Undetected
Anthony Storr
Dorothy L. Sayers James Brabazon (Gollancz pp. 308, L9.95).
Dorothy Sayers belongs to that large company of creative people who wish to be remembered for work embodying their highest aspirations, and who are actually more renowned for their pot-boilers. Everyone knows about Lord Peter Wimsey; but who reads Dorothy Sayers's religious works, The Mind of the Maker, or the series of plays on the life of Christ which she wrote for the BBC, The Man Born to be King?
In July 1921, Dorothy Sayers was 28 years old. In spite of a first-class degree from Oxford, she was short of a job, short of a man, and short of money. Three months later, however, she writes: 'Lord Peter is almost ready to be typed'. As James Brabazon observes in this perceptive biography, most detective stories are ephemeral, yet, 'Against all that competition, Dorothy's 12 novels have survived effortlessly as some of the finest examples of their kind'.
It is sometimes supposed that their survival has depended upon the vitality of Lord Peter himself, hut! agree with Mr Brabazon that this is not the whole story. Wimsey is a creature of female fantasy. Although more attractive than either, he belongs to the company of Rhett Butler and Mr Rochester. He is not only a rich aristocrat, but a scholar, the author of a work on the collection of incunabula, a pianist who can dash off the Italian Concerto without any apparent need to practise, a good cricketer, an expert on wine, an experienced lover of women, and a born leader of men who had distinguished himself in the first World War. He begins his fictional existence as something of a silly ass, with touches of Bertie Wooster, as Mr Brabazon observes. His 'man', Bunter, is an obvious copy of Jeeves. But, although he continues to display an impossibly varied collection of skills and virtues, he does, in Gaudy Night, mature into something approaching a vulnerable human being; for, by the time Gaudy Night appeared, some 15 years after her first novel, Dorothy Sayers's own experience of human beings had deepened. Dorothy Sayers was the only child of a clergyman, who, at the time of her birth, was headmaster of Christ Church Choir School. When Dorothy was four, the family left Oxford for the Fens; and it was here that she spent her childhood in comparative iso lation, 'cut off from those of her own age by the barrier of class, and those of her own class by the barrier of age'. Such an upbringing encourages imaginative fantasy; and, whilst this may be invaluable for writing novels, it may also interfere with making relationships with real people in later life. It is not surprising that Dorothy Sayers was miserable at boarding school. Formidably clever, unaccustomed to the company of children of her own age, and physically maladroit, she entered the Godolphin School in Salisbury classically equipped with almost everything which ensures unhappiness in such circumstances. No wonder Somerville, to which she got a scholarship, seemed, in contrast, a kind of heaven. She was never physically attractive, and knew it, though she took trouble with her clothes, and, in later life, was often rather flamboyantly dressed. James Brabazon subtitles his book, 'The Life of a Courageous Woman', and it is clear that she always met her many disappointments with toughness and admirable humour. At Oxford, she fell for Hugh Allen, the conductor of the Bach Choir and organist of New College. As those who knew him will recall, he was tough, gifted, and humorous enough to have coped with her, and it is a pity that her later encounters with men did not include anyone who matched his stature. After leaving Oxford, she had two unfortunate encounters with men who seem either to have demanded mothering or adoration without reciprocal demands; and, in 1922, she fell for a motor mechanic who not only satisfied her physical needs in an uncomplicated way, but also got her pregnant. Repudiating the idea of an abortion, she went through with the pregnancy, and had the child brought up by a cousin who, very fortunately, made a living by bringing up orphans. The secret was closely guarded until well after her parents were dead, though it is not quite true to say, as Mr Brabazon does, that 'not one of Dorothy's friends knew about her son until the day of her death'. The identity of the father, however, is still concealed.
Rather than remain single, Dorothy Sayers married a divorce called Oswald Atherton Fleming, a self-important journal ist who at one time reported motor-racing for the News of the World. 'Mac', as he became called, was 12 years older than Dorothy. He soon faded into the background and, by the time he died, in 1950, is referred to, by her, as a 'poor old dear'. It appears that she had given up hope of finding her match and settled for companionship and sexual comfort.
In her later years, Dorothy Sayers became something of a grand old lady. She also became arrogant and tiresome. Mr Brabazon, who has himself worked for the BBC drama department, records with regretful honesty her intolerant replies to any suggestion that her immortal words might be edited or modified to suit a radio audience. Anyone with experience of working with BBC producers knows that their expertise is often invaluable in preventing one from making an ass of oneself; but financial success and literary recognition made Dorothy Sayers grandiose. The last years of her life were devoted to a translation of Dante for Penguin Classics, which is still in print. I am not equipped to comment on this; but it is clear that her biographer does not believe that it will last, and that letters to her from Italian scholars are tactful rather than enthusiastic. Mr Brabazon is right in affirming 'How fortunate we are that she was not able to stick exclusively to her poetry, her historical subjects, all the literary things she loved'. This biography stimulated me to go out and buy a paperback of The Nine Tailors. I shall stop this review and go back and finish it.
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