The Skin Chairs by Barbara Comyns

The novels of Barbara Comyns continue to be a source of fascination for me, from the wonderfully matter-of-fact Our Spoons Came from Woolworths – widely considered to be a lightly fictionalised account of the author’s first marriage – to the evocative Mr Fox, a poignant tale set in the midst of WW2. My latest discovery is The Skins Chairs, first published in 1962 but sadly currently out of print. It’s vintage Comyns, shot through with a clever blend of the macabre and the mundane that characterises her work. Needless to say, I absolutely adored it.

The novel is narrated by Frances, a ten-year-old girl with just the right mix of wide-eyed innocence and active curiosity about the world around her. As the story opens, Frances – one of six children – is sent by her mother to stay with the Lawrences, a family of ‘horsey’ relatives who live in Leicestershire. Aunt Lawrence is a spiteful, domineering woman, intent on belittling Frances and her rather impoverished family, making light of their father and his work for a mattress company. (Frances’ father is in fact a legal adviser to the firm, a role that Aunt Lawrence appears to have forgotten, preferring instead to imply he is a lowly labourer. There is quite a lot snobbery in this novel, particularly amongst the Lawrences.) The Lawrence girls – eighteen-year-old Ruby and thirteen-year-old Grace – are little better than their mother, adding to the bleak atmosphere at the rather gothic Tower Hill.  It is only once Frances’ father dies that the Lawrences begin to show a degree of sympathy for the girl.

While the novel contains a certain amount of plot – mostly revolving around Frances’ return to her family and their quest to scrape by in reduced circumstances – it is perhaps more concerned with Frances as an individual and her experiences of the things she encounters. There is such pleasure to be gained from seeing the world through this young girl’s eyes, complete with its inherent strangeness and curiosities. Naturally, Comyns conveys this vision with the most wonderful turns of phrase, ranging from the striking to the humorous to the downright surreal. At one point in the story, Ruby takes Frances to the General’s house to the see the ‘skin chairs’, a collection of artefacts brought back from the Boer War. As it turns out, five of the chairs were made from the skins of black men and one from white…

One chair certainly was lighter than the rest and I carefully sat on it, expecting something strange to happen; but it was exactly like sitting in any other uncomfortable chair. My bare arms touched the back and, remembering what it was made of, I stood up and wiped my arms with my handkerchief. With a feeling of awe I gazed at the chairs thinking of the poor skinless bodies buried somewhere in Africa. Did their souls ever come to see what had happened to their skins or had they forgotten all about them? How had the General brought the skins back? And did the workmen who covered the chairs know what gruesome work they were doing? (p. 19)

The narrative is studded with grotesque images, from the infamous skin chairs to the details of Frances’ nightmares to the General’s contorted face following a severe stroke. All these elements add to the rather morbid feel of the novel as the spectre of death is never far away.

Alongside the eerie imagery, there are various surreal touches dotted through the novel – weirdly off-kilter observations that feel so striking to the reader, particularly given the unvarnished nature of Frances’ tone of voice. As with Sophia in Our Spoons, it is the matter-of-factness of Frances’ delivery that makes these reflections seem so arresting. In the following passage, Frances is thinking about Mrs Alexander, an eccentric lady with ‘a kind of ravaged, fabulous beauty, like some old and exotic doll in a museum, glittering and dusty’. Mrs Alexander has taken a shine to Frances, much to the young girl’s concern, particularly given the unsettling nature of the Mrs A’s claustrophobic home.

There was a lot about monkeys: her house was full of them. And she had once kept a bear, but people had complained because it used to break into church during the services, and it had to be given to a zoo. ‘I sometimes wonder why I ever returned to England, so many unpleasant things happen here.’ (pp. 106-107)

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the Lawrences consider Mrs Alexander to be quite mad; but in truth she is a lonely, unconventional lady, albeit one with outlandish ideas.

What Comyns captures so well in this novel is the way in which children can often be excellent, intuitive judges of character without fully understanding the complexities or underlying motivations at play. Frances knows that Vanda – a somewhat frivolous and careless young widow who lives nearby – is neglectful of her undernourished baby and yet she is not quite old enough to appreciate why this might be the case. Consequently, Frances grows quite attached to young Jane (and vice versa), visiting and helping to take care of her when she can.

Several of the adult characters are pretty frightful, from the venomous Aunt Lawrence with her pretentious ideals to the feckless Vanda whose disregard for Jane results in near tragedy. The most striking exception to this rule is Mr Blackwell, a kindly man who befriends Frances following his move to Springfield (the property once occupied by the General). Mr Blackwell’s friendship is a source of much brightness for Frances and her family, easing their money worries following several years of poverty.

Alongside the poignancy and dark humour, there are some beautiful descriptive passages here, packed full of detail on the intricacies of Frances’ world. In the following passage, Frances reimagines each room in her childhood home, a technique she uses to stave off the horrific nightmares after her father’s death.

To keep myself awake and to calm myself I would go through each room at home so that it almost seemed as if I was there. I tried to recall everything they contained: the yellow rug in the drawing-room, which we used to cut pieces from to make dolls’ wigs; the faded morning-room curtains with monkeys climbing up them – it was always a sign that summer was coming when they were hung; the enormous brass bedstead in the spare room, all draped in chintz curtains, with its feather mattress – sometimes we slept there when we were ill, because it was on the sunny side of the house, and Father used to thump the mattress to make a hollow for us to lie in. (p. 30)

In short, this is a magical novel in which a bright, curious girl must navigate some of the challenges of adolescence. It is by turns funny, eerie, poignant and bewitching. A spellbinding read, one that reminds me a little of Angela Carter’s The Magic Toyshop and Shirley Jackson’s We Have Always Lived in the Castle. I can’t recommend it more highly than that.

The Skin Chairs was published by Virago Books (currently out of print); personal copy.

33 thoughts on “The Skin Chairs by Barbara Comyns

    1. JacquiWine Post author

      Yes, me too. That surrealism definitely in evidence here. I don’t think this one is quite as well known as some of her others, possibly because it has fallen out of it print. That’s a shame though, especially as it’s so good!

      Reply
  1. A Life in Books

    Those comparisons in your final paragraph are very persuasive, Jacqui. Someone commented on my comfort reads post that Comyns would fit into that slot and i wondered if you’d agree.

    Reply
    1. JacquiWine Post author

      That’s an interesting question! Yes, I think some of her books could fall into the broad category of comfort reading as long as there’s a degree of flexibility in that definition. There are moments of profound sadness in her books, and yet those melancholy tones are lightened by some wonderful touches of off-kilter humour. Our Spoons Came from Woolworths would be a great one to choose if you’re thinking of giving her a try. Funnily enough, Polly Sampson also picked it as her lockdown read in the Guardian piece at the weekend.

      https://www.theguardian.com/books/2020/apr/05/novelists-pick-books-to-inspire-uplift-and-offer-escape

      Reply
  2. madamebibilophile

    Your review had already convinced me Jacqui but your two comparisons at the end have made this a must-read! I’ve only read Our Spoons… by Comyns. I loved it and the tone here sounds equally beguiling.

    Reply
    1. JacquiWine Post author

      Marvellous! I think Comyns has that rather strange, off-kilter way of viewing the world which makes much of her fiction seem at once both eerie and grounded in reality. As you say, it’s a beguiling mix.

      Reply
  3. Radz Pandit

    Wow, I loved both The Magic Toyship and We Have Always Lived in the Castle, plus I love Comyns’ work, so clearly I need to read this one! But I realise that some of her books are not easily available – this one as well as Mrs Fox. So I only hope that Virago hurries up and re-issues both these titles as soon as possible.

    Reply
    1. JacquiWine Post author

      She really does deserve a proper retrospective with stylish new editions from Virago or NYRB. I think this one is particularly hard to get hold of at a reasonable price. A pity really as it’s such a great book.

      Reply
  4. heavenali

    Oh gosh this sounds like wonderfully vintage Comyns. I so wish I had a copy of it. I keep looking. I adore her strange off kilter World and her matter of factness of quite dark things. Brilliant review.

    Reply
    1. JacquiWine Post author

      Thank you! I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you. Comyns is so skilled at conveying quite shocking things in such a deadpan, unvarnished way. It’s really quite unsettling!

      Reply
    1. JacquiWine Post author

      I think you’d like this. It’s suitably surreal and left-field, plus the aunt is a bit of a monster. Hopefully it will appeal to your fondness for dysfunctional families. :)

      Reply
  5. kaggsysbookishramblings

    Fab review Jacqui! Comyns was certainly a one-off, wasn’t she? I’ve only read Who Was Changed and Who Was Dead, and it was suitably weird too – though perhaps not as dark as this. Fortunately, I have a copy somewhere… ;)

    Reply
    1. JacquiWine Post author

      Luckily you as it’s terribly hard to get hold of at a reasonable price! I have an old Virago copy of Who Was Changed in my TBR, so that might be my next BC. There’s also a new edition coming from Daunt Books next year which may well spark a bit more interest in Comyns generally. One can but hope…

      Reply
    1. JacquiWine Post author

      That’s the only Comyns I haven’t been able to click with so far. I’ve tried reading it a couple of times, but on both occasions the descriptions of the protagonist’s childhood proved too gruesome to bear, even for my tastes. :)

      Reply
    1. JacquiWine Post author

      Yes, possibly based on some of her own personal experiences in life. Personally, I found Our Spoons from Woolworths much more approachable than The Vet’s Daughter. A great one to try if you’re ever minded to give her another go.

      Reply
  6. Liz Dexter

    I do love her flat narrative voice and bizarre encounters, though I haven’t read this for decades! I have Virago copies of pretty well all of them, bought in the early 90s. I can’t do The Vet’s Daughter now either though!

    Reply
    1. JacquiWine Post author

      Isn’t it funny how several of us have stumbled over The Vet’s Daughter? I’m so glad that it wasn’t the first of hers that I tried, otherwise I might never have gone on to read any of the others. Her narrative voice is strangely captivating – all the more powerful for being so unemotional!

      Reply
  7. buriedinprint

    It strikes me that “a certain amount of plot” would serve as an apt descriptor for most of her books (although I’ve not read as many as I feel I’ve read — she’s one of my MustReadEverything authors but I’ve mostly been “saving” her books because they’re so short)! I had no idea that Spoons had any relationship to her real-life. Maybe I avoided the preface out of a fear of spoilers and then forget to go back and read it?

    Reply
    1. JacquiWine Post author

      Yes, I think it’s reasonably well documented that Spoons was based on the marriage between Comyns (or Bayley as she was then) and John Pemberton. She was in her early twenties at that point and the marriage only lasted about four years before it broke down in 1935. Gert made a good point earlier about her work being concerned with the corruption of the innocent – a great way of expressing it, I think.

      Reply
  8. Pingback: A-Z Index of Book Reviews (listed by author) | JacquiWine's Journal

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