Susan Stewart has said that in 'writing soliloquies of suffering and consolation … elegists have discovered … a powerful means of addressing the tensions between grief's inchoate emotion and social rituals of mourning.' Using work by Graham Swift, Adam Thorpe and Michael Bracewell, I will argue that such elegies have informed one important strand of British fiction over the last thirty years, where the growth of 'cultural totalitarianism' (cf. Jonathan Franzen) has engendered, on the one hand, a primal impulse to preserve individual integrity against societal control, and on the other, a profound grief for the consequent loss of communal and ritual life, as well as for the land itself, which has suffered significant degradation and damage over the same period, damage catalogued by a number of important eco-critical observers, with specific reference to Graham Harvey.Keywords: British fiction, eco-criticism, grief, community, Graham Swift, Adam Thorpe, Michael Bracewell, Graham Harvey.
IWhen Princess Diana died, on 31 August 1997, an astonishing and, initially at least, spontaneous outburst of public grief was unloosed in these islands. As the fatal crash occurred in the Pont de l'Alma tunnel, I was visiting friends in Orkney, and so began the week reasonably far from the madding crowd; the sad events of that Paris night did, of course, register in Stromness and Kirkwall but, overall, the public response was more respectful than excessive: measured, thoughtful, humane, considered. Six days on, however, when I flew in to Glasgow I found George Square literally carpeted with floral tributes and, as I continued my homeward journey to Fife, I was struck by an almost palpable, and near-universal sense of grief. Two days later, on a trip through England ending in London, it became clear that, the denser the area of population in which I found myself, the more urgent, and the more puzzling, that grief became. By that time, of course, our politicians, not to mention the most narcissistic echelon of the celebrity class and, of course, The Media (it seems to have become accepted, or even de rigueur, to lump all of our press outlets together, good, bad and ugly) had jumped in to capitalise on the public mood, a mood at once powerful and lacking in focus, but even if these factors had not been present, the grief expressed in that massive, utterly sincere (though, in the end, short-lived) display-or, as I later came to see it, this performance-of communal, but not official, mourning could not be denied.At the same time, that public grief was becoming denatured. In some quarters, it was even becoming muddled and tawdry and I, like many others, began to doubt that it was all about this woman who, as decent and kind as she surely was, did not seem sufficiently commanding, or sufficiently complex, as a public figure, to invoke such strong feelings amongst so many. At the same time, we could all see that this grief was genuine and, though nobody asked then and few ask now what its true roots might be, I was convinced tha...