Searching for the Sisters
By Sally Beauman
It's always so hard to say where novels begin -- it's a ghostly process,
I find. When I started writing The Sisters Mortland, I knew that it
would be about stories, the truths and lies they contain. I knew it had
to be set in the depths of the English countryside, and I knew the
county I wanted to use was Suffolk, still deeply rural in many parts,
with a strong farming tradition -- I wanted a place that has grown
properous, but been ravaged by farming practices in the post-war years.
It isn't an area of England I know that well -- I've visited it often,
but never lived there. That was a plus: I don't like to write about
people or places I already know -- I like them to be foreign, so as I
actually write they have to be found.
I also knew it would be a novel that centred on three sisters -- two of
them young women and one a child when the book opens -- and one summer
in the life of the sisters, a summer when the portrait that gives the
novel its title is being painted by a Cambridge friend. I knew something
terrible, an appalling event, would happen in that idyllic summer of
1967 and I knew I wanted to investigate the ways in which such events
stain, distort and influence the lives of all concerned.
I knew too that it must be a novel of contingencies, where nothing is
certain, and where solutions are withheld -- and for that reason I
decided to use three different narrators, each of whom approaches these
events from a different viewpoint, over a span of twenty years. I wanted
it to be a novel of voices, each commenting on and contradicting one
another --- and to make it work, for the machinery to spin and grind,
those voices had to be as familiar to me as my own.
Maisie, who begins the novel is an outsider, a strange prescient
thirteen-year-old child - a little girl who talks to the dead, but a
girl with a tough, ascerbic mind. Maisie lures the reader in -- I
intended a lure -- to what may seem at first another assay at a familiar
form, the English country house novel -- a genre with a long tradition,
Mansfield Park being at one end of it, and Ian McEwan's Atonement at the
other. Maisie's story, her account of that summer, of her family, of the
strange house in which they live (it's a medieval Abbey, a former
nunnery) and of the portrait an artist friend is painting forms the
first part of the novel. She describes her two sisters, clever, evasive
Finn and beautiful self-centred Julia, and she struggles to understand
the young men staying at the house who are irresistably drawn to them.
But I wanted the reader to see gaps; I wanted readers to decide whether
the persuasive Maisie was telling the truth. Like Lucas, Maisie is also
painting a portrait of three sisters -- but what does she reveal, and
conceal?
Then the novel takes a a sudden unpredictable turn. It breaks with the
conventions it seemed to be following, it hurtles off-piste -- there's a
substantial time-jump, and I introduce a second voice, that of a man,
Daniel Nunn. Dan, a friend of the sisters since early childhood, and
worshipped by Maisie, has grown up in the same village but in very
different circumstances. He is of Romany descent; his father is a farm
labourer, and his grandmother, who brought him up, and claims to have
second sight, works at the Abbey as a cleaner -- but Dan, who has won a
scholarship to Cambridge, is on the cusp of change, about to abandon his
home, his family and his class.
Dan is self-destructive, anarchic, gifted and (I hope) funny -- I
wanted black humour, wanted readers to hate him, then maybe forgive him
when they turn the page. Dan embarks on a quest, determined to
understand the appalling events that happened at the Abbey in the summer
of 1967 -- but he's hampered by several factors. He's writing more than
twenty years later; he's drinking too much, he's lost his high-powered
job, he's lost the woman he loved, he's riddled with guilt, and
overpowered by a sense of failure -- plus, like most of us, he's been
used to glossing over his past. So confronting it, trying to understand
it is a very harsh task.
Finally, Julia, the eldest, coolest, most beautiful, most successful and
apparently the least likeable of the three sisters takes up the
narrative. She weaves the final patterns of the story of the Abbey, of
Maisie and Dan, and I hope those weavings will surprise some readers --
but does Julia give closure? In a sense, perhaps, but I distrust
closure, and I certainly distrust easy answers. And this is a novel
about love -- love of place, of family, of children, as well as love
between men and women and all the lies and self deceptions that such
loves entail. So at the end of the novel, as one might expect, questions
remain.
**Sally Beauman's novels have been translated into more than twenty
languages and have been bestsellers worldwide. She has written for numerous
magazines in both the United States and England, including
The New Yorker and The Daily Telegraph. She lives with her family in London
and on an island in the Hebrides. Her latest novel is
The Sisters Mortland,
a story about three sisters and the tragedy that becomes the center of their lives.