We meet another punitive ghost in Spark’s The Executor, in the form of written messages from Susan’s deceased uncle, a famous author. Susan is appointed as executor to her uncle’s literary estate, and following his death Susan sells almost his entire archive to ‘the Foundation’ – but she keeps back her uncle’s final unfinished novel with the intention of completing and publishing it herself. Susan is punished for her greed when she finds messages addressed to her written in her dead uncle’s handwriting, messages which clearly indicate that he knows exactly what she is doing and thinking at every moment. This persecution continues until the Foundation, having found evidence of the existence of this novel amongst the papers Susan sold to them, eventually contact her to enquire after the missing work. Susan hands it over, and her uncle leaves her a final message: ‘Goodbye Susan. It’s lovely being a speck in the distance.’ This message refers to a passage at the beginning of the story in which we are told that Susan’s uncle once said to her that ‘if you could imagine modern literature as a painting, perhaps by Brueghel the Elder, the people and the action were in the foreground…[but] in the distance…there he would be…a speck in the distance, which if you were to blow up the detail would simply be a vague figure, plodding on the other way.’
(By the way, if you’d like to put this to the test, have a look at any one of Breughel’s paintings via the Google Art Project. This site is fantastic: you can zoom in on any detail and see paintings as you’ve never seen them before, and it’s definitely well worth a look! The site is not that intuitive, however, and it can be fiddly, but I got it to work by clicking on the ‘+’ sign in the box on the right-hand side and then using the scroll button to zoom in and out. Give it a go – it’s great fun!)
In Susan’s uncle, we have another omniscient ghost: ‘He even knew if I took a dose of salts and how long I had sat in the bathroom’, but unlike The Portobello Road, this time we have a haunted I-narrator. Once again, though, it is the narrator who is the focal point of interest in the story, and what makes Susan so intriguing is the gap between her perception of herself and the way in which other characters perceive her, something that is made very clear to the reader. The different levels of awareness between reader and narrator generate humour and irony, and this is very much the case in another of Spark’s tales, You Should Have Seen the Mess, in which the I-narrator Lorna cannot see beyond her upbringing and values only clean surfaces and good carpets. Susan is an older version of Lorna. They speak with the same voice. Both characters have limited, provincial minds: Lorna dates a wealthy painter, but ditches him when she realises that she just cannot cope with ‘the paint oozing out of the tubes’; Susan appreciates letters written by ‘Angus Wilson or Saul Bellow’ only for their financial potential. As far as literature is concerned, she understands only that it can make money.
Susan’s uncle, on the other hand, is well aware of the limitations of his niece. As the narrator of the story, Susan reports his barbed comments faithfully, without being conscious of their real meaning: ‘I could see he was forced to admire my good sense. He said, “You remind me of my mother, who prepared her shroud all ready for her funeral.” ’ The reader understands that when Susan’s uncle refers to her as a ‘Scottish puritan girl’, he does not mean it as a compliment, but Susan remarks that ‘at forty-one it was nice to be a girl and I wasn’t against the Scottish puritanical attribution either since I am proud to be a Scot’. Irony is lost on Susan, but not on the reader, who joins the dead uncle in smirking at her.
The reader is prepared for the arrival of the ghostly messages in a narrative fashion that is very reminiscent of a conjuring trick: ‘I looked through the rest of the notebook…all blank, I am sure of it.’ So the audience has seen that the pages of the notebook are clean and empty, but – ta-dah! – when Susan next picks up the notebook, there is her uncle’s handwriting, calling her a ‘greedy little snoot’. Her reaction, oddly enough, is initially one of horror that her uncle seems to know about her affair with Jaimie, the hired help’s son. It is only after this first shock has worn off that it occurs to Susan to wonder how the words came to be there at all.
As is the case with a great deal of Spark’s fictional prose, we do not feel sympathy for the victim. Indeed, there is very little sympathy anywhere in Spark’s work. We don’t feel sorry for Needle, the ghostly narrator of The Portobello Road, because being murdered doesn’t really seem to have affected her very much, and she is having such tremendous fun tormenting her murderer; we don’t feel sorry for Lorna in You Should Have Seen the Mess because we are too busy laughing at her, and finally, we don’t feel sorry for Susan, because frankly, she’s mean-minded and greedy. Susan disapproves of her uncle’s relationship with Elaine, because they are living together as man and wife without being married, yet she happily takes her clothes off for Jaimie because it is ‘only Nature’. With a capital N. By the end of the story, the hired help has resigned after encouraging Susan to seek medical help, Jaimie is no longer welcome in the house, and Susan is drinking too much whisky to steady her shattered nerves. And after listening to Susan’s poisonous little narrative, the reader can’t help but think that it serves her right.