Cover illustration: Divid Dean
Established credentials
For over thirty years now Elizabeth Laird has been producing fine novels for older children/young adults, all well worth reading and some amongst the best examples of contemporary children’s literature.* Several times she has been nominated for the Carnegie Medal and won other major awards - and quite right too. Many of her books deal with children in crisis, facing war, displacement, poverty or abuse, often in Africa or the Middle East. She always writes with sympathetic
realism, underpinned by detailed knowledge and understanding based on her own experience and that of others she has known. Her books are sometimes quite harrowing, but always engaging, affecting, illuminating and deeply compassionate. At very least a selection should be on the shelves of young readers, or borrowed from school/public library, as well as in the repertoire of their teachers.
However her latest book, although a wonderful read, seems initially so different from her others as to be a remarkable surprise, if not indeed something of a shock.
Made of memories
Elizabeth Laird is perfectly open that much of The Misunderstandings of Charity Brown is based on her own childhood, although heavily fictionalised. However, it reads very much like a memoir, a detailed slice of domestic life - and a very convincingly authentic one. This being the case, it took me a while to think of Charity Brown as a literary novel, although it most certainly is, and a very fine one indeed. In style and content I found it more reminiscent of the brilliant Hilary McKay than most of my recent reads, although that author’s latest successes were set during World War I and II, whereas Elizabeth Laird’s new book is set in the post-war period of the 1950s.
Becoming Charity
The story is essentially about a young girl, the eponymous Charity, growing up in a religious family, their behaviour bound by the narrow doctrines of a small fundamentalist and evangelical Christian congregation. As someone strongly anti-religious, I initially thought I might not take to this theme, but actually the narrative itself does not proselytise, almost the opposite. It strongly promotes the importance of every individual thinking for themselves, and charts Charity’s gradual questioning of some of the most extreme tenets of her family’s faith, and their biblical base. She is, for example, quite put out at St Paul’s blatant disregard for women, linked as it is with her own church’s practice of denying them an active role in worship.
Charity’s expanding horizons, and gently liberalising thinking, are moved along by the introduction of several interesting subsidiary characters, brought to vivid life by the skilful writing. Principal amongst these is Rebecca, Charity’s neighbour and soon her friend, who comes from a non-practicing Jewish family, who are nevertheless subject to prejudice, even in post-war Britain. Even more pertinently Rebecca’s family still bear the deep emotional scars of close relatives murdered in the holocaust. Others too, subtly influence and develop Charity’s thinking, both positively and negatively, including guests who come to stay in their home, and her own older siblings, who are already starting to live a more liberal life.
Gradually Charity develops into a young woman who can take from her background, filtered through her own quiet but strong personality, qualities of kindness and compassion for all people. Having gone through a period of resenting her name, she actually grows into it and this is a wonderful and encouraging thing. Of course, a religious background is not a prerequisite of such qualities, but is it good to have a model of someone taking the positives from religious thinking, whilst leaving behind much of its negative and constraining doctrine.
A rich, reflective read
That the shape and content of the novel is a reflective rather that a dramatic one does not stop it from being compelling reading, or charting a strong arc of development through its course. It takes an experienced and skilled writer to achieve the climax of a narrative in a domestic scene where family and friends share a meal of Indian cuisine. But that is exactly what Elizabeth Laird is, and that is exactly what she does. Through this rather chaotic but joyous gathering of people from different backgrounds, different beliefs and outlooks, she is able to demonstrate the potential of kindness and concern to others that is the destination of her story. The meal and her novel are a quiet triumph. And this is, after all, typical Elizabeth Laird. a book that celebrates humanity and compassion for all. That the author herself grew into a person who has these same qualities in abundance is amply testified in her canon of work.
This is certainly not a book for young readers seeking magical fantasy, intriguing mystery or rollercoaster adventure. Yet I am sure sensitive readers, who appreciate a slower, gentler story that allows them to share vicariously the life of another, will enjoy it greatly. It will also mean much, I think, to any young people who are starting to ask the ‘big questions’ about life (and death). It will not, of course, give them answers; there often are none. But it will reassure them that others commonly experience the same doubts and ask exactly the same questions. It will also encourage and support them in knowing that, such unresolved issues notwithstanding, it is possible to find hugely positive routes into and through life.
*Note:
My own particular favourites would probably be Welcome to Nowhere and The Garbage King but, as I say, all are recommendable.
