Seaside Romps and Rites of Passage

Two middle-aged, former hell-raisers from similar English seaside towns are making fascinating waves in alternative chick-lit. Jo Brand, ex-psychiatric nurse and stocky Goth stand-up comic from Hastings, (born 1956), published her second novel, It’s Different for Girls in May. Julie Burchill born in Frenchay, Bristol (1957) is currently metamorphosing from Rock Press enfant terrible into bourgeois eminence grise. Her 2005 story, “Sugar Rush”, has just been broadcast as a ten-part drama on Channel 4 television in the UK.

Both rites of passage narratives explore the same territory—mother/daughter relationships, sexual-awakenings, changing morality, dysfunctional families. Both books’ charms lie in the creation of two main characters with overt and subverted lesbian concerns.

Each set of parents, in It’s Different for Girls, are cast from likely life models. But Burchill draws on a typically early Freudian stage as she conjures idealised new-wave hippies—apron wearing, caring Eric and decorator-screwing, chain-smoking, beautiful Stella—more sexually adventurous than her teenage daughter, as Kim’s parents in “Sugar Rush”.

Although Julie Burchill is notorious for having had a series of fax wars with Camille Paglia, she is a devout anti-intellectual and non-idealist. Her heroine, Kim, uses considerable intelligence to seduce her luscious friend Sugar; constantly cynical and single-minded, whether her actions lead to the near death of her brother or precipitate her parents’ separation. There is no over-arching authorial compassion—no noticeable simpatico between one character and another.

Jo Brand’s comic presence is strong and her humanity is stronger, inspired by acute observational skills, honed through years behind the footlights of stand-up comedy. For example, she describes a headmistress as, for some strange reason, not wanting “girls to look like child prostitutes”.

As a fan of Jo Brand, who once tailored a joke especially for me in a post-performance Edinburgh Fringe Festival bar, I can hear her laid-back ironic tones in the description of an isolated night out between husband and wife, Terry and Vince. Queen of bathos whether on stage or page, she writes:

“He felt he had an awful lot to say to Terry concerning the performance of Brighton and Hove Albion Football Club, his job and how difficult it was becoming for him, the fact that they needed a new lawnmower, his inability these days to maintain an erection and the fact that he had a lump in his testicle, but he was absolutely convinced that she didn’t want to hear any of it so he kept his mouth resolutely shut.”

The humanity in her characterisation is not just kept for her heroine. Rachel does find sexual satisfaction, and even love, but she is involved in more than just her own life. She sets up a home for herself, finds work, defends a friend’s ambivalent sexuality in a quest to break away from the banality of seaside entertainment and the hopes of her parents.

Before leaving for her London adventure she does get a taste of cosmopolitan life with her un-ambitious friend Susan. They strike up a holiday romance with gallant Italian language students:

“The highlight of Susan and Rachel’s summer was a Gary Glitter gig in the park that they went to with Claudio and Luca, who couldn’t quite believe that this chubby, histrionic apparition tottering around on huge platform heels could be anything but a loser.”

Clever plotting means there is the mystery of the body floating under the pier from the book’s prologue, vaguely at the back of a reader’s mind, but the narrative focuses on the emotional journey taken by Rachel.

In a neat summary of her heroine’s experience, so far, Brand writes:

“Rachel was beginning to understand all kinds of relationships that were on offer from a series of very different men. There was nice, relaxed and friendly—a bit like swimming in warm porridge. At the other end of the spectrum was tortured and unreliable, many and varied moments of alternately crying into one’s pillow, sitting forlornly by the phone and screaming abuse at each other in an unrestrained Taylor and Burton kind of way.”

Phrases from popular culture, used by Brand, capture moments and illuminate thoughts, but the title is rather a mystery. Taken from the song by Joe Jackson, it seems neat because the book is about a girl, yet difference is not a theme. Although Rachel’s art school love, Dave, is from a wacky single-parent home his emotional needs seem very similar to her own.

Still, true to her instinct as warm-hearted, laughter-maker Jo Brand’s book steers clear of feminist rant, leaving a sweet taste of pure young love discovered, and mysteries solved to everyone’s satisfaction.