Recently, I was listening to a Great Courses audiobook, “The Art of Reading.”  The lecturer, Professor Timothy Spurgin, shared the common insight that there are really only two main plots, which are recycled and repeated ad nauseum.  They are: “stranger comes to town” and “hero takes a journey.”  Since I listened to that lecture, I’ve amused myself by assigning each book I read to one category or another.  Sometimes it’s more difficult to figure out where a book belongs, but in the case of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, it’s clear as a bell – this is a classic “stranger comes to town” narrative.

The book opens as a letter from one Gilbert Markham to his brother-in-law (who never appears in the story).  Markham is putting pen to paper to tell a story that the brother-in-law must have asked about regularly: the appearance of a mysterious woman, calling herself Helen Graham, lodging in a few rooms of the crumbling Wildfell Hall with her little son and one old servant – and everything that happens afterward.

Helen is an object of immediate fascination for Markham, his mother and sister, and all of the neighbors in their little hamlet.  Who is she, and what brought her to this desolate spot, and what possibly possessed her to want to live in an abandoned old mansion?  Helen clearly prefers to keep to herself, but anyone who has lived in a small town knows that’s the first cardinal sin – and indeed, the villagers will not rest until she’s been dragged into the community.  They bully her into attending a small gathering at the Markhams’ farmhouse, and there discover that she has some interesting ideas about child-rearing.

“I will lead him by the hand, Mr. Markham, till he has strength to go alone; and I will clear as many stones from his path as I can, and teach him to avoid the rest – or walk firmly over them, as you say; – for when I have done my utmost, in the way of clearance, there will still be plenty left to exercise all the agility, steadiness, and circumspection he will ever have.  It is all very well to talk about noble resistance, and trials of virtue, but for fifty – or five hundred men who have yielded to temptation, show me one that has had virtue to resist.  And why should I take it for granted that my son will be one in a thousand? and not rather prepare for the worst, and suppose he will be like his – like the rest of mankind, unless I take care to prevent it?”

“You are very complimentary to us all,” I observed.

Helen’s insistence on instilling temperance in her son from an early age is interpreted by Markham and the villagers as some sort of man-hating Victorian helicopter parenting, and the village’s curiosity about her quickly turns to animosity.  The more she keeps to herself, the more rumors begin to spread about her virtue (or lack thereof) – especially when some eagle-eyed gossip notes that Helen’s son Arthur bears more than a passing resemblance to the landlord of Wildfell Hall, the young squire Frederick Lawrence.  But as the village looks with greater suspicion on Helen, Markham is falling in love with her (with no encouragement, and rather ostentatiously) – at least until, spying in a hedge (gross), he observes Helen in what seems to be a compromising position with the very same squire, Mr. Lawrence.  Consumed with jealousy, Markham attacks Lawrence and confronts Helen, who presses her diary upon him as evidence of her good faith.  And it turns out (spoiler alert!) that Helen’s name is not Graham after all; she is living at Wildfell Hall under an assumed name, on the run from her cruel, drunken, abusive and cheating husband.  Helen’s journal details the entire progression of her doomed marriage, from when she first meets Arthur Huntington as a high-spirited debutante, to the moment she begins to lose faith in him and the downward spiral that follows.

October 5th.–My cup of sweets is not unmingled: it is dashed with a bitterness that I cannot hide from myself, disguise it as I will.  I may try to persuade myself that the sweetness overpowers it; I may call it a pleasant aromatic flavour; but say what I will, it is still there, and I cannot but taste it.  I cannot shut my eyes to Arthur’s faults; and the more I love him the more they trouble me.  His very heart, that I trusted so, is, I fear, less warm and generous than I thought it.  At least, he gave me a specimen of his character to-day, that seemed to merit a harder name than thoughtlessness.

Reading through Helen’s journal, which Markham faithfully transcribes into the letter to his brother-in-law, is like watching a train wreck happen in real time – Bronte’s intention, no doubt.  And while the journal answers many questions – Helen’s relationship to Frederick Lawrence; the circumstances of her flight to Wildfell Hall; the reason she supports herself as a painter – it raises still more.  Will she return to her horrendous marriage?  If so, will she go back willingly or by force?  If not, how will she get out of it – divorce being basically impossible at that time?  Will Markham’s faith in Helen be rewarded?  Will the villagers ever learn the real story, and if they do, will they ever believe it?  These questions are answered by the remainder of Markham’s letter to his sister’s husband.

I think the conventional wisdom on Anne Bronte is that she is the least known and least read of the sisters, but for those who have read all three Brontes, Anne is often the favorite.  That’s certainly how it is for me – while Jane Eyre will always have my heart, I think I value Anne’s works (which seem less melodramatic and more realistic, but gripping all the same) even more than those of Charlotte and Emily.  (I did not care for Wuthering Heights at all.)  The Tenant of Wildfell Hall is as feminist as Jane Eyre – perhaps even more so.  It’s far ahead of its time in advocating for women’s independence and right to leave an abusive marriage.  (Worth noting for purposes of trigger warnings: other than a time when Arthur Huntington throws a book at his dog and hits Helen instead, accidentally, he does not harm her physically.  Although I’d argue that an injury imposed accidentally in the process of trying to intentionally harm an animal is not better.  And there’s no question that he is an emotional abuser and that his conduct towards little Arthur is reprehensible as well.)  It is very clear what Anne Bronte thinks about the lack of options available to a woman like Helen; Tenant is outspoken in its indictment of Victorian laws and customs relating to matrimony.  Helen is fortunate to find (a few) allies who help her out of her desperate situation; poorer women may not even have that stroke of luck.

I loved The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, but as I read through Helen’s harrowing diary, I remembered why it took me so long to come back to it for a re-read after first picking it up more than fifteen years ago.  It’s a captivating, gripping book with an important message, but not the easiest read.  I’m sure I’ll come back to Tenant again, but I’ll need to let it settle for a couple of years.

Which Bronte sister is your favorite?

Sometimes you run across a book that just feels like fall, know what I mean? Whether the action (all or part) takes place in autumn or not, there is just an undercurrent of crunchy leaves, bluebird skies, wood smoke and chill breezes. These are the kind of books that make me want to breathe deeply to take in those autumnal smells, then curl up beneath a cozy blanket, wrap my hands around a steaming cup of spiced tea, and read the afternoon away.

The Eagle of the Ninth, first book in Rosemary Sutcliff‘s classic Dolphin Ring Cycle about ancient Britain, has that fall feeling. Although the action follows hero Marcus Flavius Aquila throughout the seasons of the year, the pages themselves seem to be pervaded by the scent of smoke from Uncle Aquila’s fire, or the chilly breeze ruffling northern fields as Marcus sets out on his quest to recover the lost Eagle from his father’s old Roman Legion. It’s the type of book that pulls you into the story and holds you steadfast – perfect for reading on a cold night.

I’m not sure what it is about Persuasion that feels so perfectly for fall. Perhaps it’s because it is Jane Austen‘s final completed novel; that melancholy feeling of knowing that – although she was only 40 years old when she finished the novel, she was in the late autumn of her life. Or perhaps it’s the fact that the novel opens in fall and contains classic descriptions of the season – setting the tone for its deeper and slightly darker tone. In any event, it’s a relatively common experience to feel that pull toward Persuasion when the leaves begin to drop.

For those afternoons when you just want to curl up with something beautiful, but you don’t have the energy for a long classic, look to The Lost Spells, follow-up to Robert MacFarlane and Jackie Morris‘s gorgeous The Lost Words. Here you’ll find MacFarlane’s stunning poetry featuring British fauna (like the red fox and the goldfinch) accompanied by Morris’s mesmerizing art. Both the subject matter of the poems, and the deep navy, russet, and burnished gold (and more) colors of the art cry out to be read out in the brisk air.

What books call to you in the darkening days of fall?

I’ve been slowly working my way through Dorothy Whipple’s bibliography – first Greenbanks, then The Priory, and now High Wages.  Whipple is an author who deserves to be better known than she is, although word is spreading thanks to Persephone Books.  High Wages, Whipple’s first novel, is a bit different from her later works; the protagonist, Jane Carter, is a single “working girl” with career dreams rather than a middle-class young woman destined for marriage, like Christine of The Priory.  When the novel opens, Jane is wandering around the marketplace area of a small town outside Manchester, looking for a “place” that will allow her to escape her stepmother’s house.  But for all her prosaic goals, Jane has a poetic streak.

Jane lowered her beauty-dazed eyes to Tidsley market-place. Beneath that canopy, it was transfigured. The peaky roofs of shops and houses stood up darkly in the January air, the windows reflected a green-blue like the shell of a bird’s egg. The lamplighter was going round, and now behind him shone a string of jewels, emeralds pale and effulgent. There was almost no one about. It was a moment. Jane sometimes had these moments. She stood still in them.

Jane quickly finds her “place.”  As she walks through the marketplace on that early morning, she spots the proprietor of a garment shop hanging a “help wanted” notice in his window.  Jane promptly walks into the shop and talks her way into the job.  As a shop assistant, Jane discovers something of a calling – she is good at talking to the customers, even those who are much grander than she is, and she has an eye for pairing fabrics and embellishments that the ladies of Tidsley quickly come to appreciate.  But being a shopgirl isn’t all charm and fun.  Jane is always hungry; her boss’s wife never provides enough food.  And Jane comes face-to-face with her powerlessness when her employer cheats her out of a large commission she earned, which would have made an important difference to her quality-of-life.  Reflecting on the unfairness of her position, Jane asks the same questions that Mr. Barton, and the trade unionists, ask in Elizabeth Gaskell’s novels Mary Barton and North and South.

Why did some people – Sylvia Greenwood, for instance – have so much? Parents, money, a grand house, a grand car, grand clothes. It wasn’t fair. Not that she wanted all that. She wanted her due. She wanted that ninepence.

Why did some people have so much? And yet, compared with Lily, she herself must seem almost rich. Was it all like this? Did everyone look with envy at the one above? Funny. And funny, too, that the thought of someone else being worse off than you were yourself should make you feel more cheerful. Jane smiled grimly in the dark.

With this scene, I started noticing a lot of parallels between High Wages and Mary Barton in particular.  Both Jane Carter and Mary Barton are dress shop assistants.  Both dream of climbing to the middle class (although Mary Barton would prefer to marry her way to grandeur, while Jane Carter is happy to work her way up in trade, like many of the rich businessmen in the town did).  Both cast their eyes at a young man from the moneyed set – in Mary’s case, the despicable Harry Carson; in Jane’s, the kind but flawed Noel Yarde.  As I was reflecting on all the similarities between Mary Barton and High Wages, I came to this little Easter egg:  

‘There’s that Evelyn Wood and Mary Barton going past again. That’s the tenth time, about, this morning. Hope they’ll catch something soon. If you and me walked about the streets like that, Jane, they’d call us a couple of tarts. . .’

I KNEW IT!  It felt like a fun little wink from Whipple to her readers.

Mary Barton parallels aside: High Wages follows Jane as she works hard in the shop, befriends her fellow shop assistant – and then has a falling-out with her – suffers an embarrassment at a social event, and walks and reads through the weekends.  But life circumstances pile on – after an unwanted advance, and the unfortunate consequences thereof, conspire to drive Jane from her hard-won position.  A lucky break comes through just in time; Jane’s kindness to a customer pays off and she earns herself an investor and an opportunity to open her own shop – which she does in the face of her former employer’s insistence that she will fail.

Jane works hard – as the proprietress of her business, she does it all.  (This reminded me of a mentor I once had when I was first starting out in my career.  He and I visited a client who owned some restaurant franchises, and when we walked into one of the restaurants, the owner was behind the host’s stand.  My mentor leaned over and said quietly to me, “This is what you do when you own the business.  You do everything.”)  And Jane’s hard work pays off; at the end of her first year, her accountant delivers the news that the store has been profitable beyond Jane’s wildest expectations, yielding handsome returns for both herself and her investor.  Jane collapses in relief. 

But what a grinding year it had been! How she had worked, early and late, doing everything, cleaning windows, polishing fittings, dusting, sweeping, buying and cooking her own food, interviewing travelers, selling in the shop, stock-taking, having sales, sending out bills, sending them out again and again, insisting on payment, dealing hardily with troublesome customers, going to Manchester and again to London to keep up with the times – Phew! What a year! The struggle had matured her; she felt more capable, more confident, but older. She didn’t think that anyone, looking at her now, would say she was too young to manage a shop.

Jane’s success in business continues to build as she works harder than ever, but her luck in love and personal life is less lavish.  I won’t spoil the story, which is wonderful – if a touch melodramatic at times – suffice it to say, an ill-advised love affair threatens to destroy everything Jane has built, forcing her to examine what she values most in the life she has built, and whether she is truly prepared to throw away her independence for a man.

I enjoyed High Wages immensely.  As I said above, it’s definitely not a “typical” Whipple novel (judging by the two I’ve already read).  Whipple’s later works focus more on family dynamics; Jane is unusual in that she is a single “working girl” who places her career above aspirations of marriage.  Whipple’s later – more family-oriented – novels recall Austen more than any other influence; High Wages, by contrast, constantly nods to Gaskell.  And while I’m not sure any Whipple heroine will replace Christine in my heart, I can see myself cultivating a good solid friendship with Miss Carter, and revisiting High Wages again and again.

Have you read any Dorothy Whipple?