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WIFE IN NAME ONLY by Charlotte M. Braeme
Dec. 9th, 2013 11:08 pmAbsolute textbook sensation novel. More titles and jewellery and ancient noble names that one can shake a stick at (nb: said stick would absolutely have to be a Grecian antique made out of the finest ivory) and a plot that absolutely depends on complete merciless stupidity from all concerned.
Philippa l'Estrange (I see what you did there, Braeme!) is desperate to marry Lord Arleigh but he can only look on her as a sister, in spite of the fact she's beautiful, rich, noble, intelligent, kind-hearted, and throwing herself at his head. Philippa's kind heart then becomes corrupted toward REVENGE - by enticing Lord Arleigh to marry (but not consummate with!) Madaline, a young lowborn lass whose father is a convicted criminal. Many things go alarmingly correct with this plan, including Philippa's ducal husband's absence at critical moments, Madaline trying and failing to disclose her father's conviction, Arleigh failing to inquire, and gossip not doing its customary job. When Arleigh finds out the criminal conviction on the wedding night, he decides that Madaline is to be the wife in name only - there is no way he can be a traitor to his race by sleeping with her! As a result (and as the reader knows already), Madaline turns out to be actually the daughter of an earl who was stolen away by her nurse in early childhood and doesn't know who she really is because the oak box with the documents that prove her identity has been kept secretly unopened by her foster mother, so Arleigh doesn't have to learn a valuable life lesson about judging people on the contents of their character rather than ancestry.
('False to the honour of his race' is the actual terminology used by the novel, incidentally. In this case, of course, 'race' means what we'd call 'class' today. Naturally, the standard disclaimers apply that the novel was written in a different culture and time.)
If Agatha Christie were writing this thing, she'd relieve some of the plot stupidity with a few murders - probably Madaline by Arleigh on her disastrous wedding night but with lots of other possible suspects around to muddy the waters and prompt several additional bodies to keep livening the story.
Arleigh is, to a modern eye, a charmless chauvinistic snob, whose virtues are more spoken of than displayed in text. This is ever the problem when attempting to create heroes and heroines of each and every universal virtue: it turns out a glorious fest of unconvincing show-rather-than-tell. Madaline is a tedious, shallow girl with all the brains of a newt, obsessed by Arleigh and unable to find anything to do in her life but him. (Admittedly Braeme gives Madaline a slight interest in art, but this is not in the least convincing - any more than it's possible to be convinced Bella Swan of Twilight has any ability to comprehend the nineteenth-century novels she claims to have read.) Philippa has enough character to take action rather than passively accept the dictates of fate; being the villain, at least she is a little interesting.
An extremely brief highlight of the novel - that almost makes it seem as if the author has a sense of humour after all - is the socalist thief and poacher, who believes he has a right to other people's silver plate for social justice, and absolutely refuses to lie about his guilt even though it sees him in gaol. Sadly, he's also abusive to his wife and child.
It's a true saying that real humans have been more extreme at various points in history than even the most gifted writer can ever imagine. But, in order for a novel to convincingly tell a story, it requires talent to convince of these extreme personalities and extreme coincidences. Additionally, a leavening sense of humour can help matters, yet this genre of book is typically humourless. Which is why these underappreciated sensational writers of the nineteenth century remain underappreciated: they make plenty of melodramatic show in a three-volume set, with tonnes of secret marriages and noble titles and clothing descriptions and jewellry descriptions and hidden inheritances and disguises and intrigues and balls and passionate loves and mistaken identities, but there's no convincing substance to it. But, then again, sometimes this precise kind of lack of substance is exactly what one is looking for.
Overall, the novel is designed to appeal to the id-fantasies of both poor girls who like the idea of marrying a shallow but wealthy and pretty Prince Charmless, and poor girls with changeling fantasies that they secretly turn out to be earls' daughters.
In short, it's a glorious standard nineteenth-century sensation novel. I love these things.
Philippa l'Estrange (I see what you did there, Braeme!) is desperate to marry Lord Arleigh but he can only look on her as a sister, in spite of the fact she's beautiful, rich, noble, intelligent, kind-hearted, and throwing herself at his head. Philippa's kind heart then becomes corrupted toward REVENGE - by enticing Lord Arleigh to marry (but not consummate with!) Madaline, a young lowborn lass whose father is a convicted criminal. Many things go alarmingly correct with this plan, including Philippa's ducal husband's absence at critical moments, Madaline trying and failing to disclose her father's conviction, Arleigh failing to inquire, and gossip not doing its customary job. When Arleigh finds out the criminal conviction on the wedding night, he decides that Madaline is to be the wife in name only - there is no way he can be a traitor to his race by sleeping with her! As a result (and as the reader knows already), Madaline turns out to be actually the daughter of an earl who was stolen away by her nurse in early childhood and doesn't know who she really is because the oak box with the documents that prove her identity has been kept secretly unopened by her foster mother, so Arleigh doesn't have to learn a valuable life lesson about judging people on the contents of their character rather than ancestry.
('False to the honour of his race' is the actual terminology used by the novel, incidentally. In this case, of course, 'race' means what we'd call 'class' today. Naturally, the standard disclaimers apply that the novel was written in a different culture and time.)
If Agatha Christie were writing this thing, she'd relieve some of the plot stupidity with a few murders - probably Madaline by Arleigh on her disastrous wedding night but with lots of other possible suspects around to muddy the waters and prompt several additional bodies to keep livening the story.
Arleigh is, to a modern eye, a charmless chauvinistic snob, whose virtues are more spoken of than displayed in text. This is ever the problem when attempting to create heroes and heroines of each and every universal virtue: it turns out a glorious fest of unconvincing show-rather-than-tell. Madaline is a tedious, shallow girl with all the brains of a newt, obsessed by Arleigh and unable to find anything to do in her life but him. (Admittedly Braeme gives Madaline a slight interest in art, but this is not in the least convincing - any more than it's possible to be convinced Bella Swan of Twilight has any ability to comprehend the nineteenth-century novels she claims to have read.) Philippa has enough character to take action rather than passively accept the dictates of fate; being the villain, at least she is a little interesting.
An extremely brief highlight of the novel - that almost makes it seem as if the author has a sense of humour after all - is the socalist thief and poacher, who believes he has a right to other people's silver plate for social justice, and absolutely refuses to lie about his guilt even though it sees him in gaol. Sadly, he's also abusive to his wife and child.
It's a true saying that real humans have been more extreme at various points in history than even the most gifted writer can ever imagine. But, in order for a novel to convincingly tell a story, it requires talent to convince of these extreme personalities and extreme coincidences. Additionally, a leavening sense of humour can help matters, yet this genre of book is typically humourless. Which is why these underappreciated sensational writers of the nineteenth century remain underappreciated: they make plenty of melodramatic show in a three-volume set, with tonnes of secret marriages and noble titles and clothing descriptions and jewellry descriptions and hidden inheritances and disguises and intrigues and balls and passionate loves and mistaken identities, but there's no convincing substance to it. But, then again, sometimes this precise kind of lack of substance is exactly what one is looking for.
Overall, the novel is designed to appeal to the id-fantasies of both poor girls who like the idea of marrying a shallow but wealthy and pretty Prince Charmless, and poor girls with changeling fantasies that they secretly turn out to be earls' daughters.
In short, it's a glorious standard nineteenth-century sensation novel. I love these things.
