In the Fold
[Click the title
to buy this book]
by Rachel Cusk
There was a time when the countryside surrounding Bath, England, was a patchwork of rural fiefdoms. Paul Hanbury, the patriarch in Rachel Cusk's new novel In the Fold, is a peculiar throwback to this era. As his neighbors sell off their land to suburban developers, Paul proudly lords over his family and his modern-day manor, a remote Somerset sheep farm with the alluring name of Egypt Hill. Recalling his first visit to the Hanburys' farm, Michael, the story's rudderless narrator, notes, "Something happened to me almost as soon as I got there. I had an intimation... that my life was going to expand and expand and become beautiful."
Like Cusk's 1997 novel The Country Life, In the Fold is narrated by a character who flees the rote frustrations of modern life by taking refuge in the English countryside. When Michael first visited Egypt Hill as an impressionable university student, its would-be aristocrats appeared to be refreshingly exempt from social norms. Ex-husbands mingled comfortably with their ex-wives; nymph-like girls posed nude for visiting artists; precocious children danced and drank with adults. More than a decade later, when Michael is struggling to hold his marriage together after the birth of a new son, he readily accepts the Hanburys' invitation to help out on the farm during lambing season. Instead of finding peace of mind, however, Michael discovers that the carefree lifestyle of Egypt Hill is a façade, concealing a web of greed, deception, and old-fashioned patriarchy.
As an observer of this drama, Michael is passive and, at the same time, almost dizzyingly narcissistic. He sees himself and his own inner struggles in everything around him. Neat rows of apples in a supermarket become a metaphor for the sterility of suburban life. His wife's new boots seem to be sinister objects, designed to threaten and mock him. Even a simple drive down a country lane mirrors Michael's agonizing state of mind:
The road was like a pointless, rambling sentence that never succeeds in conveying information or reaching any meaningful conclusion. Under a heavy gray summer sky it passed by ragged farms and fields, by the static contemplation of cows and sheep, by yards strewn with the muddied metal skeletons of farm machinery, by more farms and fields and villages neither diminishing nor increasing but always in more or less the same quantity, so that a feeling I often used to have in those days was gradually forced on me, the feeling that I had unintentionally left the proper path of my life and was now lost and far from home.
Cusk's own life has lately been dominated by the logistical and emotional demands of motherhood. Her nonfiction book A Life's Work (2003) is a candid discussion of the identity crisis triggered by the birth of her first child, while The Lucky Ones (2004), a collection of short stories, explores this same theme in fictional form. In the Fold continues to probe the relationships between parents and children. As he watches the sheep of Egypt Hill deliver lamb after lamb, Michael tries to forget his wife, who feels "erased" by the demands of new motherhood.
Rachel Cusk spoke to me on October 2, 2005, from her home in Somerset, England.
There's a familiar storyline in English literature that deals with leaving the court for the countryside. In Shakespearean plays, for instance, the forest is often the place where wrongs are righted and lovers come together. Did you consciously invert this tradition when you created the depraved family of In the Fold?
In the Fold is certainly a product of that tradition, and maybe a bit of a commentary on it as well. One reason I'm interested in the countryside is that there's not as much influx of other influences as there is in, say, London—and you tend to find a more thoroughly English way of living. Society in the English countryside is still strangely, quaintly divided. If black comedy and a certain type of social commentary are what you want, I think English rural communities offer quite a lot of material.
Although you've lived most of your life in England, you spent your earliest years in Canada and in Los Angeles. Does this give you the ability to write about English life from the perspective of a foreigner?
I was born abroad, but my parents were both English. Still, those few years of separation, and then coming back to England as an outsider, did give me an ability to see the country in a slightly detached way. I suppose I was made aware of what Englishness actually is because I only became immersed in it later in life.
You've also spent a good amount of time in Spain. All throughout In the Fold, Paul Hanbury's wife, Vivian, glorifies the Spanish lifestyle and contrasts it with the English one. Why did you choose to weave Spain into the plot in this oblique way, almost as though it were an offstage character?
To English people, Europe functions as a strange alternative universe. English people tend to choose a European country to express the suppressed part of their personality. So people who would like to be more arty and passionate become obsessed with Italy. People who'd like to be more intellectual and sophisticated become obsessed with France. The obsession with Spain has to do with feeling that at heart you're really a let-your-hair-down type of person. And this is, of course, so antithetical to the character of Vivian. She's absolutely the perfect person to be obsessed with Spain. In my mind, her obsession is very true to life as a quirk of English people.
Have you had any disillusioning experiences with bohemians that inspired you to invent a family like the Hanburys?
An English magazine recently approached me about this. They were so confident that the world I created for In the Fold must have been based on a real-life experience that they asked me to write an article for them about the bohemian family I had known as an impressionable adolescent. It's quite flattering, really, because there was no such family. But I've met people like that as an adult: those kinds of family groups who are obsessed with their own significance to the point of being publicity-seeking. I view this as a particularly English phenomenon, a ghost or bastard of our dead aristocracy. Perhaps it's simply in our nature to be a hierarchical and monarchy-obsessed society. You still find that idea of a clan or a house operating in people's lives.
Nearly every character in this book seems to be a frustrated artist. Michael is a musician who takes his violin out once a week to play at a local pub. Michael's wife, Rebecca, insists that she has latent creative potential. The Hanburys' daughter, Caris, aspires to be a painter of flowers. Why is it that none of these characters ever succeeds in living a truly artistic life?
That's definitely a major theme in the book—the idea that by calling yourself an artist, you're signifying that you think you're special in some way. I thought this would be quite an interesting thing to talk about in a fictional form. It appealed to my sense of humor. And really, this syndrome happens most often with people who imagine that they're writers. I chose to write about other art forms in this book, but what you'll hear most commonly is that people believe they have a book in them.