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And Now Tomorrow
Emily Blair is rich and deaf. Doctor Vance, who grew up poor in Blairtown, is working on a serum to cure deafness which he tries on Emily. It doesn't work. Her sister is carrying on an affair with her fiance Jeff. Vance tries a new serum which causes Emily to faint... Will it work this time ?
Mass Market Paperback
First published December 31, 1924
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131 people want to read
About the author
Rachel Field
111 books48 followersRachel Lyman Field was an American novelist, poet, and author of children's fiction. She is best known for her Newbery Medal–winning novel for young adults,
Hitty, Her First Hundred Years
, published in 1929.
As a child Field contributed to the St. Nicholas Magazine and was educated at Radcliffe College. Her book, Prayer for a Child, was a recipient of the Caldecott Medal for its illustrations by Elizabeth Orton Jones. According to Ruth Hill Vigeurs in her introduction to Calico Bush , book of Rachel Field for children, published in 1931, Rachel Field was "fifteen when she first visited Maine and fell under the spell of its 'island-scattered coast'. Calico Bush still stands out as a near-perfect re-creation of people and place in a story of courage, understated and beautiful." Field was also a successful author of adult fiction, writing the bestsellers Time Out of Mind (1935), All This and Heaven Too (1938), and And Now Tomorrow (1942). She is also famous for her poem-turned-song "Something Told the Wild Geese". Field also wrote the English lyrics for the version of Franz Schubert's Ave Maria used in the Disney film Fantasia. Field married Arthur S. Pederson in 1935, with whom she collaborated in 1937 on To See Ourselves.
Field was a descendant of David Dudley Field. She died at the Good Samaritan Hospital in Los Angeles, California on March 15, 1942 of pneumonia following an operation.
As a child Field contributed to the St. Nicholas Magazine and was educated at Radcliffe College. Her book, Prayer for a Child, was a recipient of the Caldecott Medal for its illustrations by Elizabeth Orton Jones. According to Ruth Hill Vigeurs in her introduction to Calico Bush , book of Rachel Field for children, published in 1931, Rachel Field was "fifteen when she first visited Maine and fell under the spell of its 'island-scattered coast'. Calico Bush still stands out as a near-perfect re-creation of people and place in a story of courage, understated and beautiful." Field was also a successful author of adult fiction, writing the bestsellers Time Out of Mind (1935), All This and Heaven Too (1938), and And Now Tomorrow (1942). She is also famous for her poem-turned-song "Something Told the Wild Geese". Field also wrote the English lyrics for the version of Franz Schubert's Ave Maria used in the Disney film Fantasia. Field married Arthur S. Pederson in 1935, with whom she collaborated in 1937 on To See Ourselves.
Field was a descendant of David Dudley Field. She died at the Good Samaritan Hospital in Los Angeles, California on March 15, 1942 of pneumonia following an operation.
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Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews
November 14, 2021
Rachel Field died shortly after this, her last novel, was published, so she didn't get to see it become the first ever #1 New York Times Bestseller in August of 1942. It is a beautifully written, complex tale of romantic entanglements, sibling rivalry, and coping with meningitis-induced deafness. Beyond that, though, there is a fascinating and humanizing exploration of the trials of the early 1930s labor movement, the clash between traditional corporations and unionizers. It solidifies Rachel Field's prowess as a novelist, and emphasizes the tragedy of her loss. How many more extraordinary works would have come from her hand? We'll never know, and we are the poorer for it.
November 28, 2023
Since the Goodreads summary for this book is not only bare-bones, but also inaccurate (due to being obviously cribbed from the 1944 film her fiancé’s name is “Harry” in the novel, not “Jeff”), here’s a better run-down of the actual plot:
Wealthy, privileged Emily Blair of Blairstown, Massachusetts has always known where she belongs, with her future and identity inextricably tied to the local textile mill her family owns. A bout of meningitis contracted not long after her engagement party renders her deaf, though, so she puts her wedding on hold to go traipsing around the country, trying to find a specialist who can restore her hearing. Two years pass with no luck, and so—tired and defeated—Emily finally returns to Blairstown for good, basically ready to accept her disability and get on with her life as best she can. However, the Great Depression has since settled in, and instead of finding solace in her hometown, she returns to find it a microcosm of the country at large—full of class tension, economic strife, and just general nerve-wracking uncertainty.
Meanwhile, also returning to Blairstown at the request of Emily’s family physician is Dr. Merek Vance, the son of Lithuanian immigrants. Hailing from the poor side of town (his father used to work for the mill and was notably fired right before Christmas one year, back when he and Emily were children), Vance has recently had success in treating steel workers for deafness. Emily doesn’t want to get her hopes up again, and Vance doesn’t much like her on a personal level, but the two of them set aside their differences to give his treatments a go, all while the town mill workers threaten to strike in protest of wage cuts. But while she was always sure of her place as town royalty before, the intervening years have changed Emily, and it seems that despite—or because of—her deafness, there are some things she’s only just now able to hear…
Originally published in 1942, And Now Tomorrow is a novel full of genuinely beautiful prose (just check out the quotes), and a story that still resonates and holds up surprisingly well today, despite its arguable slow start. (It’s technically told in frame, with Emily looking back over her life and how everything has changed, and so occasionally dips into something resembling “had I but known” territory.) While it has a romantic subplot, I hesitate to call it a “romance” in the modern sense, as the focus isn’t on the relationship Emily develops with Dr. Vance so much as it’s on her personal growth and the struggles she faces as someone now trapped between two worlds—the rich one she was raised in, and the poor one she is becoming more and more sympathetic to, if not outright identifying with (of note, regarding that, is the fact that her own mother was actually a Polish immigrant who managed to cross the class divide, albeit bittersweetly). These days it would probably be categorized as general fiction or maybe, maybe women’s lit. In any case, it’s a book I keep coming back to, partly for the gorgeous language (told in Emily’s first-person POV, there’s a soft sort of melancholy that pervades the narration), and partly for the still-relevant social commentary. (Plot-wise, it honestly gives me a lot of North and South vibes, and in an ideal world, I’d love to see an adaptation set in modern-day, with Vance’s ethnicity updated, as America is by and large no longer racist against Lithuanians—nor Poles, for that matter.)
That said, much as I love the book overall, I’m not sure how I feel about Emily’s deafness and the way the story treats it. It works well as a metaphor, but is that cool at the end of the day?—using a real-life disability as a storytelling device? Perhaps I’d have less of a problem with it if . I’ve never experienced even the most temporary loss of hearing, myself, so I don’t feel particularly qualified to weigh in on whether this is or is not offensive, but it’s a concern the novel raises for me all the same. Suffice it to say, I would be very curious to learn what an actual deaf person might have to say about the text’s portrayal of disability.
But yes, as is, the language is beautiful and the social commentary is on point, so for now I have to give it 5 starsdespite the slow start and the absolutely nothing title, pfft.
P.S. As alluded to at the beginning, the novel was turned into a film in 1944, though it was clearly a low-effort attempt by the studio to capitalize on its status as a best-seller, as opposed to a truly thoughtful adaptation. The film, while still ostensibly set during the Depression, completely removes the strike angle and the general labor woes, which renders Emily far less complex than her book counterpart (she’s reduced to nothing more than your standard Poor Little Rich Girl), and what meager class drama remains between her and Vance isn’t enough to carry things. Only recommended if you’re a really big fan of Loretta Young and/or Alan Ladd, to be honest, but even then, be warned that it’s still a very tepid and clunky production. (Though to the film’s dubious credit, it also has some really weird, semi-kinky vibes between the two leads, which are definitely not there in the book, and—as such—are by themselves almost worth the 86 minutes you’d spend watching it.)
Wealthy, privileged Emily Blair of Blairstown, Massachusetts has always known where she belongs, with her future and identity inextricably tied to the local textile mill her family owns. A bout of meningitis contracted not long after her engagement party renders her deaf, though, so she puts her wedding on hold to go traipsing around the country, trying to find a specialist who can restore her hearing. Two years pass with no luck, and so—tired and defeated—Emily finally returns to Blairstown for good, basically ready to accept her disability and get on with her life as best she can. However, the Great Depression has since settled in, and instead of finding solace in her hometown, she returns to find it a microcosm of the country at large—full of class tension, economic strife, and just general nerve-wracking uncertainty.
Meanwhile, also returning to Blairstown at the request of Emily’s family physician is Dr. Merek Vance, the son of Lithuanian immigrants. Hailing from the poor side of town (his father used to work for the mill and was notably fired right before Christmas one year, back when he and Emily were children), Vance has recently had success in treating steel workers for deafness. Emily doesn’t want to get her hopes up again, and Vance doesn’t much like her on a personal level, but the two of them set aside their differences to give his treatments a go, all while the town mill workers threaten to strike in protest of wage cuts. But while she was always sure of her place as town royalty before, the intervening years have changed Emily, and it seems that despite—or because of—her deafness, there are some things she’s only just now able to hear…
Originally published in 1942, And Now Tomorrow is a novel full of genuinely beautiful prose (just check out the quotes), and a story that still resonates and holds up surprisingly well today, despite its arguable slow start. (It’s technically told in frame, with Emily looking back over her life and how everything has changed, and so occasionally dips into something resembling “had I but known” territory.) While it has a romantic subplot, I hesitate to call it a “romance” in the modern sense, as the focus isn’t on the relationship Emily develops with Dr. Vance so much as it’s on her personal growth and the struggles she faces as someone now trapped between two worlds—the rich one she was raised in, and the poor one she is becoming more and more sympathetic to, if not outright identifying with (of note, regarding that, is the fact that her own mother was actually a Polish immigrant who managed to cross the class divide, albeit bittersweetly). These days it would probably be categorized as general fiction or maybe, maybe women’s lit. In any case, it’s a book I keep coming back to, partly for the gorgeous language (told in Emily’s first-person POV, there’s a soft sort of melancholy that pervades the narration), and partly for the still-relevant social commentary. (Plot-wise, it honestly gives me a lot of North and South vibes, and in an ideal world, I’d love to see an adaptation set in modern-day, with Vance’s ethnicity updated, as America is by and large no longer racist against Lithuanians—nor Poles, for that matter.)
That said, much as I love the book overall, I’m not sure how I feel about Emily’s deafness and the way the story treats it. It works well as a metaphor, but is that cool at the end of the day?—using a real-life disability as a storytelling device? Perhaps I’d have less of a problem with it if . I’ve never experienced even the most temporary loss of hearing, myself, so I don’t feel particularly qualified to weigh in on whether this is or is not offensive, but it’s a concern the novel raises for me all the same. Suffice it to say, I would be very curious to learn what an actual deaf person might have to say about the text’s portrayal of disability.
But yes, as is, the language is beautiful and the social commentary is on point, so for now I have to give it 5 stars
P.S. As alluded to at the beginning, the novel was turned into a film in 1944, though it was clearly a low-effort attempt by the studio to capitalize on its status as a best-seller, as opposed to a truly thoughtful adaptation. The film, while still ostensibly set during the Depression, completely removes the strike angle and the general labor woes, which renders Emily far less complex than her book counterpart (she’s reduced to nothing more than your standard Poor Little Rich Girl), and what meager class drama remains between her and Vance isn’t enough to carry things. Only recommended if you’re a really big fan of Loretta Young and/or Alan Ladd, to be honest, but even then, be warned that it’s still a very tepid and clunky production. (Though to the film’s dubious credit, it also has some really weird, semi-kinky vibes between the two leads, which are definitely not there in the book, and—as such—are by themselves almost worth the 86 minutes you’d spend watching it.)
December 27, 2012
This book was one of the first book on the New York Best Seller list. Story about Emily Blair who is rich and deaf from meningitis. Doctor Vance is working on a cure the deafness. Emily struggles with love, deafness at the same time of formation of unions at the mill. Also And Now Tomorrow is also a movie released in 1944. Good light read.
April 25, 2014
I typically do not enjoy these types of stories about day to day living or journal style. But, I really liked the way that Field writes. It didn't seem forced or childish. The story line progressed at a fast enough pace that didn't seem like she was dragging on on one subject for too long. I am going to look for more of Field's books the next time I am at the library, which should be soon.
April 13, 2022
Third time I've read this particular Rachel Field novel, and it feels particularly relevant to a 21st century society. Sadly the process of "waking up" to the plight of those less fortunate than ourselves is frustratingly slow, as Rachel Field's protagonist was tiptoeing out of ignorance over a hundred years ago. Field's descriptions of landscape and her depictions of character always please. Even though there are elements I find dated, her books are filled with wisdom worth remembering at any age or time.
October 9, 2011
This must be the last book Rachel Field wrote. It was copyrighted in 1942 and she died in 1942. This book was the story of Emily Blair who owned a cotton mill in the 1930s. Emily becomes deaf. I would like to read more of Rachel Field.
February 3, 2012
Nu este de ajuns sa asculti cu auzul, ci trebuie sa asculti cu inima...
Dragostea nu se lasa prinsa si-nchisa in colivie. Ea nu poate fi rapita nimanui.
Se spune ca atunci cand iubesti esti sclav, iar cand esti iubit esti stapan.
Dragostea nu se lasa prinsa si-nchisa in colivie. Ea nu poate fi rapita nimanui.
Se spune ca atunci cand iubesti esti sclav, iar cand esti iubit esti stapan.
Displaying 1 - 7 of 7 reviews