I wonder why Madeline Linford published no books after this one; was it a case of right book, wrong time? When the heroine, Ursula, laments her ill-advised marriage to a working class man with these words, is she a bit too prescient for 1930?
‘You know, there ought to be some other solution for girls in love. It isn’t fair that they should be tied all their lives and have children, just because they once felt passionate about some man and were blind to everyone else. The marriage service should be postponed until they had lived together for a while and the glamorous side of it had got less interesting.’
After all, that’s part for the course now, nearly 100 years later. For all that, women still trail about after men waiting to be proposed to, marriage is still held up as the ultimate prize, and men haven’t got much better than the beautiful Kenneth when it comes to equitable division of household labour.
Or perhaps the sly dig at men’s sexual prowess fell on barren ground:
‘He did not look for ecstasies from her when acquiescence was all that was needed.’
I mean, this is a jab taken at Kenneth, but I fail to see how it wouldn’t also apply to Charles, Ursula’s likely second husband. The only difference between them is that Charles has enough money to shield Ursula from the rough work of pre-washing-machine-era housework. Not that this is a minor thing, of course, especially as its proven that doing this job AND one for paid employment is even tougher. Yet Ursula has no desire to work for money either. She makes a hames of washing clothes by hand or cooking, which I can’t judge her for, as I would find both intolerable. Maybe she was less sympathetic back then? There is definitely a sense of class essentialism, in that Dorothy would be a better wife to Kenneth because she’s used to that kind of work, and Ursula would be a better wife to Charles because she would excel at that kind of dainty hostessing. The idea that either of them would strike out independently isn’t considered. Within the bounds of the lives they lead and don’t question, though, I’m inclined to think that yes, they should have kept to their respective spheres, and that the death of Kenneth was a blessing in disguise. I actually assumed Ursula would run off with Charles, but this was 1930, I suppose.
The writing is very clear and sharp:
‘He had a kind of rough and vigorous beauty, like the figure of an Australian soldier in a memorial window, and the other men in the room seemed limp and colourless beside him.’
And Mrs Fielding is unintentionally funny, a second Mrs Bennet:
‘ “Sandwiches!” mused Mrs Fielding. “Such a nuisance to cut, and Lydia Unsworth can never keep her maids. She’s a nice creature, though I wish she’d wear corsets. I know they aren’t the fashion nowadays, but some people seem really to need them, and it’s such a pity. One can’t very well tell her, though it would be a kindness.’”
‘ “A conversational resurrection, my dear,’ said her husband. ‘We buried the Unsworths under a mound of other topics and rolled the tea table over them. And now, behold, they rise again.”’
Overall it’s a shame Linford didn’t keep on. I hope she enjoyed Women’s Lib.