Part One
8th January, 1946
Mr. Sidney Stark, Publisher
Stephens & Stark Ltd.
21 St. James''s Place
London S.W.1
England
Dear Sidney,
Susan Scott is a wonder. We sold over forty copies of the book,
which was very pleasant, but much more thrilling from my standpoint
was the food. Susan managed to procure ration coupons for icing
sugar and real eggs for the meringue. If all her literary luncheons
are going to achieve these heights, I won''t mind touring about the
country. Do you suppose that a lavish bonus could spur her on to
butter? Let''s try it-you may deduct the money from my
royalties.
Now for my grim news. You asked me how work on my new book is
progressing. Sidney, it isn''t.
English Foibles seemed so promising at first. After all, one should
be able to write reams about the Society to Protest the
Glorification of the English Bunny. I unearthed a photograph of the
Vermin Exterminators'' Trade Union, marching down an Oxford street
with placards screaming "Down with Beatrix Potter!" But what is
there to write about after a caption? Nothing, that''s what.
I no longer want to write this book-my head and my heart just
aren''t in it. Dear as Izzy Bickerstaff is-and was-to me, I don''t
want to write anything else under that name. I don''t want to be
considered a light-hearted journalist anymore. I do acknowledge
that making readers laugh-or at least chuckle-during the war was no
mean feat, but I don''t want to do it anymore. I can''t seem to
dredge up any sense of proportion or balance these days, and God
knows one cannot write humor without them.
In the meantime, I am very happy Stephens & Stark is making
money on Izzy Bickerstaff Goes to War. It relieves my conscience
over the debacle of my Anne Bront biography.
My thanks for everything and love,
Juliet
P.S. I am reading the collected correspondence of Mrs. Montagu. Do
you know what that dismal woman wrote to Jane Carlyle? "My dear
little Jane, everybody is born with a vocation, and yours is to
write charming little notes." I hope Jane spat on her.
From Sidney to Juliet
10th January, 1946
Miss Juliet Ashton
23 Glebe Place
Chelsea
London S.W. 3
Dear Juliet:
Congratulations! Susan Scott said you took to the audience at the
luncheon like a drunkard to rum-and they to you-so please stop
worrying about your tour next week. I haven''t a doubt of your
success. Having witnessed your electrifying performance of "The
Shepherd Boy Sings in the Valley of Humiliation" eighteen years
ago, I know you will have every listener coiled around your little
finger within moments. A hint: perhaps in this case, you should
refrain from throwing the book at the audience when you finish.
Susan is looking forward to ushering you through bookshops from
Bath to Yorkshire. And of course, Sophie is agitating for an
extension of the tour into Scotland. I''ve told her in my most
infuriating older-brother manner that It Remains To Be Seen. She
misses you terribly, I know, but Stephens & Stark must be
impervious to such considerations.
I''ve just received Izzy''s sales figures from London and the Home
Counties-they are excellent. Again, congratulations!
Don''t fret about English Foibles; better that your enthusiasm died
now than after six months spent writing about bunnies. The crass
commercial possibilities of the idea were attractive, but I agree
that the topic would soon grow horribly fey. Another subject-one
you''ll like-will occur to you.
Dinner one evening before you go? Say when.
Love,
Sidney
P.S. You write charming little notes.
From Juliet to Sidney
11th January, 1946
Dear Sidney,
Yes, lovely-can it be somewhere on the river? I want oysters and
champagne and roast beef, if obtainable; if not, a chicken will do.
I am very happy that Izzy''s sales are good. Are they good enough
that I don''t have to pack a bag and leave London?
Since you and S&S have turned me into a moderately successful
author, dinner must be my treat.
Love,
Juliet
P.S. I did not throw "The Shepherd Boy Sings in the Valley of
Humiliation" at the audience. I threw it at the elocution mistress.
I meant to cast it at her feet, but I missed.
From Juliet to Sophie Strachan
12th January, 1946
Mrs. Alexander Strachan
Feochan Farm
by Oban Argyll
Dear Sophie,
Of course I''d adore to see you, but I am a soul-less, will-less
automaton. I have been ordered by Sidney to Bath, Colchester,
Leeds, and several other garden spots I can''t recall at the
moment, and I can''t just slither off to Scotland instead.
Sidney''s brow would lower-his eyes would narrow-he would stalk.
You know how nerve-racking it is when Sidney stalks.
I wish I could sneak away to your farm and have you coddle me.
You''d let me put my feet on the sofa, wouldn''t you? And then
you''d tuck blankets around me and bring me tea? Would Alexander
mind a permanent resident on his sofa? You''ve told me he is a
patient man, but perhaps he would find it annoying.
Why am I so melancholy? I should be delighted at the prospect of
reading Izzy to an entranced audience. You know how I love talking
about books, and you know how I adore receiving compliments. I
should be thrilled. But the truth is that I''m gloomy-gloomier than
I ever was during the war. Everything is so broken, Sophie: the
roads, the buildings, the people. Especially the people.
This is probably the aftereffect of a horrid dinner party I went to
last night. The food was ghastly, but that was to be expected. It
was the guests who unnerved me-they were the most demoralizing
collection of individuals I''ve ever encountered. The talk was of
bombs and starvation. Do you remember Sarah Morecroft? She was
there, all bones and gooseflesh and bloody lipstick. Didn''t she
use to be pretty? Wasn''t she mad for that horse-riding fellow who
went up to Cambridge? He was nowhere in evidence; she''s married to
a doctor with grey skin who clicks his tongue before he speaks. And
he was a figure of wild romance compared to my dinner partner, who
just happened to be a single man, presumably the last one on
earth-oh Lord, how miserably mean-spirited I sound!
I swear, Sophie, I think there''s something wrong with me. Every
man I meet is intolerable. Perhaps I should set my sights lower-not
so low as the grey doctor who clicks, but a bit lower. I can''t
even blame it on the war-I was never very good at men, was I?
Do you suppose the St. Swithin''s furnace-man was my one true love?
Since I never spoke to him, it seems unlikely, but at least it was
a passion unscathed by disappointment. And he had that beautiful
black hair. After that, you remember, came the Year of Poets.
Sidney''s quite snarky about those poets, though I don''t see why,
since he introduced me to them. Then poor Adrian. Oh, there''s no
need to recite the dread rolls to you, but Sophie-what is the
matter with me? Am I too particular? I don''t want to be married
just to be married. I can''t think of anything lonelier than
spending the rest of my life with someone I can''t talk to, or
worse, someone I can''t be silent with.
What a dreadful, complaining letter. You see? I''ve succeeded in
making you feel relieved that I won''t be stopping in Scotland. But
then again, I may-my fate rests with Sidney.
Kiss Dominic for me and tell him I saw a rat the size of a terrier
the other day.
Love to Alexander and even more to you,
Juliet
From Dawsey Adams, Guernsey, Channel Islands, to Juliet
12th January, 1946
Miss Juliet Ashton
81 Oakley Street
Chelsea
London S.W. 3
Dear Miss Ashton,
My name is Dawsey Adams, and I live on my farm in St. Martin''s
Parish on Guernsey. I know of you because I have an old book that
once belonged to you-the Selected Essays of Elia, by an author
whose name in real life was Charles Lamb. Your name and address
were written inside the front cover.
I will speak plain-I love Charles Lamb. My own book says Selected,
so I wondered if that meant he had written other things to choose
from? These are the pieces I want to read, and though the Germans
are gone now, there aren''t any bookshops left on Guernsey.
I want to ask a kindness of you. Could you send me the name and
address of a bookshop in London? I would like to order more of
Charles Lamb''s writings by post. I would also like to ask if
anyone has ever written his life story, and if they have, could a
copy be found for me? For all his bright and turning mind, I think
Mr. Lamb must have had a great sadness in his life.
Charles Lamb made me laugh during the German Occupation, especially
when he wrote about the roast pig. The Guernsey Literary and Potato
Peel Pie Society came into being because of a roast pig we had to
keep secret from the German soldiers, so I feel a kinship to Mr.
Lamb.
I am sorry to bother you, but I would be sorrier still not to know
about him, as his writings have made me his friend.
Hoping not to trouble you,
Dawsey Adams
P.S. My friend Mrs. Maugery bought a pamphlet that once belonged to
you, too. It is called Was There a Burning Bush? A Defense of Moses
and the Ten Commandments. She liked your margin note, "Word of God
or crowd control???" Did you ever decide which?
From Juliet to Dawsey
15th January, 1946
Mr. Dawsey Adams
Les Vauxlarens
La Bouree
St. Martin''s, Guernsey
Dear Mr. Adams,
I no longer live on Oakley Street, but I''m so glad that your
letter found me and that my book found you. It was a sad wrench to
part with the Selected Essays of Elia. I had two copies and a dire
need of shelf-room, but I felt like a traitor selling it. You have
soothed my conscience.
I wonder how the book got to Guernsey? Perhaps there is some secret
sort of homing instinct in books that brings them to their perfect
readers. How delightful if that were true.
Because there is nothing I would rather do than rummage through
bookshops, I went at once to Hastings & Sons upon receiving
your letter. I have gone to them for years, always finding the one
book I wanted-and then three more I hadn''t known I wanted. I told
Mr. Hastings you would like a good, clean copy (and not a rare
edition) of More Essays of Elia. He will send it to you by separate
post (invoice enclosed) and was delighted to know you are also a
lover of Charles Lamb. He said the best biography of Lamb was by E.
V. Lucas, and he would hunt out a copy for you, though it may take
a while.
In the meantime, will you accept this small gift from me? It is his
Selected Letters. I think it will tell you more about him than any
biography ever could. E. V. Lucas sounds too stately to include my
favorite passage from Lamb: "Buz, buz, buz, bum, bum, bum, wheeze,
wheeze, wheeze, fen, fen, fen, tinky, tinky, tinky, cr''annch! I
shall certainly come to be condemned at last. I have been drinking
too much for two days running. I find my moral sense in the last
stage of a consumption and my religion getting faint." You''ll find
that in the Letters (it''s on page 244). They were the first Lamb I
ever read, and I''m ashamed to say I only bought the book because
I''d read elsewhere that a man named Lamb had visited his friend
Leigh Hunt, in prison for libeling the Prince of Wales.
While there, Lamb helped Hunt paint the ceiling of his cell sky
blue with white clouds. Next they painted a rose trellis up one
wall. Then, I further discovered, Lamb offered money to help
Hunt''s family outside the prison-though he himself was as poor as
a man could be. Lamb also taught Hunt''s youngest daughter to say
the Lord''s Prayer backward. You naturally want to learn everything
you can about a man like that.
That''s what I love about reading: one tiny thing will interest you
in a book, and that tiny thing will lead you onto another book, and
another bit there will lead you onto a third book. It''s
geometrically progressive-all with no end in sight, and for no
other reason than sheer enjoyment.
The red stain on the cover that looks like blood-is blood. I got
careless with my paper knife. The enclosed postcard is a
reproduction of a painting of Lamb by his friend William Hazlitt.
If you have time to correspond with me, could you answer several
questions? Three, in fact. Why did a roast pig dinner have to be
kept a secret? How could a pig cause you to begin a literary
society? And, most pressing of all, what is a potato peel pie-and
why is it included in your society''s name?
I have sub-let a flat at 23 Glebe Place, Chelsea, London S.W.3. My
Oakley Street flat was bombed in 1945 and I still miss it. Oakley
Street was wonderful-I could see the Thames out of three of my
windows. I know that I am fortunate to have any place at all to
live in London, but I much prefer whining to counting my blessings.
I am glad you thought of me to do your Elia hunting.
Yours sincerely,
Juliet Ashton
P.S. I never could make up my mind about Moses-it still bothers
me.
From Juliet to Sidney
18th January, 1946
Dear Sidney,
This isn''t a letter: it''s an apology. Please forgive my moaning
about the teas and luncheons you set up for Izzy. Did I call you a
tyrant? I take it all back-I love Stephens & Stark for sending
me out of London.
Bath is a glorious town: lovely crescents of white, upstanding
houses instead of London''s black, gloomy buildings or-worse
still-piles of rubble that were once buildings. It is bliss to
breathe in clean, fresh air with no coal smoke and no dust. The
weather is cold, but it isn''t London''s dank chill. Even the
people on the street look different-upstanding, like their houses,
not grey and hunched like Londoners.
Susan said the guests at Abbot''s book tea enjoyed themselves
immensely-and I know I did. I was able to un-stick my tongue from
the roof of my mouth after the first two minutes and began to have
quite a good time.
Susan and I are off tomorrow for bookshops in Colchester, Norwich,
King''s Lynn, Bradford, and Leeds.
Love and thanks,
Juliet
From Juliet to Sidney
21st January, 1946
Dear Sidney,
Night-time train travel is wonderful again! No standing in the
corridors for hours, no being shunted off for a troop train to
pass, and above all, no black-out curtains. All the windows we
passed were lighted, and I could snoop once more. I missed it so
terribly during the war. I felt as if we had all turned into moles
scuttling along in our separate tunnels. I don''t consider myself a
real peeper-they go in for bedrooms, but it''s families in sitting
rooms or kitchens that thrill me. I can imagine their entire lives
from a glimpse of bookshelves, or desks, or lit candles, or bright
sofa cushions.
1. What was it like to read a novel composed entirely of
letters? What do letters offer that no other form of writing (not
even emails) can convey?
2. What makes Sidney and Sophie ideal friends for Juliet? What
common ground do they share? Who has been a similar advocate in
your life?
3. Dawsey first wrote to Juliet because books, on Charles Lamb
or otherwise, were so difficult to obtain on Guernsey in the
aftermath of the war. What differences did you note between
bookselling in the novel and bookselling in your world? What makes
book lovers unique, across all generations?
4. What were your first impressions of Dawsey? How was he
different from the other men Juliet had known?
5. Discuss the poets, novelists, biographers, and other writers
who capture the hearts of the members of the Guernsey Literary and
Potato Peel Pie Society. What does a reader's taste in books say
about his or her personality? Whose lives were changed the most by
membership in the society?
6. Juliet occasionally receives mean-spirited correspondence
from strangers, accusing both Elizabeth and Juliet of being
immoral. What accounts for their judgmental ways?
7. In what ways were Juliet and Elizabeth kindred spirits? What
did Elizabeth's spontaneous invention of the society, as well as
her brave final act, say about her approach to life?
8. Numerous Guernsey residents give Juliet access to their
private memories of the occupation. Which voices were most
memorable for you? What was the effect of reading a variety of
responses to a shared tragedy?
9. Kit and Juliet complete each other in many ways. What did
they need from each other? What qualities make Juliet an
unconventional, excellent mother?
10. How did Remy's presence enhance the lives of those on
Guernsey? Through her survival, what recollections, hopes, and
lessons also survived?
11. Juliet rejects marriage proposals from a man who is a
stereotypical "great catch." How would you have handled Juliet's
romantic entanglement? What truly makes someone a "great
catch"?
12. What was the effect of reading a novel about an author's
experiences with writing, editing, and getting published? Did this
enhance the book's realism, though Juliet's experience is a bit
different from that of debut novelist Mary Ann Shaffer and her
niece, children's book author Annie Barrows?
13. What historical facts about life in England during World War
II were you especially surprised to discover? What traits, such as
remarkable stamina, are captured in a detail such as potato peel
pie? In what ways does fiction provide a means for more fully
understanding a non-fiction truth?
14. Which of the members of the Society is your favorite? Whose
literary opinions are most like your own?
15. Do you agree with Isola that "reading good books ruins you
for enjoying bad ones"?