While Christmas is often presented as the season of goodwill, it can be an incredibly stressful time for many, throwing us together with relatives we rarely see and may well dislike, encouraging us to stuff ourselves with food and drink, and generally disturbing our usual routines. It’s a set-up that Kathleen Farrell cleverly probes in her insightful novel Mistletoe Malice, a delightfully acerbic portrait of a dysfunctional family, newly reissued by Faber & Faber. The book was initially published in 1951 and will likely appeal to fans of Elizabeth Berridge, Alice Thomas Ellis, Mary Hocking and other women writers from the mid-20th century.
Central to the story is Rachel, the rather malevolent matriarch and hostess of the Christmas festivities, which always take place in her cottage by the sea. Also in attendance are Rachel’s self-sacrificing niece, Bess, who shares her widowed aunt’s home; Rachel’s orderly, overbearing daughter, Marion, and ineffectual husband, Thomas; another niece, Kate, a nephew, Piers; and last but not least, errant son, Adrian, the black sheep of the family, back from Europe for the holiday season.
The book unfolds over four days, from Christmas Eve to the day after Boxing Day, with each family member bringing their own preoccupations, disappointments and grudges to the party. This all makes for a delightfully sharp mix as tensions simmer and fault lines emerge.
Farrell wastes no time in setting out her stall, highlighting the power dynamics between Rachel and her live-in companion, Bess – a niece, yes, but only by marriage.
Rachel smiled and nodded: an aloof acknowledgement that for the present she had no fault to find. The precarious balance of their relationship must be maintained. Bess must always remember that although she was treated as an adopted daughter, she was merely a niece by marriage. A relationship so remote, thought Rachel, that it is practically non-existent: a courtesy, nothing more. (p. 1)
Thoroughly put upon by her aunt, Bess seeks an escape from Rachel’s critical eye by fantasising about a romance with Piers, a fickle but alluring young man who blows hot and cold, especially where Bess is concerned.
He remembered that he had wanted to marry her [Bess] once, but that was a long time ago. Sometimes the idea repelled him, on other days such a marriage was a possibility to consider in general terms. He knew that he would continue to change his mind about this, as about everything else, several times an hour. (p. 160)
Nevertheless, despite Piers’ unreliability, Bess seems intent on running away with him should the opportunity arise. Piers, for his part, is more interested in himself. Content to flatter Aunt Rachel, he prefers ‘to behave as her favoured admirer’ rather than a nephew – a game that proves highly amusing to both players.
Kate – Rachel’s other niece – has relationship troubles of her own, having recently split from her fiancé, Alec. A relatively independent woman at heart, Kate is concerned that Aunt Rachel is taking advantage of Bess by discouraging any signs of a romance with Piers, mostly from a fear of being left on her own. In truth though, Rachel is assailed by worries about ageing and a growing awareness of her own mortality. No longer the carefree beauty who had a fling in her youth, she mourns the passing of time, her anxieties heightened by the threat of nuclear war rumbling away in the background.
Kate thought of the ceaseless yearning for happiness. A word which because of its infinite meanings is meaningless: a trick of light making an afternoon memorable; the healing tissue growing over the inflamed nerve; footsteps in the street; drab curtains in a familiar room; an occasional second when death does not exist. (p. 267)
Meanwhile, Rachel’s son-in-law, Thomas, exudes mid-life malaise, far from content in his marriage to Marion. In short, he feels constrained by his wife’s desire for routine and order, ultimately longing for a change – or, at the very least, something to look forward to. Most of all, he wants to be unmarried, for his marriage to Marion never to have happened. Why had his mother not warned him about Marion back then? Surely she could have predicted what would happen to them over time?
With the possible exception of Adrian, who arrives drunk and tips towards caricature with his exaggerated accent, these characters are relatable and well-drawn, each revealing their own shortcomings and failings. So, as the festivities begin, we see how they persist in rubbing one another up the wrong way – either by choice or by accident – all adding up to a barbed comedy of manners.
While the novel is more concerned with character than plot, Farrell introduces a few flash points to liven everything up. The Christmas tree explodes, plunging the house into darkness as the lights are fused; a punch is thrown, flooring one of the guests despite its innocuous nature; and a bid for freedom is launched, albeit with mixed results. All these developments and more are observed by Marion’s daily, Mrs Page – a classic charlady in the Elizabeth Taylor vein – and the source of some lovely humour dotted through the book.
Mrs. Page looked astounded as she muttered to herself: “They’re all alike. Potty, the lot of them”. She allowed herself the luxury of forbidden cigarette while she considered the mysterious ways of families who meet for the purpose of making each other miserable and bad-tempered. (p.144)
Farrell also has an eye for an amusing turn of phrase, peppering the text with revealing observations such as this insight into Marion and Thomas’ marriage.
Thomas stood by the foot of the staircase, one hand on the banisters, waiting for Marion to place him, or to send him on an errand. (p. 10)
In summary then, this is a delightful, perceptive comedy of manners, full of unlikeable characters forced to spend time together under the pretence of a celebration. It’s a slow burner, the narrative unfolding at a leisurely pace – nevertheless, fans of stories featuring dysfunctional families will find much to enjoy here. The book comes with an utterly charming afterword by Robert Cochrane, who knew Farrell in the final years of her life. It’s a very fitting tribute, capturing something of the essence of the author’s elegance and wit!
JacquiWine's Journal 