Rendell revels in humankind’s appetites and absurdities

 
The Saint Zita Society
Mark Sanderson2 August 2012

The Saint Zita Society
by Ruth Rendell
(Hutchinson, £18.99)

Victoria is the latest corner of the capital to be examined by the beady eyes of Dame Ruth. She tells us in the first line that it is where the Queen lives, yet most of the action occurs in the palaces of Hexam Place, a succession of mini-mansions that need an army of hired help to maintain. Their brilliant white stucco may present a spotless façade but behind it both masters and servants indulge in all manner of black deeds.

June, the aged retainer of an even older fake princess, founds the Saint Zita Society in a local pub to protect the neighbourhood (from dog waste and smokers) and the rights of those who live below stairs. Zita is the patron saint of domestic servants.

However, it soon becomes merely a glorified gossip shop where chauffeurs, au pairs and cleaners can drink and swap tales of sin. The subjects of such tittle-tattle include a lord whose dishy driver is servicing both his wife and daughter; an insurance magnate whose wife is playing away with a soap star, and a pair of stuck-up queens.

Rendell follows the lives of at least a dozen characters as they collide and divide over one winter. It is no coincidence that only one of them — an urban fox — appears on the cover. This novel is Rendell’s version of Volpone and it displays all of Jonson’s delight and disgust at the appetites and absurdities of humankind. Nevertheless, there is real death here, not a fake one, and part of the fun is seeing how an increasingly wobbly bannister and a gardener with a warped view of the world each ensure someone’s downfall.

Rendell notices how dandruff drifts onto an old woman’s toast; points out that the victims of stabbings are always portrayed as saints instead of “slimeballs”; is all too aware that luck rewards vice as much as virtue. To read her nowadays is akin to quaffing a glass of what the fake princess calls “TDTINW” — the drink that is never wrong — champagne. She is exhilarating, makes you giggle yet leaves you with an acidic aftertaste.

Create a FREE account to continue reading

eros

Registration is a free and easy way to support our journalism.

Join our community where you can: comment on stories; sign up to newsletters; enter competitions and access content on our app.

Your email address

Must be at least 6 characters, include an upper and lower case character and a number

You must be at least 18 years old to create an account

* Required fields

Already have an account? SIGN IN

By clicking Create Account you confirm that your data has been entered correctly and you have read and agree to our Terms of use , Cookie policy and Privacy policy .

This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.

Thank you for registering

Please refresh the page or navigate to another page on the site to be automatically logged in