A Certain Slant of Light

My reading binge has continued! Sadly I did not stumble upon any gems of ancestral hilarity, although there was a certain amount of WTF?ness to be found.

First, I read Laura Elizabeth Richards Howe’s 1894 Marie, a slender book about the French fiddler Marie who, accompanied by her beloved violin, escapes from the evil circus master and wanders into a charming little Maine village. She is playing her violin, to the delight of the village children...only to be interrupted by the thundering rage of Jacques De’Arthenay (whose name, after centuries in the new world, has been mangled into “Jakes”), a man whose religious rejection of music is so hardcore that he “harbored in the depths of his soul thoughts about the probably frivolity of David.” (13)

You know. Because of the harping.

Of course Jacques falls madly in love with Marie. And Marie, of course, finds him terrifying. So naturally when the circus master shows up in town intent on dragging Marie away with the circus again, Jacques saves her - on the condition that she will marry him, and never play her devilish fiddle again!

By the end of the book Jacques has Seen the Light (or rather Heard the Birdsong) about music. But still, least romantic relationship ever, especially considering how very insistent the book is that Marie is still a child in her heart: “a child among children” (14); “not a fool, only a child” (63); “the child you wedded whether she would or no, and from whom you are taking the joy of childhood, the light of youth.” (84) Ooookay then.

On the other hand, Maria Thompson Daviess’ 1918 The Golden Bird is rather charming, although clearly suffering the early stages of war fever: Daviess has tucked into her novel an agricultural tract on the importance of growing enough food to feed ourselves and our troops in the upcoming struggle.

Following her feckless father’s loss of his fortune (because he was too distracted by Thucydides to keep track of his investments), Ann moves to her ancestral dwelling in the Harpeth Valley, accompanied by a bevy of chickens that she hopes will lay her a fortune. (The Golden Bird in question is the rooster.)

Ann’s beau Matthew is horrified by this turn into henwifery. Horrified. He attempts to talk her around - “ ‘Now, Ann,’ began Matthew, in the soothing tone of the voice he had seen fail on me many times” (33) - but of course it is all for naught.

Poor Matthew. He is so completely ineffectual at bossing Ann around, he was clearly doomed as a romantic prospect from the start. (Naturally I liked him better than the man Ann does end up with.)

But never fear! The author has a consolation prize for Matthew. As Matthew helps Ann set up her chicken boxes in the barn, “an apple blossom in the shape of a girl drifted into the late afternoon sunlight from the direction of the feed-room.” (35) This apparition with eyes “as shy and blue as violets were before they became a large commercial product,” (35) and she is so enchanting that Ann cannot resist temptation: Ann’s “lips met the rosy ones that were held up to me. I felt sorry for Matthew, and I couldn’t restrain a glance of mischief at him that crossed his that were fixed on the yellow braids.” (36)

Yes. Ann just snogged the apple-blossom to tease Matthew. Like you do!