The Snow Goose
One sublime story, three exquisite works of art
It was the publication in 1940 of The Snow Goose that launched the career of the American writer Paul Gallico. If you haven’t read it, do get hold of a copy: it’s barely long enough to warrant its billing as a novella - I’d call it a longish short story - but it’ll be one of the most rewarding 45 minutes you’ll ever spend.
It’s a parable about the value of love and friendship; the story of two people whose paths would never have crossed were it not for the circumstance of a young girl discovering a wounded bird and being determined to nurse the beautiful creature back to health.
On it’s release, some critics thought it sentimental. Had I been around in 1940, with the world at war and Britain on the verge of invasion, it’s precisely the kind of book I would have delighted in reading: for its message of hope and redemption, its reminder of the capacity of human beings for immense courage against insuperable odds; and its restrained use of the metaphysical to illustrate all that is good about humanity at a time when such things are easily forgotten. It’s a minor masterpiece, and one that has now spawned two further exceptional works of art.
In 1975, the British rock group Camel released an album inspired by Gallico’s story. Originally entitled The Snow Goose, the album was ultimately released as ‘Music Inspired by The Snow Goose’ after Gallico opposed the use of his title. Camel were a brilliant band of first rate musicians, and the album was a resounding success. Unusually for a ‘prog’ album, it was entirely instrumental, copyright issues preventing the band from drawing on Gallico’s text for the lyrics, as they had planned.
Perhaps because there are no words, the music, written by band members Andrew Latimer and Peter Bardens, is as close to classical music as any rock album has come. When Camel played it live at the Royal Albert Hall, they were accompanied by the London Symphony Orchestra. If Sibelius had lived through the 1960s, I suspect it’s the kind of music he would have been writing.
Does it evoke the setting or the themes of the book? Possibly not as explicitly as, for example, Vaughan Williams does with The Lark Ascending. But as someone who sought out Gallico’s story as a result of having first heard the album, I can only say, yes it does, and in spades: I can’t envision the harsh, unprotected coastal plains of East Anglia without hearing The Great Marsh, nor imagine the chaos and carnage of the Dunkirk evacuation without remembering the relentless, pounding bass drum from Camel’s Dunkirk; the four bar repeating cycle echoing the unimaginably brave decision to return again and again to the shore to rescue desperate troops and transfer them to larger craft for repatriation. And you only need to close your eyes during La Princesse Perdue to see the snow goose finally take her leave.
So I was delighted, recently, when my wife handed me the book she had just finished. Flatlands by Sue Hubbard, published last year by Pushkin Press, is a full length novel, which, like Camel’s album, was inspired by The Snow Goose.
It’s an exercise that could have gone horribly wrong, but thanks to Hubbard’s fabulous imagination and beautiful writing, it is an absolute joy to read. She changes enough from Gallico’s story to enable Flatlands to stand on its own, while keeping the essence of the original. By setting the novel (partly) in the recent past, by locating it in a real place, and by giving the main characters backstories that pick up expertly on the social complexities of pre-war Britain for two people from vastly different backgrounds, she creates a story that reads like a memoir. Like The Snow Goose, Flatlands is shot through with hardship and sadness but is ultimately redemptive, without any of Gallico’s reliance on metaphysics.
Thanks to the wonders of modern technology, I was able to read Hubbard’s book while on holiday listening to Camel’s sublime music. Of course, it won’t be to everyone’s taste, and you certainly don’t need to read Flatlands with your airpods in. I have no doubt the book would have reduced me to tears whether or not I’d been listening to the album. But the music certainly helped.