Spotlight on … Denton Welch In Youth is Pleasure (1945)

‘There are some voices which reach out from the past because they feel so alive with mischievous humour and a startlingly singular point of view. Prose can strongly encapsulate such a sensibility when it’s written with as much feeling and precision as Denton Welch used to embody his 15 year-old character Orvil’s perspective. We follow him during his idle summer holiday spent at a hotel with his aloof father and older brothers. The slim novel “In Youth is Pleasure” was first published in 1945 and its author only lived for a few more years (dying when he was 33 years old), but this text is still breathing and giving us the side-eye.

‘Orvil does a lot of looking, a lot of observing and a lot of judging in this story. He could be classified as a voyeur as he watches from behind a bush some boys and their schoolmaster out on a peculiar boat trip where “Jane Eyre” is read aloud. In another scene he spies from the shadows his eldest brother making love to a woman. From a window he looks through another window at a man dancing to music and dressing after his ablutions. There’s a safety found in his solitary observations where he can silently appraise some people as “rather fat” or certain behaviour as “vulgar”. He seems to be equally harsh on himself as it is stated “He was afraid that now, at fifteen, he was beginning to lose his good looks.”

‘Through his gaze the world is transformed in a brutally bizarre and imaginative way. For instance, he describes a man’s flabby pecs as “so gay and ridiculous; like two little animated castle-puddings” and a woman’s breasts become “miniature volcanoes with holes at the top, out of which poured clouds of milky-white smoke, and sometimes long, thin, shivering tongues of fire”. Bodies morph into absurdities, but he also regards people with a kind of detached fascination so that we understand the sharp barrier between him and the world. When this barrier is removed it elicits terror and violence but also ecstatic jubilation. In doing so, Welch captures Orvil’s intensely solitary state where he longs to be with other people but is also repulsed by them.

‘Orvil’s father seldom figures in his days as there is a mutual disinterest and he’s wary of spending much time with his brothers. The figure he really longs for is his mother who died a few years ago, but he maintains vivid and sometimes disturbing memories of her. Two individuals he meets appear to be kinds of parental replacements. He forms a sweet attachment to his eldest brother Charles’ maternal friend Aphra. He also has a few encounters with the mysterious, nameless schoolmaster who seems to alternately fill the roles of father, teacher, persecutor and a fairy tale witch. Their interactions are so curious it makes me wonder if this is even a real person or a figure that Orvil has simply conjured as part of his imaginative games.

‘As Edmund White observes in his astute introduction to the new edition of this novel, Orvil is “strangely attracted to filth”. Though he has a desire for what is refined such as a trip to lunch at the Ritz he can’t help but envision the flowing filth of the city accumulating beneath the civilized surface. I think the allure of what’s repulsive isn’t so much about revelling in being gross, but an attraction for what’s transgressive as a way to question the values and morals of the society he feels detached from. He is also fascinated by and sees beauty in things which have been discarded or broken. The way he relates to and values very particular objects movingly demonstrates the distinctive way he sees the world.

‘Orvil has a unique aesthetic, but there’s also a poignancy in this depiction of a boy at a stage in his life where he has the sensibility of an adult and the imagination of a child. A lot of his wanderings include losing himself in fantasies where he can indulge in pretensions or revel in sado-masochistic desires. In one private game he wraps himself in chains and violently flogs his own back. In such mental spaces he can also playfully explore the boundaries of gender. He steals of a tube of lipstick to secretly paint his lips and other parts of his body. At other times he strips down naked outside as an act of transgression and liberation. The way that Denton writes about these experiences makes them feel more natural than they are perverse because they are freed from a general morality and merely reflect the proclivities of an utterly unique teenage boy. I absolutely adored this book and its tender spirit of youthful curiosity which casually dances through fantasies and nightmares.’ — Lonesome Reader

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Further

A VOICE THROUGH A CLOUD: Discovering Denton Welch
The art of Denton Welch, 1915–1948
Denton Welch @ goodreads
Austerity in colour
In Youth Is Suffering: Denton Welch and the Literature of Convalescence
Denton Welch: An Inventory of His Papers
‘No mouse or man after a hundred years’: a note on Denton Welch
Denton Welch: Wonder, and Wounds, in the Weald
Podcast: The Pleasures and Pains of Denton Welch
Bright glimpses of a lost existence
Beyond Gay: Denton Welch’s In Youth is Pleasure
That Rare Being, a Born Writer: DENTON WELCH
The journals of Denton Welch @ Internet Archive
Delighting in the gruesome
Writing Beyond the Grave: William Burroughs and Denton Welch
Through a Cloud
Buy ‘In Youth is Pleasure’

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Extras

The writings of Denton Welch Part I

A chat with Edmund White about Denton Welch’s “In Youth is Pleasure”

R.B. Russell recommends Denton Welch’s ‘In Youth is Pleasure’

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In his own hand

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from his Journals

8 January 1944
‘I have been ill now and in bed for over two weeks. That is why I have written nothing. And the new doctor gave me M. & B. tablets which, I suppose, made me feel even worse – black, dead, inhuman as a boulder – telescoped into myself till nothing could come forward.’

11 February 1944
‘This evening I bicycled to Penshurst. I climbed up the hill easily because I was with a man who worked at the railway and he talked all the time about the last war.

At the top, he said good-bye and I went on, on, down the hill past a soldier and the old neurotic home, ‘Swaylands’, which is now a military hospital. Two idle loosely hanging soldiers stood at the lodge waiting for something to be brought to them. They looked at me lazily and curiously as I sped past . . .

Nothing can make up for the fact that my very early youth was so clouded with illness and unhappiness. I feel cheated as if I never had that fiercely thrilling time when the fears of childhood have left one and no other thing has swamped one. The cheek is plump and smooth, the eye and the teeth are bright and one feels that one would lie down and die if these first essentials were ever taken away . . .

When I passed the ‘Fleur de Lys’ at Leigh, again I thought of Eric, for he told me that he used often to get tight there.

Curious to think that all this time while Eric worked on the farm, hated it, was utterly lonely, got tight as often as possible just for something to do, I was only a few minutes away in Tonbridge, walking the streets in my restlessness, trying to make myself iller and iller by any foolishness, wanting to die.

And we never met and all the years in between, seven, eight, we knew nothing of each other, they all melted away and wasted.’

21 April 1944
‘This morning I had a book, Planet and Glow-worm, from Edith Sitwell and a letter with her love. Then I went out in the sun and, feeling so much better, I lay on the top of a haystack and sunned myself and ate and actually fell asleep, and I forgot unhappiness and trouble and only felt in a daze with hot sun and cool wind on my face.

Edith mentioned my Horizon story which appeared on Wednesday. Cyril Connolly sent me fourteen guineas and said Hamish Hamilton wanted to know if I had a book of them in mind, because if so he’d like to publish it.

Lately I have a poem in the Spectator and two in Life and Letters and a story in New Writing and one in English Story.

Also I have sold two little pictures to a Mrs. Serocold

It is happiness to have things liked, but when I’m ill as I was on Wednesday and other days lately everything pales to nothing and I want to die more than anything on earth.

I think all I can do is to keep my work going as long as I can. And if I can no longer, then I will die . .

8 May 1944
‘When you long with all your heart for someone to love you, a madness grows there that shakes all sense from the trees and the water and the earth. And nothing lives for you, except the long deep bitter want. And this is what everyone feels from birth to death.’

9 April 1945
‘I have said nothing about In Youth is Pleasure, and it has been out since February 22nd (I think). So far everything is so much better than I thought it might be – good reviews, except for Kate O’Brien in the Spectator, and quite long ones and lots. It was all sold out before publication, so now they are bringing it out again.’

30 May 1945
‘When I read about William Blake, I know what I am for. I must never be afraid of my foolishness, or of any pretension. And whatever I have I must use, painting, poetry, prose – not proudly thinking it is not good enough and so lock it inside for fear or laughing, sneering.’

26 August 1945
‘I have been ill now and in bed for over two weeks. That is why I have written nothing. And the new doctor gave me M. & B. tablets which, I suppose, made me feel even worse – black, dead, inhuman as a boulder – telescoped into myself till nothing could come forward. Now I am better, and so the other state seems unbelievable, but it is waiting for me again.’

29 January 1947
‘There were frost flowers thick all over the panes this morning and the milk was frozen. The pipes were frozen too, and the snow thicker than ever. I have not got out of bed, and will not till I hear the pipes thawing. I have been writing here, then eating chocolate as a reward. The panes are all dripping and splashing in the sunshine now. Eric has gone for a walk in the snow, and I wish I could go too. It is the most snow I think I have known in England.’

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Book

Denton Welch In Youth is Pleasure
Penguin Books

‘First published in 1945, In Youth Is Pleasure recounts a summer in the life of 15-year-old Orvil Pym, who is holidaying with his father and brothers in a Kentish hotel, with little to do but explore the countryside and surrounding area. ‘I don’t understand what to do, how to live’: so says the 15-year-old Orvil – who, as a boy who glories and suffers in the agonies of adolescence, dissecting the teenage years with an acuity, stands as a clear (marvelously British) ancestor of The Catcher In The Rye’s Holden Caulfield. A delicate coming-of-age novel, shot through with humour, In Youth Is Pleasure, has long achieved cult status, and earned admirers ranging from Alan Bennett to William Burroughs, Edith Sitwell to John Waters. ‘Maybe there is no better novel in the world that is Denton Welch’s In Youth Is Pleasure,’ wrote Waters. ‘Just holding it my hands… is enough to make illiteracy a worse crime than hunger.’’ — Penguin Books

Excerpt

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p.s. Hey. ** jay, My pleasure. If only that film were as good as its premise, but the lacks are fun, true. I wonder if the Best Deaths’ cheesiness is deliberate or not. The models having fun is certainly the priority. There’s something kind of heterosexual about their stuff that made me curious. It has this closeted vibe that’s definitely part of its appeal, to me, I mean. ‘Studio amateur’ is where it’s at these days, yeah. Thanks a lot for the link, I’ll check that out. And I’ll set my mind to skim mode. Real Only Mind is quite a good moniker. Enjoy Wednesday by whatever means. ** Misanthrope, Oh, shit, I feared so. We seem to be about to be in the grip of a bunch of sadistic idealists. Here’s hoping the whole thing collapses before it begins. Are you off for Thanksgiving now? Isn’t it tomorrow? Isn’t it always on a Thursday? I don’t even remember. ** James, Apparently. I think there are still people like Wishman but they don’t get much further than some tinily known spot on YouTube. Uh, I don’t know, post-wise I just keep my eyes open and follow my instincts. The material is out there, it just takes a lot of searching and saving and copying and pasting and stuff. Laborious but not such a challenge otherwise. Clay Anker … oh, I thought you meant long like hippie-long. Cadinot’s early porns are semiotics based and/or referencing. Few others that I know of. I’m very into writing for films right now. It’s a big challenge. I like that it’s just an initial ingredient and that when you’re writing a script you’re always imagining what it will be when it’s fleshed out and trying to write it accordingly and somewhat subserviently to the upcoming visuals. Zac’s shy, but he reads the blog. I wrote very shitty fiction for years before it very gradually started getting less shitty and then hopefully non-shitty. Patience + obsessiveness. I just read those books that were in the post the other day, and I haven’t started anything new yet. It doesn’t sound like some kind of fetishization necessarily. ** Lucas, Hi. It’s almost like the balance finds you rather than vice versa, if that makes any sense. As a dude who does or tries to do (and needs to do) heavy pre-structuring before I write fiction, I hear you. D+, eek, but oh well, right? Dust in the wind? I’ve never read a novel in German, of course, so I don’t know what that’s like or if I would like the German writers I like as much if I read their originals. But probably. Anyway, I just think of the obvious, like Bernhard, Sebald, … Eating good is key, I think, so I hope you’re treating yourself. I’m fine, going to spend the day seeing art and eating at Paris’s great vegan restaurant Potager du Marais. Score. You, yours? ** seb 🦠, seb! How great to see you and your green blotch! Welcome out from under the boulder. I’ve been mostly pretty good with the usual glitches. Sorry about your break-up, but happy that its ass is whomped. The name Ivo de Jager looks familiar. I’ll check. Huh. Dos games, nice. Tempting. I’m just whacking away at my Switch these days. There are a handful of sites making staged death videos, but they’re all hetero and mega-misogynist. Haha, your friend’s description of France is hilarious. I don’t know what she looks like, obviously, but I will do my best to bump into her. Thanks, bud. ** HaRpEr, Hey! Very interesting. ‘Straight men have started being weird around me’: my friend who I mentioned the other day said the exact same thing. Me too, it’s gotten so coffee is just one of my bodily fluids. Very excited by that ‘your interior monologue is one incredibly long sentence …’ description. Wow, and as a fellow former acidhead, I think I know exactly what you mean. Beautiful. Yes, the art of the Xmas bouche is taken very seriously by the patisseries here. A good batch again this year, as you’ll see. I’m saving up my euros. ** iwishiwasanon, Hey. Maybe I’ll try to carry myself like a cool guy when I’m out and about now. I’m not sure I know how, but I’ll figure it out. Shit accent: I think another reason I haven’t tried to learnt French is that hearing American tourists here speak French or try to while the French people they’re talking to cringe is massively embarrassing to me. I don’t keep a journal, no. I don’t read on the metro either, no. On the metro I just surreptitiously study everyone around me, and I find that quite exciting. I’ll of course let you know when the film shows in Paris. We’re working on something. Yes, you can write to me at [email protected]. I hope your day (and mine) stops being rained on before too long. ** Steeqhen, Oh, cool. It’s fun. I’m stuck on a very tough Boss right now — a giant evil origami turtle — but I’ll kill him somehow. Um, the conference thing was in 2010, I think? It was sponsored by University College Cork and it happened at some place called Granary Theater? I just put my email address in my comment just above, so you can use it. Thank you, I look forward to it. ** Uday, Not to be confused, for sure. In the States, people like to name their cows Doris, I don’t know why. Yes, I would be happy and grateful if you want to make a post for the blog. That would be great. Thank you, U! ** Okay. There are few if any novels written in English that are as beautiful as ‘In Youth is Pleasure’, and if you haven’t read it, strong encouragement to do that. See you tomorrow.