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414 pages, Paperback
First published June 1, 1933
The Master of Jalna by Mazo de la Roche is the second novel I have read by this local author, following Jalna from five years ago. De la Roche wrote of the timeless dramas that preoccupy modern-day soap operas: infidelities, sudden financial crises, unexpected deaths, yet without the melodrama that permeates daytime television. It was written in 1933 and the dialogue and action it portrays could very well have been lifted from today. Three generations live on the sprawling estate known as Jalna, and passion brews between in-laws and resentment grows among exes. The Whiteoak men and women certainly get around.
After a five-year gap between de la Roche novels, the family dynamics all came back to me. It was easy to reacquant myself with the Whiteoak family because de la Roche wrote all of her Jalna books as independent stories in their own right. In other words, one can read all sixteen books in any order and not feel as if one was missing anything. De le Roche subtly reintroduced characters and plot dramas associated with them, so I never wondered why so-and-so was acting this way and why this other character was always sickly. In fact, de la Roche jumped around timelines herself during the creation of her Jalna series, and if one read her books as they came out, the novel that started it all, Jalna, would in fact be the seventh in the series.
Renny Whiteoak is the master of Jalna, who was bequeathed the estate after the death of his centenarian grandmother Adeline. He is in a loveless marriage with Alayne, who is daily run ragged by their two-year-old terror of a daughter also named Adeline. No one living at the Jalna estate can tolerate the toddler, who rules the roost without discipline, staying up all night laughing and playing. She is the most terrible of all twos and de la Roche showed restraint in not writing about anyone, whether Alayne, a nanny or someone else, giving her a good smack. Every time I read about young Adeline I grew annoyed. I could not stand that child. I might show her the same treatment that befell the baby (befell is the most appropriate word) in the movie Andy Warhol’s Bad by tossing her out the window:
The Whiteoak family is struggling financially, with Meg (née Whiteoak) and her husband Maurice wishing to subdivide their estate to sell the land. The Jalna house is in a state of disrepair, with a collapsing ceiling, worn carpets and fireplaces that need cleaning. Renny has no money to pay for any of it, yet commits the unspeakable sin by remortgaging Jalna to an outsider.
De la Roche could write the most perceptive of images, full of attitude. innuendo, as well as concrete observations. I had to reread the following paragraph over and over to fully take in her acute degree of aloof snark. When Renny announces to the family that he was out of money:
“As was the custom with the Whiteoaks, Renny broke this bad news to the family at the dinner table. Alayne was shocked at his doing this. It seemed such a dreadfully embarrassing moment for Piers, but she need not have worried. Piers sat stolidly upright, wearing the rather smug expression of one who has developed one of the minor contagious diseases, and is in the act of transmitting it to all those near him.”
When municipal plans to straighten out a road threatens the trees lining the road to Jalna, de la Roche conjured a stunning image:
“The noble oaks, serene in their strength, proud, sound as saplings, had completed the green galaxy of their summer foliage before the first blow from the axe bruised their bark.”
De la Roche often wrote imagery like this, which required multiple rereads in order to savour the picture in my mind’s eye. I liked also how her imagery wasn’t always straightforward, and sometimes puzzled me in its meaning. I noted these passages, and returned to them for a later reread. I wasn’t always successful, for the following passage still puzzles me:
“He stood rigid, his fount of tenderness sterile. He looked at her as a man might look at a woman who superficially resembled a woman he had loved.”
I wondered about the above quote because it is Renny speaking to his wife, Alayne. The statement was plainly written yet took some time to grasp.
And no amount of Internet searching could help me understand the passage below:
“…while at her side lounged Nicholas wearing a braided velvet jacket and a Thames tunnel on his forehead, represented today by his crest of grey hair.”
One hundred years ago, was a “Thames tunnel” a style of man’s haircut? Or was de la Roche using the tunnel as a metaphor? I suppose Nicholas could have had a thick lock of hair running across his forehead, but that would have alluded to something dark and solid, not grey, or vacuous like a tunnel.
The sun had not yet appeared above the tree-tops but the eastern sky was fantastically streaked with red and gold and purple, and above these hung many bright clouds, some of them no more than rosy flakes, and beyond them a pale-green sky. Every leaf and blade and petal stood out singly, clear-cut, significant, proud. As he reached the open fields the whole world unrolled like a rich-coloured scroll, now signed with a flourish of sunlight. A flock of gulls flew high above his head uttering their plaintive pleasure in the morning.If anything you've read here has put you off reading the book (or the series), that's perfectly fine as you probably wouldn't have enjoyed it anyway.