Imaginary Toys

by Julian Mitchell

  The report is signed by all the members of the committee.

  *

  That’s not right. Not what I was trying to do. All I have done there is to put ‘the committee’ where before I wrote ‘I’. What one needs is objective reporting, evidence, submissions. I haven’t had much evidence from Charles recently. Try and do better next time.

  *

  This morning the committee heard evidence from E, the female section of the second couple under investigation. J is the male section. The committee was having coffee in the Rawlinson Café, its usual official station. No stenographer was present, but the committee believes this to be an honest précis of the evidence submitted. E began by describing herself as ‘in love with’ J. The committee at once explained its interest in obtaining a definition of this phrase. E declined to help, saying that if the committee didn’t know it was high time it found out. Instead she volunteered the following reminiscence as being typical of the state of mind she undergoes when ‘in love with’ J. At one stage of his Oxford career J had undertaken to appear with seven other members of his college, plus an eighth member who steered the boat, but otherwise took no part in its propulsion, in some rowing races upon the river Isis. She did not attempt to describe the object of these races, social or economic or otherwise, assuming, correctly, that the committee was not unaware of them. She said she had given little thought to the possible effect on her mind of having her ‘lover’ as a competitor in this particular tributary of aquatic sports. Physical prowess of a sporting nature did not, she stated, stimulate her sexually as far as she was aware. She was little interested in the races as such, and wholly ignorant of the rules and methods of racing and rowing. She went on to describe her unwillingness to attend the actual races themselves, her reasons being the inclemency of the weather, the necessity of academic work, and a premonition that the races would prove unentertaining. She was obliged to withdraw this last reason for non-attendance after the possible excitements had been vividly described to her by J. She decided to attend the races, however, in order to please J. She went alone to the barge of his college at the appointed time for the race to begin, and stood on the top deck. She was there greeted by a friend who explained to her from which direction the racers might be expected to appear. It was, at the time, raining, she declared, and she was therefore wearing a raincoat, and, as an additional means of protection, carrying an umbrella. Nonetheless she felt unusually cold and wet and wished very much that she had not given in to the temptation to please J.

  At this point the committee interrupted to ask why she chose to use the word ‘temptation’. She said she did not know, but that in her opinion love was a series of minor temptations, almost all of which she gave in to. She explained this further by saying that, for her, giving pleasure was always a temptation. She then continued with her narrative. She watched dutifully the bend of the river round which the rowing-boats were supposed to come. When, after about five minutes, she could not say exactly, no boat had yet appeared, she asked her friend whether she had not perhaps missed the race by arriving too late. A comparison between their wrist-watches showed that on the contrary she was too early, her watch showing a time indubitably later than his. At that moment she heard the distant report of a gun, and was informed that this was the signal for the race to begin.

  At this point the committee again interrupted to ask if she was sure this story would in fact shed any light on the definition of the phrase ‘in love with’, and whether it had any point at all. E replied that she was coming to the point, if the committee would only have patience.

  The committee apologized and asked her to continue.

  She again described the sound of the gun going off and the explanation of this phenomenon as given to her by her friend. It was at this point, she said, when she was aware that the race was, at last, in progress, that she became aware of a mounting excitement in herself that she could not at the time account for.

  The committee suggested that her prolonged exposure to inclement weather might perhaps be resulting in the beginnings of a chill. This suggestion was ignored.

  E stated that she found herself gripping the rail of the barge with a force that surprised her. She let go of the rail, only to clutch it again, feeling for a moment that she might faint. This feeling quickly passed, she said, and she looked down the river towards the bend, but no boat was yet in sight. When at last a boat did appear she was unable to tell whether or not it was the one which included J in its crew. She asked her friend whether or not it was that boat, but he expressed considerable doubt, saying that the College’s boat was ‘near the bottom of the division’. This phrase was not explained to the committee. More boats appeared at intervals, and the foremost boat continued its progress up the river towards the barge on which she was standing. The rain, she observed, continued to fall, and from the comments of those around her it was clear that the visibility prevented anyone from having an uncomplicated view as to how the race was developing. The excitement she had felt at the sound of the starting-gun had not in any way diminished, and she enquired frequently of her friend whether or not the boat containing J had yet appeared. The friend became impatient and said that he would inform her as soon as he was able to obtain accurate information, but that conditions were not ideal for commentating. The friend’s attitude she recognized to have been reasonable, but she admitted to a feeling that he was being unnecessarily rude and insensitive, if not actually provoking. At last he told her that it seemed unlikely that the boat containing J would appear, since the leading boats had already passed the barge, and boats lower in the division than the College’s had come into sight around the bend. Alarmed at this news she asked whether the College’s boat might not perhaps have sunk. But the friend said that this was most unlikely, though possible. He suggested that the College’s boat had probably ‘bumped’ the boat in front of it, or been ‘bumped’ by the boat behind. E asked whether such collision were dangerous to the participants. He explained that the phrase ‘bumping races’ referred to the method by which winners and losers might be identified. To ‘bump’ was a technical term meaning that one boat had merely touched lightly the boat in front. When such a ‘bump’ occurred, the boats concerned were obliged to withdraw from further participation in the race, and when the races were resumed next day would appear in an order opposite to the one in which they appeared that afternoon. That is to say, if the order was originally boat A boat B, and during the course of the race boat B ‘bumped’ boat A, then the next day the order of starting would be boat B boat A. E said that she listened to this very simple explanation of the rules of the sport without understanding it in the very least. The clearer her friend made it, the more impossible it became for her to understand. All she wished to know was whether the boat containing J had been a success or not. She expressed her thanks to her friend for his detailed and admirable explanation, and enquired whether J’s boat had ‘bumped’ or been ‘bumped’. There was still some confusion about this, the friend explained, but they would soon discover, since the victorious boat would undoubtedly row up the river and receive the plaudits of the spectators, few though there were. E explained that her continued excitement could not have been due to the adventures of the race itself, since it was by now clear that the race was over. Therefore she attributed her sense of heightened awareness of pulse, breathing, etc., to a desire to see J in a successful boat. When it became obvious that J’s boat had not been victorious she became deeply concerned for him, and left the barge, feeling that he would be ashamed to see her there after his remarkable, as it seemed to her, failure. Later she explained to J that such had been her feeling, and he said that he was amazed at her sensitivity, reminding her that he had told her that he was not expecting to be successful that afternoon.

  The committee said that it found her story interesting, up to a point, but what was the point, it wondered.

  E said that the story was not yet over. The experience of the first day had unnerved her some
what, and she determined to return next day, not only to please J but also to overcome the feeling that his failure was anything shameful, and to determine whether or not he was speaking truthfully in not feeling shame himself. On this occasion, and on the following two days of the rowing festival, J’s boat ‘rowed over’, that is to say it neither ‘bumped’ nor was subject to the indignity of being ‘bumped’. By the third day, E said, she was aware of the rules of the sport and able to follow it with some approach at intelligence. But that she was aware at each race in which J took part, and in no race in which he did not take part, of a feeling of intense excitement. She described herself as scarcely able to look down the river after the gun had gone off. She said that she was at once thrown into a mental confusion. She could not bear the thought of his boat having been ‘bumped’ or having ‘bumped’ out of sight, since in either case she would not know what had happened, and would, furthermore, be prevented from seeing him indulging in his sport. The alternative, however, was if anything still more distressing. If his boat rounded the distant bend, it was necessarily either pursuing or being pursued. In both events E found herself in great mental agony as J’s boat, and of course J himself, approached, the effort being intense. She was consumed with anxiety lest the boat fail to make the ‘bump’ it was attempting, or failed to evade its pursuer. She described these feelings as absurd and exhausting, but inevitable. The same thing happened upon all subsequent occasions that she watched J taking part in this sport. She had subtly prevailed upon him to abandon it, but he had not done so till his academic work forced him to spend more afternoons in the library. She said that she was not at all sure whether the events she had described would help the committee to define the phrase ‘in love with’, but the only explanation she could offer for her feelings was that she was ‘in love with’ J, and that this state, if it could be described as a state, was responsible for her admittedly foolish anxieties.

  The committee thanked her very much for the evidence she had given, and bought her another cup of coffee. Shortly afterwards she left, and the committee added her evidence to what it already had on the case. Previous evidence includes verbal conversation with both E and J, reports from other sources, visual observation and overheard fragments of conversation between E and J.

  The new evidence is valuable in many ways. It confirms previous reports and findings that to be ‘in love with’ someone, or simply to ‘love’ him, involves a certain amount of irrationality on the part of the patient (patient being used in the sense that Mr T. S. Eliot has used it in his drama Murder in the Cathedral, a document otherwise unhelpful to the committee). The patient is aware of the irrationality, and may try to overcome it, almost inevitably without success.

  The evidence also clearly establishes a connection between what E described as a ‘heightened sense of awareness’ and the state of being ‘in love’. It may also have established a connection between physical and mental confusion—the clutching at the rail of the barge seems to have been definitely connected with E’s state of mind with regard to J. This connection, however, has long been established in such cases. Its value here is only in confirming that E really is ‘in love with’ J by the usually accepted standards.

  What, though, is new, what previously unknown is now known as a result of this voluntary narrative? Nothing. The committee states this with much regret. The nature of love remains as mysterious to it as heretofore. It does not regret, however, hearing the evidence, as the committee now feels that it knows even more about E than it knew before, and it likes E, anyway.

  The committee considered the relationship of E and J after the interview was at an end, and decided that nothing was changed. The couple are definitely ‘in love with’ each other, and the problems that they experience are ones of temperament, exacerbated by social and religious difficulties not always within the couple’s control. The narrative illustrates the differences in temperament, particularly at the point where E confessed her feeling to J, who seemed surprised. E’s feelings are not always very clear, whereas J’s usually are. This should not, however, make for permanent difficulty.

  The committee has previously had opportunity to express its contempt for the social system of Great Britain, and for the evils of organized religion of any sort, but in particular of the Anglo-Catholic movement within the Church of England, and of one Father Gibbons even more particularly, an especially evil side-kick of a long-established tyranny. The committee considers the arguments of that movement to be the purest historical hogwash, to adapt an American phrase of which the committee is perhaps too fond, regarding the borrowing of Roman rites, rituals, vestments and all that jazz, as little short of barefaced robbery. The committee however believes that E and J are not so craven as to fall victims to the propaganda of the holy sacrament, and that if it comes to a race would put its money, short of funds though the committee is, owing to the niggardliness of government support, on the couple rather than on the thurifer.

  *

  One of the advantages of being homosexual is that one is prevented from being class-conscious. There are, of course, those who can only have sexual relations with truck-drivers and sailors, but this is a preoccupation with occupations rather than social status. As a homosexual, one divides people into two groups. Not, as most non-queers would imagine, into queers and non-queers, but into those that mind one’s queerness and those who don’t. It is a defensive classification, but a necessary one if one is to avoid unpleasantness. I think the lack of class-consciousness is an advantage. But at the moment I can’t think of any others.

  *

  Books to be written. Wanted—an enterprising publisher.

  A History of Onanism, with many two-tone illustrations. Tweed and Potomac, 425. ($8.50). Limited edition of thirteen copies, with illustrations in colour by Salvador Dali. One hundred guineas, three hundred dollars. By Strunk, White, Hillard, Botting and Russell. Reviewed by Lionel Trilling in Partisan Review. Expanded review printed in Encounter and later collected in Fugitives from the Double Image of Liberal Tradition. Fugitives reviewed by Barzun in Partisan Review. Expanded review printed in Encounter, collected, etc. In England the review of the review would be serialized in the Observer and given flattering reviews in all the reviews. After a month it would be remaindered, after a year sold for pulp. But A History of Onanism would by then be in its eighteenth impression.

  A Hurried View of Attica—aerial photographs of Greece, with text by Patrick Leigh Fermor, Lawrence Durrell, Robert Liddell, Maurice Bowra and Lionel Trilling. There would be no one left to review it, so it would sell like mad. Preface by Freya Stark. Poems by Seferis. Tradition and the Individual Talent—a new novel by I. Compton Burnett. The Uses of Illiteracy. An autobiography, by Richard Hoggart, introduction by Raymond Williams. Describes his gradual withdrawal from contemporary life, his discovery of the beauty of the Middle Ages, and his contempt for the classlessness of modern society. Dedicated to William Morris. There is a photogravure of Kelmscott Manor, and a reproduction of the binding of the Kelmscott Chaucer.

  Historical Argument and Logical Analysis, the controversial memoirs of H. R. Trevor-Roper as told to A. J. P. Taylor.

  *

  Delta starts his exam tomorrow, so tonight I gave a small party. I’m afraid Charles guessed, damn him. I made a very foolish slip of the tongue to him the other day, calling Delta Delta. Why do I use these Greek letters? I can’t remember now, I always have done. Fear that this notebook may fall into the hands of my landlady or the police? I don’t think so. An innate love of secrecy, perhaps. Or do I write this in the hope it will be found after my death? That I shall be a sufficiently interesting person to have my biography written? Do I write this to give clues to my biographers? ‘Who is the dark man with freckles of the notebook? Many suggestions have been made, including some which can only be called unscholarly. It must be said at once that there is little likelihood that Nicholas Sharpe was at any time in love with the Vice-Chancellor of the University or the Stationmaste
r of Oxford. There is not a shred of evidence to support these suggestions, in the notebooks or elsewhere. No, we must look more closely at the lorry-drivers of the period. It is well known that all homosexuals are attracted to lorry-drivers, and we need not think that Sharpe was any exception to the rule….’

  [The very fact that I write such absurdities shows that I do hope to be written about. The paragraph above may be taken as a deliberate hint. What then about this piece in brackets. That way madness lies. Perhaps I should burn the notebook at once.]

  The party was small and enjoyable. Delta, at any rate, seemed to find it amusing. Charles brought Margaret, who was much nicer than usual. (See above.) When Delta left, before the party was over,

  I said: ‘Sleep well and don’t worry.’

  Delta: I shan’t worry, Nicky, but I may well not sleep.

  Me: Don’t be foolish. You will need all the sleep you can get.

  Delta: I have my life to sleep in. I can do without it at times. There is so much to think about just at the moment.

  Me: What, for instance?

  Delta: a curious smile, a handshake held too long, exit.

  That, as they used to say in America, is the way the cookie crumbles. Elaine and Jack seemed happy. Conversation generally dry. Plenty of wit, but not too brittle. I think I may be rather good at giving parties. I must learn to cook. Dinners are so much less exhausting. Once the food is cooked you can sit back and forget about the awful business of filling glasses and mixing drinks and fetching ice. None of that wandering around overhearing fragments of dull dialogue. None of that constant anxiety for one’s carpet.

  *

  Phi has been unusually silent. No telegrams, no postcards. This can mean either a sudden unannounced appearance, or a very long heart-breaking letter, followed by a sudden appearance. What on earth would I do with him now? The parties do not begin properly till next week. I hope he can delay his arrival till then. I have sent an overnight telegram to Delta saying: THE FRIENDS OF THE BODLEIAN LIBRARY WISH YOU NOT LUCK BUT CHANCE TO SHOW YOUR FULL ABILITY. An absurd waste of money. It comes of having associated with people like Phi. To them money is something to be used for pleasure. To me it is still something to be used for getting the basic necessities, food, alcohol, books, cigarettes. Not that I am short at the moment. It isn’t a question of being short at all. It is a question of attitude. If I had as much money as Phi I would still not spend it in the way he does. Partly because I wouldn’t know how, partly because I wouldn’t really want to. I should be equally extravagant, I expect, but on quite different things. Money is only intolerable when it obsesses one. The trouble is that if one has ever been short, one is always likely to be slightly neurotic about it. One should fight against obsession. I still can’t help feeling that it was a waste of money to send that telegram, though. Perhaps if I had given him a rose, as Charles did to Margaret. But that would have involved expense of a quite different kind. And I did get a definite pleasure in sending it. Because I think he will know at once who it is from. I shall certainly be very disappointed if he doesn’t.