Campion Reviews - The Fashion in Shrouds
Next on - Conundrum Reads the Entire Campion Series Out of Order:
The Fashion in Shrouds (1938)
This was the first book in this series (I’d finished five of them at this point) that I haven’t unreservedly adored. I still really enjoyed it, but there were some serious WTF moments that I’ll explore below the cut. (It held up rather better on a second reading than I think I'd expected.) Spoilers, obviously:
The plot for this one revolves (loosely) around Campion’s little sister Val, the only member of his immediate family with whom he’s still on speaking terms and fellow outcast from their affections and good graces. Val is a highly successful fashion designer in London and highly intelligent in her own right. She has also, somewhat bafflingly as we discover, fallen for Alan Dell, the owner/chief designer of an airplane manufacturing firm, but makes what proves to be a critical error by introducing him to one of her famous clients, the utterly charming and self-absorbed stage actress Georgia Wells. Georgia, despite being married to a man who exemplifies every known stereotype of British Imperialism, down to the casual racism, bombastic personality, and fondness for elephant guns, begins a very public affair with a star-struck Dell.
Campion, who had discovered the skeletal remains of Georgia’s previous fiancé at the beginning of this tale and all but let the matter drop as it was obvious the man had committed suicide, is reluctantly pulled back into this mess by the re-introduction of the lovely Amanda Fitton. Amanda, whom Campion met six years prior during the Sweet Danger/The Fear Sign adventure in Pontisbright, has since become an aeroplane mechanic and wants his help in rescuing her boss Alan Dell from whatever it is that’s preventing him and consequently, the others in the shop, from getting any work done.
Campion takes Amanda to dinner to spy on Alan and Georgia / let her down gently that there’s nothing more sinister going on with her boss than an inadvisable love affair that will have to run its course, when who should arrive but Georgia’s husband with a woman who bears a striking resemblance to his wife, in a matching outfit, on his arm. A public fight between husband and wife ensues, and Dell spots Amanda in the crowd and retreats to her table. In the interest of sparing him or herself the embarrassment of admitting they’d been there to spectate, Amanda tells him that she and Albert are engaged, a lie that Campion wisely goes along with.
The real mystery gets going, and the whole business gets a hell of a lot messier when Georgia’s husband ends up rather conveniently dead, under fishy circumstances and right under Campion’s nose, and rumours begin to circulate that his sister Val had done it, in an attempt on Georgia’s life gone wrong.
The meat of the mystery plot itself is very engaging, and the finale was much more exciting than I was expecting. Based on that alone, I’d say I quite liked this book. (The tension and climax make it some of Allingham's best work, actually.) However, there were some thematic elements and pieces of dialogue in this one that come across as frankly appalling when read from a modern perspective.
I mentioned the casual racism and colonialism earlier, but given when and where this was written, I’m not particularly shocked by it, and since it was hardly central to the plot and not presented as particularly admirable, I’ll move on to the more central problem with this novel, its feminism or lack thereof.
Throughout the story, a theme of feminine vs masculine thought and behaviour in love arose, both in Campion’s own contemplations of the issues and the other characters’. There are three, arguably five, female characters central to the plot, each a different take on a modern woman. Georgia is a successful actress, selfish and prone to a succession of affairs, moving on to a new man after the initial glow of infatuation wears off on her current beau. Val left her inheritance to marry against the wishes of her relatives and has made her own fortune on her skills as a designer since the death of her alcoholic husband in a car accident; she is disappointed in her own inability to focus dispassionately on anything while distracted by her romantic feelings. Amanda is cheerful, unfailingly practical, and quick thinking in a crisis; despite being the youngest of the three, says she wants a good partner rather than “cake love” that will inevitably fade. The fourth is a model, not particularly bright, and motivated primarily by her own need for money more than anything else; her fate is less fortunate than the rest. The fifth, a resourceful woman in her own right, who has been relegated to the background in many ways, and taken on the role of wife to a man she loves without him actually committing to marry her.
In the context of the story, “feminine thought” is presented as weakness: irrational, confusing, overly-emotional, and incapable of understanding male perspectives. Both Georgia and Val are said to feel incomplete without a man, despite their personal success and intelligence. Georgia “can’t help herself” when she falls in love repeatedly and “sincerely”, and thus makes a spectacle of herself, but everything just seems to work out for her in the end. Val is very good at what she does, and by all accounts seems to really enjoy it, yet when Dell proposes to her with what has got to be one of the most disconcerting offers ever (see below), she immediately says yes.
“Will you marry me and give up to me your independence, the enthusiasm which you give your career, your time and your thought? …In return, mind you (I consider it an obligation), I should assume full responsibility for you. I would pay your bills to any amount which my income might afford. I would make all the decisions which were not directly your province, although on the other hand I would like to feel I might discuss everything with you if I wanted to; but only because I wanted to, mind you; not as your right. …You would be my care, my mate… my possession… It means the other half of my life to me, but the whole of yours.”
Points for honesty, I suppose? (There is a point earlier in the the book when Campion muses that in current times the only way to get an old fashioned wife who runs the house and dotes patiently on her man is to get the woman to fall hopelessly in love with you and then never actually marry her. What.)
Then there’s this comment from Campion, made while arguing with his sister about whether she’d been foolish enough to actually try to kill someone (she hadn’t) and whether there was any reason for them to be concerned that she could be blamed for it anyway (there was), and she tells him she’s too distraught and muddled over Dell’s affair with Georgia to think clearly:
“This is damned silly introspective rot. What you need, my girl, is a good cry or a nice rape.”
A nice what, Campion?! Val’s response isn’t nearly as shocked as you might expect, she more or less rolls her eyes at him and tells him that men need to get over this silly idea that sex is a cure for everything. This makes me suspect that the language used, while seriously WTF inducing, was in context a cruder equivalent of a modern suggestion that she needs to get laid and she’ll feel better. Pre-marital sex taboos plus contemporaneous psychological theories on sexuality equals “rape” as a euphemism for a ‘morally blameless’ sexual encounter for the woman perhaps? Still really not something you should say to your sister, even if you are frustrated with her at the time.
It’s worth noting that the male characters in this story are not really painted as any less flawed than their female costars. Alan Dell is “foolish” and “pathetic” in his infatuation with a married woman. Georgia’s late husband was jealous, manipulative and domineering. Campion is an ass and hypocritically doesn’t understand how women can be so foolish and irrational when he’s found himself impaired by love so recently (see Dancers in Mourning, the author even explicitly references those events to drive this point about Campion's behaviour home), and he very nearly gets himself killed despite working out who the killer was with Lugg and Amanda’s help.
After finishing this one, I looked at reviews other people had written of it, and many readers seem to have found this issue to be a deal-breaker for them, finding the author’s presentation of her female characters shocking and unforgivably backwards. While I found some if it distasteful myself, I think the scathing criticism this book has garnered to be a trifle reactionary and harsh. Having read other stories in this series, I’m not inclined to believe this is concrete evidence that the author was a self-hating woman who believed all of the anti-feminist attitudes of her characters.
Rather, it appears to be an attempt by Allingham to portray the social mores as she saw them at the time and offer commentary on them obliquely. Notably, Amanda is quite clearly the character presented in the best light by the end of the tale, by which point it becomes obvious to Campion himself that marrying her would actually be a very wise decision. It’s not explicitly stated, but as this story follows on the events of Dancers in Mourning fairly directly, he may have been motivated to adopt Amanda’s distinction between “cake” love and “bread and butter” love in light of his own failed stabs at romance. His own proposal is terribly practical and somewhat self-conscious that he might not prove to be enough for her in the end.
Notably, Amanda is the only central female character not shown “in love” in this story, but arguing against any claim that this is what saves her from the foolishness and 'weakness’ exhibited by the other two women, is the book that followed this, Traitor’s Purse. In it, we get a glimpse of Amanda in love, as she breaks off her engagement to Albert after nearly three years of little romance, to be free to return the apparent affections of another man. She retains her inherent practicality and intelligent faculties throughout and weathers Campion’s confusing amnesia-induced behaviour admirably. It’s quite obvious that she does harbour deep, genuine affection for Campion, but without any return overtures from him, had begun to suspect his fondness for her was merely of the friendly variety, and maybe she would quite like some romantic “cake” love after all. The loss of his memory awakens Campion to how much he’s been taking her for granted and motivates him to correct that, making their conversation and decision to marry immediately at the end of that story all the more satisfying. That proposal ends in a proper kiss, and a much more equitable marriage.
Of note - in subsequent books Amanda is still working as an engineer, and later company director, after the war though they have a son together. And Val eventually takes over the whole of Papendeik's despite the old fashioned proposal she accepted. That seems reasonably feminist to me.
The Fashion in Shrouds (1938)
This was the first book in this series (I’d finished five of them at this point) that I haven’t unreservedly adored. I still really enjoyed it, but there were some serious WTF moments that I’ll explore below the cut. (It held up rather better on a second reading than I think I'd expected.) Spoilers, obviously:
The plot for this one revolves (loosely) around Campion’s little sister Val, the only member of his immediate family with whom he’s still on speaking terms and fellow outcast from their affections and good graces. Val is a highly successful fashion designer in London and highly intelligent in her own right. She has also, somewhat bafflingly as we discover, fallen for Alan Dell, the owner/chief designer of an airplane manufacturing firm, but makes what proves to be a critical error by introducing him to one of her famous clients, the utterly charming and self-absorbed stage actress Georgia Wells. Georgia, despite being married to a man who exemplifies every known stereotype of British Imperialism, down to the casual racism, bombastic personality, and fondness for elephant guns, begins a very public affair with a star-struck Dell.
Campion, who had discovered the skeletal remains of Georgia’s previous fiancé at the beginning of this tale and all but let the matter drop as it was obvious the man had committed suicide, is reluctantly pulled back into this mess by the re-introduction of the lovely Amanda Fitton. Amanda, whom Campion met six years prior during the Sweet Danger/The Fear Sign adventure in Pontisbright, has since become an aeroplane mechanic and wants his help in rescuing her boss Alan Dell from whatever it is that’s preventing him and consequently, the others in the shop, from getting any work done.
Campion takes Amanda to dinner to spy on Alan and Georgia / let her down gently that there’s nothing more sinister going on with her boss than an inadvisable love affair that will have to run its course, when who should arrive but Georgia’s husband with a woman who bears a striking resemblance to his wife, in a matching outfit, on his arm. A public fight between husband and wife ensues, and Dell spots Amanda in the crowd and retreats to her table. In the interest of sparing him or herself the embarrassment of admitting they’d been there to spectate, Amanda tells him that she and Albert are engaged, a lie that Campion wisely goes along with.
The real mystery gets going, and the whole business gets a hell of a lot messier when Georgia’s husband ends up rather conveniently dead, under fishy circumstances and right under Campion’s nose, and rumours begin to circulate that his sister Val had done it, in an attempt on Georgia’s life gone wrong.
The meat of the mystery plot itself is very engaging, and the finale was much more exciting than I was expecting. Based on that alone, I’d say I quite liked this book. (The tension and climax make it some of Allingham's best work, actually.) However, there were some thematic elements and pieces of dialogue in this one that come across as frankly appalling when read from a modern perspective.
I mentioned the casual racism and colonialism earlier, but given when and where this was written, I’m not particularly shocked by it, and since it was hardly central to the plot and not presented as particularly admirable, I’ll move on to the more central problem with this novel, its feminism or lack thereof.
Throughout the story, a theme of feminine vs masculine thought and behaviour in love arose, both in Campion’s own contemplations of the issues and the other characters’. There are three, arguably five, female characters central to the plot, each a different take on a modern woman. Georgia is a successful actress, selfish and prone to a succession of affairs, moving on to a new man after the initial glow of infatuation wears off on her current beau. Val left her inheritance to marry against the wishes of her relatives and has made her own fortune on her skills as a designer since the death of her alcoholic husband in a car accident; she is disappointed in her own inability to focus dispassionately on anything while distracted by her romantic feelings. Amanda is cheerful, unfailingly practical, and quick thinking in a crisis; despite being the youngest of the three, says she wants a good partner rather than “cake love” that will inevitably fade. The fourth is a model, not particularly bright, and motivated primarily by her own need for money more than anything else; her fate is less fortunate than the rest. The fifth, a resourceful woman in her own right, who has been relegated to the background in many ways, and taken on the role of wife to a man she loves without him actually committing to marry her.
In the context of the story, “feminine thought” is presented as weakness: irrational, confusing, overly-emotional, and incapable of understanding male perspectives. Both Georgia and Val are said to feel incomplete without a man, despite their personal success and intelligence. Georgia “can’t help herself” when she falls in love repeatedly and “sincerely”, and thus makes a spectacle of herself, but everything just seems to work out for her in the end. Val is very good at what she does, and by all accounts seems to really enjoy it, yet when Dell proposes to her with what has got to be one of the most disconcerting offers ever (see below), she immediately says yes.
“Will you marry me and give up to me your independence, the enthusiasm which you give your career, your time and your thought? …In return, mind you (I consider it an obligation), I should assume full responsibility for you. I would pay your bills to any amount which my income might afford. I would make all the decisions which were not directly your province, although on the other hand I would like to feel I might discuss everything with you if I wanted to; but only because I wanted to, mind you; not as your right. …You would be my care, my mate… my possession… It means the other half of my life to me, but the whole of yours.”
Points for honesty, I suppose? (There is a point earlier in the the book when Campion muses that in current times the only way to get an old fashioned wife who runs the house and dotes patiently on her man is to get the woman to fall hopelessly in love with you and then never actually marry her. What.)
Then there’s this comment from Campion, made while arguing with his sister about whether she’d been foolish enough to actually try to kill someone (she hadn’t) and whether there was any reason for them to be concerned that she could be blamed for it anyway (there was), and she tells him she’s too distraught and muddled over Dell’s affair with Georgia to think clearly:
“This is damned silly introspective rot. What you need, my girl, is a good cry or a nice rape.”
A nice what, Campion?! Val’s response isn’t nearly as shocked as you might expect, she more or less rolls her eyes at him and tells him that men need to get over this silly idea that sex is a cure for everything. This makes me suspect that the language used, while seriously WTF inducing, was in context a cruder equivalent of a modern suggestion that she needs to get laid and she’ll feel better. Pre-marital sex taboos plus contemporaneous psychological theories on sexuality equals “rape” as a euphemism for a ‘morally blameless’ sexual encounter for the woman perhaps? Still really not something you should say to your sister, even if you are frustrated with her at the time.
It’s worth noting that the male characters in this story are not really painted as any less flawed than their female costars. Alan Dell is “foolish” and “pathetic” in his infatuation with a married woman. Georgia’s late husband was jealous, manipulative and domineering. Campion is an ass and hypocritically doesn’t understand how women can be so foolish and irrational when he’s found himself impaired by love so recently (see Dancers in Mourning, the author even explicitly references those events to drive this point about Campion's behaviour home), and he very nearly gets himself killed despite working out who the killer was with Lugg and Amanda’s help.
After finishing this one, I looked at reviews other people had written of it, and many readers seem to have found this issue to be a deal-breaker for them, finding the author’s presentation of her female characters shocking and unforgivably backwards. While I found some if it distasteful myself, I think the scathing criticism this book has garnered to be a trifle reactionary and harsh. Having read other stories in this series, I’m not inclined to believe this is concrete evidence that the author was a self-hating woman who believed all of the anti-feminist attitudes of her characters.
Rather, it appears to be an attempt by Allingham to portray the social mores as she saw them at the time and offer commentary on them obliquely. Notably, Amanda is quite clearly the character presented in the best light by the end of the tale, by which point it becomes obvious to Campion himself that marrying her would actually be a very wise decision. It’s not explicitly stated, but as this story follows on the events of Dancers in Mourning fairly directly, he may have been motivated to adopt Amanda’s distinction between “cake” love and “bread and butter” love in light of his own failed stabs at romance. His own proposal is terribly practical and somewhat self-conscious that he might not prove to be enough for her in the end.
Notably, Amanda is the only central female character not shown “in love” in this story, but arguing against any claim that this is what saves her from the foolishness and 'weakness’ exhibited by the other two women, is the book that followed this, Traitor’s Purse. In it, we get a glimpse of Amanda in love, as she breaks off her engagement to Albert after nearly three years of little romance, to be free to return the apparent affections of another man. She retains her inherent practicality and intelligent faculties throughout and weathers Campion’s confusing amnesia-induced behaviour admirably. It’s quite obvious that she does harbour deep, genuine affection for Campion, but without any return overtures from him, had begun to suspect his fondness for her was merely of the friendly variety, and maybe she would quite like some romantic “cake” love after all. The loss of his memory awakens Campion to how much he’s been taking her for granted and motivates him to correct that, making their conversation and decision to marry immediately at the end of that story all the more satisfying. That proposal ends in a proper kiss, and a much more equitable marriage.
Of note - in subsequent books Amanda is still working as an engineer, and later company director, after the war though they have a son together. And Val eventually takes over the whole of Papendeik's despite the old fashioned proposal she accepted. That seems reasonably feminist to me.