The deeper I've dug, the more I've found that there are a few author that are (in)famous for being particularly odd. Obviously this includes Harry Stephen Keeler and Lionel Fanthorpe. But the name Adams Farr was a moniker I kept coming upon over and over; it seemed to represent a semi-renowned, semi-respected literary anomaly. Though Farr's name is probably false, Farr was the writer of The Fangs of Suet Pudding, a book seen as something of a hidden classic--the title and general premise have bewildered writers ranging from Russell Ash and Brian Lake in Bizarre Books to Chris Mikul in Biblio Curiosa. I had to check it out for myself, and I've found that the legends are true: The Fangs of Suet Pudding is legitimately good while also being intensely idiosyncratic. It's an artifact from a world that couldn't be replicated, for reasons regarding the time in which it was written, and regarding the presumed facts about "Adams Farr."
Fangs centers around Loreley Vance, a young English girl living with her aunt in France during the German invasion. Her life is changed forever when a burglar named Pugg breaks into her house, an act which naturally leads to their friendship. He takes her to a dance and introduces her to another boy, wealthy aristocrat Bobby Treslin, and the three of them, along with an exile from "Troubania" called The Dictator, get caught up in the machinations of the Nazi officer Carl Vipoering, aka Suet Pudding, whose head resembles the beefy dish for which Loreley names him. While France falls apart around them, they stop each of Vipoering's schemes, while he seems to toy with them, insisting on playing snakes and ladders with Loreley and somehow escaping their every attempt to kill him. Did I mention he also smells like "crushed violets"? The good guys win in the end, but not before enduring some...legitimate trauma. For indeed, this is a book about war written during the war it describes. Adams Farr saw some shit. Whoever they were.
The intro and back cover of the Ramble House edition speculate that Loreley Vance is a self-insert character, and that "Adams Farr" was an English teenage girl. This ties in handily with the realism of how the character of Loreley is depicted, and with the weird prose eddies that marble the book. In the case of the latter, there's an odd blend of eternal Britishisms, inside-jokes, and words used incorrectly but with meaning. Consider the following: "Aunt Sophie sniffed. It was the kind of sniff that said: I TOLD YOU SO, DEAR BOY! in Hindustani." Or how about the fact that Loreley says she was introduced to Bobby's "blond size," or her reference to someone possessing "that pre-Boer-War spirit"? These are signs of an overly-cryptic and inexperienced but otherwise talented writer. While I never could and never will be able to write something nearly as charming as Fangs, I see the same mistakes I made when I was a teenager. It's youthful ambition, raw experimentation, and it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Assuming this theory was true, I wish Adams Farr, whoever she was, wrote more. It's entirely possible she did--we would never know.
My mind flooded with comparisons as I read this book. In terms of literature, I was reminded of Shirley Jackson (extraordinarily charismatic prose) and R.L. Stein's Goosebumps (bizarre/hilarious chapter cliffhangers). Jackson and Stein's vastly different works show worlds where the supernatural exists, and this other world is sometimes a benefit, answer, or sublime experience for the protagonists. Oftentimes they learn that the weird powers they've encountered are evil. It's a simple story of the innocence of youth being taken away by a brush with something beyond comprehension, or explanation: the mirror that makes you invisible also replaces you with an evil mirror double, or the trip to the beautiful old house, escaping your mother at last, ends with suicide at the base of a tree. In this case, the supernatural is replaced by the circumstances of War. Loreley is at first excited to live in France, thrilled by the notion of war, and charmed by the Chateau her friend Bobby lives in. Slowly, the War becomes both terrible and omnipresent, and takes away whatever enthusiasm she has. Over time, we learn that Pugg's family was killed, and we see civilians run in fear as the Nazis overrun Paris, bombs erupting around them. For all the whimsy, there's a chilling seriousness beneath.
I came up with movie comparisons too. The honest innocence of the work and its infringement by maturity made me think of an entertaining version of Valerie's Weekend of Wonders. It shares its "extreme European-ness" attribute as well. Of course, in terms of style and prose, this is like Nathan Schiff's Super 8 movies. Again, youthful experimentation. Kids Goofing Off. In terms of Nathan Schiff, I primarily mean Weasels Rip My Flesh and Long Island Cannibal Massacre--nowhere does this film get as dark as Vermilion Eyes. Once again: dark but whimsical, not graphic and stomach-churning.
Ultimately, this is a legitimately good book, even outside of trash terms. The writing is good, the plot is fun, and the characters are wonderfully memorable. Not just Suet Pudding, he-of getting Aunt Sophie drunk on cognac as part of his master plan to conquer Europe--but everyone. The Dictator, who learns the meaning of freedom in the course of fighting an evil bigger than himself. Bobby and Pugg, who form a charmingly clumsy attraction-triangle with Loreley. Aunt Sophie, who gets a piece of the action with a few chances to clobber some Nazis. And Loreley herself, who is self-aware, witty, and mature but with youthful imagination and inexperience. If you can stand having your brain twisted around now and then, this is a classic. Check it out.
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