The Offing by Benjamin Myers
The Offing teaches you that underneath all its wit, charm and bite, there still endures a belief in Britain, as if raw, shining pearls may yet be uncovered in the muck of empire, to be pulled ashore, unsullied by its legacy and presence — still ongoing.
It matters little that its teeth are bared at mostly the right things: men, notions of progress etc. These are too obvious, vague and never fleshed out. It seems as if Benjamin Myers speaks of poetry and prose as if divorced from reality; poetry is the stuff of paradise that stems a tide of ‘bad things’. There is no understanding of why or how ‘bad things’ happen.
At one point, Dulcie, the principal character, states outright that nationalism is the root of evil and she may be forgiven for thinking so, but Myers, not living in the immediate aftermath of the 1940s, must know that national liberation movements do not inevitably lead to fascism. Unless one is as painfully British as this novel, it is not too outlandish to expect an author in the 21st century to come up with better answers, e.g. anti-blackness, white supremacy, empire, capital, etc.
Even when it brings up German fascism, The Offing cannot explain its rise to power, because it seems unaware or unwilling to draw connections to the other imperial endeavors: doing so would implicate Dulcie and Robert both, and to breach the issue of responsibility would require a ruthlessness that unfortunately seems to ring foreign to this work.
Dulcie’s observations and teachings are meant to be freeing, but they leave me numb and paralyzed, because the premise slides into absurdity: a boy learns about the world from a “worldly” older woman that happens to be obscenely wealthy. She is lovable and charming and pleasantly abrasive, but not so much so that it would genuinely clash with our preconceived notions about the world.
It is the way these figures are drawn inwards that proves disappointing: there is no wider community being stitched closer together through their actions, nor do we ever get to understand the precise nature of the resistance against society beyond Dulcie’s own, personal history, and its justified resentment of British high society. There is no grappling with wealth, coal or unions, and there doesn’t have to be, but the novel’s own thesis on how ‘bad things’ happen is all the more brittle for it.
It is as if ‘bad things’ arrive with the same certainty as the seasons, which is little assistance in preparing for winter, nor is it particularly insightful. What is there to be done against autumn? There are people who are exonerated far too quickly and thoroughly here, and for what? A nature metaphor? No, war is manufactured, as is every conflict between humans. It is not inevitable. Empires do not slide into war like some Greek tragedy. That notion, too, exonerates them, and this I am not willing to forgive.
“If only everyone would meet a kind, obscenely wealthy person that welcomes them into their home and life, and educates them about the world, we would be in a better place.” The Offing does not move to complicate this premise, even as the situation constructed seems to beg for it: the transmission of information between generations is a fascinating topic and it offers breadth as well as depth for unearthing the particularly “Western” ailments that have brought this world to its knees.
To make enticing again the idea and practice of younger people moving in with older people or vice versa, and learning from each other, is a noble pursuit. I just wish this had something more to say about it, or anything else.
You may also find this review on Goodreads
