Godwin Peak, the anti-hero of Gissing’s ‘Born in Exile,’ has to be the saddest creature in fiction. The finest thing about him is his honesty - to himself at least - about his hypocrisy. A “critic of life, an analyst of moods and motives; not the man who dares and acts. The only important resolve he had ever carried through was a scheme of ignoble trickery—to end in frustration.”
Centred on his character, the novel describes an intelligent boy, whose prospects in life are ruined both by the fact that he was neither born a gentleman nor into easy financial circumstances, as wellas by his own poor decisions about his life. These decisions in turn are impelled by Peak's social aspirations and ambitions, and set out the principal theme of the novel: class consciousness. As it happened, in the post Darwinian world these class distinctions, while still very powerful, were being offset by the various liberal and political battles of the period under review. In the Anglican Church alone, ideologies ranged from a High Churchism, regarded by some as almost equal to Catholicism, to liberal clerical opinions liable to being equated with Radicalism, amounting to heresy or worse, with atheism. Evolutionism versus creationism, in other words, forms the second theme. And while a journalist might express his scepticism of the Book of Genesis, it was quite another matter for a Church of England clergyman to express a disbelief that an entity called God created the world.
When his uncle expresses his intention to open a cook-house in front of the school, Peak's shame at being associated with trade drives him to leave the school where he has hitherto been a high achiever, and where he has been admitted on a full scholarship that includes boarding and lodging, As a result, the rest of his academic career, once so full of promise, fades into nothing while his nearest rival in school, Bruno Chilvers, is now set for even higher results in college, and thereafter to pursue a career as a Church of England clergyman. And herein lies the greatest irony: Chilvers is as great a hypocrite, social climber and fortune hunter as ever was Godwin Peak. Only his deceptions are never unmasked, and he ends by marrying a baron’s daughter.
For Godwin, however, a Church career is unpalatable. As an intellectual, he rejects creationism, holding to evolution and Darwin’s theories. His conviction in evolution leads him to undertake the study of geology, and by a not very subtle “coincidence" he meets the family of an old classmate of his at the school he had voluntarily left. Thereafter, Godwin courts more disaster, not by carelessness or accident, but by prudent, premeditated dishonesty on the two passions of his life: social advantage by upward mobility through marriage, and a strong rational inclination towards Darwin’s theories, which he retains while deciding on a future as a Church of England clergyman, perfectly conscious that he would make a bad man of God. And when disaster strikes, he does what he seems to be best at doing: he runs away.
One of the most striking things about a Gissing novel is the number of people in it, and the detail that goes into outlining their personality, despite the fact that they may have only a walk-on part, so to speak. Thus the elder Mr Peak, though he is dead when the novel opens, has a delightful and cheerful character, upheld by an integrity sadly lacking in his son. Though less than eight pages are devoted to him upto his death at the age of forty-three, his memory remains with the reader in strong counterpoint to his son's actions.
In fact, the book may be deemed a study in ethics, as one friend of Peak's after another seems to reproach him with the happiness they have achieved despite their humbler gifts or status in life: his own brother and sister are the first, but there are others, like Janet Moxey or Buckland Warricombe. Buckland is the only one of Godwin's acquaintances entitled to count himself among the minor landed gentry, or to have any claim to social rank, since his father owns a small estate. He has always distrusted Peak’s social ambitions especially in regard to his own family, and finally exposes him. To everyone's astonishment, Buckland marries “the daughter of a dealer in hides, tallow, and that kind of thing,” – far beneath his own social class, who is both educated and charming, and sure to make him a good wife.
While this is not, as are so many Gissing novels, a woman-centric work, it is unusually affected, if not actually dominated by the many women who feature in it, starting with Mrs Peak, Godwin’s mother. Born into a slightly higher social class than her husband, she has unrealistic ideas of what is due to her imagined position in society. Unfortunately, Godwin is the child who is influenced by her. Her two other children are far more down-to-earth, and while the son Oliver manages a seed supply store, Charlotte, her daughter, marries a haberdasher against the objections of Godwin and Mrs Peak:
'I was never taught,' persisted the girl, with calm obstinacy, 'that one ought to be ashamed of one's relatives just because they are in a humble position.’
Except for her baleful influence over her eldest son, it is not Mrs Peak, nor strong-minded daughter who are of interest here. That honour is shared by two other women. One is Marcella Moxey, who for all her strong, independent and rational mind, falls hopelessly in love with Godwin Peak, and is responsible, through jealousy, both for Peak's humiliation and the termination of his emotional and social ambitions. The other, Sidwell Warricombe, is a more conventional creature, seriously devout, abominating all non-Christian forms of thought, although as she grows older, she becomes more rational with regard to evolution, thus rendering Godwin's pretence to an unwavering faith in creation another terrible irony.
And is Peak in love with either woman? He is at least honest with Marcella, which, though he does not realise it, is the nearest he can come to loving a person. In Sidwell, Godwin sees merely the stepping stone to social acceptance, where at present all doors are closed to him. In a much-quoted passage, he tells his colleague:
'Yes, I hate emancipated women' ... 'Women ought neither to be enlightened nor dogmatic. They ought to be sexual.’ And about Miss Moxey, 'Miss Moxey is intolerable,' said Peak. 'I can't quite say why I dislike her so, but she grows more antipathetic to me the better I know her. She has not a single feminine charm—not one.’
Finally, in a book as bleak as ‘Born in Exile,' a word has to be added about Gissing’s sense of humour. Although usually subtle, here it breaks out in wild and unrestrained delight in the person of Mr Malkin, a globe-trotter who has a tendency to fall passionately and frequently in love, (and oddly enough, being fallen in love with) and trying to fend off matrimony until the girl he is having educated and trained to be a suitable helpmeet comes of age, which will not be for another half-dozen years. And like Wodehouse’s Bingo Little turning to Bertie Wooster for help in similar situations, he invariably turns to Earwaker to extricate him from the confusion of women and marriage licences awaiting him.
Of all of Gissing's work, ‘Born in Exile’ is probably the most difficult, partly because of its wealth of ideas and partly also its enormous cast, all of whom have a decisive role in the action, and all of whom have distinct and unforgettable personalities, so that it becomes necessary to pay serious attention to each, however trivial their presence, words or actions might be. In the end, it is none of these, but only Gissing's language and style that elevates it to possibly the best of all Gissing.