Monstrous women in fiction – a few favourites from the shelves

This is a post I’ve been meaning to put together for a while, but there never seems to be enough time to do everything! (A common complaint, I’m sure.) Anyway, a few years ago, I talked about setting up some hashtags on the blog for literary monsters – more specifically, ‘monstrous women’ and ‘pompous/insufferable men’. You know the types – the sorts of characters we love to read about in fiction but dread encountering in real life.

So, with this in mind, here’s the first of a couple of themed posts I’ve put together on these formidable characters. First up are some of my favourite books featuring monstrous women, with insufferable men to follow in the next few weeks.

School for Love by Olivia Manning (1951)

A highly compelling coming-of-age story set in Jerusalem during the closing stages of the Second World War. This brilliant novel features a most distinctive character quite unlike any other I’ve encountered in literature or life itself. In Miss Bohun, Manning has created a fascinating literary monster, sure to generate strong opinions either way. Is she a manipulative hypocrite, determined to seize any opportunity and exploit it for her own personal gain? Or is she simply deluded, predominately acting on the belief that she is doing the morally upstanding thing in an unstable, rapidly developing world? You’ll have to read the book yourself to take a view! (PS, for the cat lovers among you, there’s a rather adorable Siamese named Faro in this book – another potential reason to add it to your list.)

The Soul of Kindness by Elizabeth Taylor (1964)

Elizabeth Taylor immediately springs to mind when I think of writers who can create distinctive monstrous women. There’s the narcissistic Angelica Deverell (inspired by the romance writer Marie Corelli) from Taylor’s 1957 novel Angel. But the character I’d really like to highlight here is the deluded Flora Quartermaine from The Soul of Kindness, a beautiful young woman who seems to have the perfect life. While Flora considers herself to be the very soul of kindness, this is far from the truth, as her best intentions often cause more harm than good. Slowly but surely, over the course of the novel, Taylor reveals the true extent of Flora’s lack of self-awareness and her rather blinkered view of the lives of those around her. In short, Flora is a very dangerous kind of literary monster as she has very little understanding of her impact on others.

Tension by E. M. Delafield (1920)

The English writer E. M. Delafield is probably best known for her Diary of a Provincial Lady, a largely autobiographical account of middle-class life in the early 1930s. Tension is an earlier book, first published in 1920 when Britain was still recovering from the impact of WW1. It’s an interesting story about the damaging effects of gossip – how hard-won reputations can be destroyed by malicious rumours, especially when a manipulative person is involved. On another level, the novel also highlights the limited options available to single women with no husband or family to support them in financing their day-to-day existence. The monstrous creature in this book is Lady Rossiter, a hypocritical, insensitive woman who lacks even the slightest hint of self-awareness. In short, she sets out to ruin another woman’s reputation by spreading poisonous rumours through carefully worded hints here and there. By living her life according to the mantra “Is it kind, is it wise, is it true?”, Lady R is convinced that her actions are for the moral good, misguided in the belief that she is a shining light to others…

Sheep’s Clothing by Celia Dale (1988)

There is something particularly chilling about a crime novel featuring an ordinary domestic setting – the type of story where sinister activities take place behind the veil of net curtains in the privacy of the victim’s home. The English writer Celia Dale excelled in this area, certainly if Sheep’s Clothing and A Helping Hand are anything to go by. Both novels show how vulnerable individuals – especially the elderly and trusting – can be preyed upon by malicious confidence tricksters. The central protagonist in Sheep’s Clothing is Grace, a merciless, well-organised con woman in her early sixties with a track record of larceny. As a trained nurse with experience in care homes, Grace is well versed in the habits and behaviours of the elderly – qualities that have enabled her to develop a seemingly watertight plan for fleecing some of society’s most vulnerable individuals, typically frail older women living on their own. It’s an icily compelling tale of greed and deception, stealthily executed amidst carefully orchestrated conversations and kindly cups of tea.

A Dance to the Music of Time by Anthony Powell (1951-1975)

A magnificent twelve-novel sequence exploring the political and cultural milieu of the English upper classes in the early-mid 20^th century. Impossible to summarise in just a few sentences, Powell’s masterpiece features one of literature’s finest creations, the infamous Pamela Flitton. With her trademark air of rage and despair, Pamela proceeds to create merry hell through all manner of romantic entanglements in the last four volumes of the series. There books contain some classic ‘Pamela’ moments, powered by this character’s unpredictable, fiery nature – a veritable tour-de-force of hostility and disdain. She is a marvellous literary monster. In fact, this series may also feature in my companion piece on insufferable men, courtesy of the odious Kenneth Widmerpool, as he’s also tremendous value on the page. It’s fascinating to follow Pamela, Widmerpool, Powell’s narrator, Nicholas Jenkins, and many other individuals over time, observing their development as they flit in and out of one another’s lives.

The Feast by Margaret Kennedy (1950)

Part morality tale, part mystery, part family saga/social comedy, Margaret Kennedy’s The Feast is a delightful novel. This very cleverly constructed story – which takes place at The Pendizack cliffside hotel, Cornwall, in the summer of 1947 – unfolds over the course of a week, culminating in a dramatic picnic ‘feast’. Kennedy draws on an inverted structure, revealing part of her denouement upfront while omitting crucial details about a fatal disaster. Consequently, the reader is in the dark about who dies and who survives the tragedy until the novel’s end. What Kennedy does so well here is to weave an immersive story around the perils of the seven deadly sins, into which she skilfully incorporates the loathsome behaviours of her characters – both guests and members of staff alike. There are some marvellous monstrous women in this one, from the loathsome housekeeper, Dorothy Ellis, a lazy, spiteful woman who cannot resist poking her nose into everyone else’s business, to the desperately mean Mrs Cove, a seemingly impoverished widow with a heart of stone. A wonderfully engaging book with some serious messages at its heart.

Who Was Changed and Who Was Dead by Barbara Comyns (1987)

There is something distinctly English about the world that Barbara Comyns portrays here, a surreal eccentricity that could only be found within the England of old. Set in 1911, three years before the advent of the First World War, Who Was Changed and Who Was Dead has all the hallmarks of a classic Comyns novel: enchanting, innocent children caught up in a dysfunctional family; memorable, vivid imagery, typically with an off-kilter edge; and a simple, matter-of-fact delivery that belies the horrors within. The monstrous woman in this one is a secondary character, Mrs Willoweed, a tyrannical grandmother whose views on those around her are harsh and uncompromising. She is permanently in a rage over something or other – often incidents involving her ineffectual son, Ebin, or the household maids, Eustice and Norah. Much of the novel’s sly humour stems from this difficult woman who seems to delight in making Ebin’s life a misery with her stark outbursts and childish desire for attention. Another strikingly creative work from one of Britain’s most singular writers – a darkly humorous novel of great brilliance and originality with an allegorical nod to WW1.

I also have a new review featuring another monstrous woman coming up in future, probably in mid-October as I may take a short break earlier in the month. 

Do let me know what you think of these books if you’ve read some of them or are considering reading any in the future. Perhaps you have a favourite book or two featuring a monstrous woman? Please feel free to mention them in the comments below. I’m always interested in good recommendations!