I have to say that I find your perception of Anne's marriage quite puzzling Ann. The Anne of Green Gables series have been one of the closest to my heart since I was fourteen, and for me, her marriage epitomized thekind of husband-wife relationship I'd aspire toward.
Originally posted by TOC:
Did you see the results of the LnC fanfic genre poll? Most popular of eighteen genres you could choose between was, not suprisingly, romance. Number fifteen, tied with deathfics, was married fics (where Lois and Clark have small kids). I have to wonder - is marriage equal to death, fiction-wise?
Personally, I thought this was merely because most people aren't very interested in reading about kids. Or the fact that once people fall into a steady pattern and routine that is necessitated by a marriage, a lot of the relationship issues we like to explore have already been resolved. The thing about having a happily ever after is that they're boring to
other people.
(Her foster mother Marilla cut Anne's hair all off close to the scalp, because in those days it was more unforgivable for a girl to have green hair than to have no hair at all - can you imagine?)
It's not a case of whether it was socially acceptable for a girl to have dyed her hair an unorthodox colour. It was that Anne dyed her hair puke-green. I think even today, cropped hair would draw less school-yard bullying than hideous puke-green braids.
Her best friend Diana had married young and become fat (well, that's how I remember it), and now she was really interested only in her equally chubby husband and their ugly little baby boy.
It's interesting how different our takes on Diana's marriage is. From my perspective, Diana married at the age that was considered suitable for women of that time, and always having being a domestic soul, she loved her husband and revelled in motherhood. On behalf of women who are content to stay home and take care of their families, I find the connotations in your wording rather insulting. Should she only been wrapped up in her family if her husband had been less chubby and bland and her baby more beautiful?
Personally, I always thought Diana's family life was very sweet, because in the end she was a fulfilled woman, with children she could be proud of and a husband who never made a slight in his affections toward her no matter how much weight she gained as the years went on. Her life was a very prosy, bland one, but I loved how Montgomery kept illustrating that there is romance in such lives as well, and that should be appreciated as well as that which is found in more glamourous circles.
And another of Anne's old friends, Ruby, had actually died. I hated death-of-women fics even back then, so I was shocked and upset.
Ruby's death was very important to the book, because she personified a life that had been devoted solely to superficial self-congratulation and self-obsession. It took death for Ruby to realize that there were greater things than those bound to earth, and in facing death with this realization, her character was elevated and given depth. It is a religious message that is typical of Montgomery's writing, and other writers of her time period; however, it is one that can be applied to the ultimate message of earthly transience that is inherent in all major religions today. I highly doubt it had anything to do with her being a woman. Louisa May Alcott used the same device to convey the same message when she killed Prince Charlie's character in
Rose in Bloom.
But, alas! How boring that book was. And how - well, unexciting and unsatisfying her married life seemed to be. Nothing much happened. Gilbert, the boy who had done no better at school than her, was now a medical doctor who was away all day, while she was at home, doing pretty much nothing.
Again, you are applying the standards and social perceptions of our own times to Anne's life. It was expected of women to give up their careers once they were married, and Anne was hardly a social reformist. She enjoyed her career in teaching, but it has always been clear that having a family of her own - which she has never really had, until then - was her goal, ever since she fell in love with Gilbert.
And again, strikes against the housewife. Ann, I'm not exactly a housewife, but I've been taking care of my family during the holidays as my mother has gone on a trip to the UK and my father has to work all day. So I do rather take personal umbrage at your disparaging implications. Taking care of two kids and a house is hardly "doing nothing all day", let me tell you. And that is in the modern day, with all the conveniences available to me. I can't imagine how busy Anne must have been a hundred years ago, with a considerably huger house, a harried doctor who really sucks at taking care of himself, six small children and all the social obligations that comes of holding a prominent position in an urban community. Being a housewife is a career far nobler and harder one than most people realize.
I know there are people who'd say that housewives are people who waste their potential by confining themselves to their home. The fact of the matter is, that housewives do not usually confine themselves to their family, and even if they do, I cannot see the waste in applying one's talents and capabilities to care for the ones you love most.
I myself chafe at my household duties because I've never been a particularly domestic animal. But Anne is a person who was raised differently, and of different tastes, and Montgomery made it clear that she was supremely talented in the art of finding pleasure in simple things.
As an educated woman, she didn't seem to have all that much in common with the women who were her neighbours. Anne seemed to spend much of her time by going for long lonely walks, or at least that is how I remember it.
You seem to paint a picture in which this situation chafed at her as much as it would chafe at you. Gilbert bought that first house only after taking into consideration all his wife's needs. When he opined that she might be lonely there sometimes, she assured him that she wouldn't be. Many a woman might, but Anne was a special case, with her well-honed talent for optimism and love of nature.
Ah, but - when I read about Lesley Ford, it suddenly occurred to me that her name resembled L.M. Montgomery's own name, Lucy Maud. Lucy Maud - Lesley Ford. Lucy Maud Montgomery, the creator of Anne of Green Gables and Lesley Ford. Perhaps Lucy Maud wrote about her own unhappy marriage when she wrote about Lesley Ford? Perhaps she gave Lesley Ford the wishful-thinking-happy-ending that she herself could never have?
Clark: "Lois, what am I doing now?"
Lois: "Reaching?"
Clark: "And I'm not the only one."
And perhaps Anne's marriage seemed so boring and unsatisfying because Lucy Maud's own marriage was just like that?
Anne was hardly ever bored or unsatisfied. I'm telling you because I have the book open in front of me. The life she led was not to our taste, but there could be no doubt that she liked it.
Or perhaps Lucy Maud did have a bit of sexual satisfaction in her own marriage, but it was absolutely impossible to breathe as much as a syllable about that in a book whose readership consisted of young women and girls?
This book was published in 1917 with a target readership of young girls who still only got the birds and the bees talk before their wedding nights. I admit, I was disappointed that there wasn't even a hint of smut (the way Anne referred to "keeping bridal tryst" on her wedding night, she might as well have been out picking daisies with Gilbert the whole evening) but then, that was hardly different from other writers of that genre, in that period. The author was clearly either as reticent as a women of her time were expected to be, or she was being careful of convention.
So if that was the only good thing between Anne and Gilbert, then it was impossible for Lucy Maud to even hint at any nightly pleasures that her fictional heroine might have enjoyed.
I rather think that the wonderful camaraderie, humour and fulfillment they found in each other were good things enough to hint that Anne's marriage was a very happy one. I refer to the scene where Gilbert and Anne are having a casual heart-to-heart by the front steps before they meet Miss Cornelia for the first time.
The last book I read in the series was called "Lilla Marilla" (Little Marilla(?) in English).
Really? The one I read was called "Rilla of Ingleside".
The story focused on Anne's daughter Marilla. To my shock, Anne herself was hardly even mentioned in that book, even though young Marilla herself was still living at home with her parents! I compared the book about little Marilla with the first book about Anne, where the older Marilla had been an imposing presence. Not so Anne in this last book. The vivacious, happy young girl had become a married woman who faded into the wallpaper until you could hardly find her.
Again you must account for the time period, Ann. Anne was about forty-five years old in this book, and in that time that was considered pretty old. Also, Anne was by now enough of a well-rounded and fulfilled individual that her own story did not make for great plot. Her role was in the capacity of a mentor, and her presence was felt very strongly by me through the legacy of wisdom and upbringing she had bestowed upon her children. The story was centered around Rilla's own coming of age and how the war affected the Blythe children. It's interesting to note that in Rilla, we have a character very different from Anne, one who is also closer to the average girl than Anne, with her coddled existence, vanity and obsession with trivialities. She wasn't as close to Anne as her siblings were, although that changed through the course of the story.
Although I missed Anne myself in this book, in retrospect, I still love the glimpses of her life that we were given in the book. Youthful for her years, admired by the whole community and still fulfilled in her love and her home. I love the scene where she reminisces about their courtship with Gilbert, and the subtle little tid-bits that showed us how tender and loving her relationship with her husband still was. Added to that was an air of gentleness and wisdom that allowed her to guide her family in the face of her own devastation at losing her son.
Even though she was probably no more than about forty-five years old, it was as if Anne was completely spent as a focus for stories, as if absolutely nothing could be told about her any more.
As I said above, there were plenty of subtle things that told of her how far her character had evolved. But yes, her story was done. And I don't mean that her story was done for her, because I'm sure she continued to grow as a person until she died. But her story can hold no more enjoyment fo r us seekers of conflict and drama, and for Anne, this is indubitably a good thing. Because Happily Ever After doesn't make for a good story.
Is it possible to write engrossing stories about middle-aged married Lois and Clark, where Lois is still a vital force and still an important part of the story? I'm just wondering.
Well, Woman in the Mirror is still being written, but it perfectly matches all your requirements, so I think you know what my stand is on that.
I leave you with this quote from Anne of the Island:
"Your picture of social triumphs is quite fascinating, Phil, but I'll paint one to offset it. I'm going home to an old country farmhouse, once green, rather faded now, set among leafless apple orchards. There is a brook below and a December fir wood beyond, where I've heard harps swept by the fingers of rain and wind. There is a pond nearby that will be gray and brooding now. There will be two oldish ladies in the house, one tall and thin, one short and fat; and there will be two twins, one a perfect model, the other what Mrs. Lynde calls a 'holy terror.' There will be a little room upstairs over the porch, where old dreams hang thick, and a big, fat, glorious feather bed which will almost seem the height of luxury after a boardinghouse mattress. How do you like my picture, Phil?"
"It seems a very dull one," said Phil, with a grimace.
"Oh, but I've left out the transforming thing," said Anne softly. "There'll be love there, Phil—faithful, tender love, such as I'll never find anywhere else in the world—love that's waiting for me. That makes my picture a masterpiece, doesn't it, even if the colors are not very brilliant?"
Phil silently got up, tossed her box of chocolates away, went up to Anne, and put her arms about her.
"Anne, I wish I was like you," she said soberly.
