Abstract
My first thought in approaching the subject of ‘Katherine Mansfield and Continental Europe’ was that most Mansfield scholars and critics take almost as a given that her New Zealand stories are her ‘best’ — but are they? The question should at least be reconsidered from time to time, because there has always been an element of literary nationalism in it, and national sentiment is, or should be, largely irrelevant to literary criticism. I had in mind that there are a few stories quite late in her short career which leave not only family and Wellington behind, but London too, and seem embedded in continental Europe; and that these perhaps promised a new path, a different flavour, a new sophistication — stories like ‘Poison’ (1920), and ‘The Escape’ (1920). There is also, a little earlier, ‘Je ne parle pas français’ (1918) — technically very important in her development. And there’s even the question of whether all of the In a German Pension stories deserve their relegation to the second-class status she gave them. These are some of the thoughts and questions I began with, for what I intended should be an essentially old-fashioned literary-critical exercise.
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Notes
‘The Modern Soul’, in Gerri Kimber and Vincent O’Sullivan, eds, The Collected Fiction of Katherine Mansfield, 2 vols (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2012), Vol. 1, p. 216. Hereafter all references to Mansfield’s fiction refer to this edition and volume and page numbers are placed parenthetically in the text.
Though I have to add that Frank Sargeson’s recently published Letters reveals that he read this story in 1954 and was enchanted, describing it as ‘that very good fairy tale — An Indiscreet Journey which somehow I had always missed previously: it should be called The Little Corporal’. Sarah Shieff, ed., Letters of Frank Sargeson (Auckland: Random House, 2012), p. 176.
‘Katherine Mansfield: The Art of Fiction’, in C. K. Stead, Kin of Place, Essays on 20 New Zealand Writers (Auckland: Auckland University Press, 2002), pp. 8–28. The essay first appeared in The New Review, September 1977.
Francis Carco, Les Innocents (Paris: Albin Michel, 1916).
Fyodor Dostoevsky, ‘Memoirs from a Dark Cellar’, in A Gentle Creature and Other Stories, trans. by David Magarshack (London: John Lehmann, 1950), p. 104.
Margaret Scott, ed., The Katherine Mansfield Notebooks, 2 vols (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2002), Vol. 2, p. 187. Hereafter referred to as Notebooks, followed by volume and page number.
Antony Alpers, The Life of Katherine Mansfield (London: Viking, 1980), p. 305.
Vincent O’Sullivan, ‘What we mostly don’t say about Katherine Mansfield’, Katherine Mansfield’s Men, ed. by Charles Ferrall and Jane Stafford (Wellington: Steele Roberts, 2004), pp. 96–106. O’Sullivan refers to the word ‘rot’ as ‘the penetrating, bitter pun of its final line’ — thus seeing the story as at one with ‘Poison’, for example, a bitter reflection on love and marriage. Again this seems to me a serious misreading, not taking into account the commonness and neutrality, in everyday middle-class discourse of Mansfield’s time, of the word ‘rot’, used exactly as we would say ‘rubbish’, not meaning to evoke the realities of rubbish, but simply and emphatically ‘No, that’s not true’, ‘Certainly not’, ‘Not in the least’. So, for example, in the last scene of ‘At the Bay’ you find ‘“Oh rot!” Harry Kember didn’t believe her’ (2: 370). Or in ‘The Young Girl’: ‘“Why can’t you leave me?” she said furiously. “What utter rot!”’ (2: 231). Or in ‘Brave love’: ‘“You’ve made an extraordinary impression on him,” said Mildred. “I have? Oh rot!”’ (1: 407). It is not true, of course, despite Salesby’s denial, that he does not mind being away from England. It is costing him a great deal. But in saying, and so emphatically (‘Rot’), that he doesn’t, he is proving his commitment to love and marriage, not, as O’Sullivan seems to be suggesting, the reverse.
Vincent O’Sullivan and Margaret Scott, eds, The Collected Letters of Katherine Mansfield, 5 vols (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1984), Vol. 4, p. 4. Hereafter referred to as Letters followed by volume and page number. Note 2 identifies the story as ‘Revelations’ but this is incorrect. (See my note 14 below.)
Eliot himself in a letter to the TLS, 10 January 1935, says he believes he arrived at the title by combining the title of William Morris’s romance, ‘The Hollow Land’ with that of Kipling’s poem ‘The Broken Men’. See Christopher Ricks, ed., T. S. Eliot: Inventions of the March Hare. Poems 1909–1917 (London: Faber & Faber, 1996), p. 395.
Valerie Eliot and Hugh Haughton, eds, The Letters of T. S. Eliot, Vol. 1, 1898–1922 (revised edition) (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2011), p. 473, letter dated 3 July 1920, and reporting that Mansfield is about to go back to the Riviera for the winter.
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© 2015 C. K. Stead
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Stead, C.K. (2015). Katherine Mansfield and the Fictions of Continental Europe. In: Kascakova, J., Kimber, G. (eds) Katherine Mansfield and Continental Europe. Palgrave Macmillan, London. https://doi.org/10.1057/9781137429971_15
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