After my marathon excursion into House of Leaves (see post from July 28), I decided to dial it back on the density and laboriousness of my next reading effort. Instead of choosing one of the unread books from the pile next to the bed, I opted to revisit a work from one of my favorite British authors, Ruth Rendell. For those of you who don't know, Rendell, who died in 2015, was a bestselling novelist who won multiple awards for her standalone psychological thrillers, and long-running detective series featuring Chief Inspector Wexford. During her down time, Rendell also managed to be appointed a Commander of the British Empire, sat in the House of Lords (Labour Party), and was a bona fide Baroness. During her long and prolific career, Ruth Rendell produced more than 60 novels, a number of which were published under her pseudonym, Barbara Vine. Whether writing as Rendell or Vine, the author offered up a diverse and inclusive cast to help populate all her works: in addition to her progressive racial, gender and societal mixes, many LGBTQ+ individuals can be found throughout her canon. Her carefully constructed layers of emotional complexity and moral ambiguity defy the limitations of genre writing (even if she was categorized as a mystery writer).
I have a fairly comprehensive collection of Rendell/Vine novels and the one I chose to reread this past week is called The St. Zita Society. First published in 2012, The St. Zita Society is a late Rendell work that blends murder, suspense, obsession, humor, high drama and satire to great effect. Set in an exclusive enclave of London's Knightsbridge district, the book is a sort of modern-day, Downton Abbey-esque immersion into the complicated lives of the neighborhood's upstairs and downstairs residents. Within this block of posh mansions and townhouses, lives collide in various ways. For instance, in one home, the young chauffeur is carrying on simultaneous affairs with the wife and daughter of a conservative member of Parliament. What could go wrong?
Across the way, another overlooked wife conducts clandestine trysts with a semi-famous paramour while her cold, stone-faced husband holes up in his office doing god-knows-what. Aided in these endeavors by her cunning au pair, the lady avoids prying neighborly eyes by having her lover gain ingress through the servant's quarters instead of the main entryway. Meanwhile, the nanny of this woman's three children is completely preoccupied with the toddler son, who holds her in higher regard than he does his negligent mother. A devout Muslim, the nanny heartily disapproves of both her employers' behavior but remains a devoted servant in order to keep close to the baby. For his part, this family's chauffeur, being an evangelical Christian, also takes a dim view of the goings-on in the house but (just barely) manages to keep his opinions to himself.
Down the street, residing in one half of an opulent townhouse, there's a snotty, self-obsessed gay couple and their upper-floor tenant who performs unpaid secretarial and domestic duties for the pair and wonders they don't appreciate her. Of course, as the neighborhood's resident do-gooder, she's--naturally--not appreciated by anyone. The basement flat of the building is leased by an ancient, aloof crone who lives in squalor beneath the owner's chic milieu and tends to mind her own business. Until, one day, she doesn't. Occupying the other half of the townhouse, an elderly princess of dubious title lives alongside her long-suffering, longtime companion/domestic drudge and a small dog named Gussie. Despite its glamorous outward appearance, the interior of this address has never been renovated during the long and imperious reign of the princess. In fact, the princess has little interest in much of anything until her domestic's good-looking great-nephew begins paying them evening visits, much to the delight of her "royal highness". As it happens, the nephew is one of the stars of the princess's favorite TV soap. As it also happens, he has ulterior motives for visiting this particular street.
Easily the least conflicted of this lot is the divorced doctor, a kind, generous gentleman whose large residence occasionally provides sanctuary to his driver, a decent enough sort who helps set the St. Zita Society in motion. And, finally, there is Dex, the strange, local gardener who gives everyone (excepting the good doctor) the willies. Dex is a loner with a dark history. He says little and is constantly on the lookout out for evil spirits masquerading as human beings. He also has a mysterious cellphone with a vengeful god residing within. Dex knows this because the god speaks to him and gives him instructions.
Anchoring the quiet block is an upscale pub called the Dugong, where the St. Zita Society--so named for the patron saint of maids and domestic servants--is formed to address concerns of the "downstairs" crew staffing the grand homes along the street. With June, the princess's companion, and Jimmy, the doctor's driver, chairing the meetings, the group provides company and conversation, drinks and laughs, drama, and even a little romance, but never accomplishes much: they all value the perks provided by their current circumstances to rock any boats. For some, it's worth putting up with the verbal abuse and mercurial natures of their "betters" in order to retain what they have (or might get); others, with little to complain about, simply enjoy the outings for their own sake.
Time passes, and just when it appears that the St. Zita Society, with little else to do, will be reduced to patrolling the area for errant dog poop and writing letters to indifferent officials, the delicate balance of life in Sloane Gardens is suddenly upended. An out-of-character burst of temperament results in a mysterious disappearance, and it's not long before investigators descend upon this exclusive cocoon for the rich, where everyone is class-conscious, even the dopey, ineffectual cops. Among these people, affluent and indigent, righteous and unrighteous, familiarity almost always breeds contempt, misunderstandings abound, alliances are forged and terminated (sometimes with extreme prejudice) and life somehow goes on. At least for some. Where is Chief Inspector Wexford when you need him?
(The Lovers, 1928, Rene Magritte)
The St. Zita Society is an extremely well-written and multi-faceted psychological thriller that may frustrate readers who require short chapters and incessant action. It does require patience because, as in much of her other work, Rendell explores the fears, frailties and emotional states of a considerable cast of characters. In fact, when I began rereading the book, I initially found it difficult to keep all the characters separate. However, by focusing on the story (and a handy map inside the cover detailing who does what and who lives where) it became easier to differentiate one character from the other; of course, it also helps that each has his or her own unique personality. I've read online comments about the dearth of likable or relatable characters in this book but that's nonsense: they mirror actual human beings at both their best and worst (okay, so a few never rise above their worst but that's the way of the world). As the book progresses, the suspense builds, and I stayed up well into the night in order to see how it was all going to end (I'd forgotten since first reading it 10 years ago). Rendell frequently added a twist to the end of her tales, and this one is delicious. I had to go back and read the last chapter a couple of times just to appreciate the author's audacity and ponder what the ending might mean for certain other characters in the book. If the plot sounds a bit like a high-class soap opera, it's not. It's an intriguing, highly developed psychodrama that surprises and mesmerizes (at least for me): you may think you know where Rendell is going with each chapter, but she slyly pulls the rug out from under you, exceeding expectations all along the way.
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