The Crimson Petal and the White
From AwardAnnals
| Book: | The Crimson Petal and the White: A Novel |
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| Author: | Michel Faber |
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| Publisher: | Harcourt |
They begin with William Rackham, an egotistical perfume magnate whose ambition is fueled by his lust for Sugar, and whose patronage of her brings her into proximity to his extended family and milieu: his unhinged, child-like wife, Agnes; his mysteriously hidden-away daughter, Sophie; and his pious brother Henry, foiled in his devotional calling by a persistently less-than-chaste love for the Widow Fox, whose efforts on behalf of The Rescue Society lead Henry into ever-more disturbing confrontations with flesh. All this is overseen by assorted preening socialites, drunken journalists, untrustworthy servants, vile guttersnipes, and whores of all stripes and persuasions.
Twenty years in its conception, research, and writing, The Crimson Petal and the White is a singular literary achievement—a gripping, intoxicating, deeply satisfying Victorian novel written with an immediacy, compassion, and insight that give it a timeless and universal appeal.
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Reviews
Amazon.com
Although it’s billed as “the first great 19th-century novel of the 21st century,” The Crimson Petal and the White is anything but Victorian. It’s the story of a well-read London prostitute named Sugar, who spends her free hours composing a violent, pornographic screed against men. Michel Faber’s dazzling second novel dares to go where George Eliot’s The Mill on the Floss and the works of Charles Dickens could not. We learn about the positions and orifices that Sugar and her clients favour, about her lingering skin condition, and about the suspect ingredients of her prophylactic douches. Still, Sugar believes she can make a better life for herself.
When she is taken up by a wealthy man, the perfumer William Rackham, her wings are clipped and she must balance financial security against the obvious servitude of her position. The physical risks and hardships of Sugar’s life (and the even harder “honest” life she would have led as a factory worker) contrast—yet not entirely—with the medical mistreatment of her benefactor’s wife, Agnes, and beautifully underscore Faber’s emphasis on class and sexual politics.
In theme and treatment, this is a novel that Virginia Woolf might have written, had she been born 70 years later. The language, however, is Faber’s own—brisk and elastic—and, after an awkward opening, the plethora of detail he offers (costume, food, manners, cheap stage performances, the London streets) slides effortlessly into his forward-moving sentences. When Agnes goes mad, for instance, “she sings on and on, while the house is discreetly dusted all around her and, in the concealed and subterranean kitchen, a naked duck, limp and faintly steaming, spreads its pimpled legs on a draining board.” Despite its 800-plus pages, The Crimson Petal and the White turns out to be a quick read, since it is truly impossible to put down.—Regina Marler, Amazon.com
Barnes and Noble
Aptly described by the publisher as “the first great nineteenth-century novel of the twenty-first century,” Michel Faber’s The Crimson Petal and the White is an authentic evocation of Victorian London that recalls the triple-decker extravaganzas of Eliot, Trollope and, of course, Dickens.
Writing in a clear, seductive voice that draws you effortlessly in, Faber depicts a very real city populated by a deeply credible gallery of flawed, struggling souls. Included among them are Caroline, an ignorant low-class streetwalker; Mrs. Castaway, a vicious brothel keeper; William Rackham, a self-involved perfume magnate; and Sugar, a remarkably well-read teenage prostitute who believes in “the reality of dreams.” Sugar’s particular dreams—of escape, of rising above her circumstances—and her relationships—with Mrs. Castaway, with Rackham and his peculiar family—dominate the novel, which illuminates virtually every level of Victorian society, warts and all. Faber, who spent more than 20 years researching and developing his panoramic narrative, writes with absolute confidence and a lively, enthralling attention to detail.
Resolutely modern in its sexual frankness but steeped in the ambiance of an earlier age, The Crimson Petal and the White is unlike anything in recent fiction. Charles Palliser’s The Quincunx, which brought a similar breadth of research and imagination to its sprawling portrait of Victorian social inequities, is its closest contemporary literary sibling. Admirers of The Quincunx—and of the 19th century masterpieces that served as its primary models—will lose themselves for days at a time in this rich, thoroughly convincing novel. —Bill Sheehan
