THE BIRD IN THE TREE by Elizabeth Goudge
Aug. 7th, 2018 08:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blueinkedfrostThis book is beautifully written, challenging, and enticing. There are some complex theological and philosophical ideas mixed into the beautiful prose - not forced, not ponderous, naturally and nicely combined - and it's in service of ideas which aren't so common today.
The descriptions of the English countryside and English history are worth reading - Goudge had an amazing eye for detail, a love for her subject, and a grand gift. (I loved THE LITTLE WHITE HORSE and this adult novel has similar aspects that come into a full and complex bloom here.)
Lucilla Eliot is a grande dame of a grandmother with a beautiful estate in the country, Damerosehay, a tranquil and aesthetic home maintained by superhuman effort. She wants to leave it to her grandson David Eliot so the family line can continue. But if Lucilla's daughter-in-law Nadine Eliot finalises her divorce from stodgy husband George and marries her nephew by marriage David, this will tear the family apart. No more Damerosehay - no more happiness for Nadine's children - no more Eliot line.
"Keep your promises" is the ethical value given to this narrative. Don't divorce even if you're unhappy, even if you've fallen in love with someone else. Lucilla herself made this difficult moral choice: doomed to her own stodgy husband, Lucilla once had a passionate affair with a handsome doctor that could have ruined the lives of her lover, herself, and all her family. Lucilla gave up her love to keep her word. Now she expects Nadine and David to do the same thing.
"Children are the most important thing, because they are the next generation", and "Look after your aged parents", are two other key moral principles. But the responsibilities are not exactly evenly distributed. The narrative expects that women (not men) should refrain from careers in the world as a sacrifice for these values. Nadine runs an antique shop and is skilled at her work, but this achievement is considered nothing next to David's acting genius or George's public service position. And taking the sequels into account, Lucilla's family has two generations of surplus daughters - the tradition that one daughter in the family, the unattractive one, is required to never marry, never have a career, and spend her life in domestic chores and looking after her ageing parents. (I've heard anecdotes of parents who bribed suitors to stay away from the designated caretaker daughter. And this took place in the twentieth century, even.) It's pretty hypocritical that first the beautiful Lucilla has her servant do all the crappy, difficult chores of looking after her children in practice; then Lucilla's unattractive daughter becomes the spinster who does all the dirty work; and then Lucilla has a similarly unattractive granddaughter who will probably follow the same path.
In art, the artist always has the chance to load the dice. A skilled writer will seem to play fair. Goudge is very skilled. In Lucilla's story especially, the author's decisions come across as true. Because of the social stigma of divorce in Lucilla's time, Lucilla would have ruined her life and her lover's life if they had run away together. Nadine falling in love with her nephew by marriage is also an inherently troubling family situation in absolutely any time and place. Dear Abby would tell a twenty-first-century Nadine and David to be cautious and thoughtful.
Her [Lucilla's] generation had built from without inwards, had put the reality of law and tradition above the reality of personal feeling; but his built from within outwards, the truth of personal feeling must come first.
David eventually comes to decide that the second option is wrong in the story. It's certainly easy to agree that people should try not to make life-altering choices at the very moment of extreme personal feeling. It's also easy to appreciate the moral of becoming a mask: choose to behave well, even if you don't feel it, and over time it can be come a habit. The only problem is defining what consists of behaving well.
It was that declaration of Nadine's, that she wanted "to live her own life," that exasperated Lucilla beyond anything else in the whole wretched business. It was a remark frequently on the lips of the modern generation, she knew, and it annoyed her. For whose lives, in the name of heaven, could they live except their own? Everyone must look after something in this world and why were they living their own lives if they looked after antique furniture, petrol pumps or parrots, and not when they looked after husbands, children or aged parents?
There's a good point in here about the undervaluing of domestic work. But I think what it's skipping over is being human. People need interests, experiences, learning more about the world. In the novel, Lucilla Eliot and her daughter Margaret are more than housekeepers and caretakers of family - Lucilla enjoys dress and reading and chess, Margaret loves gardening. As Betty Friedan wrote, being solely confined to necessary domestic tasks would drive a lot of human beings bananas. And it's disingenuous not to notice that men in this schema clearly get to have fulfilling home as well as workplace lives with no qualms whatsoever.
Dear Sugar #77 has some fine writing on the opposite end of Goudge's theories.
But there was in me an awful thing, from almost the very beginning: a tiny clear voice that would not, not matter what I did, stop saying go.
Go, even though you love him.
Go, even though he’s kind and faithful and dear to you.
Go, even though he’s your best friend and you’re his.
Go, even though you can’t imagine your life without him.
Go, even though he adores you and your leaving will devastate him.
Go, even though your friends will be disappointed or surprised or pissed off or all three.
Go, even though you once said you would stay.
Go, even though you’re afraid of being alone.
Go, even though you’re sure no one will ever love you as well as he does.
Go, even though there is nowhere to go.
Go, even though you don’t know exactly why you can’t stay.
Go, because you want to.
Because wanting to leave is enough.
Speaking personally, I think my character is more like Lucilla than David. I'd be more likely to stick to promises and family than run off. This is more a statement about my personality type than my principles.
Where I think the fundamental flaw in Goudge's argument lies is this: it's just not true that one romantic relationship that ended in separation ruins a person for life and means they will never achieve a good marriage and their children will never be happy again. In the real world, there are plenty of people who have a first divorce and a long-term, fantastic second marriage - often with children, no less. Also in the real world, it's healthier for children to experience divorce than stay with two constantly quarrelling parents. (Goudge wants to believe that the parents can always patch up their relationship if they try hard enough. But again, this is not actually how the real world plays out.)
I can't possibly think that getting a divorce is a dramatic moral crime against ethics and humanity. Times change. People deserve freedom. Adults and children are more resilient than Goudge thinks. Source: a good recipe against divorce is probably to marry only once you're a mature adult.
One wants to agree with Goudge that thoughtfulness, consideration, keeping one's promises, and not making decisions that alter everyone else's lives while in a flush of emotions are all good values. The novel's intelligent and beautifully written. I enjoyed it, even as it frustrated me.
The descriptions of the English countryside and English history are worth reading - Goudge had an amazing eye for detail, a love for her subject, and a grand gift. (I loved THE LITTLE WHITE HORSE and this adult novel has similar aspects that come into a full and complex bloom here.)
Lucilla Eliot is a grande dame of a grandmother with a beautiful estate in the country, Damerosehay, a tranquil and aesthetic home maintained by superhuman effort. She wants to leave it to her grandson David Eliot so the family line can continue. But if Lucilla's daughter-in-law Nadine Eliot finalises her divorce from stodgy husband George and marries her nephew by marriage David, this will tear the family apart. No more Damerosehay - no more happiness for Nadine's children - no more Eliot line.
"Keep your promises" is the ethical value given to this narrative. Don't divorce even if you're unhappy, even if you've fallen in love with someone else. Lucilla herself made this difficult moral choice: doomed to her own stodgy husband, Lucilla once had a passionate affair with a handsome doctor that could have ruined the lives of her lover, herself, and all her family. Lucilla gave up her love to keep her word. Now she expects Nadine and David to do the same thing.
"Children are the most important thing, because they are the next generation", and "Look after your aged parents", are two other key moral principles. But the responsibilities are not exactly evenly distributed. The narrative expects that women (not men) should refrain from careers in the world as a sacrifice for these values. Nadine runs an antique shop and is skilled at her work, but this achievement is considered nothing next to David's acting genius or George's public service position. And taking the sequels into account, Lucilla's family has two generations of surplus daughters - the tradition that one daughter in the family, the unattractive one, is required to never marry, never have a career, and spend her life in domestic chores and looking after her ageing parents. (I've heard anecdotes of parents who bribed suitors to stay away from the designated caretaker daughter. And this took place in the twentieth century, even.) It's pretty hypocritical that first the beautiful Lucilla has her servant do all the crappy, difficult chores of looking after her children in practice; then Lucilla's unattractive daughter becomes the spinster who does all the dirty work; and then Lucilla has a similarly unattractive granddaughter who will probably follow the same path.
In art, the artist always has the chance to load the dice. A skilled writer will seem to play fair. Goudge is very skilled. In Lucilla's story especially, the author's decisions come across as true. Because of the social stigma of divorce in Lucilla's time, Lucilla would have ruined her life and her lover's life if they had run away together. Nadine falling in love with her nephew by marriage is also an inherently troubling family situation in absolutely any time and place. Dear Abby would tell a twenty-first-century Nadine and David to be cautious and thoughtful.
Her [Lucilla's] generation had built from without inwards, had put the reality of law and tradition above the reality of personal feeling; but his built from within outwards, the truth of personal feeling must come first.
David eventually comes to decide that the second option is wrong in the story. It's certainly easy to agree that people should try not to make life-altering choices at the very moment of extreme personal feeling. It's also easy to appreciate the moral of becoming a mask: choose to behave well, even if you don't feel it, and over time it can be come a habit. The only problem is defining what consists of behaving well.
It was that declaration of Nadine's, that she wanted "to live her own life," that exasperated Lucilla beyond anything else in the whole wretched business. It was a remark frequently on the lips of the modern generation, she knew, and it annoyed her. For whose lives, in the name of heaven, could they live except their own? Everyone must look after something in this world and why were they living their own lives if they looked after antique furniture, petrol pumps or parrots, and not when they looked after husbands, children or aged parents?
There's a good point in here about the undervaluing of domestic work. But I think what it's skipping over is being human. People need interests, experiences, learning more about the world. In the novel, Lucilla Eliot and her daughter Margaret are more than housekeepers and caretakers of family - Lucilla enjoys dress and reading and chess, Margaret loves gardening. As Betty Friedan wrote, being solely confined to necessary domestic tasks would drive a lot of human beings bananas. And it's disingenuous not to notice that men in this schema clearly get to have fulfilling home as well as workplace lives with no qualms whatsoever.
Dear Sugar #77 has some fine writing on the opposite end of Goudge's theories.
But there was in me an awful thing, from almost the very beginning: a tiny clear voice that would not, not matter what I did, stop saying go.
Go, even though you love him.
Go, even though he’s kind and faithful and dear to you.
Go, even though he’s your best friend and you’re his.
Go, even though you can’t imagine your life without him.
Go, even though he adores you and your leaving will devastate him.
Go, even though your friends will be disappointed or surprised or pissed off or all three.
Go, even though you once said you would stay.
Go, even though you’re afraid of being alone.
Go, even though you’re sure no one will ever love you as well as he does.
Go, even though there is nowhere to go.
Go, even though you don’t know exactly why you can’t stay.
Go, because you want to.
Because wanting to leave is enough.
Speaking personally, I think my character is more like Lucilla than David. I'd be more likely to stick to promises and family than run off. This is more a statement about my personality type than my principles.
Where I think the fundamental flaw in Goudge's argument lies is this: it's just not true that one romantic relationship that ended in separation ruins a person for life and means they will never achieve a good marriage and their children will never be happy again. In the real world, there are plenty of people who have a first divorce and a long-term, fantastic second marriage - often with children, no less. Also in the real world, it's healthier for children to experience divorce than stay with two constantly quarrelling parents. (Goudge wants to believe that the parents can always patch up their relationship if they try hard enough. But again, this is not actually how the real world plays out.)
I can't possibly think that getting a divorce is a dramatic moral crime against ethics and humanity. Times change. People deserve freedom. Adults and children are more resilient than Goudge thinks. Source: a good recipe against divorce is probably to marry only once you're a mature adult.
One wants to agree with Goudge that thoughtfulness, consideration, keeping one's promises, and not making decisions that alter everyone else's lives while in a flush of emotions are all good values. The novel's intelligent and beautifully written. I enjoyed it, even as it frustrated me.
