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The House With the Green Shutters
Published in 1901 and described by George Douglas Brown as a brutal and bloody work , this bestselling classic was a furious response to what Brown called sentimental slop, the representation of Scotland as a cozy rural idyll. It is probably semi-autobiographical: Brown was illegitimate and rejected by his father and the village of Barbie is loosely based on Ochiltree in Ayrshire. The brutish John Gourlay is a merchant in the village of Barbie, envied and resented by the villagers because of his success, which is symbolized in his prestigious house with green shutters. He dominates and bullies his family, in particular his sensitive, gifted but weak son. Ultimately, his refusal to acknowledge the arrival of the railway and to adapt to the increasing industrialization of Ayrhire precipitates murder, suicide, and his family's tragic downfall.
272 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1901
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September 4, 2021
Hay obras cuyo valor está estrechamente ligado a la época en la que fueron escritas, este me parece el caso de esta novela. Según nos explica Somerset Maugham en el prólogo que acompaña la edición de Ardicia, la novela supuso una ruptura con todo lo que se estaba publicando sobre Escocia y los escoceses por aquellos años. Perdida ahora toda la fuerza de tal argumento, ningún otro atractivo ha pasado a ocupar su lugar.
Tres puntos están en la base de mis problemas con la novela. En primer lugar, la falta de matices en los personajes, todos ellos, y cuando digo todos quiero decir todos, son absolutamente planos. Ni siquiera el hecho de que abunden los hijos de puta en esta feria de las vanidades escocesa puede servir para compensar tal carencia. Y aunque el melodramático final tampoco aporta mucho, por encima de todo, me ha desagradado el tono elegido en la narración. La mala leche que abunda en la novela hubiera tenido un cauce mucho más adecuado en el sarcasmo, en la sátira, incluso en el cinismo, características presentes en los diálogos pero que se echan mucho de menos en la voz del narrador que tiene un marcado acento moralizante.
Lo mejor que puedo decir sobre la novela coincide con uno de los elogios, no sé si del todo bienintencionado, que leemos en el prólogo: “la habilidad para narrar una historia que, página tras página, engancha al lector, ansioso por descubrir qué ocurrirá a continuación”. Y digo lo de bienintencionado porque no está claro el propósito que movía a Maugham al escribir el prólogo, en el que cada halago está acompañado de un golpe aun más fuerte contra el autor. El más duro de estos golpes llega al final del prólogo cuando Maugham viene a decirnos que la temprana muerte del autor quizás le ahorró sufrir el trágico destino de aquellos que disfrutaron de un éxito que nunca fueron capaces de repetir después. Con admiradores así…
Tres puntos están en la base de mis problemas con la novela. En primer lugar, la falta de matices en los personajes, todos ellos, y cuando digo todos quiero decir todos, son absolutamente planos. Ni siquiera el hecho de que abunden los hijos de puta en esta feria de las vanidades escocesa puede servir para compensar tal carencia. Y aunque el melodramático final tampoco aporta mucho, por encima de todo, me ha desagradado el tono elegido en la narración. La mala leche que abunda en la novela hubiera tenido un cauce mucho más adecuado en el sarcasmo, en la sátira, incluso en el cinismo, características presentes en los diálogos pero que se echan mucho de menos en la voz del narrador que tiene un marcado acento moralizante.
Lo mejor que puedo decir sobre la novela coincide con uno de los elogios, no sé si del todo bienintencionado, que leemos en el prólogo: “la habilidad para narrar una historia que, página tras página, engancha al lector, ansioso por descubrir qué ocurrirá a continuación”. Y digo lo de bienintencionado porque no está claro el propósito que movía a Maugham al escribir el prólogo, en el que cada halago está acompañado de un golpe aun más fuerte contra el autor. El más duro de estos golpes llega al final del prólogo cuando Maugham viene a decirnos que la temprana muerte del autor quizás le ahorró sufrir el trágico destino de aquellos que disfrutaron de un éxito que nunca fueron capaces de repetir después. Con admiradores así…
March 8, 2011
Overall, The House with the Green Shutters was fascinating. I found it interesting in the sense that at the intro, I accepted that I wasn't going to like the main character--and, I assumed, the protagonist. Gourlay Sr., however, is not what I would call a protagonist.
Brown introduced character after character that was not someone I would ever, ever want to spend physical time with (although some of them were amusing, and many had odd little quirks that made observing them worthwhile). The small handful of likeable characters were present for only a small portion of the novel. Mostly it was like watching a train wreck--awful people with awful situations, but I just couldn't look away.
Truthfully, it did drag in some places. Gourlay Jr.'s drunken musings are not exactly thrilling, but the narrator recognizes that (and scorns him for it--the narrator's not exactly a nice person, either) and moves the story along as best he can. The ending was horrendous, but mostly in a Shakespearean tragedy kind of way. Murder, madness, and suicide.
Brown introduced character after character that was not someone I would ever, ever want to spend physical time with (although some of them were amusing, and many had odd little quirks that made observing them worthwhile). The small handful of likeable characters were present for only a small portion of the novel. Mostly it was like watching a train wreck--awful people with awful situations, but I just couldn't look away.
Truthfully, it did drag in some places. Gourlay Jr.'s drunken musings are not exactly thrilling, but the narrator recognizes that (and scorns him for it--the narrator's not exactly a nice person, either) and moves the story along as best he can. The ending was horrendous, but mostly in a Shakespearean tragedy kind of way. Murder, madness, and suicide.
January 23, 2020
Man is born to misery...
In the small town of Barbie in the east of Scotland, John Gourlay is a big man. His business has the monopoly on carrying goods in and out of the town and he uses the power this gives him over his neighbours to bully and lord it over them. The money he makes he ploughs into the house of the title, determined to show himself off as the town’s leading resident. But he’s not an intelligent man, and when changes begin to arrive in the shape of first a wily competitor and then the new railroad, he hasn’t the capacity to adapt. The townspeople, long tired of his bullying ways, look on like a gleeful Greek chorus as his business begins to fail. His one hope rests in his son, also John, a lazy, feckless boy who has always assumed that one day he will take over the business and become in his turn the big man of the town. Now Gourlay insists that young John go to the University in Edinburgh, to learn to be a minister. But there, young John will soon get into bad company and discover the delights of the demon drink...
Well, I’m willing to bet Brown would have got on well with my old friend John Steinbeck. They could have had misanthropy competitions to see who could be the most miserable. I’m tempted to suggest that Brown might have won. There is not a single glimmer of light in this utterly depressing monotone picture of how horrible humanity is. There is some humour, but all in the sense of us laughing at them, never with them. But mostly it’s a portrayal of people being small-minded, petty, cruel, bullying and vindictive. I searched the pages in the hopes of finding a character with any positive qualities at all, but I searched in vain. And starting miserable, it goes downhill from there, descending finally into a kind of orgy of alcoholism, madness and tragedy. Although the tragedy aspect didn’t really work, because by that stage I couldn’t have cared less what happened to any of these hideous people.
Looking hard for the positives, the language, a mix of standard English with a liberal dose of Scots mixed in, is very well done. As an antiquated Scot I didn’t have much difficulty with it, but it might be a tougher read for people without a familiarity with the older Scots dialects. There are some wonderful descriptive passages of the town and country, and the characters are very well drawn and unfortunately quite believable, though there is a sneering quality to the writing of them that left me feeling that Brown probably had an over-healthy sense of his own superiority. The humour is mainly aimed at the mean-mindedness of the characters, and is therefore both amusing and off-putting at the same time. The darker aspects have a great sense of inevitability about them – a fatalism brought about by the heavily patriarchal culture, where the man may rule with as heavy a hand as he chooses. Alcohol is shown as the deeply destructive force it indeed has long been in Scottish culture, and still is, though I think to a somewhat lesser degree these days.
But what is missing is any contrast or warmth. Even in hard-drinking Scotland, not all men were horrible to their wives and children, nor to each other. I understand that Brown was writing this, in 1901, as a realist reaction to the excessive sentimentality of the portrayal of Scottish village life in the earlier Scottish literary movement known as the Kailyard school, but I feel he’s gone way too far in the other direction. While I do recognise the character traits, cruelty and mean-spiritedness he shows as being an accurate depiction of the worst of Scottish culture, it is not the whole of it, and by giving nothing to contrast with it, Brown ultimately fails to make his town any more convincing than the twee villages of the writers he’s reacting against.
While critics hail this as one of the greatest Scottish classics, the reaction of those readers who have rated it on Goodreads seems to suggest that the majority don’t agree, and I’m with the majority on this one. I admire the skill of it, and the use of language, but it’s not an enjoyable read. And, while it is undoubtedly insightful about one aspect of Scottish culture, it certainly doesn’t give a full or rounded picture. However, if you’re ever feeling too happy and feel the need to be reminded that man is born to misery and that life is a vale of tears, I recommend it.
www.fictionfanblog.wordpress.com
In the small town of Barbie in the east of Scotland, John Gourlay is a big man. His business has the monopoly on carrying goods in and out of the town and he uses the power this gives him over his neighbours to bully and lord it over them. The money he makes he ploughs into the house of the title, determined to show himself off as the town’s leading resident. But he’s not an intelligent man, and when changes begin to arrive in the shape of first a wily competitor and then the new railroad, he hasn’t the capacity to adapt. The townspeople, long tired of his bullying ways, look on like a gleeful Greek chorus as his business begins to fail. His one hope rests in his son, also John, a lazy, feckless boy who has always assumed that one day he will take over the business and become in his turn the big man of the town. Now Gourlay insists that young John go to the University in Edinburgh, to learn to be a minister. But there, young John will soon get into bad company and discover the delights of the demon drink...
Well, I’m willing to bet Brown would have got on well with my old friend John Steinbeck. They could have had misanthropy competitions to see who could be the most miserable. I’m tempted to suggest that Brown might have won. There is not a single glimmer of light in this utterly depressing monotone picture of how horrible humanity is. There is some humour, but all in the sense of us laughing at them, never with them. But mostly it’s a portrayal of people being small-minded, petty, cruel, bullying and vindictive. I searched the pages in the hopes of finding a character with any positive qualities at all, but I searched in vain. And starting miserable, it goes downhill from there, descending finally into a kind of orgy of alcoholism, madness and tragedy. Although the tragedy aspect didn’t really work, because by that stage I couldn’t have cared less what happened to any of these hideous people.
Looking hard for the positives, the language, a mix of standard English with a liberal dose of Scots mixed in, is very well done. As an antiquated Scot I didn’t have much difficulty with it, but it might be a tougher read for people without a familiarity with the older Scots dialects. There are some wonderful descriptive passages of the town and country, and the characters are very well drawn and unfortunately quite believable, though there is a sneering quality to the writing of them that left me feeling that Brown probably had an over-healthy sense of his own superiority. The humour is mainly aimed at the mean-mindedness of the characters, and is therefore both amusing and off-putting at the same time. The darker aspects have a great sense of inevitability about them – a fatalism brought about by the heavily patriarchal culture, where the man may rule with as heavy a hand as he chooses. Alcohol is shown as the deeply destructive force it indeed has long been in Scottish culture, and still is, though I think to a somewhat lesser degree these days.
But what is missing is any contrast or warmth. Even in hard-drinking Scotland, not all men were horrible to their wives and children, nor to each other. I understand that Brown was writing this, in 1901, as a realist reaction to the excessive sentimentality of the portrayal of Scottish village life in the earlier Scottish literary movement known as the Kailyard school, but I feel he’s gone way too far in the other direction. While I do recognise the character traits, cruelty and mean-spiritedness he shows as being an accurate depiction of the worst of Scottish culture, it is not the whole of it, and by giving nothing to contrast with it, Brown ultimately fails to make his town any more convincing than the twee villages of the writers he’s reacting against.
While critics hail this as one of the greatest Scottish classics, the reaction of those readers who have rated it on Goodreads seems to suggest that the majority don’t agree, and I’m with the majority on this one. I admire the skill of it, and the use of language, but it’s not an enjoyable read. And, while it is undoubtedly insightful about one aspect of Scottish culture, it certainly doesn’t give a full or rounded picture. However, if you’re ever feeling too happy and feel the need to be reminded that man is born to misery and that life is a vale of tears, I recommend it.
www.fictionfanblog.wordpress.com
April 2, 2016
Considerada la primera novela realista escocesa, "La casa de las persianas verdes" merece un pedestal de honor en la historia de la literatura. La elección de un lugar ficticio llamado Barbie hace sospechar que muchos de los personajes retratados pudieron existir en realidad en algún recóndito pueblecito de Escocia.
Con un magnífico tono irónico constante, -George Douglas Brown nos narra el auge y la caída de John Gourlay, un tirano altanero y presuntuoso que disfruta humillando a cuantos le rodean. Esa actitud comenzará a pasarle factura a las pocas páginas de iniciar la trama cuando un nuevo vecino llega a Barbie buscando su propio destino.
Divertida, sarcástica y cruel, con una historia muy atractiva y una prosa simplemente exquisita.
Con un magnífico tono irónico constante, -George Douglas Brown nos narra el auge y la caída de John Gourlay, un tirano altanero y presuntuoso que disfruta humillando a cuantos le rodean. Esa actitud comenzará a pasarle factura a las pocas páginas de iniciar la trama cuando un nuevo vecino llega a Barbie buscando su propio destino.
Divertida, sarcástica y cruel, con una historia muy atractiva y una prosa simplemente exquisita.
December 31, 2014
George Douglas Brown. De las tinieblas
Hay una frase completamente misteriosa en las solapas de este último libro editado por Ardicia: «Recuerdo la primera novela en inglés que leí. Era una llamada La casa de las persianas verdes. Después de terminarla quería ser escocés.» Decía esto Jorge Luis Borges y, bueno, sería un propósito muy digno de alabanza si no fuera porque esta novela, confirmando las impresiones de William Somerset Maugham en el prólogo, es un catálogo espectacular e incluso doliente de hijos de puta. Sí, así, con todas las palabras. En este libro, negro como el carbón, todos los personajes (y son muchos) son unos hijos de puta. La pregunta, claro está, es qué podría llevar a Borges a querer ser un hipócrita, borracho, trepa, inútil o gentuza similar. Nos quedaremos con esa duda…
George Douglas Brown era escocés. Su carrera fue breve (Maugham dice que afortunadamente, porque quién sabe si habría logrado escribir un libro mejor que este). Fue pobre de solemnidad hasta que publicó este libro, y tras ello tuvo la mala fortuna de morirse, con lo cual no puede decirse que su vida fuera especialmente feliz. Quizás esa fatalidad propia le llevó a escribir esta absorbente historia de fatalidades. Hay que decir, por si no se ha entendido aún, que la visión de Escocia que nos dejó es una invitación a hundir aquella región en las aguas del frío Atlántico y no dejarla salir a flote. Igual ni tan siquiera es un caso particular y, simplemente, el mundo es así. En todo caso, el descenso a los infiernos de John Gourlay y familia (descender es un decir, puesto que ya estaban instalados cómodamente en ellos), se convierte en sus manos en una tragedia de dimensiones épicas, que Brown atribuye, cita bíblica mediante, a la falta de caridad (sentimiento al parece tan poco apreciado por aquellos parajes como el agua).
John Gourlay es un comerciante brutal. Es capaz de destruir a alguien simplemente mirándole. La ira, la furia que contiene dentro de sí, son el motor de su vida. También lo que le impulsa a construir esa cada de las persianas verdes que domina el pueblo de Barbie, de la misma manera que él domina a sus habitantes. El odio es mutuo. Las fuerzas vivas le temen y sueñan con su destrucción. Realmente no son un peligro. Seres ociosos, basura, pasan su día en la taberna, perdidos en chácharas miserables. Gourlay no es un tipo inteligente, pero sí duro. Duro como aquello más duro que ha dado la tierra, y toda su relación con ellos es el desprecio. Hasta que un día aparece James Wilson.
James Wilson no es que sea mejor que él. No es mejor que nadie. Es otro tipo rastrero cuyo único interés es ganar dinero de la manera que sea y utilizando a quien sea necesario. Frente al primitivismo de Gourlay (un primitivismo basado en la fuerza bruta, en los puños, en el miedo), Wilson es el futuro. El hombre que piensa. Mejor: el hombre que intriga. Contra él, no hay ninguna violencia posible. Y con él empieza la decadencia del otro. Pero hay más.
Para Gourlay el futuro no es cómo discurrirá su negocio. Firmemente instalado, todo debería ir bien por los siglos de los siglos, y la casa de las persianas verdes es la prueba de ello, sólidamente presente. El futuro es su hijo (aunque no esté muy convencido de ello, no tiene otra alternativa). Pero su hijo, un inútil que ni tan siquiera ha heredado la fuerza del padre, solo aspira a instalarse en esa comodidad de la empresa paterna, en la que nada puede fallar. La voluntad de uno en que tenga unos estudios (aunque solo sea para no ser menos que nadie) y la imposibilidad del otro de aprender, completarán esa viaje del día a la noche, aunque sería mejor decir el viaje de la noche profunda a las tinieblas.
Para entender el lugar que ocupa La casa de las persianas verdes hay que entender el tipo de literatura que se hacía en aquellos años por aquellos parajes. Novelas idílicas de verdes campos, nobles sentimientos, tés al atardecer (o a todas horas), amores puros, seres intachables. George Douglas Brown con su obra se revolvió precisamente contra este estado de las cosas, y, lejos de las medias tintas, el resultado es totalmente inverso a aquel. Todos los personajes de la novela son unos miserables (y quien no lo es, que así por encima podemos decir que son un par, está condenado a la muerte o al olvido). Todos. Todo lo que ocurre en ella es horrible o una bajeza. La esperanza es algo tan raro como los días soleados. La vida es un estado permanente de hombres que comen hombres, un lugar en el que solo los más fuertes o los más listos triunfan, todo ello entre el asco de los demás.
El escritor escocés lo narra todo con esa fluidez que tiene lo inevitable. Y, por si no se entiende por sus acciones o sus palabras, su descripción del carácter escocés es todo un tratado de mala leche, no exento de moralidad. Algo natural en un mundo sin ética ni valores, más allá del precio de las cosas o del último rumor. No, no hay nada glorioso en estas vidas. Ni en estas tierras. Nosotros, que nos tomábamos el té con una nube de leche, unas galletitas escocesas mojadas en whisky y Liam O’Flynn sonando de fondo, hemos perdido un nuevo paraíso. Otro más.
Escrito para Détour.
Hay una frase completamente misteriosa en las solapas de este último libro editado por Ardicia: «Recuerdo la primera novela en inglés que leí. Era una llamada La casa de las persianas verdes. Después de terminarla quería ser escocés.» Decía esto Jorge Luis Borges y, bueno, sería un propósito muy digno de alabanza si no fuera porque esta novela, confirmando las impresiones de William Somerset Maugham en el prólogo, es un catálogo espectacular e incluso doliente de hijos de puta. Sí, así, con todas las palabras. En este libro, negro como el carbón, todos los personajes (y son muchos) son unos hijos de puta. La pregunta, claro está, es qué podría llevar a Borges a querer ser un hipócrita, borracho, trepa, inútil o gentuza similar. Nos quedaremos con esa duda…
George Douglas Brown era escocés. Su carrera fue breve (Maugham dice que afortunadamente, porque quién sabe si habría logrado escribir un libro mejor que este). Fue pobre de solemnidad hasta que publicó este libro, y tras ello tuvo la mala fortuna de morirse, con lo cual no puede decirse que su vida fuera especialmente feliz. Quizás esa fatalidad propia le llevó a escribir esta absorbente historia de fatalidades. Hay que decir, por si no se ha entendido aún, que la visión de Escocia que nos dejó es una invitación a hundir aquella región en las aguas del frío Atlántico y no dejarla salir a flote. Igual ni tan siquiera es un caso particular y, simplemente, el mundo es así. En todo caso, el descenso a los infiernos de John Gourlay y familia (descender es un decir, puesto que ya estaban instalados cómodamente en ellos), se convierte en sus manos en una tragedia de dimensiones épicas, que Brown atribuye, cita bíblica mediante, a la falta de caridad (sentimiento al parece tan poco apreciado por aquellos parajes como el agua).
John Gourlay es un comerciante brutal. Es capaz de destruir a alguien simplemente mirándole. La ira, la furia que contiene dentro de sí, son el motor de su vida. También lo que le impulsa a construir esa cada de las persianas verdes que domina el pueblo de Barbie, de la misma manera que él domina a sus habitantes. El odio es mutuo. Las fuerzas vivas le temen y sueñan con su destrucción. Realmente no son un peligro. Seres ociosos, basura, pasan su día en la taberna, perdidos en chácharas miserables. Gourlay no es un tipo inteligente, pero sí duro. Duro como aquello más duro que ha dado la tierra, y toda su relación con ellos es el desprecio. Hasta que un día aparece James Wilson.
James Wilson no es que sea mejor que él. No es mejor que nadie. Es otro tipo rastrero cuyo único interés es ganar dinero de la manera que sea y utilizando a quien sea necesario. Frente al primitivismo de Gourlay (un primitivismo basado en la fuerza bruta, en los puños, en el miedo), Wilson es el futuro. El hombre que piensa. Mejor: el hombre que intriga. Contra él, no hay ninguna violencia posible. Y con él empieza la decadencia del otro. Pero hay más.
Para Gourlay el futuro no es cómo discurrirá su negocio. Firmemente instalado, todo debería ir bien por los siglos de los siglos, y la casa de las persianas verdes es la prueba de ello, sólidamente presente. El futuro es su hijo (aunque no esté muy convencido de ello, no tiene otra alternativa). Pero su hijo, un inútil que ni tan siquiera ha heredado la fuerza del padre, solo aspira a instalarse en esa comodidad de la empresa paterna, en la que nada puede fallar. La voluntad de uno en que tenga unos estudios (aunque solo sea para no ser menos que nadie) y la imposibilidad del otro de aprender, completarán esa viaje del día a la noche, aunque sería mejor decir el viaje de la noche profunda a las tinieblas.
Para entender el lugar que ocupa La casa de las persianas verdes hay que entender el tipo de literatura que se hacía en aquellos años por aquellos parajes. Novelas idílicas de verdes campos, nobles sentimientos, tés al atardecer (o a todas horas), amores puros, seres intachables. George Douglas Brown con su obra se revolvió precisamente contra este estado de las cosas, y, lejos de las medias tintas, el resultado es totalmente inverso a aquel. Todos los personajes de la novela son unos miserables (y quien no lo es, que así por encima podemos decir que son un par, está condenado a la muerte o al olvido). Todos. Todo lo que ocurre en ella es horrible o una bajeza. La esperanza es algo tan raro como los días soleados. La vida es un estado permanente de hombres que comen hombres, un lugar en el que solo los más fuertes o los más listos triunfan, todo ello entre el asco de los demás.
El escritor escocés lo narra todo con esa fluidez que tiene lo inevitable. Y, por si no se entiende por sus acciones o sus palabras, su descripción del carácter escocés es todo un tratado de mala leche, no exento de moralidad. Algo natural en un mundo sin ética ni valores, más allá del precio de las cosas o del último rumor. No, no hay nada glorioso en estas vidas. Ni en estas tierras. Nosotros, que nos tomábamos el té con una nube de leche, unas galletitas escocesas mojadas en whisky y Liam O’Flynn sonando de fondo, hemos perdido un nuevo paraíso. Otro más.
Escrito para Détour.
January 27, 2012
This book written by Scottish writer George Douglas Brown was first published in 1901. It is a representation of the pettiness and greed and vindictiveness he knew of small town Scottish life. Our story takes place in the small village of Barbie, in eastern Scotland. John Gourley is the central character, a mean spirited and arrogant man who lords over the town folk. Situated in the center of town, the House with the Green Shutters is the expensive house he has sunk all his money into and symbolizes his prosperity. He is not a character you will like, nor is his wife or children. Actually there aren't really any characters that will warm your heart! This is a sad, tragic tale of how one man's arrogance and greed becomes his and his families downfall.
Full of vivid and quite lovely descriptions, written in broad Scots, it might be a little tough to understand some things being said but you still get the drift of what is going on and is quite interesting to encounter for a change of pace. The first half of the book was very slow going and I almost gave up. The second half though picks up pace and all the action happens here. Quite a dramatic and tragic ending. All in all it is a good book and intense narrative of 19th century Scottish life.
This dictionary would be of help if you decide to read this book! Dictionary of the Scots Language
Full of vivid and quite lovely descriptions, written in broad Scots, it might be a little tough to understand some things being said but you still get the drift of what is going on and is quite interesting to encounter for a change of pace. The first half of the book was very slow going and I almost gave up. The second half though picks up pace and all the action happens here. Quite a dramatic and tragic ending. All in all it is a good book and intense narrative of 19th century Scottish life.
This dictionary would be of help if you decide to read this book! Dictionary of the Scots Language
February 2, 2017
The House With the Green Shutters, written by George Douglas Brown, is an uncompromising look into dark heart of Scotland. Set in the fictional country town of Barbie (based on a small country town called Ochiltree, only twenty minutes from my hometown) in Ayrshire, South west Scotland, it follows the ruthless carrier John Gourlay during the industrialization of Ayrshire at the beginning of the twentieth century. In typical realist style, the settings, the characters, the actions are all vividly realized along with George Douglas Brown's brutal Scottish prose to paint a bleak picture of an abusive man, his family and eventual downfall.
August 24, 2015
Oh my goodness. The story is going to stay in my mind for quite a while now - I can't stop thinking about the family, the villagers and especially "The House With The Green Shutters".
I heard of this book years ago from an old work colleague of mine and I must admit, I picked it up and read the start a few times before I could get into it. The story picked up half way through for me. I'm so glad I persevered as it was one of my best reads so far for this year
I heard of this book years ago from an old work colleague of mine and I must admit, I picked it up and read the start a few times before I could get into it. The story picked up half way through for me. I'm so glad I persevered as it was one of my best reads so far for this year
September 11, 2022
For, like most scorners of the world's opinion, Gourlay was its slave, and showed his subjection to the popular estimate by his anxiety to flout it. He was not great enough for the carelessness of perfect scorn.
Old Gourlay is the perfect brute and tirannical house-father in the small village of Barbie. He bullies his weak but highly perceptive son John, his sloppy wife and his consumptive daughter Janet. In the village too, he is feared - a lot of 'glowering' is done on his part. Inevitably, his downfall awaits him, first when he meets a rival carrier Wilson, next when his ailing son fails to live up to his high expectations. John, succumbing to drink, kills his father. The murder is covered up by his mother and sister, but the glowering eyes haunt John in the night. Finally, the remainder of the household commits suicide.
The house with the green shutters is essentially naturalistic, comparable to the 19thc Dutch deterministic writers. Nevertheless, a feeling of deep compassion creeps in on the part of the reader. I enjoyed the comments on the part of the village notables (the 'bodies), who perform the role of the classic Greek chorus. Brown is also a keen psychologist, filleting his characters to the bone, as the quotation above clearly shows. With this novel, Brown (himself a gloomy, self-centred outsider who died young) steered Scottish fiction away from pastoralism and idyll.
Old Gourlay is the perfect brute and tirannical house-father in the small village of Barbie. He bullies his weak but highly perceptive son John, his sloppy wife and his consumptive daughter Janet. In the village too, he is feared - a lot of 'glowering' is done on his part. Inevitably, his downfall awaits him, first when he meets a rival carrier Wilson, next when his ailing son fails to live up to his high expectations. John, succumbing to drink, kills his father. The murder is covered up by his mother and sister, but the glowering eyes haunt John in the night. Finally, the remainder of the household commits suicide.
The house with the green shutters is essentially naturalistic, comparable to the 19thc Dutch deterministic writers. Nevertheless, a feeling of deep compassion creeps in on the part of the reader. I enjoyed the comments on the part of the village notables (the 'bodies), who perform the role of the classic Greek chorus. Brown is also a keen psychologist, filleting his characters to the bone, as the quotation above clearly shows. With this novel, Brown (himself a gloomy, self-centred outsider who died young) steered Scottish fiction away from pastoralism and idyll.
February 27, 2023
read this for scot lit, absolutely incredible. it took a while to get into but wow.
January 20, 2022
Oh boy was that depressing, and not in a Janice Galloway I feel so understood art is pain kind of way. George Douglas Brown has a TALENT for encouraging the reader to hate his most downtrodden and abused characters for BEING downtrodden and abused. Why he would do that though, I have no idea.
July 28, 2013
It is difficult to use the words 'like' or 'enjoyed' about a book this unremittingly grim. However, one can appreciate good writing, and the psychological profiles offered. The book subverts the Kailyard school of - where happy rural communities come together beside bonnie briar bushes. In Barbie, the fictional Ayrshire town where The House with Green Shutters sits, the community of 'bodies' is a malignant Greek chorus spreading gossip and watching with undisguised glee as the haulage empire of the town bully Jack Gourlay crumbles around him and he and his weak-minded family are driven to various types of insanity.
So not a cheery read then. But it is the antecedent of strain of Scottish realism, written in the vernacular, that has given rise to everything from Sunset Song to Train Spotting.
So not a cheery read then. But it is the antecedent of strain of Scottish realism, written in the vernacular, that has given rise to everything from Sunset Song to Train Spotting.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
Want to read
March 6, 2014http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/25876
Opening: The frowsy chambermaid of the "Red Lion" had just finished washing the front door steps. She rose from her stooping posture and, being of slovenly habit, flung the water from her pail straight out, without moving from where she stood. The smooth round arch of the falling water glistened for a moment in mid-air. John Gourlay, standing in front of his new house at the head of the brae, could hear the swash of it when it fell. The morning was of perfect stillness.
Opening: The frowsy chambermaid of the "Red Lion" had just finished washing the front door steps. She rose from her stooping posture and, being of slovenly habit, flung the water from her pail straight out, without moving from where she stood. The smooth round arch of the falling water glistened for a moment in mid-air. John Gourlay, standing in front of his new house at the head of the brae, could hear the swash of it when it fell. The morning was of perfect stillness.
October 5, 2008
read this for school, its a classic of Scottish literature, tho not for me.
June 3, 2013
An okay book with okay writing an a little surprise at the end.
August 2, 2016
More restraint in some of the descriptions would have made the more important ones stand out and feel more chilling.
July 24, 2022
I reviewed this on my YouTube channel:
https://youtu.be/Qn1QiU5wZEM
A neglected classic that I see as a mix of Hardy, in terms of its rural setting and cast of characters, and Gissing, in its application of the techniques of realism. Has a particularly powerful concluding section. Highly recommended.
https://youtu.be/Qn1QiU5wZEM
A neglected classic that I see as a mix of Hardy, in terms of its rural setting and cast of characters, and Gissing, in its application of the techniques of realism. Has a particularly powerful concluding section. Highly recommended.
September 7, 2015
Almost forgotten now, George Douglas Brown was the illegitimate son of an Ayrshire farmer. He nevertheless earned himself a place at Glasgow University and then won the Snell scholarship to study at Balliol College, Oxford. He died at just 33. His writing has always been contrasted with J.M. Barrie's more upbeat Scottish stories, but possibly a more relevant comparison is to another contemporary, Thomas Hardy. Like Hardy's work, The House with the Green Shutters is rooted in a rural background that only intermittently appears benign, and where the invisible weight of local convention is almost a potent extra character. Take, for instance, a scene near the start, where someone is complaining about the haulage monopoly the main character (John Gourlay) has established. Already, village opposition to him is established.
"But that's very stupid, surely," said a visitor once, who thought of entering into competition. "It's cutting off his nose to spite his face! Why is he so anxious to be the only carrier in Barbie that he carries stuff for next to noathing the moment another man tries to work the roads? It's a daft-like thing to do!"
"To be sure is't, to be sure is't! Just the stupeedity o' spite! Oh, there are times when Gourlay makes little or noathing from the carrying; but then, ye see, it gies him a fine chance to annoy folk! If you ask him to bring ye ocht, 'Oh,' he growls, 'I'll see if it suits my own convenience.' And ye have to be content. He has made so much money of late that the pride of him's not to be endured."
Gourlay's character reminds me of Michael Henchard in The Mayor of Casterbridge, which was written 15 years earlier (1886). The sombre trajectory that takes both men from overweening pride to final despair, degradation and death is remarkably similar, down to the collateral damage to their wives and families.
That's not to say that THGS is grim (though it often is), as there's a strong vein of energetically sardonic humour running through it. Gourlay is annoyed with his wife for being too lax with their son:-
Gourlay went swiftly to the kitchen from the inner yard. He had stood so long in silence on the step, and his coming was so noiseless, that he surprised a long, thin trollop of a woman, with a long, thin, scraggy neck, seated by the slatternly table, and busy with a frowsy paper-covered volume, over which her head was bent in intent perusal.
"At your novelles?" said he. "Ay, woman; will it be a good story?"
She rose in a nervous flutter when she saw him; yet needlessly shrill in her defence, because she was angry at detection.
"Ah, well!" she cried, in weary petulance, "it's an unco thing if a body's not to have a moment's rest after such a morning's darg! I just sat down wi' the book for a little, till John should come till his breakfast!"
"So?" said Gourlay. "God, ay!" he went on; "you're making a nice job of him. He'll be a credit to the house. Oh, it's right, no doubt, that you should neglect your work till he consents to rise."
"Eh, the puir la-amb," she protested, dwelling on the vowels in fatuous, maternal love; "the bairn's wearied, man! He's ainything but strong, and the schooling's owre sore on him."
"Poor lamb, atweel," said Gourlay. "It was a muckle sheep that dropped him."
Not a comforting read, but very rewarding.
"But that's very stupid, surely," said a visitor once, who thought of entering into competition. "It's cutting off his nose to spite his face! Why is he so anxious to be the only carrier in Barbie that he carries stuff for next to noathing the moment another man tries to work the roads? It's a daft-like thing to do!"
"To be sure is't, to be sure is't! Just the stupeedity o' spite! Oh, there are times when Gourlay makes little or noathing from the carrying; but then, ye see, it gies him a fine chance to annoy folk! If you ask him to bring ye ocht, 'Oh,' he growls, 'I'll see if it suits my own convenience.' And ye have to be content. He has made so much money of late that the pride of him's not to be endured."
Gourlay's character reminds me of Michael Henchard in The Mayor of Casterbridge, which was written 15 years earlier (1886). The sombre trajectory that takes both men from overweening pride to final despair, degradation and death is remarkably similar, down to the collateral damage to their wives and families.
That's not to say that THGS is grim (though it often is), as there's a strong vein of energetically sardonic humour running through it. Gourlay is annoyed with his wife for being too lax with their son:-
Gourlay went swiftly to the kitchen from the inner yard. He had stood so long in silence on the step, and his coming was so noiseless, that he surprised a long, thin trollop of a woman, with a long, thin, scraggy neck, seated by the slatternly table, and busy with a frowsy paper-covered volume, over which her head was bent in intent perusal.
"At your novelles?" said he. "Ay, woman; will it be a good story?"
She rose in a nervous flutter when she saw him; yet needlessly shrill in her defence, because she was angry at detection.
"Ah, well!" she cried, in weary petulance, "it's an unco thing if a body's not to have a moment's rest after such a morning's darg! I just sat down wi' the book for a little, till John should come till his breakfast!"
"So?" said Gourlay. "God, ay!" he went on; "you're making a nice job of him. He'll be a credit to the house. Oh, it's right, no doubt, that you should neglect your work till he consents to rise."
"Eh, the puir la-amb," she protested, dwelling on the vowels in fatuous, maternal love; "the bairn's wearied, man! He's ainything but strong, and the schooling's owre sore on him."
"Poor lamb, atweel," said Gourlay. "It was a muckle sheep that dropped him."
Not a comforting read, but very rewarding.
September 22, 2017
Read this for a module at uni and enjoyed it a lot more than I expected! I can see why it is so important in the world of scottish fiction, and some of Brown's language is brilliant. Discussing the themes of imagination, fate and tragedy in class today gave me a lot to think about. I'm glad I didn't write this one off and gave it a fair chance.
January 8, 2015
Someone told me this was the greatest book he ever read, another told me it was dreary. I agree more with the first critic. Written and set in early twentieth century Scotland, this novel tells the story of small town Scottish life, with all its petty rivalries and bitterness on show. It focuses on the Gourlay family, John the proud tyrannical father (whose mutual hatred with the townsfolk leads to his eventual downfall), his wimpy wife, their sick daughter and weak alcoholic son.
The book is merciless in its characterisation of the Scots, but not in a stereotypical way. I grew up in a small village near a small town and I recognise all the characters and am ashamed to say recognise many characteristics in myself.
The story is often bleak but there are many moments of humour and the blend of the Scots and English language, with strong use of description, makes this a fine and powerful piece of literature.
The book is merciless in its characterisation of the Scots, but not in a stereotypical way. I grew up in a small village near a small town and I recognise all the characters and am ashamed to say recognise many characteristics in myself.
The story is often bleak but there are many moments of humour and the blend of the Scots and English language, with strong use of description, makes this a fine and powerful piece of literature.
December 6, 2015
Brilliantly written; the virtuoso use of language really makes this book. It has many interesting and insightful observations and vivid imagery. Well-structured and compellingly logical; it has a sense of inevitability, a tragic "pull" that can be felt at every moment. On the down-side, it is a bit of a chore to read a book full of awful people. It also suffered a bit from having too many characters that are mere walking names. Templandmuir’s wife, for example, is just a temporarily needed plot device. Furthermore I found the narrator too intrusive. I didn’t want to have everything explained to me all the time, especially as many of the explanations are overgeneralising and claiming that it is the Scottish “national character” to be selfish, narrow-minded and mean-spirited. In my experience, that’s not true at all.
September 23, 2012
I had great difficulty reading this book because of the text being largely Scottish dialogue. It moved slowly in the beginning and I heard myself saying "what's the point of this book?" "is this book so old (1901) that there is no relevance for 2012?" Now I find it is a very timely book though a bit Kafkaesk. Think about the place you live. Think about the fancy houses owned by local business owners. Think about their impact on local government. Think about those merchants who have always enjoyed a good financially strong life, but whose livelihoods are now threatened by technology,economic distress of usual consumers and the attitude of young family members to the "family business." Factors which they can not control. The House With the Green Shutters makes you think about it all.
March 1, 2021
I'm normally not that harsh on authors for books I don't enjoy that much because I understand that people have different tastes and that just because I didn't enjoy it doesn't mean that it wasn't a well written book, however this book I really didn't like and I'm surprised that I even finished it. If your not familiar with the way Scottish people speak then I highly doubt that you'd be able to even understand what's going on. And even if you were, which I am enough to be able to have read it, I found that the actual plot was boring and not worth the time it took me to read it. I would definitely not recommend this to anyone I know or even anyone I didn't.
March 21, 2007
Can't believe no-one's reviewed this - it's tip top! Proper grim but, like a proper tragedy, the story unfolds in such a way that the characters' ends are inevitable. Expresses in novel form why I would never want to live in Ayrshire.
April 15, 2014
It's a very dark book, but for those who want to read it, that is part of its appeal, and expected as it is one of the only anti-kailyard novels. It offers a more realistic view of Scotland and the Industrial Revolution than most books, but it's a very extreme viewpoint. It was interesting.
July 27, 2016
Very depressing book ending but very true to small town life and how people interact with each other. Sadly the petty vindictiveness and curtain twitching still happens today in small towns. Might need the online Scottish dictionary to understand some of the writing tho if you try to read it lol
September 24, 2010
I am reading this on iPad, and it is a free download through iTunes.
February 20, 2011
The book was good, but I couldn't sympathize with any of the characters, and the ENDING! Very Hardy-esque! Mom, I'll lend it to you when I'm home next.
August 9, 2012
A timeless portrayal of the provincial Scottish community. A must-read for anyone interested in Scottish Literature.
January 24, 2015
An epic tale soused in C19th Scottish sounds and furies. Recommended.
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