The Summer Before the War: A Novel

The Summer Before the War: A Novel

by Helen Simonson
The Summer Before the War: A Novel

The Summer Before the War: A Novel

by Helen Simonson

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Overview

NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • “A novel to cure your Downton Abbey withdrawal . . . a delightful story about nontraditional romantic relationships, class snobbery and the everybody-knows-everybody complications of living in a small community.”—The Washington Post

The bestselling author of Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand returns with a breathtaking novel of love on the eve of World War I that reaches far beyond the small English town in which it is set.

NAMED ONE OF THE BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR BY THE WASHINGTON POST AND NPR

East Sussex, 1914. It is the end of England’s brief Edwardian summer, and everyone agrees that the weather has never been so beautiful. Hugh Grange, down from his medical studies, is visiting his Aunt Agatha, who lives with her husband in the small, idyllic coastal town of Rye. Agatha’s husband works in the Foreign Office, and she is certain he will ensure that the recent saber rattling over the Balkans won’t come to anything. And Agatha has more immediate concerns; she has just risked her carefully built reputation by pushing for the appointment of a woman to replace the Latin master.

When Beatrice Nash arrives with one trunk and several large crates of books, it is clear she is significantly more freethinking—and attractive—than anyone believes a Latin teacher should be. For her part, mourning the death of her beloved father, who has left her penniless, Beatrice simply wants to be left alone to pursue her teaching and writing.

But just as Beatrice comes alive to the beauty of the Sussex landscape and the colorful characters who populate Rye, the perfect summer is about to end. For despite Agatha’s reassurances, the unimaginable is coming. Soon the limits of progress, and the old ways, will be tested as this small Sussex town and its inhabitants go to war.

Praise for The Summer Before the War

“What begins as a study of a small-town society becomes a compelling account of war and its aftermath.”Woman’s Day

“This witty character study of how a small English town reacts to the 1914 arrival of its first female teacher offers gentle humor wrapped in a hauntingly detailed story.”Good Housekeeping

“Perfect for readers in a post–Downton Abbey slump . . . The gently teasing banter between two kindred spirits edging slowly into love is as delicately crafted as a bone-china teacup. . . . More than a high-toned romantic reverie for Anglophiles—though it serves the latter purpose, too.”The Seattle Times

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780812983203
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Publication date: 02/21/2017
Pages: 512
Sales rank: 224,802
Product dimensions: 5.20(w) x 7.40(h) x 1.30(d)

About the Author

About The Author
Helen Simonson was born in England and spent her teenage years in a small village in East Sussex. A graduate of the London School of Economics, she has spent the last three decades in the United States and currently lives in Brooklyn, New York. Simonson is married, with two grown sons, and is the author of the New York Times bestselling debut novel Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand. This is her second novel.

Read an Excerpt

Chapter One
 
The town of Rye rose from the flat marshes like an island, its tumbled pyramid of red-tiled roofs glowing in the slanting evening light. The high Sussex bluffs were a massive, unbroken line of shadow from east to west, the fields breathed out the heat of the day, and the sea was a sheet of hammered pewter. Standing at the tall French windows, Hugh Grange held his breath in a vain attempt to suspend the moment in time as he used to do when he was a little boy, in this same, slightly shabby drawing room, and the lighting of the lamps had been the signal for his aunt to send him to bed. He smiled now to think of how long and late those summer evenings had run and how he had always complained bitterly until he was allowed to stay up well beyond bedtime. Small boys, he now knew, were inveterate fraudsters and begged, pleaded, and cajoled for added rights and treats with innocent eyes and black hearts.
 
The three boys his aunt had asked him to tutor this summer had relieved him of half a sovereign and most of his books before he realized that they neither were as hungry as their sighs proposed nor had any interest in Ivanhoe except for what it might bring when flogged to the man with the secondhand bookstall in the town market. He held no grudge. Instead he admired their ferret wits and held some small dream that his brief teaching and example might turn sharpness into some intellectual curiosity by the time the grammar school began again.
 
The door to the drawing room was opened with a robust hand, and Hugh’s cousin, Daniel, stood back with a mock bow to allow their Aunt Agatha to pass into the room. “Aunt Agatha says there isn’t going to be a war,” said Daniel, coming in behind her, laughing. “And so of course there won’t be. They would never dream of defying her.” Aunt Agatha tried to look severe but only managed to cross her eyes and almost stumbled into a side table due to the sudden blurring of her vision.
 
“That isn’t what I said at all,” she said, trying to secure her long embroidered scarf, an effort as futile as resting a flat kite on a round boulder, thought Hugh, as the scarf immediately began to slide sideways again. Aunt Agatha was still a handsome woman at forty-five, but she was inclined to stoutness and had very few sharp planes on which to drape her clothing. Tonight’s dinner dress, in slippery chiffon, possessed a deep, sloppy neckline and long Oriental sleeves. Hugh hoped it would maintain its dignity through dinner, for his aunt liked to embellish her conversation with expansive gestures.
 
“What does Uncle John say?” asked Hugh, stepping to a tray of decanters to pour his aunt her usual glass of Madeira. “No chance he’s coming down tomorrow?” He had hoped to ask his uncle’s opinion on a smaller but no less important subject. After years devoted to his medical studies, Hugh found himself not only on the point of becoming primary assistant surgeon to Sir Alex Ramsey, one of England’s leading general surgeons, but also quite possibly in love with his surgeon’s very pretty daughter, Lucy. He had held rather aloof from Lucy the past year, perhaps to prove to himself, and others, that his affection for her was not connected to any hopes of advancement. This had only made him a favorite of hers among the various students and younger doctors who flocked around her father, but it was not until this summer, when she and her father left for an extended lecture tour in the Italian Lakes, that he had felt a pleasurable misery in her absence. He found he missed her dancing eyes, the toss of her pale hair as she laughed at some dry comment he made; he even missed the little spectacles she wore to copy her father’s case files or reply to his voluminous correspondence. She was fresh from the schoolroom and sometimes distracted by all the pleasures London offered bright young people, but she was devoted to her father and would make, thought Hugh, an exceptional wife for a rising young surgeon. He wished to discuss, with some urgency, whether he might be in a position to contemplate matrimony.
 
Uncle John was a sensible man and through the years had always seemed swiftly to understand whatever difficulty Hugh stammered out and would help talk the matter over until Hugh was convinced he had resolved some intractable problem all on his own. Hugh was no longer a small boy and now understood some of his uncle’s wisdom to be the result of diplomatic training, but he knew his uncle’s affection to be genuine. His own parents’ parting words, as they left for a long-awaited year of travel, had been to apply to Uncle John in any case of need.
 
“Your uncle says they are all working feverishly to smooth things over, before everyone’s summer holiday,” said his aunt. “He tells me nothing, of course, but the Prime Minister and the Foreign Secretary spent much of the day closeted with the King.” Uncle John was a senior official in the Foreign Office, and the usually sleepy summer precincts of Whitehall had been crammed with busy civil servants, politicians, and generals since the Archduke’s assassination in Sarajevo. “Anyway he telephoned to say he met the schoolteacher and transferred her to Charing Cross to catch the last train, so she’ll be getting in after dinner. We’ll give her a late supper.”
 
“At such a late hour, wouldn’t it be kinder to deliver her to her rooms in town and maybe have Cook send down something cold?” said Daniel, ignoring Hugh’s proffered dry sherry and pouring a glass of Uncle John’s best whisky. “I’m sure she’ll be horribly fagged and not up to a room full of people in evening dress.” He tried to keep a neutral face, but Hugh detected a slight moue of distaste at the thought of entertaining the new schoolteacher his aunt had found. Since graduating from Balliol in June, Daniel had spent the first few weeks of the summer in Italy as the guest of an aristocratic college chum, and had developed a sense of social superiority that Hugh was dying to see Aunt Agatha knock out of his silly head. Instead Agatha had been patient, saying, “Oh, let him have his taste of the high life. Don’t you think his heart will be broken soon enough? When Daniel goes into the Foreign Office this autumn, as your Uncle John has taken such pains to arrange, I’m sure his friend will drop him in an instant. Let him have his hour of glamour.”
 
Hugh was of the opinion that Daniel should be made to understand his place, but he loved his Aunt Agatha and he thought any continued argument might lead her to think he resented Daniel being her favorite. Daniel’s mother, Agatha’s sister, had died when Daniel was only five, and his father was a strange, distant sort of man. Daniel had been sent to boarding school a month after his mother’s death, and Agatha had been his refuge in the Christmas and summer holidays. Hugh had always been torn about Christmas. He spent it at home in London with his parents, who loved him and made a great fuss of him. He would have preferred if they could have all gone down to Sussex to Agatha’s house together, but his mother, who was Uncle John’s sister, liked to be among her friends in town, and his father did not like to be away from the bank too long at Christmas. Hugh had been happy in the midst of piles of striped wrapping paper, huge mysterious boxes, and the dishes of sweets and fruits set all around their Kensington villa. But sometimes, when he was sent to bed and the music from his parents’ guests drifted up to his room, he would lie in bed and peer out the window over the dark rooftops and try to see all the way to Sussex, where no doubt Aunt Agatha was tucking Daniel in with one of her wild stories of giants and elves who lived in caves under the Sussex Downs and whose parties could be mistaken sometimes as thunder.
 
“Don’t be silly, Daniel. Miss Nash will stay here this evening,” said Aunt Agatha, bending to switch on the electric lamp by the flowered couch. She sat down and stretched out her feet, which were encased in Oriental slippers embroidered, rather strangely, with lobsters. “I had to fight to bring the full weight of the School Board to bear on the governors to hire a woman. I mean to get a good look at her and make sure she understands what’s to be done.”
 
The local grammar school was one of his aunt’s many social causes. She believed in education for all and seemed to expect great leaders of men to emerge from the grubby-kneed group of farmers’ and merchants’ boys who crowded the new red-brick school building out beyond the railway tracks.
 
“You mean you want her to get a good look at you,” said Hugh. “I’m sure she’ll be suitably cowed.”
 
“I’m with the governors,” said Daniel. “It takes a man to keep a mob of schoolboys in line.”
 
“Nonsense,” said Agatha. “Besides, you can’t just drum up teachers these days. Our last Latin master, Mr. Puddlecombe, was only here a year and then he had the nerve to tell us he was off to try his luck with a cousin in Canada.”
 
“Well, school had almost broken up for the summer, Auntie,” said Hugh.
 
“Which made it all the more impossible,” said Agatha. “We were fortunate that your Uncle John spoke to Lord Marbely and that Lady Marbely had been looking for a position for this young woman. She is a niece apparently, and the Marbelys highly recommended her; though I did get a hint that maybe they had an ulterior motive for getting her out of Gloucestershire.”
 
“Do they have a son?” asked Daniel. “That’s usually the story.”
 
“Oh no, Lady Marbely took pains to assure me she’s quite plain,” said Aunt Agatha. “I may be progressive, but I would never hire a pretty teacher.”
 
“We’d better eat dinner soon,” said Hugh, consulting the battered pocket watch that had been his grandfather’s and that his parents were always begging to replace with something more modern. The dinner gong rang just as he spoke.
 
“Yes, I’d like to digest properly before this paragon descends upon us,” said Daniel, downing the rest of his glass in a swallow. “I assume I have to be introduced and can’t just hide in my room?”
 
“Would you go with Smith to pick her up, Hugh?” said Agatha. “Two of you would probably overwhelm the poor girl, and obviously I can’t trust Daniel not to sneer at her.”
 
“What if Hugh falls in love with her?” asked Daniel. Hugh was tempted to retort that his affections were already engaged, but his matrimonial intentions were too important to be subjected to Daniel’s disrespectful teasing, and so he merely gave his cousin a look of scorn. “After all,” added Daniel, “Hugh is so terribly plain himself.”

Reading Group Guide

A Conversation with Helen Simonson
Random House Reader’s Circle: In your highly anticipated second novel The Summer Before the War you transport readers to the small Sussex town of Rye. It’s the summer of 1914, right before the start of World War I, when everything is on the brink of change. What was life like at this time and why did you want to set your story at this moment?
Helen Simonson: I think of Edwardian times in terms of advances in technology—-the telephone, motor car, invention of electricity and flying machines—-and of a loosening of Victorian strictures producing a blossoming of culture and progress. It’s a society rich in writers, poets, and women’s movements for social justice and for suffrage. It’s a historical era in which I always thought I could live well. However, that assumes I would be wealthy. Life was still hard for folks without money. Even in a town like Rye, outdoor toilets, cold water, and coal—burning stoves would have been the norm. Female teachers earned less than factory workers. Education beyond elementary school involved fees, as did medical care. There were still workhouses for the poor, and diseases like rickets and tuberculosis were rife. The more I researched, the more I realized I should try to include some of this reality in a world we associate more with garden parties and elegant hats.
RHRC: You have a very personal connection to Rye, a town rich with literary history. Henry James, Rudyard Kipling, Virginia Woolf, and E. F. Benson all lived and worked nearby. What does Rye mean to you and when did you know you had to set your story there?
HS: I lived near Rye during those influential coming—of—age teenage years, and much of my Saturday job money was spent at the local bookshop, where a special bookcase held the works of these “local” writers. Rye is such an extraordinary and ancient town that even the fish—and—chip shop is housed in a fifteenth—century building. For a girl raised in a modern subdivision, moving to Rye was like being dropped into history. For me Rye fairly hums with echoes of its past. Publishing my first book gave me the courage to try to bring the world of Edwardian Rye and its writers to life. I did not know whether I would succeed, but I knew at least that it was a setting I would be happy to live in for months and years.
RHRC: In this novel you write about love, family, class, ambition, and social and gender injustices. Everything is magnified by the war. Why was it important to explore these themes?
HS: In this book I wanted to explore what people think is important to build in their lives and what proves to be of real value when it is actually put to the gravest of tests. Does love remain? What does success or independence or family really mean in the end? And how will we weigh our ambitions and dreams against our duty and our compassion when all is falling apart? What does a war destroy and what does it burnish in the fire? These are timeless questions we still ask today, and I hoped we might learn some lessons from a small piece of our history.
RHRC: We’re instantly drawn into the lives of your characters. It’s hard to choose a favorite because we’re rooting for everyone (well, almost everyone)! Did you find yourself relating to one character or relationship in particular?
HS: I’m closer in age to matriarch Agatha Kent than to young teacher Beatrice Nash, but I remember being young, and none too wealthy, and so I identified very much with Beatrice’s fierce struggle to be her own woman. I related to Agatha both in her long and close marriage to John and in her love for her two nephews (I’ve been married thirty years this year and have two grown sons) and I am not afraid to admit that I have served on my fair share of ladies’ committees! I had the most fun, of course, writing Mr. Tillingham, the famous American writer with his assured sense of his own literary value. I hope readers will love him in all his obnoxious ego!
RHRC: As in Pettigrew, the quintessential English town becomes the stage on which entrenched tradition, class, ignorance, family ties, and love play out. You’ve said that “the whole world can be explained in a small town,” and you use humor to illuminate and process the absurdities of war. Can you elaborate?
HS: I think life is a comedy of manners and that people are generally much the same in their ambitions and their prejudices. While in my last book I explored how people might be similar across divides of ethnicity and culture, in this book I set out to discover just how much of ourselves we might recognize in the denizens of a small English town in 1914. For me, war just concentrates and highlights this theme. Humor then becomes indispensable in holding up to scrutiny the generals and the politicians who might forget their own fallibility while demanding our blind patriotism. Who was not educated and moved while laughing at M*A*S*H? And if you haven’t seen Monty Python’s World War I skits, you should go immediately to YouTube. In some of the small absurdities I present about England going to war, I hope to make readers laugh and reflect at the same time.
RHRC: At the heart of this book is a love story—-a few love stories, actually. There’s love between spouses and friends, new loves and old ones. There are relationships that transcend social and cultural barriers. Why was it important to explore these relationships? How do these relationships grow, adapt and survive?
HS: Love has a funny way of sweeping aside prejudice and breaking down barriers. The ability to love is perhaps our most redeeming quality. It transcends time, politics, and even religion. As my characters struggled to love in difficult circumstances I hoped my readers would share their joy and their pain and come away reflecting on the place of love in their own lives.
RHRC: Let’s talk about your strong female characters. You’ve given us two inspiring heroines in Agatha Kent, a sharp—witted force for progress, and Beatrice Nash, the town’s first female Latin teacher, who faces numerous challenges. Two women at very different stages in life, from different backgrounds and with different ideals. Why do we connect with both?
HS: I had to do some quiet sitting and thinking about how I as the writer could be loyal to two women at such different stages in their lives. In channeling Beatrice I was forced to revisit myself as an awkward young woman, and it was an eye—opening experience. I think we forget to look back at where we came from. I was glad of the chance to be kind to my younger self and to recognize her achievements while chuckling at her failings. Agatha was an immediate connection, though I am now laughing, because she has failings I did not see in first writing her, and that’s surely a function of not seeing my own flaws.
RHRC: Speaking of women, how did the war affect the position of women in society when men began to enlist? How challenging was it for women to do any work of importance, especially during the war, when men controlled almost everything?
HS: As a novelist and not a historian, I can only remark on what resonated with me during my research. The war effort in the U.K. seemed to be built almost entirely from scratch, and so it was funny that the vast efforts of Britain’s women were still initially considered “amateur” while men received official credit. The Voluntary Aid Detachment and the Red Cross, for example, were staffed by full—time female volunteers who left their families for the dangerous work of nursing. Women raised funds and set up mobile first—aid stations and canteens, and were laughed at even as the troops in transit to the front gratefully accepted hot tea, food, and medical attention. Large efforts such as the national system of War Relief Committees and Refugee Aid were all nominally headed by important men, while the bulk of the work was done by the ladies. Only as the dearth of men became more apparent did Britain realize it had a resource in its women, and so they began to fill in at munitions factories, on the buses, and even in quasi—military messenger services such as the one Alice Finch sets up.
RHRC: What was the research process like for you? What did you find most surprising about this time in English history? And when was it time to leave the research behind and listen to the characters in your head?
HS: Writers are lousy and distracted researchers, but I’ve always loved magazines, and my most compelling research experience was sitting in the British Library’s periodicals section and paging through original copies of Country Life and The Lady for 1914 and 1915. The war was not telegraphed on the front pages as in the news-papers, but it began to show up: in recipes for economical Christmas puddings and how to make do without a meat course at dinner. And of course it also made it into the social columns, when notice of engagements and marriages began to be replaced with the words “was to have been married” as Britain’s finest young peers began to fall in the trenches. And the more I researched, the more I became aware—-and surprised and horrified—-at how much the war galvanized the cause of women. In 1918, British women got the vote—-as a thanks for their work and presumably to make up for the lack of available husbands. They got to wear pants and drive buses and eat in the street and go abroad without a chaperone . . . and though at the end of the war most of the paid work went away, women were never going to go back to the strictures under which they had lived before.
RHRC: In Pettigrew, you wrote about contemporary England. In The Summer Before the War, you take us back to 1914. Is it more of a challenge to write about the past? How was writing this novel different from your first?
HS: As a child, what I loved most about books is that they take us to places and times we can not visit ourselves. I wanted to be shipwrecked on a Pacific atoll and to join an expedition to the planet Mars; and I wanted to time travel to the past and the future. As an adult I am still fascinated by the power of fiction to stretch the imagination and to transport us. Casting about for a setting for my second novel, it struck me that perhaps I was now qualified to attempt a bit of transporting. Of course, it was much harder work to try to fully research the time period, and then to set all the historical notes aside and allow the story to emerge on its own. I tried to transport myself back in time, and I hope readers will feel they are walking beside me in Edwardian Sussex.
RHRC: Helen, you published your first book at age forty—five. Tell us a little bit about your life before writing and the moment when you knew you had to become a writer.
HS: I was in advertising for a while, and then I decided to become a stay—at—home mom. I was looking for some small intellectual escape from the diapers and baby—gym sessions when I stumbled into a friend who said he was writing his screenplay. I remember being very taken aback that an accountant would dare to try to be some sort of writer. But then I realized that this is America, where everyone is -allowed “a dollar and a dream,” as the New York Lottery used to promise. The next day I signed up for a beginner fiction class at New York’s 92nd Street Y. It took me many years of struggle before I published my first book, and though I wanted to be a writer from that very first class, I don’t think I believed I would be one until I saw my novel in a bookstore.

1. An important subject in The Summer Before the War is women’s lives: their role and limits, and how women work within and against Edwardian strictures. Do you think we can take any modern lessons from these women’s lives?

2. Beatrice and Celeste both idolize their fathers. However, are they both betrayed? Do all the characters place too much trust in father figures? Do you think this a useful metaphor for England as it goes to war?

3. Why do we love the Edwardian era so much? Is it the gentility and supposed innocence of the age? Does this attraction remain for you after reading The Summer Before the War?

4. The author presents two strong women in the characters of Beatrice Nash and Agatha Kent. How are they similar and different? Why do you think the author chose to present both voices?

5. Who is your favorite character and what draws you to him or her in particular? Whom do you dislike in the book, and does he or she have redeeming features?

6. The author has said she thinks the whole world can be explained in a small town. Did she succeed at that in this book? What do you think can or cannot be described and explained within such a setting?

7. Though The Summer Before the War is set in Edwardian En-gland, did you recognize elements of your own town, city, or -social circle in this novel? Could the good ladies and gentlemen of Rye only exist in England, or are such characters found everywhere?

8. Why are books about war so compelling? Do you agree with Beatrice that no writer can ever write about war in a way that will prevent it? Is it a valuable topic anyway?

9. Did The Summer Before the War change what you knew or how you thought of the First World War? How so?

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