This exquisitely naughty little book, written by an acknowledged master of social prose, family secrets and astonishing plays such as The History Boys, is yet another reason to celebrate why books are still published in the original “old” format of paper and binding rather than only electronically.
Smut is a neat, square-shaped volume, the same satisfying size as its precursor, An Uncommon Reader, and as delightful to hold in the hand as it is to read.
Its bright yellow cover is the very opposite of the traditional discreet brown paper cover to disguise “smutty” works.
Alan Bennett is one of the great stage and screen writers of the past half-century, beginning with his appearances in the Oxbridge classic, Beyond the Fringe. His work veers between solemn and comic and he has never sought to hide his working-class roots; rather, he has mined them for the vein of writing which is peculiar to him alone.
Smut is unmistakably Bennett’s work – especially if you are familiar with his collected edition, Writing Home, though the contents are a world apart from the royal background of An Uncommon Reader, his latest best-seller.
This is a short, two-story work, individual pieces which nevertheless have a particular relationship to each other.
The Greening of Mrs Donaldson is the first, longer and more beguiling story, commencing with a typical Bennett attention-getter: “‘I gather you’re my wife,’ said the man in the waiting room…”
Mrs Donaldson is the recent widow of a somewhat unlamented husband. She passes her time as a professional guinea pig for medical students as they hone their diagnostic skills. It passes the time for her companionably, but life takes on an extra frisson when she agrees to allow a young couple to board with her. And one thing leads to another…
The Shielding of Mrs Forbes is a somewhat darker story, of how a family manages to function while repressing secrets: the gay but married son, the borderline incestuous family relationship, the complacent mother who is more astute than anyone credits her with being.
Secrets flourish where they are the oil that smooths the awkward machinery of relationships.
Smut has a gently shocking charm, set in the sedate suburbs in which Bennett so loves to locate his work.
It is masterly and delightful, but not recommended for the vicar – unless he or she is particularly broad-minded. – Beverley Roos Muller