The Quiet Visionary From Yorkshire

Book Review: "And So Did I " by Malachi Whitaker (Recovered Books/Boiler House Press, 2025 ISBN: 9781915812759

This is a memoir that requires reading between the lines—which is not a drawback at all, but rather a captivating experience. Written in 1937–38, Malachi Whitaker’s And So Did I reads like an early mid-century experimental novel. I felt like I was reading a work of fiction because her writing is very controlled and not in a journal-like style. Each sentence is tightly crafted, with layers of meaning. The fun part is letting the whole book wash over you, and as you dry yourself, you begin to pick up on clues and remarks—not thrown across the room like laundry, but pieced together in a puzzle where everything fits perfectly.

Whitaker had a difficult life, and most of it took place in Yorkshire, but she never fully explores it. Her writing style and emotional tone are understated. I get the sense that she’s holding back—not because she’s hiding something, but because she’s sharing her story slowly, on her terms. She mentions a serious operation and describes the scar, but we never learn the cause or consequences. She has two adopted children, a husband, and a sister with whom she appears to be especially close. They don’t share secrets, at least not with us, but her enjoyment of simply being in the same room with her is obvious.

Whitaker also appears comfortable with her financial situation at the time of writing, likely due to her husband’s employment. Though she was well-respected as a short story writer, the family had previously struggled. She married her husband during World War I, and now, as she writes this memoir from Yorkshire, World War II looms on the horizon.

While reading the book, I reflected on my own life and how it constantly shifts between ups and downs, with no clear certainty about where things will ultimately end up. I feel Whitaker experienced much the same in her landscape. She briefly mentions the approaching war but focuses more on the presence of Communists and Fascists pressing in on her world. This reflects the mood of many during that era. And I suspect, even though the memoir’s style leans toward the slipperier side of avant-garde writing—with its reflections and meditations on life around her—readers of her time would have sensed and understood her anxiety.

Whitaker is a masterful prose stylist. Her understated manner is both mysterious and quietly shocking, as seen in her observation of an X-rated film—the content of which remains unknown. She doesn’t approach it as eros, but rather treats it like a sociological study. The moment stands out, oddly placed among her otherwise proper tone, like a crack in the armor.

This memoir isn’t narrative-driven but rather a mood piece that unfolds gradually as the pages turn. For writers (and readers), she is a prose artist worth studying. Her work combines tension and keen observation in a uniquely captivating way. I love the book, and we owe thanks to Recovered Books/Boiler House Press for bringing an old (and thus new) author to our attention.

And here is another review/commentary I did for two other books by the press: