Book Review: Extraordinary Women
May. 13th, 2022 07:22 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
osprey_archerA couple of facts about Compton Mackenzie’s Extraordinary Women: I read it because Mary Renault recommended it in her afterword to The Friendly Young Ladies (in which she panned The Well of Loneliness), and Compton Mackenzie wrote it after becoming acquainted with the lesbian social circle on Capri (Sirene in the book) when his wife had an affair with one of the members.
I don’t know if that particular woman was the basis for Rosalba Donsante, who spends the book seducing her way across Sirene and disrupting relationships between scads of women in the process, but I wouldn’t be surprised.
Mixed feelings about this book! Parts of it I really liked: it offers a vivid sense of place, both in its beautiful descriptions of its gorgeous island setting and its incisive eye for its social milieu. (In this sense it reminds me of Jane Austen, if she turned her sarcasm up to 10 and kept it there for the whole book). It has a sense of humor, something The Well of Loneliness notably lacked. (Could an author with a sense of humor call a book The Well of Loneliness with a straight face?) And unlike Stephen and her invert friends, who spend most of The Well of Loneliness tormented by qualms of conscience about their sexuality and gender identity, the characters here are blessedly unbothered.
However, this is because the only character who visibly possesses any kind of conscience is Rory Freemantle, a ridiculous person who spends most of the book convinced that she’s having an epic love affair with Rosalba, when in fact Rosalba has the emotional depth of a puddle and is basically mooching off Rory for money. (I’m fairly sure Rory Freemantle is based on Radclyffe Hall, who I devoutly hope never read this book.) Otherwise the characters have the morals of goldfish.
It’s very 1920s - very reminiscent of, say, F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Beautiful and the Damned, that same sense of post-war nihilism and ennui. You could read this as a commentary on the characters’ sexuality, but in fact the men (straight and otherwise) who occasionally drift into the narrative are exactly the same, only even more easily misled by Rosalba’s flirtations. (She doesn’t seem to have any genuine interest in men, but they are occasionally useful pawns to make other women jealous.)
This, anyway, was how I felt for the first two-thirds of the book. The last third complicated my thoughts on the matter.
In the last third of the book, Rosalba gets her comeuppance. She begins a determined pursuit of Olimpia Leigh, who ultimately rejects Rosalba’s advances; but in the meantime, Rosalba becomes so consumed by this pursuit that she ultimately loses all the other women on her string.
This culminates in a moment when Rosalba suggests her besotted protector Rory Freemantle committed a peculiar recent burglary on Olimpia’s villa. She’s spreading this rumor with the vague idea that it will help her with her pursuit of Olimpia - only it backfires; every single woman at the table knows that Rory Freemantle would never do such a thing, that Rory Freemantle has in fact gone to embarrassing lengths to help and protect Rosalba, and Rosalba is thoughtlessly, heedlessly betraying that affection by suggesting Rory is a criminal, for no better reason than an ill-thought-out amorous intrigue. There is no grand denunciation, no dramatic split, but all the same you feel the last vestiges of Rosalba’s power over these women snapping in that moment.
It even breaks Rosalba’s hitherto unbreakable hold on Rory Freemantle. As Rosalba chases Olimpia in a motorboat, Rory has a nice lunch of bread and cheese on the peak on top of the island, “apprehending the painlessness of separation once it is effected,” and ends the book having a nice cup of tea and musing that she hasn’t had proper tea for ages because Rosalba didn’t care for it.
I have not met a Rosalba, but in college I did know a boy named Sid who approached his platonic friendships in much the same Machiavellian spirit. Sid’s machinations wreaked havoc among the international students until the glorious weekend when the scale fell from everyone’s eyes, culminating in a moment when Angela, who hitherto had a crush on Sid, smashed a slice of cake in his face. Vengeance was truly sweet.
Similarly, it’s quite appealing to see Rosalba finally - FINALLY! - get her comeuppance. But there’s a lot of book to get through where she’s running roughshod over everyone, breaking up couples just because she happens to feel like it, pretending to be deeply in love sheerly in order to enjoy the thrill of conquest, etc. etc. Is it worth suffering through all of that just to see her comeuppance happen? MAYBE. But it’s a long, hard climb on the way.
I don’t know if that particular woman was the basis for Rosalba Donsante, who spends the book seducing her way across Sirene and disrupting relationships between scads of women in the process, but I wouldn’t be surprised.
Mixed feelings about this book! Parts of it I really liked: it offers a vivid sense of place, both in its beautiful descriptions of its gorgeous island setting and its incisive eye for its social milieu. (In this sense it reminds me of Jane Austen, if she turned her sarcasm up to 10 and kept it there for the whole book). It has a sense of humor, something The Well of Loneliness notably lacked. (Could an author with a sense of humor call a book The Well of Loneliness with a straight face?) And unlike Stephen and her invert friends, who spend most of The Well of Loneliness tormented by qualms of conscience about their sexuality and gender identity, the characters here are blessedly unbothered.
However, this is because the only character who visibly possesses any kind of conscience is Rory Freemantle, a ridiculous person who spends most of the book convinced that she’s having an epic love affair with Rosalba, when in fact Rosalba has the emotional depth of a puddle and is basically mooching off Rory for money. (I’m fairly sure Rory Freemantle is based on Radclyffe Hall, who I devoutly hope never read this book.) Otherwise the characters have the morals of goldfish.
It’s very 1920s - very reminiscent of, say, F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Beautiful and the Damned, that same sense of post-war nihilism and ennui. You could read this as a commentary on the characters’ sexuality, but in fact the men (straight and otherwise) who occasionally drift into the narrative are exactly the same, only even more easily misled by Rosalba’s flirtations. (She doesn’t seem to have any genuine interest in men, but they are occasionally useful pawns to make other women jealous.)
This, anyway, was how I felt for the first two-thirds of the book. The last third complicated my thoughts on the matter.
In the last third of the book, Rosalba gets her comeuppance. She begins a determined pursuit of Olimpia Leigh, who ultimately rejects Rosalba’s advances; but in the meantime, Rosalba becomes so consumed by this pursuit that she ultimately loses all the other women on her string.
This culminates in a moment when Rosalba suggests her besotted protector Rory Freemantle committed a peculiar recent burglary on Olimpia’s villa. She’s spreading this rumor with the vague idea that it will help her with her pursuit of Olimpia - only it backfires; every single woman at the table knows that Rory Freemantle would never do such a thing, that Rory Freemantle has in fact gone to embarrassing lengths to help and protect Rosalba, and Rosalba is thoughtlessly, heedlessly betraying that affection by suggesting Rory is a criminal, for no better reason than an ill-thought-out amorous intrigue. There is no grand denunciation, no dramatic split, but all the same you feel the last vestiges of Rosalba’s power over these women snapping in that moment.
It even breaks Rosalba’s hitherto unbreakable hold on Rory Freemantle. As Rosalba chases Olimpia in a motorboat, Rory has a nice lunch of bread and cheese on the peak on top of the island, “apprehending the painlessness of separation once it is effected,” and ends the book having a nice cup of tea and musing that she hasn’t had proper tea for ages because Rosalba didn’t care for it.
I have not met a Rosalba, but in college I did know a boy named Sid who approached his platonic friendships in much the same Machiavellian spirit. Sid’s machinations wreaked havoc among the international students until the glorious weekend when the scale fell from everyone’s eyes, culminating in a moment when Angela, who hitherto had a crush on Sid, smashed a slice of cake in his face. Vengeance was truly sweet.
Similarly, it’s quite appealing to see Rosalba finally - FINALLY! - get her comeuppance. But there’s a lot of book to get through where she’s running roughshod over everyone, breaking up couples just because she happens to feel like it, pretending to be deeply in love sheerly in order to enjoy the thrill of conquest, etc. etc. Is it worth suffering through all of that just to see her comeuppance happen? MAYBE. But it’s a long, hard climb on the way.
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Date: 2022-05-16 01:26 am (UTC)Although TBH even that might not help. I'm continually surprised by the books by big name authors that have never been adapted: why no adaptation of Charlotte Bronte's Shirley and Villette, filmmakers?