Some Do Not … by Ford Madox Ford (story read aloud txt) 📕
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Some Do Not … opens at the cusp of World War I. Christopher Tietjens, a government statistician, and his friend Vincent Macmaster, an aspiring literary critic, are visiting the English countryside. Tietjens, preoccupied with his disastrous marriage, meets Valentine Wannop, a suffragette, during a round of golf. As their love story develops, the novel explores the horrors of the war without the narrative ever entering the battlefield.
The characters are complex and nuanced. Tietjens is an old-fashioned man even by the standards of his day; he’s concerned with honor and doing the right thing, but he lives in a society that only pays those values lip service. Yet he himself isn’t free of a thread of hypocrisy: he won’t leave his deeply unhappy marriage because that would be the wrong way to act, but the reader is left wondering if he tolerates his situation simply because he married up in class. He wants to do to the noble and right thing, but does that mean going to war?
The men and women around him each have their individual motivations, and they are often conniving and unlikable in their aspirations even as the propaganda of England at war paints the country as a moral and heroic one. The delicate interplay of each character’s subtleties paints a rich portrait of 1920s English society, as the romantic ideals of right and wrong clash with notions of ambition and practicality.
The prose is unapologetically modernist: unannounced time shifts combine with a stream-of-consciousness style that can often be dense. Yet Ford’s portrayal of shell shock, the politics of women in the 1920s, and the moral greyness of wartime is groundbreaking. The book, and its complete tetralogy—called Parade’s End—has garnered praise from critics and authors alike, with Anthony Burgess calling it “the finest novel about the First World War” and William Carlos Williams stating that the novels “constitute the English prose masterpiece of their time.”
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- Author: Ford Madox Ford
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Tietjens, back in his dining-room, felt relief and also anger. He said:
“Port Scatho. Time’s getting short. I’d like to deal with this letter if you don’t mind.”
Port Scatho came as if up out of a dream. He had found the process of attempting to convert Mrs. Tietjens to divorce law reform very pleasant—as he always did. He said:
“Yes! … Oh, yes!”
Tietjens said slowly:
“If you can listen. … Macmaster has been married to Mrs. Duchemin exactly nine months. … Have you got that? Mrs. Tietjens did not know this till this afternoon. The period Mrs. Tietjens complains of in her letter is nine months. She did perfectly right to write the letter. As such I approve of it. If she had known that the Macmasters were married she would not have written it. I didn’t know she was going to write it. If I had known she was going to write it I should have requested her not to. If I had requested her not to she would, no doubt, have done so. I did know of the letter at the moment of your coming in. I had heard of it at lunch only ten minutes before. I should, no doubt, have heard of it before, but this is the first time I have lunched at home in four months. I have today had a day’s leave as being warned for foreign service. I have been doing duty at Ealing. Today is the first opportunity I have had for serious business conversation with Mrs. Tietjens. … Have you got all that? …”
Port Scatho was running towards Tietjens, his hand extended, and over his whole shining personage the air of an enraptured bridegroom. Tietjens moved his right hand a little to the right, thus eluding the pink, well-fleshed hand of Port Scatho. He went on frigidly:
“You had better, in addition, know as follows: The late Mr. Duchemin was a scatological—afterwards a homicidal—lunatic. He had recurrent fits, usually on a Saturday morning. That was because he fasted—not abstained merely—on Fridays. On Fridays he also drank. He had acquired the craving for drink when fasting, from finishing the sacramental wine after communion services. That is a not unknown occurrence. He behaved latterly with great physical violence to Mrs. Duchemin. Mrs. Duchemin, on the other hand, treated him with the utmost consideration and concern: she might have had him certified much earlier, but, considering the pain that confinement must cause him during his lucid intervals, she refrained. I have been an eyewitness of the most excruciating heroisms on her part. As for the behaviour of Macmaster and Mrs. Duchemin, I am ready to certify—and I believe society accepts—that it has been most … oh, circumspect and right! … There has been no secret of their attachment to each other. I believe that their determination to behave with decency during their period of waiting has not been questioned. …”
Lord Port Scatho said:
“No! no! Never … Most … as you say … circumspect and, yes … right!”
“Mrs. Duchemin,” Tietjens continued, “has presided at Macmaster’s literary Fridays for a long time; of course since long before they were married. But, as you know, Macmaster’s Fridays have been perfectly open: you might almost call them celebrated. …”
Lord Port Scatho said:
“Yes! yes! indeed … I sh’d be only too glad to have a ticket for Lady Port Scatho …”
“She’s only got to walk in,” Tietjens said. “I’ll warn them: they’ll be pleased. … If, perhaps, you would look in tonight! They have a special party. … But Mrs. Macmaster was always attended by a young lady who saw her off by the last train to Rye. Or I very frequently saw her off myself, Macmaster being occupied by the weekly article that he wrote for one of the papers on Friday nights. … They were married on the day after Mr. Duchemin’s funeral. …”
“You can’t blame ’em!” Lord Port Scatho proclaimed.
“I don’t propose to,” Tietjens said. “The really frightful tortures Mrs. Duchemin had suffered justified—and indeed necessitated—her finding protection and sympathy at the earliest possible moment. They have deferred this announcement of their union partly out of respect for the usual period of mourning, partly because Mrs. Duchemin feels very strongly that, with all the suffering that is now abroad, wedding feasts and signs of rejoicing on the part of nonparticipants are eminently to be deprecated. Still, the little party of tonight is by way of being an announcement that they are married. …” He paused to reflect for a moment.
“I perfectly understand!” Lord Port Scatho exclaimed. “I perfectly approve. Believe me, I and Lady Port Scatho will do everything. … Everything! … Most admirable people. … Tietjens, my dear fellow, your behaviour … most handsome. …”
Tietjens said:
“Wait a minute … There was an occasion in August, ’14. In a place on the border. I can’t remember the name. …”
Lord Port Scatho burst out:
“My dear fellow … I beg you won’t. … I beseech you not to …”
Tietjens went on:
“Just before then Mr. Duchemin had made an attack on his wife of an unparalleled violence. It was that that caused his final incarceration. She was not only temporarily disfigured, but she suffered serious internal injuries and, of course, great mental disturbance. It was absolutely necessary that she should have change of scene. … But I think you will bear me out that, in that case, too, their behaviour was … again, circumspect and right. …”
Port Scatho said:
“I know; I know … Lady Port Scatho and I agreed—even without knowing what you have just told me—that the
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