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feather_ghyll) wrote2024-06-07 07:31 pm
feather_ghyll) wrote2024-06-07 07:31 pm
REVIEW: Pandora of Parrham Royal
Pandora of Parrham Royal: Violet Needham. Collins 1951.
At times, I wondered if this really was a children’s book. I suppose it is, but for older children as it contains some stronger language than you’d expect to read in a children’s book in the 1950s and references some of the harsher aspects of the second world war. The density of some of the prose would put off most younger readers too. I wonder what I’d have made of it if I’d read it when I was at secondary school; based on what I’m making of it all these years later, I doubt I’d have liked it. There is something intentionally disturbing about it, although there is a happy ending. But I suppose I read with more experience and, hopefully, maturity now, enough to pay tribute to its power instead of just resenting it.
In a few ways, the set-up is similar to the more conventional ‘Thanks to Mr Jones’, which I read so recently and which is unquestionably suitable for children. The story of ‘Pandora of Parrham Royal’ is set in the summer of 1946, in a country house that may have to be sold, there’s a daughter and a group of other children about to meet before being forced to spend summer together. But there are telling differences, here the group of children are the ones who already live at Parrham Royal. It is the girl who is about to arrive, and she too is a Parrham.
The relationships were all a bit complicated. General Geoffrey Parrham, a former soldier currently suffering from malaria and a gammy arm, is the owner of Parrham Royal. He is a widower. His sister-in-law Marion came to live there too during the war, having lost her husband, bringing her two children, John and Caroline. Living with them are two other younger Parrhams, Harold, more commonly known as Pug, and Mary, who were Blitzed, losing their parents and home, leaving Mary prone to nervous fits. Their uncle Geoffrey is their guardian, and their aunt Marion is chiefly responsible for bringing them up. John and Caroline are their cousins. The four children are contemplating the girl who is about to join them at the start of the book. As the title suggests, her name is Pandora. Although they have all been living in Parrham Royal, in one wing during the war when it was a nursery school and now slowly returning it to what it was, Pandora is General Parrham’s daughter. He had married a Greek woman, Atalanta, who was in Greece with her sick mother, along with Pandora, when the war broke out. Unable to return to the UK, Mrs Parrham and Pandora ended up working in a hospital in a remote valley for guerillas, and Mrs Parrham died barely a year ago. Pandora caught measles and is only now able to return to the home of her babyhood, which she mainly remembers because of her mother’s stories.
The truth is that although he was devoted to his beautiful wife, General Parrham was disappointed to have a daughter, not a son. (Rather viciously, I hoped he survived long enough to learn that children inherit the X or Y chromosome that determines their sex from their father.) His wife overcompensated for this indifference towards Pandora. And as the devastatingly frank Mary says, her cousins wish in their hearts that the unknown, half-Greek Pandora wasn’t coming now, disrupting the order of their lives.
But when Pandora arrives, she is quite a presence. Thin, for she and her mother knew great hunger, she’s also beautiful like her mother. Used to nursing, hardship and death, her aunt finds her unchildlike, but Pandora is also ignorant of things the other children take for granted. Fortunately, she speaks English, but has a habit of draping herself in ivy and walking barefoot outdoors. Her experiences, which she talks of matter-of-factly, are quite outside the war that the Parrhams knew – Mary and Pug suffered one huge trauma, Caroline and John lost their father, which he feels the most, but Pandora lived through years of danger and doing without. And her mother was everything to her.
Pug takes Pandora as he finds her and has soon bestowed a nickname on her (Giant Panda.) Caroline and her mother want the best for her, but in their own ways find her difficult and unconventional. Mary recognises Pandora’s strength and takes her for her champion. Her father sees the beloved wife in her, but also recognises the attractions of Pandora herself, and slowly comes to delight in the daughter who has never known a father’s love before. The safety, peace and beauty of Parrham Royal and England soothe her, although her relationship with John is far more complicated. It’s something of a clash of personalities, something of a mutual understanding that neither want, and, having been taught genetics over forty years after this was published, I wanted to point out to Needham that pre-teen first cousins probably shouldn’t have unresolved sexual tension, because that’s what’s present in some of their interaction.
But this book also has a fantasy element, and I had two separate issues with that. Not the fantasy element, per se, but the specific nature of it. Glibly, why was Needham dealing with the trauma of war by reverting to classical Greek myth? But rationally, I just never brought the whole ‘Dionysus came to England and was worshipped there’ set-up, however much there’s a reference to Bacchus, his Roman equivalent. If Needham had stuck to Bacchus, well, at least the Romans did come to Britain, at most the Greeks might have traded with it. But although there’s a nod to the fact that Bacchus was kind of Dionysus, he is mainly referred to as the latter. The book opens with a quote from a poem by J.E, Flecker who writes of encountering Maenads in Gloucester lanes, which is a fantastic notion that I don’t buy. I’m not sure how much people treat the Greek and Roman pantheon as interchangeable, although I know they were full of equivalents.
Obviously, making Pandora half-Greek and someone who had spent many years of her life in the country, handily in a remote valley with a tradition involving the Dionysian cult, meant it made more sense to think of Dionysus rather than Bacchus.
With an eye to her readership, in some ways Needham writes a respectable version of classical myth. Pandora is described as a ‘Bacchante’ because she has a look of attendants at revels, especially if she’s draped in ivy and wearing old clothes from Greece, but she’s still also a 12 year old girl who is small for her age, and there’s no mention of exactly what kind of revelry Bacchus/Dionysus might be interested in. But Needham does write about the raw primitive power of pagan beliefs. There are sacrifices on the altar that Pandora believes she has found, be they grapes, animal or human – the threat of death for anyone meddling with Dionysus and what belongs to him is vividly drawn, with a comparison made to the Blitz that traumatised Mary.
I suppose my problem was whither Christianity? John, surely his name is significant, is shocked because of two thousand years of Christianity at Pandora’s interpretation of things that he dimly senses: unusual weather, people behaving oddly and a long forgotten Grecian treasure becoming a matter of interest again. But Needham only pays lip service to it. The Parrhams – notably not Pandora – go to the local church, but only out of habit, it doesn’t seem to mean much to them. The author doesn’t discuss whether there was any loss of faith because of the experiences of war, although she does write about children being able to discern things that adults cannot. There is some question of whether this is all Pandora’s imagination, until Dionysus himself turns up in the form of a charismatic Greek gentleman! Well, all this evoked a reaction in me, something like John and Mary’s!
It's certainly a different take on the ‘finding a hidden treasure one summer that will save the family home’ trope, a trope that also appeared in ‘Thanks to Mr. Jones.’ In one sense, this fantastic version is less realistic, but Needham has even more time and attention for the motivation of adults than Matthewman did. I would also say that her grasp of psychology is stronger than Elizabeth Goudge, who wrote about the mental/spiritual/philosophical aspects of her characters, post war, in ‘The Heart of the Family.’ By the way, the servants have personalities in this book!
There’s a little bit of xenophobia because Pandora is half-Greek, i.e. not fully English, although it’s suggested that Marion Parrham was also motivated by jealousy of Atalanta Parrham. (Yes, I used ‘xenophobia’ advisedly.)
Pandora and John are types that I’ve encountered before in Needham’s work, the passionate but usually composed girl, the capable, sensitive older boy - little adults who are still very much children. Although when she has tangled with fantasy in other books she’s written, it’s been Ruritanian/medieval, not Greek mythology. So, it’s not quite what I expected, but Needham is not quite the run-of-the-mill mid-century children’s author. I can see why she hasn’t got the status of, say, C.S. Lewis, who also threw in classical allusions into his mid-century fantasy. This book was vivid, at any rate, and something different.
At times, I wondered if this really was a children’s book. I suppose it is, but for older children as it contains some stronger language than you’d expect to read in a children’s book in the 1950s and references some of the harsher aspects of the second world war. The density of some of the prose would put off most younger readers too. I wonder what I’d have made of it if I’d read it when I was at secondary school; based on what I’m making of it all these years later, I doubt I’d have liked it. There is something intentionally disturbing about it, although there is a happy ending. But I suppose I read with more experience and, hopefully, maturity now, enough to pay tribute to its power instead of just resenting it.
In a few ways, the set-up is similar to the more conventional ‘Thanks to Mr Jones’, which I read so recently and which is unquestionably suitable for children. The story of ‘Pandora of Parrham Royal’ is set in the summer of 1946, in a country house that may have to be sold, there’s a daughter and a group of other children about to meet before being forced to spend summer together. But there are telling differences, here the group of children are the ones who already live at Parrham Royal. It is the girl who is about to arrive, and she too is a Parrham.
The relationships were all a bit complicated. General Geoffrey Parrham, a former soldier currently suffering from malaria and a gammy arm, is the owner of Parrham Royal. He is a widower. His sister-in-law Marion came to live there too during the war, having lost her husband, bringing her two children, John and Caroline. Living with them are two other younger Parrhams, Harold, more commonly known as Pug, and Mary, who were Blitzed, losing their parents and home, leaving Mary prone to nervous fits. Their uncle Geoffrey is their guardian, and their aunt Marion is chiefly responsible for bringing them up. John and Caroline are their cousins. The four children are contemplating the girl who is about to join them at the start of the book. As the title suggests, her name is Pandora. Although they have all been living in Parrham Royal, in one wing during the war when it was a nursery school and now slowly returning it to what it was, Pandora is General Parrham’s daughter. He had married a Greek woman, Atalanta, who was in Greece with her sick mother, along with Pandora, when the war broke out. Unable to return to the UK, Mrs Parrham and Pandora ended up working in a hospital in a remote valley for guerillas, and Mrs Parrham died barely a year ago. Pandora caught measles and is only now able to return to the home of her babyhood, which she mainly remembers because of her mother’s stories.
The truth is that although he was devoted to his beautiful wife, General Parrham was disappointed to have a daughter, not a son. (Rather viciously, I hoped he survived long enough to learn that children inherit the X or Y chromosome that determines their sex from their father.) His wife overcompensated for this indifference towards Pandora. And as the devastatingly frank Mary says, her cousins wish in their hearts that the unknown, half-Greek Pandora wasn’t coming now, disrupting the order of their lives.
But when Pandora arrives, she is quite a presence. Thin, for she and her mother knew great hunger, she’s also beautiful like her mother. Used to nursing, hardship and death, her aunt finds her unchildlike, but Pandora is also ignorant of things the other children take for granted. Fortunately, she speaks English, but has a habit of draping herself in ivy and walking barefoot outdoors. Her experiences, which she talks of matter-of-factly, are quite outside the war that the Parrhams knew – Mary and Pug suffered one huge trauma, Caroline and John lost their father, which he feels the most, but Pandora lived through years of danger and doing without. And her mother was everything to her.
Pug takes Pandora as he finds her and has soon bestowed a nickname on her (Giant Panda.) Caroline and her mother want the best for her, but in their own ways find her difficult and unconventional. Mary recognises Pandora’s strength and takes her for her champion. Her father sees the beloved wife in her, but also recognises the attractions of Pandora herself, and slowly comes to delight in the daughter who has never known a father’s love before. The safety, peace and beauty of Parrham Royal and England soothe her, although her relationship with John is far more complicated. It’s something of a clash of personalities, something of a mutual understanding that neither want, and, having been taught genetics over forty years after this was published, I wanted to point out to Needham that pre-teen first cousins probably shouldn’t have unresolved sexual tension, because that’s what’s present in some of their interaction.
But this book also has a fantasy element, and I had two separate issues with that. Not the fantasy element, per se, but the specific nature of it. Glibly, why was Needham dealing with the trauma of war by reverting to classical Greek myth? But rationally, I just never brought the whole ‘Dionysus came to England and was worshipped there’ set-up, however much there’s a reference to Bacchus, his Roman equivalent. If Needham had stuck to Bacchus, well, at least the Romans did come to Britain, at most the Greeks might have traded with it. But although there’s a nod to the fact that Bacchus was kind of Dionysus, he is mainly referred to as the latter. The book opens with a quote from a poem by J.E, Flecker who writes of encountering Maenads in Gloucester lanes, which is a fantastic notion that I don’t buy. I’m not sure how much people treat the Greek and Roman pantheon as interchangeable, although I know they were full of equivalents.
Obviously, making Pandora half-Greek and someone who had spent many years of her life in the country, handily in a remote valley with a tradition involving the Dionysian cult, meant it made more sense to think of Dionysus rather than Bacchus.
With an eye to her readership, in some ways Needham writes a respectable version of classical myth. Pandora is described as a ‘Bacchante’ because she has a look of attendants at revels, especially if she’s draped in ivy and wearing old clothes from Greece, but she’s still also a 12 year old girl who is small for her age, and there’s no mention of exactly what kind of revelry Bacchus/Dionysus might be interested in. But Needham does write about the raw primitive power of pagan beliefs. There are sacrifices on the altar that Pandora believes she has found, be they grapes, animal or human – the threat of death for anyone meddling with Dionysus and what belongs to him is vividly drawn, with a comparison made to the Blitz that traumatised Mary.
I suppose my problem was whither Christianity? John, surely his name is significant, is shocked because of two thousand years of Christianity at Pandora’s interpretation of things that he dimly senses: unusual weather, people behaving oddly and a long forgotten Grecian treasure becoming a matter of interest again. But Needham only pays lip service to it. The Parrhams – notably not Pandora – go to the local church, but only out of habit, it doesn’t seem to mean much to them. The author doesn’t discuss whether there was any loss of faith because of the experiences of war, although she does write about children being able to discern things that adults cannot. There is some question of whether this is all Pandora’s imagination, until Dionysus himself turns up in the form of a charismatic Greek gentleman! Well, all this evoked a reaction in me, something like John and Mary’s!
It's certainly a different take on the ‘finding a hidden treasure one summer that will save the family home’ trope, a trope that also appeared in ‘Thanks to Mr. Jones.’ In one sense, this fantastic version is less realistic, but Needham has even more time and attention for the motivation of adults than Matthewman did. I would also say that her grasp of psychology is stronger than Elizabeth Goudge, who wrote about the mental/spiritual/philosophical aspects of her characters, post war, in ‘The Heart of the Family.’ By the way, the servants have personalities in this book!
There’s a little bit of xenophobia because Pandora is half-Greek, i.e. not fully English, although it’s suggested that Marion Parrham was also motivated by jealousy of Atalanta Parrham. (Yes, I used ‘xenophobia’ advisedly.)
Pandora and John are types that I’ve encountered before in Needham’s work, the passionate but usually composed girl, the capable, sensitive older boy - little adults who are still very much children. Although when she has tangled with fantasy in other books she’s written, it’s been Ruritanian/medieval, not Greek mythology. So, it’s not quite what I expected, but Needham is not quite the run-of-the-mill mid-century children’s author. I can see why she hasn’t got the status of, say, C.S. Lewis, who also threw in classical allusions into his mid-century fantasy. This book was vivid, at any rate, and something different.
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That sounds like exactly something that would happen in a Needham book! I first came across her as an adult, and I will say there's always something interesting or distinctive about her stories, although I am starting to see why her reputation didn't last.