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Ten years ago Fay Weldon was a writer in residence at the Savoy Hotel in London. Since then it has had a complete refurbishment, but its particular atmosphere, its essential Savoyness, and the kind of people who line the bar drinking Manhattans are still the same.
“A good time was had by all,” Fay declares as she stands on the marble steps of the restaurant overlooking the Thames, “but I did very little writing. You need trouble to write, some sort of irritant to get in the way, something to urge you on. I had no reason to be up in my room writing when there was such fun to be had at the bar. Everybody came to see me!”
Such is the allure of the Savoy that its reputation precedes it; no one in his or her right mind is going to turn down an opportunity to meet you there. Even the entrance to the hotel, set back from the street down a short drive, suggests you are stepping out of the ordinary and into a place where everything is ever so slightly more rarefied, and everyone is ever so slightly more discerning. Of course Fay Weldon, who at the time of her residence was mostly writing about contemporary women suffering the fools they had fallen in love with, had to wait until a suitable woman of substance sparked her imagination.
And so it was that Weldon, a prodigious writer of over 30 novels, began a new phase in her career. She ventured into historical meta-fiction, which in turn led to the recreation of a fabulous scene at the Savoy bar where many Manhattans were drunk. The details, how people dressed and how much things cost, were of course different, “but people behaved very much the same then as they do now”.
This scene takes place in Long Live the King book two of the Love and Inheritance Trilogy that begins with Habits of the House and ends with The New Countess. An epic saga set at the turn of the 20th century, the plot branches out in multiple directions and addresses the difficulty of real relationships, through the convenient prism of “upstairs downstairs”. Weldon describes her move into the past as a “relief”, liberated from the complicated and often restrictive themes of the present zeitgeist. It also allows her to step away from the two dimensional role of modern woman writer, and explore the dynamic of a past imagined that overtly seemed more restrictive but in many ways was a more liberal and certainly full of possibilities.
“I suppose I used to write about the bad behavior of men; now I write about the bad behavior of women,” she says.
Fittingly the Savoy hosted a luncheon to celebrate the launch of her trilogy, which was attended by some of her greatest admirers. In the passage she chooses to read there is a moment of identity confusion for the protagonist, one which prompts her to say ‘I am lady nobody’ a line that clearly Weldon enjoys. A gem of a comeback line it also reflects the kind of attitude Weldon has to her own fame.
Fay Weldon, who still teaches creative writing at Bath University, is very candid about her craft. When asked about the fate of a particular character in a past novel she declares, “All sorts of things happen to the people in my novels, though I don’t much remember all the details of what happens to them. You need to set yourself up with enough to do so you don’t stop at the third chapter, but it is the themes that really interest me. The plot is just there to illustrate them.”
After the lunch I lingered a moment in the grand black and white marbled lobby to regain my composure, and brace myself for the crush of reality outside. Opposite a clean-cut man just slightly beyond his prime was crouched intensely over his phone. It was impossible not to hear him for the table between us was slim and the acoustics in that particular corner seemed to amplify his words despite his attempt to whisper. It seemed he was trying to broker some form of reconciliation with his estranged wife without resorting to lawyers. It was clear he still loved her and his sense of loss was palpable; a sentiment, impervious to the sands of time, that does not change. Not at all.
by Nico Kos Earle
Photos By Justin Van Vliet