“Precipice”, set in the era just preceding World War I, concentrates on Herbert Asquith, the British Prime Minister of the time, and his lover, Venetia Stanley. The story intrigued me, in part due to the 560 letters that Asquith sent to her, all of which she retained and can now be publicly perused. Unfortunately, Asquith disposed of all her correspondence, leaving us with an unbalanced perspective of this romance, which appears oddly obsessive. As a writer, I felt compelled to imagine Venetia’s side of the dialogue and bring her back into the spotlight. By reconstructing her responses, the relationship utterly transformed. We can infer from Asquith’s replies that she was fervent, suggesting that their bond was more multifaceted than commonly believed by historians.
There was a noteworthy episode in August 1914 where a leak investigation was initiated because Asquith, in sharing confidential papers with Venetia, unintentionally caused some to be found scattered in fields. I decided to delve into the life of a 1914 official, entrusted with probing into this matter of classified telegrams discovered unattended in rural areas. This led to the creation of my third character, Paul Deemer, a police officer and MI5 agent, revealing the circumstances from an external viewpoint. He becomes a lens for contemporary readers, providing insight into that era.
As an author, I am particularly drawn towards historical fiction, as evidenced by my works including “Munich”, “Act of Oblivion”, “Fatherland” and “Enigma”. So, the question stands – how much of “Precipice” is based on actual events and how much is pure imagination? Every letter Asquith pens in the novel is authentic, and those letters, amounting to five or six thousand words, construct the book’s backbone. We are privy to the evolution of the relationship, their locations, their rendezvous and the frequency of their meetings. A wealth of information is available, including the telegrams under Asquith’s scrutiny at the advent of World War I and the proceedings of cabinet and war council meetings.
The information relayed in my book, which spans from July 1914 to May 1915, was heavily extracted from The Times. It is all based on realities of the time, although the personal correspondences and interactions are a product of my imagination. It’s not possible for me to derive a ratio of fact to fiction within the novel, essentially all of it could be perceived as fictional, yet it is grounded in truth. My writing process consists of maintaining realism, I need to believe what I write could easily have happened in reality. That’s my fundamental principle.
I aim to exclude any assertions that I am convinced are false from my novel. The inclusion of real personalities like Winston Churchill and Lord Kitchener seemed a daunting prospect but eventually provided some of the high points of the writing process.
Readers might struggle with the concept of a prime minister in his sixties acting like an infatuated adolescent in the pages of my book. Posthumously, Venetia’s daughter, Judy, discovered the letters in 1948. The Bonham-Carter family, who are Asquith’s descendants, transcribed them in 1962 and handed them to Roy Jenkins for his Asquith biography. The correspondences were brimming with declarations of love, such as “Have I told you how much I love you? Compute the stars multiplied by the grains of sand.”
Whilst these expressions of profound adoration are intense, Jenkins dismissed all such sentiments. The unfiltered nature of the letters was not made public until 1982 when half the collection was published. Only then did we comprehend the depth of the elder statesman’s affection for Venetia – it was an infatuation on the verge of erotic obsession. Despite the war’s intense demands, he would fritter away nearly a week to visit her in Cheshire.
The segments describing how they lay in a grassy hollow in Northern Wales or gazed at the stars from a garden bench, depicted in the book, are based on real events. He penned down his experiences enthusiastically about her – showing there was definitely something brewing between the two. Routinely, he would whisk her away for drives in the rural areas once or twice a week. Even though historians suggest their relationship was of a platonic nature, it felt much deeper to me.
As described in your book, the British premier wandered about without being recognised. Could such a situation really occur in 1914?
Indeed, it’s a genuine fact. He was the last prime minister from the Victorian era. Having been born in 1852, he had a strong aversion to modern communication, a period when newsreels were just emerging. Venetia Stanley was actually able to spot him in a newsreel and wrote to him about it. He could move about freely without a secretary or bodyguard accompanying him and even manage to hail a taxi at the end of Downing Street to visit the king.
His ability to blend in, particularly after World War I broke out, was astonishing. However, he began getting noticed in streets and would often be trailed by who he referred to as “loafers”. He was a relic of a time past and was therefore easy pickings for media-savvy politicians like Lloyd George.
Ireland also plays a significant role in the backdrop. From your novel, it seems that he had limited knowledge about Ireland and found it somewhat bothersome.
To him, Ireland was a challenge that needed tackling. Much of the time, the Liberal government was shored up by the Irish nationalists and the Labour Party as they did not hold a majority in the House of Commons.
By 1914’s summer, John Redmond, the Irish Parliamentary Party’s chief, had expressed that it was time to deliver on the promise of Home Rule, which could have divided the Liberal Party. The nation was inching closer to a civil war, and the Curragh mutiny had already resulted. Asquith had become the war secretary to impart some stability within the British army, and until late July 1914, the primary concern was Ulster’s situation and how a crisis could be averted.
Amid the political turmoil following the assassination of the archduke and Austria’s ultimatum to Serbia, a sense of relief permeated certain circles. It meant that the pressing Irish issue could yet again be pushed into the background, which it indeed was. The Conservative party decided to sideline it till the conclusion of the war, in agreement with Redmond – a course of action reflecting Asquith’s top priorities during the summer of 1914.
It appears you are suggesting that Asquith’s personal obsessions may have carried tangible implications for Britain’s involvement in the war. Rather than challenging Churchill over his Gallipoli strategy during cabinet gatherings, he devoted his time to drafting affectionate letters to Venetia Stanley.
I merely present the evidence at hand. In the January 1915 war council session, with the western front at a deadlock and with Britain scouting for other locations to deploy the Royal Navy, Churchill presented his Gallipoli scheme. Asquith was also in attendance – we know this due to a letter he wrote to Venetia during this meeting. From the contents of the letter, it’s evident that his focus wasn’t fully on, in retrospect, Churchill’s suggestion of conquering Constantinople with just 1,500 naval division men.
It’s difficult for me to comment on the level of significance of this scenario. The only factual observation I can contribute is that Gallipoli saw the death of 32,000 British soldiers, suggesting his mind may not have been completely engaged in his role at this juncture.
Another political catastrophe was the 1915 shell crisis which saw a massive deficit of shells on the western front. He misunderstood a document from Kitchener, leading him to falsely declare no shortage of shells in a Newcastle speech.
This document was absent as he had dispatched it to Venetia. This had considerable political repercussions. After Venetia ended their affair, he seemed to suffer a minor nervous breakdown. A mere five days later, he disbanded the Liberal government and invited the Conservative leader, Andrew Bonar Law, to establish a coalition government. This marked the end of the Liberal government. Venetia’s influence on the history of this era is remarkably interwoven.
You had a friendship with Tony Blair during the reign of the New Labour. Does the return to power of the current Labour Party please you?
I am glad the Tories are no longer in power; their impact on the nation due to Brexit had been destructive, injecting a semblance of insanity into UK politics. Although it’s the early phase for the current government, they’ve inherited a bleak situation. The nation’s debt stands colossal, making economic growth a challenge in the face of projected tax hikes. I don’t exactly greet each day with a triumphant song for the government, their capacity to inspire is somewhat limited.
Have I ever embarked on a literary journey? I have. Near my home in Sutton Courtney, Oxford, lies a cemetery where Asquith and George Orwell are interred almost adjacently.
As for the best piece of advice I’ve garnered as a writer? Philip Roth once wisely said that as a writer, you’ll inevitably produce a great deal of rubbish. You must arm yourself with patience and keep revisiting your work – it will eventually improve through diligent effort.
Personally, I don’t indulge in hero worship, I am neither inspired nor repulsed by any individual in particular.
The most beautiful book in my collection? It’s got to be a first edition of Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World, remarkable for its cover. I’m also the proud owner of a first edition of A Clergyman’s Daughter signed by Eric Blair.
My favourite quote is one by Cicero about History, “People who were ignorant about what occurred before they were born are destined to always remain a child. For what is the worth of human life, unless it is woven into the life of our ancestors by the records of history?”
A book that tickles my funny bone? Kingsley Amis’ Lucky Jim always gets me laughing.
Has a literary work ever moved me to tears? Not really. As I’ve aged, I find myself stirred to emotion when athletes achieve incredible feats, particularly when the runner-up commends the winner in good spirit. The action just resonates with me.
“Precipice,” a book published by Penguin, has its author Robert Harris speaking at Pavilion Theatre in Dún Laoghaire, Dublin County on the night of September 3rd at 8pm. Afterwards, on September 4th, between 11am and noon, he will be autographing copies of the same title at various bookstores. These include Books Upstairs, Hodges Figgis, Dubray on Grafton Street, and Eason at St. Stephen’s Green.