This is very much like reading Kate Chopin. The writing is beautiful, and there is a strong feminist slant. It’s deservedly a classic.
However, it was written by a Southern white woman in the 20s, and so naturally, racist assumptions are imbedded in this novel. The tricky thing is that, in its day, the novel would have been considered enlightened, because there are so many responsible, hard-working, reliable Black people in its pages, and the protagonist generally prefers working with them than working with the local white people, with a few exceptions. Still, there are a lot of blanket assumptions.
The central character of the novel is Dorinda Oakley, who lives in a small farming community in Virginia. The land is barren, the people mostly poor, and her father worked really hard his whole life, planting tobacco year after year, eking out a living. Most of his land was given over to broomsedge, the local tough weed – and the major metaphor in the novel - because he didn’t have enough money to hire workers. The characters are drawn beautifully, but the best writing is about the land itself.
Dorinda, a young woman with the novel begins, falls in love with Jason, the young doctor who has just arrived in town. He is just there temporarily to help his irascible drunkard of a father, who has fallen ill. But he is charming and seductive, and Dorinda falls for him, and they become engaged. Dorinda’s infatuation is described vividly, as is her disillusionment when Jason is coerced into following through on a previous courtship to a much richer woman. He is too cowardly even to tell Dorinda that he has married the other woman. Worse, Dorinda is pregnant.
Devastated and humiliated, Dorinda sneaks away on the early morning train without saying goodbye to anyone, and takes off for New York City. She has some hard weeks, wandering the streets and looking for a job, but through a fortunate accident, she finds one, makes friends, and even attracts an interested suitor. However, she’s decided that she’s through with love. She’ll never make that mistake again.
And she doesn’t. She’s a very strong woman, all her passion contained in the conviction that love is behind her. Instead, after two years in New York, she starts to think about starting a dairy farm back home, and when she gets word that her father has fallen ill, she goes back home and begins to work towards that end. She takes a loan (going against all her family training), buys cows, and starts using some new innovative farming techniques which reclaim the dead soil.
The novel follows her through the next thirty years, as her fortunes rise by dint of her hard work, persistence and resolute will. She even marries, but she marries a man who is kind and submissive, someone she doesn’t love, someone who doesn’t even ask to share her bed. Her old lover, meanwhile, goes through a lot of misfortunes, takes to drink, and ends up with his farm being sold off at a loss because he can’t pay his taxes. And Dorinda buys it, although she can’t explain why she even wants it. She turns it around into a paying enterprise, as well.
The novel ends when Jason ends up very sick, in the poorhouse, and Dorinda, again acting on a strange impulse, rescues him and installs him in a room in her house. There is no reconciliation between them, and his death doesn’t really affect her, although it does leave her with many unanswered questions about the choices we all face in life, and the fates we enact.
Some quotes:
This first passage describes the time in Dorinda’s life when she’s in love.
< Her ears were ringing as if she moved in a high wind. Sounds floated to her in thin strains, from so great a distance that she was obliged to have questions repeated before they reached her ears. And all the time, while she weighed chickens and counted eggs and tasted butter, she was aware that the faint, slow smile clung like an edge of light to her lips. >
This is a storm on the day that Dorinda discovers that her fiancé has married another woman.
< Suddenly, without nearer warning, the storm broke. A streak of white fire split the sky, and the tattered clouds darkened to an angry purple. The wind, which had been chained at a distance, tore itself free with a hurtling noise and crashed in gusts through the tree-tops. >
This is what the countryside looks like, on the early morning when Dorinda leaves town.
< The sun had risen through a drift of cloud, and beneath the violent rim an iridescent light rained over the abandoned fields. While they drove on, it seemed to Dorinda that it was like moving within the heart of an opal. Every young green leaf, every dew-drenched weed, every silken cobweb, every brilliant bird, or gauzy insect, - all these things were illuminated and bedizened with colour. Only the immense black shadow of the horse and buggy raced sombrely over the broomsedge by the roadside. >
Here, she’s been back at the farm for many years.
< At thirty-three, the perspective of the last ten years was incredibly shortened. All the cold starry mornings when she had awakened before day and crept out to the barn by lantern light to attend to the milking, appeared to her now as a solitary frozen dawn. All the bleak winters, all the scorching summers, were a single day; all the evenings, when she had dreamed half asleep in the firelit dusk, were a single night. She could not separate these years into seasons. In her long retrospect they were crystallized into one flawless pattern. >
There are some great descriptions of snow.
< Except for the lighted house at her back she might have been alone in a stainless world before the creation of life. A cold white moon was shedding a silver lustre over the landscape, which appeared as transparent as glass against the impenetrable horizon. >
< As they turned out of the gate, the wheels slid over the embedded rocks to the frozen ruts in the snow. Only a circle of road immediately in front of them was visible, and while the wagon rolled on, this spot of ground appeared to travel with them, never changing and never lingering in its passage. Into this illuminated circle tiny tracks of birds drifted and vanished like magic signs. >
This passage comes close to the end, as Jason lies dying.
< For an instant the memory of the Jason she had first known flickered over him like a vanishing ray of sunlight. As the gleam faded, she felt that he was passing with it into some unearthly medium where she could not follow. It was, she told herself, only the endless riddle of mortality, renewed again and yet again in each human being. >