CHASE THE WIND - Book review

E.V. Thompson’s second book in his Retallick saga, Chase the Wind, was published in 1977 and won the Best Historical Novelist Award. In the chronological story sense it’s the sequel to Ben Retallick (1980) though clearly the first book in the series was published three years later!

The story is written in the omniscient viewpoint in order to provide the thoughts and actions of assorted characters, and works well, pulling the reader into the saga.

Set mainly in 1840s Cornwall, it begins with young Josh Retallick down the copper mine of Wheal Sharptor – the same mine his father worked in. Ben, aged 35, was reckoned an “old man” by mining standards. ‘It was an era when a miner who had seen his fortieth birthday below ground was something of a rarity’ (p8). They worked hard, digging ‘deep into the bowels of the earth, raising mountains of rubble around their shafts’ (p65).

Josh is being taught to read and write by the local preacher, William Thackeray, a good man who ‘was concerned for the souls of his people... he saw no reason why they should suffer unnecessary hardships in this life in order to enter the same heaven to which their far more comfortable employers were bound’ (p61).

It’s the time of the Corn Laws that created a cost-of-living crisis for the working men and women, a time when unionism was being advocated at great risk to those who espoused it. ‘The shortage of corn had been growing steadily worse throughout England. It had not been helped by the government laws which prevented corn being imported, in a misguided attempt to protect the interests of the farmers’ (p64).

For many years as youngsters, Josh had been a play friend of Miriam Trago, a wild child. But Josh had to put childish play aside as he was going away on an apprenticeship to become a mine-engineer. While on his apprenticeship he befriends Francis Trevithick and is not slow to grasp the nettle of new inventions, always seeking greater efficiency and increased safety.

Miriam is given some advice by the preacher: ‘You must find a man who recognises that a woman is capable of thinking for herself – a rarity in these parts, I’m afraid’ (p130). Before long Miriam was thinking for herself all right – vociferously saddened and angry at the lot of a miner’s wife. If her husband died in a mine, she was cast out of her cottage within a month. Her future might be the poor house or selling herself to drunken miners to feed her children. ‘That’s the system her husband gave his life for’ (p155).

Not all the mine owners are despots; some are considerate with a conscience, and it’s Josh’s fortunate lot that he works for such men. But the odds are still stacked against him and tragedy strikes more than once to contrive the separation of Josh and Miriam before they can truly be together. The preacher becomes a zealot for unionism, though ‘He’s the spoon as does the stirring, not the pot as sits on the fire’ (p349). Betrayal, conflict with the armed forces of the law, love and death, trial and retribution create tension for the reader. The pages fly by as the denouement closes in.

A very satisfying historical novel that puts you there, with believable characters, which impelled me to pick up the next book in the series to find out what happens – Harvest of the Sun.

Ernest Victor Thompson died in 2012, aged 81.

Editorial comment (for the benefit of writers):

‘Where are we?’ he asked as he swung his legs to the ground (p104). This scene is indoors so the ‘ground’ should read the ‘floor’. A common error to be found in a number of books.

‘(Josh and John) galloped past the bridge...’ (p353). Having written several westerns, I have tussled with this ambiguity. Of course the rider isn’t doing the galloping, but the horse is; maybe instead it could read ‘They led their horses in a gallop past the bridge’. A quibble, really; we know what is meant.

EMPRESS - Book review

Prolific author Graham Masterton’s historical saga Empress was published in 1988. 

Beginning in the early 1890s, the book concerns the life and loves of Lucy Darling, a Texan girl who dreams of riches and castles. She helps her father Jack in the town’s general store, with few prospects of escaping this humdrum existence. Her childhood friend Jamie Cullen harbours unrequited love for her. ‘Handsome and gentle, but strong, too; and unselfish. She was conscious that she might not love him forever: that if he didn’t agree to stay with her now, she might not give him a second chance. Life was too exciting for second chances’ (p107). [She would rue that thought about second chances some years later...]

Her Uncle Casper, a spendthrift adventurer, visits the store, though he is not particularly welcome by her father. Yet Casper brings exotic stories about his failed business ventures that intrigue Lucy. Yet, before long she comes to hate Casper. ‘Hatred can cool; envy can be assuaged; but guilt never forgets, and guilt never forgives, and guilt eats the spirit like fire consumes flesh’ (p111). This is a striking allusion to the fate of Casper, which is a traumatic tragedy. The result is that Lucy finds herself inheriting undreamed-of wealth, which enables her to escape with her father to elite drawing-rooms of New York, where she soon becomes a success, despite her strange Texan manner of speaking. Though not everyone was enamoured of her: ‘Mrs Harris at the back of the crowd with a face like a prairie cyclone’ (p137) Indeed, Mrs Harris, being outshone by Lucy, didn’t take kindly to the teenager: ‘... and glared at Lucy with an expression that could have crushed glass’ (p142).

And into the mix arrives British MP Henry Carson who is swept off his feet by the impetuous Lucy. ‘Henry was so direct about his interest in her, and she had never come across such candour before, especially when it came to courting. Bob Wonderly had at least tried to offer her a pound of liver, by way of foreplay’ (p157). Henry was an inveterate traveller, and in his spare time wrote, though his book royalties were not much more than £34 the previous year – join the club, Henry, though that sum in the 1890s is a lot more in today’s money... Henry harbours a secret which he is reluctant to divulge; and she soon learned that ‘his greed for public duty was beyond her understanding’ (p409).

Masterton has created an engaging, wilful, selfish and strong character in Lucy.

There are humorous and sad moments, and three notable quite graphic sexual encounters: ‘He must have the highest collar I ever clapped eyes on’ (p128) ‘Life became one glittering carousel of shining carriages and chandeliers, and men whose collars were so high they had to stare at the ceiling all evening’ (p178).

There is plenty of conflict between the main characters and certain subsidiary people. There are some twists in the tale, and a surprise or two at the end. A satisfying read.

I read this book while undergoing chemotherapy and was amused to read about a journey that Lucy took along the Saline Rive (p343) when I was actually being infused with saline solution!

Editorial comments:

I don’t know whose decision it was to begin the book with a short sequence showing Lucy in India and then skipping to her younger days in Texas (possibly an editor?). But that short sequence ruins much of the subsequent anguish she suffers prior to finally getting to India; in effect it is a spoiler. Roughly the last 200 pages (of 648) are set in India – which is described with colour, feeling and loving detail.

‘... thought to herself...’ (p145) – This is used more than once and is tautological – ‘thought’ would do. You can’t think to anyone else, after all.

The above reference to high collars is repeated – amusing the first time, granted.

THE LOVING SPIRIT - book review

 

Daphne du Maurier’s debut novel, The Living Spirit, published in 1931, is remarkable, the writing is so assured; whether she is writing about sailing on a storm-tossed sailing vessel or travelling through the beautiful countryside of her beloved Cornwall, you’re there. Within 350 pages she covers four generations of a family’s history: Jennifer Coombe (1830-1863); Joseph Coombe (1863-1900); Christopher Coombe (1888-1912); and Jennifer Coombe (1812-1930).

It begins in 1830, with the marriage of Janet Coombe to her second cousin Thomas. It is a good match, and yet Janet hankered for an adventurous life, away from the small harbour town of Plyn. ‘She loved Thomas dearly, but she knew in her soul there was something waiting for her greater than this love for Thomas. Something strong and primitive, lit with everlasting beauty’ (p18). She wanted to stride across the deck of a sailing boat, but felt chained by her sex and the mores of her time.

‘… the peace of God was unknown to her, and that she came nearer to it amongst the wild things in the woods and fields, or on the rocks by the water’s edge, than she did with her own folk in Plyn. Only glimpses of peace came her way, streaks of clarity in unawakened moments that assured her of its existence and of the certainty that one day she would hold the secret for her own’ (p32).

And: ‘… the rest of her stole from the warm, cheerful room, and the dear kindly faces, and fled away, away she knew not whither, beyond the quiet hills and the happy harbour of Plyn, through the seas and the sky – away to the untrodden air, and the nameless stars’ (p34).

This longing for she knew not what persisted until she absconded from a Christmas attendance at the local church and instead was drawn to the ancient castle ruins overlooking the sea. ‘She leant against the Castle ruins with the sea at her feet, and the light of the moon on her face. Then she closed her eyes, and the jumbled thoughts fled from her mind, her tired body seemed to slip away from her, and she was possessed with the strange power and clarity of the moon itself’ (p37).

It is here, as if experiencing an out-of-body and out-of-time revelation, when she encounters the man from the future, her son. This episode is eerie and moving. And its haunting sequel can be read on p187. Thus, finally, after giving birth to Samuel and Mary, what she had waited for occurred. Her son Joseph was born: ‘And when Janet held her wailing baby to her breast, with his wild dark eyes and his black hair, she knew that nothing in the whole world mattered but this, that he for whom she had been waiting had come at last’ (p51). While she continued to be a loving wife and mother, there was something other binding her to Joseph, ‘a love that held the rare quality of immortality’ (p66).

Janet had three more children, Herbert, Philip and Elizabeth, and of these three Philip proved to be the darkest, most spiteful individual who blighted the lives of others in the family.

Joseph’s wife gave birth to four children: Christopher, Albert, Charles and Katherine. And Christopher fathered three – Harold, Willie and Jennifer.

Both Joseph and Christopher’s lives are seriously damaged by the thoroughly unpleasant Philip’s scheming. The family is displaced to London while Jennifer is a child; these days are well told, displaying the young girl’s burgeoning character and self-reliance. Jennifer seems to have inherited Janet’s restlessness and affinity for the sea. ‘She could not imagine a world without the sea, it was something of her own that belonged to her, that could never be changed, that came into her dreams at nights and disturbed her not, bringing only security and peace’ (p258).

Du Maurier’s descriptions are always so visual, whether about nature or people, such as Jennifer’s grandmother: ‘Slowly she came into the room swaying from side to side, her great breasts heaving beneath her black dress, her white hair piled high on her head like a huge nest. As she moved she grunted to herself, and it took her nearly three minutes before she was seated in her chair, her bad foot on a cushion, and the Bible open before her’ (p264).

Though somewhat grotesque, several scenes involving her grandmother are highly amusing as she frequently misinterprets meanings or miss-hears words – see pp290-291, for example.

The book’s title is taken from one of Emily Bronte’s poems – and is echoed here:

Janet – Joseph – Christopher – Jennifer, all bound together in some strange and thwarted love for one another, handing down this strain of restlessness and suffering, this intolerable longing for beauty and freedom… bound by countless links that none could break, uniting in one another the living presence of a wise and loving spirit’ (p309).

A powerful saga – and an emotional one, too.

Editorial comment

Du Maurier isn’t the only writer who does this: telling you of a dramatic happening and then goes on to detail the actual incident, thereby destroying any surprise, shock or suspense. Sometimes, it may simply be a misplaced afterthought, as this example suggests. On p206: ‘… Christopher made the acquaintance of a young man of his own age, who seemed friendly, and the pair spent their free time together…’ Then on p207: ‘His friend, Harry Frisk, was waiting for him…’ The friend’s name should have been introduced when he was first mentioned, not almost a half-page later. Blame the editor.

THE TWILIGHT OF THE DAWN - Book review

Elizabeth Nell Debus’ historical romance was published in 1989; but I’ve just got round to reading it! 

It begins in May 1860, eleven months before the Civil War started. The story is from the viewpoint of eighteen-year-old Gabriele Cannon. The Cannons own a vast Louisiana plantation and a couple hundred slaves. She has an older brother Tom. Gabriele’s widowed father Oliver would like to free his slaves but state laws forbid it. Both Tom and Gabriele have been brought up with their aunt Mat’s slave girl Veronique; the latter is an accomplished dressmaker and earns money with her skill, though her earnings go to the aunt!

The novel is well written, with often lyrical descriptions, and captures the hopes and fears of the young Gabriele. Debus exhibits an understanding of the environment and all the people, the free and the enslaved.

‘And then she felt herself lifted as her mount left the earth, and for one moment in time, as the mare ran through air, the rider’s whole-body became light, buoyant, filled with a sense of union with the day, with the animal beneath her, with the world that bounded the life of Gabriele Cannon’ (p9).

While catching crayfish in the creek she observes a passenger on the deck of an approaching steam packet boat. This scene is artfully evoked by the cover painting by the artist David Bergen. Shortly afterwards, she is introduced to the passenger she had spotted: Alex St Cyr, an old friend of Tom’s, and Alex’s northern cousin, Jordan Scott.

Inevitably, both Alex and Jordan are attracted to Gabriele. Jordan’s family owns a lucrative shipping business. There is discussion concerning the lack of freedom of slaves to which Tom is sympathetic, while those who work on Scott ships are free men. Tom argues: ‘Legally (your seamen) are free. No one can actually sell them – but they are bought over and over again. Bought for low wages and given scandalous living quarters – not only in ships, but in factories all over the north’ (p93). It’s all very amicable, they agree to differ. Jordan intends to improve the lot of his workforce, but history interferes with his intentions.

Throughout, Gabriele is sympathetic to the plight of the slaves, even though compared to many plantations they are ‘treated well’.

Gabriele’s father is away a lot, involved in the politics, hoping to find compromise, but to no avail. His unexpected death means Gabriele must go into mourning dress.

Come April 1861, the die is cast – and very many will die as a result. Tom was drilling the home guard, as the military had moved north to combat the Yankees: ‘Spring sunshine, still pale and soft in late April, bathed the marchers with an almost veiled light, delicately gilding the long barrels of their rifles, staining their faces with the faint wash of gold’ (p223).

The fighting is virtually all reported: by newspapers or by witnesses who are usually fleeing. Terrible though the battles were, it is mainly only the results Gabriele sees: the wounded by the score.

Alex does not don the Confederate uniform, but becomes a blockade runner, his ship eluding the northerners. Jordan is fighting on the northern side. Tom too was away, fighting for the Confederacy. Gabriele and Aunt Mat coped, running the plantation.

When she finally relinquishes her mourning clothes, Gabriele appraises herself. She is older, and possibly wiser. The colour of her face ‘seemed fresher now, as though the heavy black of her mourning clothes had laid a film of grey over her skin that had now been removed’ (p235). She had ‘grown up’.

She had begun to realise that ‘The hardest battles are not with things outside ourselves, but with those within that work to make us lesser beings than we truly are’ (p247).

At 433 pages, this surprisingly was not a slow read. Interest was maintained throughout, with the reader wanting to know the fate of all of the finely drawn characters. In the mix: the disappearance of Veronique; a secret that Aunt Mat harboured; and the bonds of friendship that even war could not break, despite the friends being on different warring sides.

This historical saga is a fair and readable rendering of a young woman’s situation in a period fraught with complex issues, distress, privation and danger.

In these febrile times it is unlikely that Debus would find a publisher for this heartfelt honest book. I note that it doesn’t have any reviews on Amazon; and it doesn’t fare too well on Goodreads – averaging 3.5 stars. I’d give it four stars for the quality of the writing and the author’s sympathetic immersion in a past time.

The title is taken from HG Wells’ The Discovery of the Future: ‘The past is but the beginning of the beginning, and all that is and has been is but the twilight of the dawn.’ 

The Stranger from the Sea - Book review

 

The eighth Poldark novel by Winston Graham, The Stranger from the Sea was published in 1981. It begins in 1810, ten years after the previous novel, The Angry Tide (published in 1977).

The Angry Tide ended on a philosophical note from Ross Poldark’s wife Demelza, debating on the inevitable end we all must face: ‘The past is over, gone. What is to come doesn’t exist yet. That’s tomorrow. It’s only now that can ever be… We can’t ask more…’ (p612) [In a way, it’s echoing Margaret Mitchell’s Scarlett in Gone With the Wind – ‘Tomorrow is another day’]. So I thought it seemed a good place to leave the Poldark saga for a while, even though I had the rest of the series on my shelf.

Now, some many years later I’ve taken up the saga again from where I left off with The Stranger from the Sea.

Even after such a long absence, I soon became familiar with the characters again, though they have naturally aged, including their children: Jeremy is now nineteen and Clowance is sixteen. Bella was born in 1802, after the previous book ended. George Warleggan is an MP, as is Ross, but their paths have rarely crossed in the last ten years. George’s son Valentine is sixteen. Ross’s cousin Geoffrey Charles is twenty-six and serving with Wellington in Portugal. Ross is presently in Portugal as well, on a fact-finding mission to observe the progress against Bonaparte. Here, he meets Geoffrey Charles and reminiscences: ‘... he was loath to move, to wrench at the ribbon of memories that were running through his brain.’ (p40)

Jud and Prudie Paynter are in their seventies now, no longer in the Poldark household, and still at loggerheads. Jud’s still saying ‘Tedn right. Tedn proper.’ This time his displeasure concerns a duck and her newly hatched ducklings making a mess on their floor. As it happens, there were too many eggs for the mother to cover to hatch, so Prudie stuck three eggs in her cleavage to help them along, which meant Jud had to keep his distance for fear of cracking the eggs. Maybe that’s why he was complaining! (p271)

Both Jeremy and Clowance are at that age where their hearts are being tested by attachments. Demelza can recall being ‘in the grip of the same overpowering emotion. Perhaps it was just stirring in them, a sea dragon moving as yet sluggishly in the depths of the pool. But once roused it would not sleep again. It would not sleep until old age – sometimes, from what she’d heard people say, not altogether even then. But in youth an over-mastering impulse which knew no barrier of reason. An emotion causing half the trouble of the world, and half the joy.’ (p280)

Clowance has at least two suitors. Ben is a local lad, the second is Stephen Carrington, mysteriously washed ashore almost dead, rescued by Jeremy. Dr Dwight Enys brought to mind a Cornish saying: ‘Save a stranger from the sea/And he will turn your enemee.’ (p429) The love complications will not be settled in this book, however.

At this time King George is having fewer and fewer bouts of lucidity and Westminster is in turmoil as the king is incapable of signing anything. Moves are afoot to put the Prince of Wales in the monarch’s stead. Ross is vouchsafed an audience with the prince to report on the state of war in Portugal. ‘The Prince of Wales at last rose from his chair. It was a major upheaval and peculiarly uncoordinated, large areas of bulk levering themselves up in unrelated effort. One could even imagine all the joints jutting out, the utter indignity of a fall. But presently it was achieved and he was upright, heavily breathing, began to pace the room, his thin shoes slip-slop, slip-slop.’ (p133)

Occasionally, an interesting historical snippet is dropped in: ‘A steeplechase… is a form of obstacle race. Over hedges, streams, gates… always keeping the church steeple in view.’ (p63)

At other times there’ll be an amusing observation: ‘The older footman, who always seemed to have wrinkled stockings, let him in.’ (p345)

Or a fanciful description that works: ‘… a fire declared its will to live by sending up thin spirals of smoke.’ (p345)

As ever, Ross doesn’t hold back on his opinions. ‘People who brag of their ancestors are like root vegetables. All their importance is underground.’ (p361)

At this time new inventions were arising. ‘In Ayrshire there is a man called Macadam using new methods.’ (p423) And one of the landed gentry is extolling the near-future that will transform the country. Steam engines and other inventions will create prosperity: ‘… the ordinary man, the working man, the farm boy who has left home to work in the factories – they will all have some share in this prosperity… the level will rise. Not only the level to which people live but the level at which people expert to live. We are on the brink of a new world.’ (p481) In short, in time, the industrial revolution will improve the lot of man- and womankind throughout the world.

It’s good to be transported back to this time, to this family and to Cornwall.