For a short time before the First World War, Compton Mackenzie lived on Capri, "island of pleasure" as it has been called. The stay was fruitful, resulting in two "romans à clef," Vestal Fire and Extraordinary Women, published in 1927 and 1928 respectively. These see Compton Mackenzie at his satirical best.
The island of Capri, in the early twentieth-century, was a remarkably tolerant place providing a haven in particular for those with the sort of sexual appetites that were banned elsewhere. Homosexuals, both male and female, retreated to Capri and many were to find themselves appearing in fictional guise in Compton Mackenzie's two novels. Narrative drive is not what you will find here, instead there is delicious and wicked social comedy that exuberantly charts the endless feuds and machinations.
Compton Mackenzie was born into a theatrical family. His father, Edward Compton, was an actor and theatre company manager; his sister, Fay Compton, starred in many of James M. Barrie's plays, including Peter Pan, or The Boy Who Wouldn't Grow Up. He was educated at St Paul's School and Magdalen College, Oxford where he obtained a degree in Modern History.
Mackenzie was married three times and aside from his writing also worked as an actor, political activist, and broadcaster. He served with British Intelligence in the Eastern Mediterranean during World War I, later publishing four books on his experiences. Compton Mackenzie was from 1920–1923 Tenant of Herm and Jethou and he shares many similarities to the central character in D.H. Lawrence's short story The Man Who Loved Islands, despite Lawrence saying "the man is no more he than I am." Mackenzie at first asked Secker, who published both authors, not to print the story and it was left out of one collection.
1928 was a bumper year for lesbians in fiction, chiefly Woolf’s Orlando, Elizabeth Bowen’s The Hotel and Radclyffe Hall’s notorious The Well of Loneliness. Alongside these came Compton Mackenzie’s Extraordinary Women. Of these Hall’s was the only novel to be banned: Woolf seems to have escaped censorship because her book was a little bit too intricate and modernist for prosecutors to interpret; Bowen’s novel was immensely discreet; as for Mackenzie’s it seems the Home Office toyed with prosecution but decided his story just wasn’t as earnest as Hall’s so far less likely to “inspire readers to adopt the practices” it documented.
It’s mostly set on the island of Sirene, a stand-in for Capri. It centres on an ad hoc queer community during the last year of WW1 and the year after. Capri was known for its queer-friendly, literary atmosphere, Sapphic writers and artists, authors like Scott Fitzgerald, Somerset Maugham, along with other celebrities and wealthy socialites, flocked to its hotels and villas. And Mackenzie based his characters on the real-life figures he met during his time there. At the centre of Mackenzie’s convoluted, near-Shakespearian, narrative is Rosalba vain, boyish and beautiful, women pursue her everywhere she goes. She’s a version of Mimi Franchetti famed for her numerous conquests, whose arrival in Capri apparently caused quite a stir.
Rosalba lands on Sirene with two women already in tow, both competing for her attention: the monocled, aristocratic Aurora or Rory (Radclyffe Hall) who bears an uncanny resemblance to her beloved bulldogs, and the hopelessly-devoted Giulia. Once installed in the Island’s Hotel Augusto Rosalba wastes no time ensnaring the affections of a host of visiting women - included on Rosalba’s list of prospects is pianist Olimpia, a stand-in for Romaine Brooks; and Cleo based on musician Renata Borgetta - who had an affair with Mackenzie’s wife while they were holidaying on Capri.
Mackenzie’s narrative is viewed as a cult, queer classic: Mary Renault was a fan and Sarah Waters later drew on it for part of Tipping the Velvet, but the reality didn’t meet my expectations. It’s incredibly slow, long, dense with barely any plot, although Mackenzie does toss in an element of mystery towards the end. It’s also been criticised for being slightly misogynistic but, after reading this, my impression is that Mackenzie pretty much loathed and despised everyone. His style is quite odd, ornate but would-be satirical and laced with some great one-liners buried in acres of dull, heavy-handed prose - Oscar Wilde meets Max Beerbohm meets Evelyn Waugh without any of their strong points. There are some fascinating references to the culture of the time, the spiritualism craze, the ease with which the rich could evade the ravages of war and find spaces to indulge their decadent lifestyles. But these are then derailed by bizarre digressions, an extensive discussion about the pros and cons of keeping peacocks is just one example. A huge disappointment.
Not as great as Vestal Fire, Compton Mackenzie's other Capri novel, but a fun read. Recommended if you're interested in the history of Capri or lesbian culture in the early twentieth century.
The description of a Lesbian Island sounded interesting to say the least and really unusual but somehow I didn't notice that it was written by a man so was obviously never going to end well.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
This is what I would call a lesbian soap opera from one hundred years ago. The cast of characters are not that different from lesbians in 2020. However, they are living on the island of Capri and they are fabulously wealthy, or attached to women willing to spend their money on them. This book could probably be turned into a successful film.
For the first seven chapters, they all seem pretentious, bitchy, and unlikeable. Then there is a gradual appreciation of one character, Rory Freemantle, who is obsessed with capturing the heart of Rosalba, and continually disappointed as Rosalba is obsessed with conquering every woman on the island. The pathos of Rory sustains the last two thirds of the novel and I ended up liking it as a whole. A delightful gay man named Daffodil enters the story near the end as emotional support for Rory.
Another book I read because Shirley Hazzard praised the author in her book: Greene on Capri.
It is very amusing; another reviewer called it a gay soap opera of the early twentieth century, and that had already occurred to me. Capri was a liberal bastion of acceptance during this period; the novel was published in 1928. Rich older women cluck around young and beautiful women, desiring them, sheltering them, quarreling with other seducers, and generally behaving badly. There are particularly nasty characters; one of the prettiest, most-amusing women, also turns spite into a weapon often used. She stirs an already boiling pot. And many of the inhabitants participate with her. Although one particular, older and wealthy woman participates, she is also a sad character who evinces some wisdom at the end. Having lost her young lover, she looks at the scope of history, finding some comfort. As well, a very amusing gay man named Daffodil kindly comforts her at the end of the book – and there aren't many of the characters who comfort others. Both the style of the book and the social milieu in which it was written are of a very different era. Both add to the pleasure of the reading. It is slow in the telling, and is a comedy of manners, but again, very interesting.
Extraordinary Women is a hard book to rate because it is so very uneven. There is some brilliant writing, evocations of an unforgettable place, exquisite sentences. But also much that is pedestrian, a sense of large-scale padding, characters that are not interesting and rather interchangeable. My feeling that the book is about twice as long as it should have been.
For example, there is a gratuitously detailed description of a drunken party that goes on for literally scores of pages.