is not human and acts uncivilized. Also, her features are described as a “bird” and “tom-cat,” the two sides of the animal kingdom: the gentle versus the violent. One is usually seen as the prey; while the other is often traditionally seen as the predator. She seemingly represents both sides according to Garnett.

Soon after, out of sight, and on their way to the inn which he has just purchased for them, she changes into more suitable clothing as a woman. They then open the chest, and out steps their young toddler, Sambo. And he treats the child as an animal locked away from sight; is it for the child’s benefit or his own? Garnett describes Sambo: “For a moment or two the young stowaway lay motionless, seeming to be dazzled by the light of day, but presently he sat up, took his paw out of his mouth, and began to address Tulip in a childish jargon” (Sailor’s, 5). In this sentence, Garnett describes Sambo as a puppy or some sort of small animal. He refers to

Sambo’s hand as a paw instead. The descriptions of Sambo and his mother suggest they are not described as such because of age or sex, but rather their ethnicity. Not only does Targett’s relationship to Tulip and Sambo reveal a racism, it also reveals an anxiety towards a mixed-race couple. Christopher Peterson in Bestial Traces: Race, Sexuality, Animality (2013) notes: “In what has become a virtual truism in scholarly discussions about miscegenation, the anxiety around interracial mixing is read as disclosing fears of external contamination. Yet it is far more accurate to understand the taboo on miscegenation as an autoimmunitary reaction that mistakes

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the internal for the external” (93). This conflict of the internal/external is where readers will find

Garnett, especially in The Sailor’s Return.

The child’s role in this novel also demands some attention. In using the name Sambo,

Garnett alludes to the famous children’s story The Story of Little Black Sambo, which was

written by Helen Bannerman and published in 1899. Because of this book, the term Sambo

became a derogatory slur of sorts during the twentieth century in describing people of African

descent. The fact that Garnett uses this as a name seems contradictory to his intent and message

in the story. However, in doing so, he satirizes the term and gives readers more to think about

when reading, especially in regard to existing stereotypes and racial biases. Sambo, along with

Tulip, an unexpected name for an African woman, reveals a conflict for the reader. Garnett

challenges a possible reader’s bias towards the African race. In the end, he challenges the term

amidst the context he created in his novel.

In all, Targett believes his hometown will understand and accept the situation. His sister

suggests right away: “How can you keep her here William? The scandal has already been talked

about, and everywhere people say it is most shameful. They blame Mr. Stingo for letting the

house to such a tenant. You must send her back, William, if she does not stay long I daresay it

will be forgotten. Until then I cannot pretend to welcome you as our neighbor” (Sailor’s, 29).

This occurs when he first sees his sister. Garnett shows the reader two different viewpoints here.

Tulip is seen as different or as the other and not welcome. But Targett believes it’s okay.

“Targett recoiled with a step back, and gazed at her with a peculiar expression” (Sailor’s, 29). He

does not understand his sister’s prejudice. She cannot see what he sees. Life on the sea has

changed Targett and made him more accepting of other cultures.

109 Perceptions are key in understanding the animal and human self. Upon asking Tulip to stay inside when he is gone to London, she replies: “William, you do wrong to be jealous of me…I despise them all [men]” (Sailor’s, 31). She thinks he’s worried about her being unfaithful, but he’s worried about her being sought out by the community and being treated badly because of her race. At different times in the novel, neither of them understands the problem and they make the wrong inference. Their love blinds them to the realities of racism in England.

Later, when Targett tells how he came to know a king’s daughter, Tulip, he mentions a hunt: “I would go forth with a party to hunt elephants for the ivory or to capture slaves”

(Sailor’s, 43). It’s interesting that only in times of much violence and intensity do two people meet and/or fall in love in Garnett’s stories. This happens in Lady into Fox as well as The

Sailor’s Return. In many of Garnett’s novels, he mentions a hunt, a theme of sorts. Whether hunting for love, acceptance, or foxes, each character finds themselves following their instincts, like animals. They find each other during the hunt, surrounded by other animals and carcasses.

“We dared not search long, for there were lions, leopards and hyenas all about us drawn to the spot by the smell of blood, and the meat of the dead elephants. The roaring and screaming of these creatures was hideous, but we passed through them safely, and slept unmolested in the open country” (Sailor’s, 44). Looming in the background while these two connect, a bloody, violent scene ensues. Garnett recognizes love or the act of love as wild and uncontrollable, even visceral.

The novel has many references to animals throughout in descriptions or as a part of the plot. Eventually, Targett is wounded in a fight and dies, leaving Tulip and Sambo. Targett’s family divides up his estate seeing that Tulip has no right as a woman, especially a black woman.

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Beside herself, Tulip tries to sail home, but the captain will only take men on the ship. He says:

“I have never carried any passengers and I won’t carry a woman on board my ship” (Sailor’s,

159). Instead, she sends her son while hoping he gets to where he is supposed to. She never hears

of him again, and she wastes away in the inn she used to own with her husband as a servant. The

new owner of the inn states: “Yes, let her stay on and welcome; she can rinse out the glasses

behind the bar, and she will cost us nothing for wages, or next to nothing. Yes, no one shall say I

turned the poor creature out of doors” (Sailor’s, 162). The fact that the owner uses the term

“creature” to describe Tulip proposes she is still inferior and animal like. Ann S. Johnson

continues to say, in her background account of the novel: “Garnett distorts history so as to draw a

sharp contrast between Tulip’s potential as a peer of English royalty and her fate as a menial

servant” (178). This occurrence in the novel shows more is at work with animality than race;

social class may also play a role. Garnett’s commentary about English life on the coast and race

is revolutionary—as his first novels were. He wants readers to think about and question their

existence, and more particularly their ability to move in and out of society seamlessly and

psychologically.

The novel Go She Must! (1927) also reveals a different side to Garnett’s novels. In this book, he establishes a love triangle between three young characters. Before this though, he shows what life is like for a pastor’s daughter in a small town. She loves her father, who has recently lost his wife. She must reconcile wanting to be a good daughter and starting a life of her own, on her own terms. What’s more though, Garnett does something only a few other novels at the time have tried. He intimates a homosexual attraction between two of his characters, and it is subtle, like his contemporaries’ fiction. Probably the most famous of them in England is

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Radclyffe Hall’s The Well of Loneliness, which was published a year after Garnett’s book. E.M.

Forester’s Maurice was not published until 1971, but he mostly wrote it around 1913. But

Garnett strikes out on his own, hoping readers will accept his story.

Go She Must! takes the reader on a young woman’s journey into adulthood, which for the

time is also revolutionary. In this coming of age tale, the story begins in an impressionistic tone:

Snow lay thick over everything on the morning of the second Monday in the year,

and the Reverend Charles Dunnock, drawing back the curtains of his bedroom

window, said to himself that if the great sycamore full of rooks’ nests in the

churchyard were to fall, or even if a steeple were to be built for the little church of

Dry Coulter, such changes would not alter the landscape so much as this

snowstorm had done…and he asked himself how a uniform colouring should

make a totally new world yet one which was composed of familiar objects in their

accustomed places. (Go, 1)

In this passage, the sentences are fluid, almost poetic. The scene itself looks like a painting, like a scene from Monet’s The Magpie (1868). But everything is strange in this depiction, different.

The familiar rests with the unfamiliar, such as in Freud’s essay The Uncanny. And the word

“familiar” shows up time and again in his books, like it does in this quote.

Garnett mentions rooks in the scene. They are the detail that holds not only the scene together, but the father as well. Whenever the father is present or doing something in the novel so are birds. He talks about them, takes care of them, and even sympathizes with them on occasion. Shortly after, the father ponders: “all men must feel it, for that conceit is helped out by the extraordinary stillness, the footfalls of man and bird and beast are muffled, and the world

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seems empty” (Go, 2). All are one here, birds and beasts and humans alike. In regards to his wife, “he slept alone in the great bed where she had waited so often for him to come from his study, and where he had always found her with her soft hair spread like a bird’s wing over the pillow” (Go, 2-3). If his wife is also like a bird, then Dunnock is truly surrounded by these angelic creatures all the time, blurring the line between human and animal once more.

Essentially, birds are how Dunnock gets along in the world—they are his safe place.

The father finds Anne and the birds as comparable. In the text, Anne wonders about his

fascination. “Father is feeding the birds. He never forgets them, and here am I grudging them the

crumb of the loaf” (Go, 7). In a way, Anne feels jealous of the birds. She knows he will feed

them and watch them, but she does not feel so certain he pays attention to her life. She asks

herself: “‘Shall I escape one day? Shall I go to London?’ Then it came into her mind that perhaps

even if she went to London, even if she got to know interesting men (and such beings must

exist), even if she went to the opera with them, she might still feel herself a prisoner, and that

perhaps the most one can do in life is to exchange one sort of beauty for another” (Go, 35). Like

a bird in a cage, or like a fox in a garden, Anne dreams of a different, more exciting life.

Anne goes on to befriend a grocer in the small town and tends to his daughter once in a

while. On one occasion, she takes Rachel, the grocer’s daughter, to a circus: “Within the great

tent of the circus she could hear the thumping of the ponies’ hoofs, the crack of the circus-

master’s whip, and the falsetto note of a clown’s voice, followed by a roar of rustic laughter and

clapping hands” (Go, 52). Here, Anne finds excitement. The circus is fitting as well since

animals and humans alike co-habitat, even for just a monent. Anne discovers that she likes the

busyness of life. Before too long, Rachel’s brother Richard arrives home from Paris for a visit.

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Rachel finds him very interesting. The two converse: “My father has got birds and religion all

mixed up..It is difficult to tell often of which he is speaking” (Go, 128). Birds for him are meant to be worshipped in a way. Dunnock cannot separate the two. Richard is a painter and replies:

“That seems rather a beautiful confusion to me” (Go, 128). For Anne’s father, birds represent his

internal self, or at least a part of himself that he cannot separate.

Particularly, this conversation shows how Anne is maturing since she can share her

thoughts so openly. Another time she states: “I don’t see why a human being shouldn’t be as

beautiful as a bird” (Go, 129). Richard helps her realize that her young angst is not about her

father, but about herself. She should accept her place among nature and beasts. Her realization

will help her live a more complete, undisturbed life. She only needs to talk to her father, he

thinks. Richard also entertains the idea of her leaving town and going to London or coming to

Paris with him. Once she gains the courage, she speaks to her father, and he is open to her

adventure. As he sees it, he is not a good companion. “I live in two worlds…only the saints

know how terrible the strain of such an experience can be. I cannot bear it much longer. It will

break me…it would be better if I think if I were to live alone” (Go, 165). It appears that Dunnock

is metamorphosing and not able to tell the difference between his human self and his beastlike

nature.

Emotions play a role in Anne’s plight. When Anne arrives in Paris to meet Richards, she

discovers Richard is involved in a ménage à trois with another man and woman. This kind of

relationship is all new to Anne and she does not completely understand at first. Richard’s male

partner begins to have feelings for Anne—she is too naïve to tell though. Richard, nonetheless,

admits his love and the two get married; she never fully realizes that Branson was sexually

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involved with Richard. Anne, like the reader, is not allowed such information—at this time.

When she finds out Richard is upset with her because of Branson’s love, she says: “I don’t

understand why he should be upset or why he dislikes me” (Go, 221). This quote shows jealousy does not make much sense to Anne, because he is a man who is jealous of a woman.

The conclusion reveals an epiphany. Anne returns to see her father and introduce her new husband. Only what she finds is not what she expected. “Wire-netting had been nailed across each of the down-stair windows, but the bedroom windows were open spaces. Otherwise there was little change; the front lawn had been mowed recently, the path had been weeded, and round the windowless house all the rose-trees were in bloom” (Go, 267). Dunnock’s metamorphosis was now complete. Anne finds the house open, open windows and open doors; the house is now a dovecote and birds are flying room to room. Humans and birds are now living in the same manner and in the same space. Anne describes her father upon arrival: “His cheeks were hollow, his tangled beard full of grey hairs and his black clerical coat was filthy with the droppings of birds; the shoulders and sleeves seeming as if they had been spattered over with whitewash. An unpleasant dirty smell came through the door; in spite of ventilation the house smelled like an old hen-coop” (Go, 268-269). Dunnock has now aged and lost a sense of reality. All that remains is his cohabitation with birds. The house, usually a symbol of safety and peace, now houses animals, humans and birds alike. What was once civilized is now uncivilized. The house is an amalgam of a new perspective, where animal and man are one.

Just as poignant is Garnett’s Beany-Eye (1935). Again, Garnett challenges readers with his tale of a released convict and his uncontrollable temper. Beany-Eye, as they call him, comes to work for a family of three in the countryside of England on a farm. A young boy and his

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parents endure the hard work that a farm and a small community entails. The story is told through a young boy’s perspective. “My father first saw Joe in a gravel-pit on the common where he was working apart from the other men who kept together in a group…It was a bitterly cold evening and Beany-Eye was working in his shirt and his thin trousers showed the moulding of his muscles beneath…the man whirling and stabbing with the shovel as though he were bayonet fighting” (Beany-Eye, 1-2). Already, Garnett introduces Joe as an uncontrollable and wildly passionate individual. Joe, or Beany-Eye, was independent and worked like something else was motivating him besides money; perhaps anger or a blast of unexpected strength galvanized him.

He was different from the others in the group, already a separate entity. His father thought: “Just out of prison…That accounts for those wild defiant looks and for the way in which he gripped the shovel like a weapon—and perhaps that accounts for the fury with which he was working…he thought how great was the cruelty of shutting a man like that up in an institution in which there could be no outlet for that magnificent wild energy” (Beany-Eye, 3). The way

Garnett describes Joe makes the reader consider a caged animal rather than a prisoner. And he sympathizes with him as an innocent victim through his tone, like one would see with a spectator at a zoo who looks upon a caged tiger or chimpanzee. He uses the word “wild” and

“magnificent” to imply a wonderment and an appreciation rather than a judgement.

During the story, a hunt occurs, as it does with many of Garnett’s works. After beginning to work with the family on the farm, Beany-Eye befriends the young boy, the narrator. They spend some time together. The boy recollects: “One morning while I was standing watching him at work with my hands in my overcoat pockets, our dogs roused a rabbit in the wood above us

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which bolted through our shaw across the top of our garden and into the next field…Beany-

Eye’s excitement was far greater than mine. Both of us raced as fast as we could after the dogs”

(Beany-Eye, 12). One more time, the hunt as a theme arises in the text very similarly to Lady into

Fox and The Sailor’s Return. And it is in these moments that change, or anthropomorphism

occurs, in the excitement. One forgets that they are man. The boy sees that Beany-Eye is no

longer himself. “Beany-Eye, who seemed to have been transformed into a wild beast himself,

flung Puppsie from the mouth of the rabbit-bury…seized Nietzsche by the tail, dragged him out

with terrific force, and sent him also flying backwards, with all four legs asprawl…Then he flung

himself as far down the hole” (Beany-Eye, 13). The young boy’s two dogs were injured in their

hunt, not by another animal, but by man. So, Beany-Eye surprises all involved; he becomes

violent. It is pure instinct for Beany-Eye to chase the rabbit to its end. He becomes a symbol of the combination of man and beast much like the house in Go She Must!. The two are now joined.

Another example of transformation occurs when sexual desire presents itself. Beany-Eye seeks companionship, but rather than try to be romantic with the young housekeeper of the farm, he acts like a tiger hunting prey. “So he drank his cup of tea, pushed back his chair into the corner by the kitchen stove and watched her with his unblinking wooden stare, in silence…He sat there without speaking for two hours until my mother and I came home, and then he went on sitting there for three-quarters of an hour after my mother had told him to go” (Beany-Eye, 25).

His relentless stare and behavior frightens the young woman and the young boy’s mother. His behavior is strange for a human, but for an animal the time before attack is calculating and slow.

The description reads as if Beany-Eye has been consumed by his desires, his primal instincts. As

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Maria Tatar explains in the introduction to Beauty and the Beast: Classic Tales About Animal

Brides and Grooms from Around the World:

Human sexuality has at its core a basic conflict between tenderness, affection, and

compassion on the one hand and violence, aggression, and rough-and-tumble play

on the other. That the language of love so often draws its power from the

language of combat and the hunt reveals exactly how divided we are when it

comes to considering the operation of sexual desire. Discomfort with the cruder,

animal-like aspects of human sexuality can easily lead to disavowal, with

projections of the ferocity of assaults onto either gods or beasts and only rarely

onto normal human subjects. (xxv)

Feelings of love and passion in Beany-Eye, amongst the other novels, are wrapped up in an inability to control one’s self.

Beany-Eye’s frustration and madness in the novel lead to a moment of rage, an animalistic rage. The father asks Beany-Eye to go or leave the property since he makes others uncomfortable. He even tries to help him find something else to do, but Beany-Eye goes into a rage. “Beany-Eye sprang up with the axe in his hand and hurled himself upon him. There was a flash of steel and deep roar as the man leapt at him…He could hear the man’s roars behind him as he ran” (Beany-Eye, 49). Garnett uses the word “roar” here to show Beany-Eye’s extreme strength and his animalistic side. The word “leapt” also suggests that this is an animal and not a man. During his rampage, he also attacks the dogs again: “he caught Nietzsche and, with a careless, effortless motion, sent the reddish-yellow body squirming and spinning round frantically, high into the air above his head” (Beany-Eye, 51). Beany-Eye treats the other animals

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savagely. A human would probably simply kick the dogs or push them away, not storm through them as if one is trying to claim superiority. Garnett uses the name of the dog, Nietzsche, to suggest the anthropomorphism in Beany-Eye. He says: “he caught Nietzsche.” The word

“caught” can be taken in two ways: Beany-Eye physically captured the dog, or that Beany-Eye has acquired some disease of sorts, like Nietzsche’s philosophy perhaps. Nietzsche says as aforementioned: “man is the animal not yet properly adapted to his environment” (Beany-Eye,

44). Nietzsche’s idea sums up Beany Eye as a character well. It’s possible Garnett had read

Beyond Good and Evil since it was published in 1886.

A later novel where Garnett explores the connection between love and one’s animal instincts includes Aspects of Love (1955), which was made into a musical by Andrew Lloyd

Weber in 1989. Although this novel appeared several years later than most of his novels that deal with the animal, there are references in Aspects that are relevant to this discussion.

In Aspects, another love triangle ensues between two young lovers, Alexis and Rose, and an older, esteemed poet by the name of George. Again, Garnett reflects on an earlier time period,

WWI, to engage readers. Alexis’s age requires him to join the military and become a soldier.

Rose, an actress, spends time with George. WWI gets in the way of Rose’s love for Alexis. She winds up marrying George. George seems open to the idea that he cannot satisfy Rose, but she keeps him near nonetheless. At the climax of the novel, Alexis shoots Rose in a fit of rage.

George says:

‘Oh, my God. I thought something like this would happen. I rushed round from

the Ritz as soon as I woke up and found you gone. Thank God it’s no worse. It’s

all my fault. I’ve come to tell you both. I’m entirely to blame. You young

119 creatures belong to one another. I’ve told you a hundred times, Rose, and you

must see it for yourself. I’m going to leave now. It’s quite fantastic’ (Aspects, 69).

The word “creatures” here as well as “fantastic” reveals a break from reality to something other, like that of animal and surreal. Their love for each other reminds readers of Heathcliff and

Catherine in Wuthering Heights: immense love, but without complementary personalities.

Alexis finds a way to make his environment match his internal state. Alexis leaves and goes to the jungle, which is not a coincidence. Alexis’s time away from civilization solidifies his emotional estrangement from reality and puts him into a more primal role psychologically. Upon his return to once again see Rose, the narrator states:

Alexis was in a state of emotional agitation: he was doing at last what six years

before he had often been tempted to do but which, when the opportunity had

offered, he had always resisted. Now after six years in Africa, he had written to

Rose at the first possible moment. And all his conscious thoughts were filled with

her. But war in the jungle had sharpened his unconscious intuitions. The entrance

to the studio struck him as evil. Alexis had become extremely sensitive to danger.

There was, he felt, a lurking hostility in the hall. He was going into danger.

(Aspects, 109)

Alexis’s transformation is now complete. His suspicions are described as an animal in unexplored territory. With heightened senses, Alexis now must decide whether to hunt or be hunted.

In the end, Alexis befriends Rose’s daughter, Jenny. On one occasion they all go to the circus. It’s here that Jeanne’s interest in Alexis grows from a childish infatuation to love. “There

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were tigers and sea-lions and, most wonderful of all, half a dozen performing cats which at a given signal climbed up little rope ladders and jumped into baskets” (Aspects, 147). The visual menagerie ignites an internal emotion. After the circus, “Rose looked at Jenny and saw that her eyes were fixed on Alexis and that there was a peculiar little smile on her face. She made no protest as her mother feared she might. ‘The little creature has some secret up her sleeve,’ she thought, but it was a blessing anyway that Alexis had had the tact to take himself off” (Aspects,

148). Again, the idea of animal instincts presides over the description. Eventually, Alexis and

Jenny marry, bringing the inevitable into light. Garnett treats love as almost the circle of life, a natural or primal sequence, in which there is a process that all abide by.

Garnett’s ideas about love transcend emotion in Aspects; they are scientific and instinctual. He explores one’s ability to reconcile the civilized self with the more animalistic self.

For many of Garnett’s characters, strong emotions lead to uncontrollable behavior, such as violence and rage: Alexis shoots Rose, Beany Eye throws a dog, John Cromartie exhibits himself in a zoo, Tulip abandons her child, and Anne leaves and returns home, on her own. What can one do with their suppressed sexual desires, anger, jealousy, and obsession? Garnett serves up a chilling answer: nothing. The animal and human are one and will continually struggle for dominance, at least when it concerns feelings of love and sexual desire.

The presence of the animal within Garnett’s early novels and some later is undeniable.

He was exploring a more primal and instinctual side to the human psyche. Other authors around the same time like George Orwell in Animal Farm (1945) and Franz Kafka in Metamorphosis

(1915) had more of a literal, physical anthropomorphic nature to their stories where Garnett intended something more psychological or mental. In seeing a connection to the beast, readers

121 will begin to understand more of their own identities as well. In his work, Garnett simply unlocks the cages that separate the human and the animal and allows them to roam together, however disturbing it may seem.

122 CONCLUSION

David Garnett’s life as well as his works are worth examination. His letters and his

novels leave the reader with a curiosity about what has not been discussed and revealed. How

can a life with such a big impact on the literary world go unrecognized, especially a recent author

and critic? Too often scholars find themselves immersed in the thoughts of others or others’

scholarship, not realizing that there is much that is yet to be discovered, excavated. Finding

David Garnett means seeing a bigger picture in the literary world of the twentieth century. By

reading his letters and novels, more can be added to not only Bloomsbury Group scholarship, but

conscientious objection in Britain, other writers and artists who have yet to be included in the

canon, and the discussion on animality in literature. These ideas are only the beginning of what is

to come when Garnett makes his debut.

In Chapter 1, readers find themselves immersed in the world of an unknown young man.

His strong ties and interesting background only lead him to become more of an important figure,

a critic and an artist. Garnett’s early life may have set him on the right career path, because of his

parents and close ties to the Bloomsbury Group, but his adult life would solidify his calling.

Garnett becomes a pupil and many ways of product of Bloomsbury’s teaching and ideals. He was

simply a student learning about himself, his strengths, interests, and weaknesses. As part of his

adolescence, one cannot ignore the biggest event, WWI. The Great War without a doubt

impacted Britain and the world, changing attitudes, views, and the physical makeup of the world.

With Garnett, scholars can see an up-close view of the war and its impact. Garnett goes from a student of Botany to a conscientious objector who cares about social issues, art, and art’s place in

123 the world. How does that happen? An awakening occurs for Garnett. He is made uncomfortable by the war and finds comfort in expressing himself and helping others.

In helping others as readers see in Chapter 2, Garnett becomes a true supporter of the arts; his network of artists and writers gives scholars a new perspective of literature in the early twentieth century. Besides revising and editing the works of other authors, he helps them find publishers, praises their accomplishments in his reviews, and even offers his friendship by ensuring they have a livable wage, as he does with Powys. He becomes the center or nucleus of

London’s literary world. Besides London, Garnett’s friendship and thoughts reach across the

Atlantic and find a home as well. His interest in American literature leads him to begin a friendship with the likes of Ernest Hemingway. The two share a closeness that is expressed in their letters to each other. Garnett’s letters also show Garnett as someone who is willing to leave his comfort zone, like the Bloomsbury Group after the Great War, and seek a wider network of friends. He shares his talents with the Bloomsbury Group but does not forget about those on the periphery, as he has been treated by the scholars of today. As time passes, Garnett’s impact and help will continue to reveal important authors of the time. These discovers will lead to more scholarship and understanding of British literature.

Chapter 3 shows readers there’s more to Garnett’s own fiction than what one first encounters. Yes, his life is interesting as his letters divulge, but his stories also add to literary scholarship. His themes are pervasive for his earlier works and show he is attempting to explain what some think is unexplainable, our connection to our primal selves. It appears his work has its beginnings in some theories of the animal and the human, like Freud and Darwin, but he takes it a step further. His interest lies specifically in emotion and human relationships, especially for

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young lovers. One cannot dismiss this familiar situation they find themselves in when reading his stories. He sets out to explore and explain these intense feelings as animal-like and anthropomorphic. Where does one draw the line between a civilized world, where one acts rationally, and a wild, uninhibited world, where one acts out of passion and without restraint?

Garnett’s characters are memorable amongst the tumultuous environments they inhabit. Without society’s condemning and often judgmental views, his characters could leave freely and not feel at conflict with themselves.

Although these chapters introduce and begin an in-depth discussion of Garnett, there is more to explore. Many of the writers he assisted also lack commentary and analysis. For example, his close friendships are revealed and exist in a couple of volumes of letters without analysis. How does one categorize the work of Garnett? What do his stories say about gender, race, and class throughout the twentieth century? What about his style of writing? How do his stories compare to other writers of the time? What other themes are important besides animality?

These are just a few questions scholars may begin to explore as they approach and think more about Garnett.

In the end, this dissertation sets out to illuminate an author and critic that has not received much attention. Hopefully, after reading, scholars will find some interest of their own in Garnett.

The seventeen boxes of letters at the Harry Ransom Center at UT Austin and the novels yet to have been discussed will lead to more interesting discussions in the future and hopefully more re-prints of his novels. His books should not disappear off shelves. In short, Garnett is no longer a member of the ambiguous, vague margin, but an important author and critic of the time, making up the most important part of the text.

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132

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH

Ryan Fletcher attended The University of Texas at Dallas to study Humanities-Studies in

Literature. While at UTD, Mr. Fletcher specialized in Virginia Woolf and Bloomsbury, 18th and

19th century British literature, and Gender Studies. He also served as a Teaching Assistant in the

Rhetoric program. Before moving to Dallas, Mr. Fletcher attended The University of Central

Oklahoma for his B.A. in English and M.A. in English-Traditional Studies. He currently works at Collin College in Plano, TX as a full-time English instructor.

133

CURRICULUM VITAE

Education

Ph.D. Humanities-Studies in Literature (Expected Spring 2020) University of Texas at Dallas; 2007-Fall 2019 Dissertation: “Meaning in the Margin: The Works and Letters of David Garnett” Fields of Specialization: Virginia Woolf and Bloomsbury, 18th and 19th century British Literature, and Gender Studies

M.A. English-Traditional Studies University of Central Oklahoma; 2005-2007 Thesis: “Flowers of June: A Triptych of Michael Cunningham’s The Hours”

B.A. English University of Central Oklahoma; 1999-2004 Minor: Humanities Leadership

Leading for Excellence Academy; Collin College; 2019 Chair, Example Assignment Committee; Collin College; 2017-Present Book-in-Common District Co-Coordinator; Collin College; 2017- Present Sigma Kappa Delta Co-Advisor; Collin College; 2014-2016 Mentor Program; Collin College; 2013-2018 QEP Academic Coach; Collin College; 2014-2016 Student Advisor to the Executive Board (National Officer); Sigma Tau Delta (International English Honor Society); 2005-2007

President (Chi Gamma Chapter); Sigma Tau Delta; 2004-2005 Senator (Chi Gamma Chapter); Sigma Tau Delta; 2006-2007 Teaching Experience

Collin College, Professor of English English 1301; 2013-Present English 1302; 2013-Present British Literature; 2013-Present

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Dual-Credit English and Literature; 2013-Present Learning Community- English and History (Gender, Race and Class); 2017 World Literature; 2015-Present

University of Central Oklahoma, Teaching Assistant English Composition 1301; 2005-2007

University of Texas at Dallas, Teaching Assistant Rhetoric 1302; 2007-2011 British Literature; 2008 Literary Analysis; 2011-2012

Richland College, Associate Faculty English 1301; 2010-2013 English 1302; 2010-2013 A Learning Community Experience (ALCE-RCHS); 2010-2011 American Literature; 2011 British Literature 2012-2013 Research Methodologies (RCHS); 2013 Critical Thinking (RCHS); 2011-2012 College Career and Preparation (RCHS); 2012

Collin College, Associate Faculty English 1301; 2008-2013 English 1302; 2008-2013 Developmental Writing 0305; 2010 Dual-Credit English 1301; 2010-2013

North Central Texas College, Associate Faculty English 1301; 2012-2013

Strayer University English 115; 2011 English 215; 2011 Writing Fundamentals; 2012 Humanities; 2011-2012 Related Experience

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Writing Center Consultant; University of Texas at Dallas; 2013 English Corner Consultant; Richland College; 2012-2013 Poetry Editor—Sojourn; University of Texas at Dallas; 2008-2010 Writing Workshop Presenter; Strayer University; 2010-2012 Writing Workshops; Collin College; 2013-Present Professional Coursework

Teaching Methods for English Instructors; University of Central Oklahoma Teaching Writing; University of Central Oklahoma Teaching Shakespeare; University of Central Oklahoma Rhetoric Pedagogy Practicum; University of Texas at Dallas Memberships

NCTE (National Council for Teachers of English); 2012 TCCTA (Texas Community College Teachers Association); 2012-Present International Virginia Woolf Society; 2009-Present Sigma Tau Delta (International English Honor Society); 2003-Present GSA (Graduate Student Association)- UTDallas; 2007-Present National Scholars Honor Society; 2006-Present Oklahoma Film & Video Studies Society; 2004-2007 English Graduate Organization; 2005-2007 UCO Symphonic & Marching Band; 1999-2003

Committees

Book in Common Committee; Collin College; 2013-Present House Bill 5 Committee; Collin College; 2013-Present Hiring Committee for English Faculty; Collin College; 2013-2015

136 Brown Bag Colloquium Committee; Collin College; 2014-Present Appropriations Committee; University of Central Oklahoma; 2005-2007 Convention Planning Committee; Sigma Tau Delta; 2005-2007; Portland, OR and Pittsburgh, PA Publishing Committee—Sigma Tau Delta Review; Sigma Tau Delta; 2005-2007 Student Leadership Committee--Chair; Sigma Tau Delta; 2005-2007 Service Committee; Sigma Tau Delta; 2005-2007 Literary Speakers Committee; Sigma Tau Delta; 2005-2007 Textbook Selection Committee; University of Texas at Dallas; 2010 Syllabus Revision Committee; University of Texas at Dallas; 2008-2011 Curriculum Committee; Richland College (RCHS); 2012-2013 Conferences/Publications

Community College Humanities Association; Baltimore, MD; 2017 Presentation: “Book-in-Common at Collin College”

Passport to the World; Collin College; 2016 Presentation: “Not Just Paris: Exploring Provence”

Trends in Teaching College Composition; Collin College; 2016 Presentation: “Critical Thinking and the Dual-Credit Student”

Associate Faculty Conference; Collin College; 2013 Presentation: “Writing an Evaluation Essay”

The Future of Writing Centers Symposium; UT Austin; 2013 Gender, Space, and Place: An Interdisciplinary Conference; University of Notre Dame; 2010 Presentation: “Tracks in London: Finding a Place in Virginia Woolf’s The London Scene and Mrs. Dalloway”

Southern Women Writers Conference; Berry College; 2009 Presentation: “Untitled Piece: Exploring Individuality & Music in Carson McCullers”

International Virginia Woolf Society Conference; Fordham University; 2009 Presentation: “Flowers of London: Defining Identity in Portrait of a Londoner and Mrs. Dalloway”

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Sigma Tau Delta National Convention; Portland, OR; 2006 Presentation: “Denver’s Secret: An Analysis of Denver in Toni Morrison’s Beloved”

Oklahoma Film & Video Studies Society Conference; Tulsa, OK; 2006 Presentation: “Laura Mulvey: Then & Now”

Sigma Tau Delta National Convention; Kansas City, MO; 2005 Presentation: “The New American: Discovering Relationships in Henry James’ The American”

Oklahoma Film & Video Studies Society; University of Central Oklahoma; 2004 Presentation: “A New York Romance: An Exploration of Martin Scorsese’s Interpretation of Edith Wharton’s The Age of Innocence” New Plains Review; 2004 Article: “The New American: Discovering Relationships in Henry James’ The American”

Sigma Tau Delta National Newsletter; 2005 Article: “Painting With Words”

Sigma Tau Delta National Newsletter; 2006 Article: “Walking With Shakespeare”

Sigma Tau Delta National Newsletter; 2006 Article: “All About Books” Awards and Scholarships

Engaged Faculty Scholarship; Collin College; 2019-2020 Honorable Mention; All College Day; Collin College; 2018 Presidential Leadership Award & Gold Medal; University of Central Oklahoma; 2006 Liberal Arts Leadership Award; University of Central Oklahoma; 2006 Dr. Dean Everett Award for Leadership; University of Central Oklahoma; 2006 Award for Excellence-English Department; University of Central Oklahoma; 2005 Outstanding Graduate Student-English Department (Nomination); University of Central Oklahoma; 2005

Outstanding Undergraduate Student-English Department; University of Central Oklahoma; 2004

Graduate Student Scholarship; University of Texas at Dallas; 2007-Present

138 Graduate Student Scholarship; University of Central Oklahoma; 2005-2007 Graduate Student Scholarship; Sigma Tau Delta; 2007 Band Scholarship; University of Central Oklahoma; 1999-2003 Graduate Student Scholarship; University of Texas at Dallas; 2007-2013 Study Abroad

King Arthur Study Tour—England, France, and Scotland; July 2006 Foreign Language Proficiency

French; 2005-2012

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