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.
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