Memory isn’t a camera. It’s an anthill, a thing of layers, built around a central core. And inside the core, there are sleeping things. Things that change, and sting, and fly. Things that come out of the walls at night, and crawl all over everything. [loc. 3987]
Second in the St Oswald's trilogy, which began with Gentlemen and Players. After the upheavals of that novel, St Oswald's is teetering on the brink of failure: a Crisis Team is brought in to turn things round, but Roy Straitley, Latin master and eccentric-but-beloved technophobe, is horrified to find that the 'Super-Head' leading the Crisis Team is none other than Johnny Harrington, who as a boy almost cost Straitley his job, 'and cost the School a whole lot more'. Harrington's plans include a paperless school and a merger with a local girls' school, where the 'Classics' class watches Gladiator and discusses Roman fashion.
Straitley's narratives, past and present, form half of the novel: the other half is the diary of 'Ziggy', who was a pupil at St Oswald's in the 1980s, and who -- while not necessarily a reliable narrator -- has a unique perspective on the events leading up to the dismissal and imprisonment of a charismatic teacher. Ziggy, who acquires his nickname in honour of his response to David Bowie's music, has a Condition, and has already been removed from one school. Like the Mole in Gentlemen and Players, he is a study in sociopathy, both monstrous and sympathetic.
There are some very dark moments in this novel, including not only murder but animal death, as well as sexual abuse. The cycle of abuse is depicted with masterful understatement: I like to think that Ziggy would receive better treatment today, but all too often the neurodivergent are left to their own narratives, their own mythologies. And, sadly, false accusations and abuses of power persist.
Though many of the events in Different Class are grim, this is a surprisingly cheerful novel, for which we have Straitley to thank: he is a delightful character, honourable and loyal, genuinely caring about the boys he teaches and the school which has claimed more than half his life. He's unmarried, and doesn't seem to have any sexual orientation beyond occasionally admiring the female form. He's loyal to his friends, but a bit of a loner. And he is given to Latin epigrams, most of which I had to look up, and many of which made me smile. 'Still, id imperfectum manet dum confectum erit, as I think Clint Eastwood may have said.' [231].
After reading Different Class, I went back and reread parts of Gentlemen and Players -- then realised that there were two other novels set in the fictional village of Malbry. Reader, I read them ...
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