I am vacillating between awarding this regency novel a 4-star or a 4.5-star rating. Why quibble over such an amount? I’ll tell you why. On several occasions I found myself thinking, “She would never have said that!” or “That would never have happened!” Clearly, this is a work of fiction—historical romance, to be exact—and one could expect ‘the unexpected.’ Allowing the author her artistic license is one thing, however; there are certain levels of speech and comportment that one would assume to witness in a society so preoccupied with proper decorum.
Having said all that, you could have knocked me over with the proverbial feather when I began reading the sections regarding the secondary character of Sir David Treves. As an avid novel reader, I am passionate about partnering my love for historical fiction with Judaica. It is an ongoing hobby of mine to seek out work that showcases Jewish characters in “period” settings. My criteria require the novel not be Holocaust related, nor be of a biblical theme. There is a plethora of work that addresses these subjects. In addition, I will not accept the stereotypical Jewish character of Shakespeare, Dickens, Chaucer or Heyer. I am not looking for a ‘frum’ (pious) character, nor do I wish to read Pride and Prejudice with a cliché cast of Orthodox, New York Jews. My goal is to read a period piece, be it regency, Victorian or Edwardian, where a character or two—or dare I wish it—a family, just SO HAPPEN to be Jewish. Oh yes…one more thing: No Conversions!
Lady Barbara’s Dilemma has two storylines to follow, actually three, if you count the attractive Scotsman! While Lady Barbara’s subplot did interest me, I was bowled over by Sir David. I was so pleased; I nearly pumped my fist in the air and cried, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
…“I believe that we do have that in common, Lady Barbara. You, by virtue of being a woman and a lady, will never appear on a concert stage, and I, by virtue of being born a Jew, will never sit in Parliament or even enter a profession.”
“But your name is Treves,” said Barbara, without thinking.
“You are pronouncing it the English way. Originally it was Spanish.”
“Yes, I thought you looked Spanish or Portuguese. But you are every inch the English gentleman,” protested Barbara.
“My people have been quite successful in adopting the culture of their host country,” he said with a touch of irony. “It is the way we have survived. And I ‘am’ an English gentleman. The Treveses have been here since Cromwell readmitted the Jews.”
This exchange between Barbara and David won me over. Barbara’s trials and tribulations of being “on the shelf” at the ripe old age of twenty-six is a typical narrative of these novels. Her angst at finding a true and passionate love is a common storyline; her frustration at being denied a career as a musician because of her rank and sex, perhaps, is not. The author does a splendid job in conveying how deeply a musician feels connected to her art. I enjoyed this and as a choral performer, I could relate to the depth of emotion. David’s plotline, however, was what held me glued to my seat.
Unlike Mirah in George Elliot’s Daniel Deronda, David was not the saintly Jew. As a poor, troubled girl in Victorian England, Mirah was ‘practically perfect in every way.’ David, a Sephardic, assimilated Jew, struggles with his heritage. His father has plans for him, which would entail David marrying a destitute, nobleman’s daughter. This exchange of money for position, would allow David entry into the political arena and once there; he might hope to effect some political reform. He is not so sure of his path when, quite by accident, he meets Miss Deborah Cohen. This young woman is secure in her faith and although not nearly a Mirah, she is sure of her place in the world.
“…We do not attend temple regularly, nor keep to all dietary regulations,” Deborah admitted. “But we observe the high holy days and the Sabbath. And I will always consider myself first a Jewish woman, then an Englishwoman. And although there are many intermarriages in the East End, I would never marry a Christian.”
This book gave me everything (almost everything) I wanted. There are no broad, brush strokes of evil Christians and saintly Jews OR saintly Christians and evil Jews. Both David and the handsome Scotsman speak to the difficulty of knowing “how to balance two identities” and I loved the ongoing theme of being true to oneself. I had my fill of balls and fripperies, teas, rides through Hyde Park, and even a Friday night, ‘oneg Shabbat.’ I enjoyed the romance, but on that note, I must say this is not entirely a Clean Read. It would most certainly pass by today’s standards—not being a ‘bodice ripper' per se—, but for those sensitive readers; I’m giving you fair warning.
The author wove her research beautifully into the Georgian narrative, sharing the under acknowledged complexities and contributions of Jewish people in England. So, ‘shoyn’, as my grandmother used to say. Enough said! 4.5 stars.