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sid"Life's Shop Window", by Victoria Cross, copyright 1907, 371 pages.
This is the oldest of the novels from Grandma's trunk, so far at least. The action begins somewhere around the turn of the century. Meet Lydia, sixteen years old and incredibly lovely. And sort of incredibly full of herself, or in love with her own loveliness, or something. She's hot and she knows it.
My first big problem with Lydia/the author/this book is that Lydia is five feet eight inches tall. In 1900? That is freakishly tall. I happen to know that about fifteen years ago, the average MAN in the United States was 5' 8". Fortunately, all the men she meets are even taller. (*sulks* I know how tall the average US man was 15 years ago because that's when I looked it up to find out if it was really my imagination that at 5' 10" I towered over nearly every man I met.)
Lydia is a housemaid/nanny on a farm in England. A stranger comes to study farming. Or something. It doesn't matter, because he will be spending all his time pursuing Lydia. His name is Bernard. He convinces Lydia that they should get married. So they sekritly elope.
On the wedding night: There was no shrinking from the moment when Bernard would enter the room, only a great longing for him to be there. A straining in all the fibres of her body to feel his arms folded round her and to be crushed against his breast.
SEX! She wants SEX!
Sex is good. Lydia and Bernard are happy, but their marriage is still a sekrit. They have to ignore each other when the farmer and his wife are around, and he sneaks up to her bedroom at night for SEX. Inevitably, Lydia one day reports to Bernard that she feels dreadfully ill in the mornings, and sometimes as if she would faint. "I can't understand it. What do you think it is?"
DUMBASS.
Just then Bernard gets the offer of some cheap land in Arizona, and decides to go, but tells her it wouldn't be safe for her to come. Because of the wild Indians, don't you know. So he goes away and leaves her alone and pregnant, and she's to join him after the baby is born. Lydia's pretty pissed. And she has this feeling that they'll never recapture this fine first glow of love.
The baby is born, a little girl who will be usually referred to as "it" or "the child" from now on (really makes me wonder about the author, you know?), Bernard sends for them, and Lydia and the child take a train to meet their boat. At the train station (Euston Station, if anyone cares *g*) Lydia sees a refined, distinguished looking man at the bookstall. He seems to appreciate her as much as she does him. She can't seem to forget him.
She arrives in Arizona, they're pretty happy, they take a trip to the Grand Canyon for a belated honeymoon, I guess. I'm not sure if the author had ever been there or not, but she was really enraptured by it, obviously. Long, florid descriptions. I've never been, but I have a feeling that nowadays they don't let you wander around by yourselves on horseback and camp out for the night, so that you can enjoy the sunset. Lower and lower sank the sun in the roseate sky, higher and higher rose the mystic blue of the canyon, floating over carved dome and fretted spires, submerging city after city beneath a transparent sea, till only the loftiest crests of rock, the highest pinnacles, were left still glowing blood red in the light above the magic flood. Overhead the sky flashed and changed from pale rose to gold and tranquil green, from blood red back to faint rose, and in it, luminous, in pink glow, behind a great fretted minaret of crimson rock, appeared suddenly the moon, an enormous transparent disc; pale and frail as white tissue it floated up into their sight through the warm-hued sky.
And so on.
Enough happiness! We now jump ahead six years. Lydia and Bernard have had three more children, and those three youngest all died one fierce summer. Dunno of what. Lydia suffered great mental grief. This is classic telling, not showing. She probably called all of them "it".
A hunting party arrives on their doorstep one winter's night. Oh, look! LOOK! It's the man from the train station! His name is Eustace.
Lydia decides to run away with him to Mexico. Eh, Bernard's boring, ranch life is same-old, same-old. She writes Bernard a letter, sealed the letter and left it in the middle of the table, gave the child its supper, put it to bed, and saw it fall asleep.
Then she sneaks off to Eustace, so they can have SEX!
Sadly for Lydia, Eustace turns out to be one of those men who delight in the chase, but aren't so happy once they actually have a woman in their possession. Or, in Lydia's case, in his thrall. Geez Louise, love makes this woman stupid. The man treats her like dirt. She can't say a word without being accused of arguing. He disses her clothing. Months go by without SEX. Lydia is not a happy camper, but she's so in LURVE.
A letter comes from Bernard. He has divorced her, since that seemed the best thing he could do for her. Now Eustace can marry her if he chooses. Bernard doesn't entirely blame her for leaving, he's sure there must have been faults on his side, he blames himself terribly, blah, blah, blah. Oh, yes, and the child died.
Lydia spends the night on the floor, lost in a wandering stupor. In the morning she shows the letter to Eustace. "I am so very grieved about the child," she says while stirring her coffee.
"Well, it was a pity you left her. Why did you do it?" What a sweet guy!
"Why, indeed?"
One day in Constantinople, Lydia meets Ivan. Ivan is beautiful. Ivan loves her, wants her. Hell, Eustace will probably be glad to get rid of her. But, oops, while she was recently nursing Eustace through typhoid fever, he totally fell in love with her. He's devastated at the thought that she might leave him.
Lydia has a soft, soft heart. She can't stand to see him this way. She can't leave him like this. (Had no trouble leaving "the child", however. *grumbles*) She tells Ivan that he just should wait for her. She'll send for him as soon as Eustace gets tired of her and is willing to let her go. Then she and Ivan can be married.
But meanwhile, she'll have SEX with Eustace whenever he wants, although it totally leaves her cold, now. Srsly. Yeah, that will make Eustace fall out of love with her.
But, you know, he doesn't, so she goes away to the seaside to be alone and decide what to do, and she totally decides to send for Ivan, but then she doesn't have to, because he writes and says he can't wait any longer and will be at her side very soon. There's a knock at the door! She runs to open it, her heart beating with a joyful flutter!
It's Eustace. Gosh, I never would've seen that one coming. She felt a sort of shrinking horror rushing over her, a terror, a cringing hatred. He gives her a heart-shaped ruby brooch, and there's really no point in refusing to accept it, since she's clothed from head to foot in things he bought for her and living on an allowance he gives to her. It's not that Lydia's in to material things - it would hurt him to refuse the brooch.
At this point there's like 12 pages left in the book, and I'm thinking that Ivan's looking like a no-show.
Eustace asks Lydia what her intentions are. "It seemed, when I thought everything over, that there was no use in our continuing to be together, and as I cannot live alone, and he wishes it very much, I feel I may as well marry Ivan." Then she admits that she doesn't love Ivan the way she used to love Eustace, but it's in her nature to love the man she lives with and she expects that the SEX will compensate, at least in the beginning.
And then Eustace starts to cry, and Lydia, with her soft, soft heart, realizes that she's trapped. She can't leave him.
But, hey, the author makes everything all right on the last two pages!
Had Lydia, that night, been permitted for one instant to lift the curtain, she would have been surprised at her future, so little do we know of our own hearts' mysteries. Though the flowers might be dead, the roots of that love she had for him still remained alive, and from them, in the summer of his love for her, flowers bloomed again.
I'm so happy thatthe slut who abandoned her husband and child and was all set to dump her lover for a virtual stranger Lydia will finally know true happiness. God bless her.
This is the oldest of the novels from Grandma's trunk, so far at least. The action begins somewhere around the turn of the century. Meet Lydia, sixteen years old and incredibly lovely. And sort of incredibly full of herself, or in love with her own loveliness, or something. She's hot and she knows it.
My first big problem with Lydia/the author/this book is that Lydia is five feet eight inches tall. In 1900? That is freakishly tall. I happen to know that about fifteen years ago, the average MAN in the United States was 5' 8". Fortunately, all the men she meets are even taller. (*sulks* I know how tall the average US man was 15 years ago because that's when I looked it up to find out if it was really my imagination that at 5' 10" I towered over nearly every man I met.)
Lydia is a housemaid/nanny on a farm in England. A stranger comes to study farming. Or something. It doesn't matter, because he will be spending all his time pursuing Lydia. His name is Bernard. He convinces Lydia that they should get married. So they sekritly elope.
On the wedding night: There was no shrinking from the moment when Bernard would enter the room, only a great longing for him to be there. A straining in all the fibres of her body to feel his arms folded round her and to be crushed against his breast.
SEX! She wants SEX!
Sex is good. Lydia and Bernard are happy, but their marriage is still a sekrit. They have to ignore each other when the farmer and his wife are around, and he sneaks up to her bedroom at night for SEX. Inevitably, Lydia one day reports to Bernard that she feels dreadfully ill in the mornings, and sometimes as if she would faint. "I can't understand it. What do you think it is?"
DUMBASS.
Just then Bernard gets the offer of some cheap land in Arizona, and decides to go, but tells her it wouldn't be safe for her to come. Because of the wild Indians, don't you know. So he goes away and leaves her alone and pregnant, and she's to join him after the baby is born. Lydia's pretty pissed. And she has this feeling that they'll never recapture this fine first glow of love.
The baby is born, a little girl who will be usually referred to as "it" or "the child" from now on (really makes me wonder about the author, you know?), Bernard sends for them, and Lydia and the child take a train to meet their boat. At the train station (Euston Station, if anyone cares *g*) Lydia sees a refined, distinguished looking man at the bookstall. He seems to appreciate her as much as she does him. She can't seem to forget him.
She arrives in Arizona, they're pretty happy, they take a trip to the Grand Canyon for a belated honeymoon, I guess. I'm not sure if the author had ever been there or not, but she was really enraptured by it, obviously. Long, florid descriptions. I've never been, but I have a feeling that nowadays they don't let you wander around by yourselves on horseback and camp out for the night, so that you can enjoy the sunset. Lower and lower sank the sun in the roseate sky, higher and higher rose the mystic blue of the canyon, floating over carved dome and fretted spires, submerging city after city beneath a transparent sea, till only the loftiest crests of rock, the highest pinnacles, were left still glowing blood red in the light above the magic flood. Overhead the sky flashed and changed from pale rose to gold and tranquil green, from blood red back to faint rose, and in it, luminous, in pink glow, behind a great fretted minaret of crimson rock, appeared suddenly the moon, an enormous transparent disc; pale and frail as white tissue it floated up into their sight through the warm-hued sky.
And so on.
Enough happiness! We now jump ahead six years. Lydia and Bernard have had three more children, and those three youngest all died one fierce summer. Dunno of what. Lydia suffered great mental grief. This is classic telling, not showing. She probably called all of them "it".
A hunting party arrives on their doorstep one winter's night. Oh, look! LOOK! It's the man from the train station! His name is Eustace.
Lydia decides to run away with him to Mexico. Eh, Bernard's boring, ranch life is same-old, same-old. She writes Bernard a letter, sealed the letter and left it in the middle of the table, gave the child its supper, put it to bed, and saw it fall asleep.
Then she sneaks off to Eustace, so they can have SEX!
Sadly for Lydia, Eustace turns out to be one of those men who delight in the chase, but aren't so happy once they actually have a woman in their possession. Or, in Lydia's case, in his thrall. Geez Louise, love makes this woman stupid. The man treats her like dirt. She can't say a word without being accused of arguing. He disses her clothing. Months go by without SEX. Lydia is not a happy camper, but she's so in LURVE.
A letter comes from Bernard. He has divorced her, since that seemed the best thing he could do for her. Now Eustace can marry her if he chooses. Bernard doesn't entirely blame her for leaving, he's sure there must have been faults on his side, he blames himself terribly, blah, blah, blah. Oh, yes, and the child died.
Lydia spends the night on the floor, lost in a wandering stupor. In the morning she shows the letter to Eustace. "I am so very grieved about the child," she says while stirring her coffee.
"Well, it was a pity you left her. Why did you do it?" What a sweet guy!
"Why, indeed?"
One day in Constantinople, Lydia meets Ivan. Ivan is beautiful. Ivan loves her, wants her. Hell, Eustace will probably be glad to get rid of her. But, oops, while she was recently nursing Eustace through typhoid fever, he totally fell in love with her. He's devastated at the thought that she might leave him.
Lydia has a soft, soft heart. She can't stand to see him this way. She can't leave him like this. (Had no trouble leaving "the child", however. *grumbles*) She tells Ivan that he just should wait for her. She'll send for him as soon as Eustace gets tired of her and is willing to let her go. Then she and Ivan can be married.
But meanwhile, she'll have SEX with Eustace whenever he wants, although it totally leaves her cold, now. Srsly. Yeah, that will make Eustace fall out of love with her.
But, you know, he doesn't, so she goes away to the seaside to be alone and decide what to do, and she totally decides to send for Ivan, but then she doesn't have to, because he writes and says he can't wait any longer and will be at her side very soon. There's a knock at the door! She runs to open it, her heart beating with a joyful flutter!
It's Eustace. Gosh, I never would've seen that one coming. She felt a sort of shrinking horror rushing over her, a terror, a cringing hatred. He gives her a heart-shaped ruby brooch, and there's really no point in refusing to accept it, since she's clothed from head to foot in things he bought for her and living on an allowance he gives to her. It's not that Lydia's in to material things - it would hurt him to refuse the brooch.
At this point there's like 12 pages left in the book, and I'm thinking that Ivan's looking like a no-show.
Eustace asks Lydia what her intentions are. "It seemed, when I thought everything over, that there was no use in our continuing to be together, and as I cannot live alone, and he wishes it very much, I feel I may as well marry Ivan." Then she admits that she doesn't love Ivan the way she used to love Eustace, but it's in her nature to love the man she lives with and she expects that the SEX will compensate, at least in the beginning.
And then Eustace starts to cry, and Lydia, with her soft, soft heart, realizes that she's trapped. She can't leave him.
But, hey, the author makes everything all right on the last two pages!
Had Lydia, that night, been permitted for one instant to lift the curtain, she would have been surprised at her future, so little do we know of our own hearts' mysteries. Though the flowers might be dead, the roots of that love she had for him still remained alive, and from them, in the summer of his love for her, flowers bloomed again.
I'm so happy that
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Date: Jun. 23rd, 2009 02:03 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: Jun. 23rd, 2009 06:09 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: Jun. 23rd, 2009 05:14 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: Jun. 23rd, 2009 06:24 pm (UTC)I translated. :-)
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Date: Jun. 23rd, 2009 06:25 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: Jun. 23rd, 2009 05:42 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: Jun. 23rd, 2009 06:25 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: Jun. 23rd, 2009 06:40 am (UTC)Must say, in feeble defense of the author, that in that era children were ALWAYS referred to as 'it' or as 'the child'. It's just what they did.
(no subject)
Date: Jun. 23rd, 2009 06:28 pm (UTC)Yes, the title of the book was lovingly and metaphorically explained, more than once. Many more times than once. I spared y'all. Likes to shop, should be more clear on the shop's return policy, lol.
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Date: Jun. 23rd, 2009 02:52 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: Jun. 23rd, 2009 06:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: Jun. 23rd, 2009 04:15 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: Jun. 23rd, 2009 06:31 pm (UTC)Yep, that about sums it up, lol.
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Date: Jun. 23rd, 2009 05:48 pm (UTC)BTW hello. long-time lurker-type here. i friended, hope you don't mind, i didn't see a friending policy.
(no subject)
Date: Jun. 23rd, 2009 06:33 pm (UTC)These old-timey romances boggle the mind, no doubt about it.
(no subject)
Date: Jun. 23rd, 2009 06:24 pm (UTC)I will never again question my own ability to write romance. Whatever I write has GOT to be better than that.
Hasn't it?
Hmm?
*wibbles*
(no subject)
Date: Jun. 23rd, 2009 06:34 pm (UTC):-)/:-)