Victoria Janssen

The main discussion posts on the Wyckerley Trilogy may be found at Something More.

My main takeaway from Forever and Ever by Patricia Gaffney is that it’s a story of a relationship between equals. This might seem an odd thing to say, when the heroine owns a copper mine and comes from wealth, and the hero from a family of poor miners who expended great effort to educate him. Their class differences are a major part of the plot, and give rise to a lot of conflict between them. But in the end, what felt important to me was that in those conflicts, both characters had their say. Neither of them is always right, and each conflict leads to each character reconsidering their position and to compromising. Their relationship is constantly in search of balance, but if not for the conflicts, I think their interest in each other would soon fade.

Throughout, they are on a voyage of discovery, constantly fearing the unknown, even as they desire it, and are willing to adapt to it. She didn’t move; the invisible thread that held their gazes had hypnotized her, too. Finally she whispered, “I’m afraid of you.” It floored him. It evened the score, because he was afraid of her, too. But she was braver: she could admit it, and he couldn’t. Sophie begins the story in a much safer position than Connor does. She is secure in her material wealth and social position, while he has always had to fight for what he wants. They must constantly try to negotiate a middle ground.

For instance, near the beginning of the novel, they argue about literature.

She gritted her teeth. Emma Woodhouse was her favorite heroine in all of fiction; she would not stand by while this—this—miner defamed her. “The point is,” she said again, louder, “she learns from her mistakes. It’s true that she’s not a perfect heroine, but that only makes her more interesting and human. Her flaws are forgivable because she has a good heart. She can be foolish and misguided, yes, but when she interferes in other people’s lives it’s because she really believes she’s helping them. And in the end everyone—Emma, Harriet, Jane Fairfax, even Mrs. Elton—each marries exactly the right person, not only according to their hearts and their temperaments, but their stations, too. All the couples—-”

She flushed—-but she wanted to ask how he knew, and if he knew, then how could he be a poor, uneducated copper miner? She shook her head quickly, frustratedly; this was hopeless. She was in an argument she couldn’t win, even though she was still sure she was right, and it was beginning to seem as if every encounter she had with Mr. Pendarvis put her in this disagreeable position.

Later, after Sophie has learned Connor betrayed her by reporting on work conditions in the mine, she is angry, but then she begins to reconsider. I think this is more easily possible for her because she has the power in their relationship at this point, as she’s higher on the social scale. Connor of course has the advantage of being male; later, he’s offered opportunities that would be denied to any woman, even one high on the social scale; but at this point, Sophie is more free to make choices. Connor is trapped by lack of money and position.

Once before when happiness had been wrenched away and her life was in turmoil, the mine had saved her. This time it did not. Days passed before she could bring herself to acknowledge why, and the reason made her more despondent. Since childhood, she had seen Guelder through her father’s eyes, but now she was seeing it through the eyes of Connor Pendarvis. It changed everything.

Connor, meanwhile, is still trapped in his lower social position, and has also lost Sophie through his own inaction. The strange thing was that he was still angry with her. All the blame was his, and yet every time he thought of the things she’d said at their last harrowing meeting, his skin felt hot. Fury and mortification came boiling up in him, as if the encounter had happened yesterday or an hour ago. You taught me how low I could sink. I’ll spend the rest of my life repenting what I did with you. Maybe he deserved that–yes, all right, he deserved it–but her absolute disgust still infuriated him. Sophie was a snob, and he believed in his heart that not a single moment had passed during their summer-long acquaintance, not even the night they had made love in her narrow bed, when she didn’t consider him her social inferior. He himself had much to answer for, but he couldn’t forgive her for that.

Throughout, their relationship is active; over and over again, they must make the choice to be together. When Connor first sees Sophie, he knows she’s of a higher social class (though not higher than the class to which he aspires). Despite being uncomfortable with their differences, he chooses to pursue her, and after some misgivings, Sophie chooses to be with him, risking her own social position in many ways. They repeatedly choose to continue their relationship. “I don’t know what will happen, Sophie, but I think we have to begin sometime.” With his fingertips light on her cheek, he passed his thumb over her closed lips, watching them quiver. “We have to come toward each other.”

Later in the novel, they acknowledge that despite their differences, their personalities are very alike (another source of conflict for them). “We’re too much alike,” Sophie sighed, snuggling against him. “That’s our problem, Con. We’re too much alike.”

“A blessing and a curse…We have the same temper. The same pride. Exactly the same things make us angry.”

I really love this exchange. He said, “I think you love me, Sophie.” Before she could agree or disagree, he added, “But I don’t think you always approve of me. And I want that. Need that.”

“Maybe Karl Marx has a sister.”

And…that’s pretty much it from me. I thought I would be saying more about the class conflict in this novel, but I can sum it up as “I liked the way Gaffney showed her characters dealing with their class differences, the end.”

I also wrote a post for Heroes and Heartbreakers on despair in Forever and Ever. Here are my posts on on To Love and To Cherish and To Have and To Hold.

Liz at Something More mentioned that she was planning to read Patricia Gaffney’s Wyckerley trilogy and post about it; I’d only read the middle book, To Have and to Hold, so I decided it would be fun to join in, and also post about my experience, in a rambling way. Spoilers ahead! Many of them!

To Love and to Cherish is first in the Wyckerley trilogy.

Here’s the summary: He is a local vicar, whose handsome, noble features resemble those of an angel. And with his golden-haired good looks and palpable strength, Christian “Christy” Morrell has unexpectedly become the single source of light in Anne Verlaine’s dark life. Almost from the moment they met, she realized she couldn’t help loving him.

But Anne is imprisoned by an unhappy marriage to the man who was once Christy’s closest friend. Yet when her husband leaves Anne behind in Wyckerley, she finds herself unable to deny the breathtaking passion Christy has awakened in her. She knows she has no right to ask Christy to love her, and no choice but to need him—-even though she risks both their ruin.

Like all Gaffney’s work that I’ve read so far, To Love and to Cherish features complex characters with significant barriers to their romantic relationship. The conflict for a good portion of this story is a simple one: Christy is the local vicar, and when he falls in love with her, Anne is married to his childhood friend, Geoffrey; he won’t commit adultery, and when he realizes he’s in love with her, he decides he can’t see her any more, end of story. Anne, meanwhile, is also in love with Christy, but feels emotionally trapped as well as being trapped within her marriage vows.

However, after both Christy and Anne believe Geoffrey has died in the Crimean War, the conflict shifts to a more subtle one, the fact that Anne is recently widowed, and Christy must at all times be more moral than his flock. He loves her and desperately wants sex with her, but marrying her too soon would bring the appearance of impropriety. This would likely damage Anne’s reputation and Christy’s credibility, and thus the work he does as vicar, which is an important part of his self-worth. Anne, whose marriage was mostly loveless and has been without sex for years, wants a sexual relationship as well, and is frustrated with Christy’s recalcitrance. Adding to all those conflicts is a more philosophical one: Christy is religious and Anne is an atheist. Overcoming these barriers – which they do – necessitates considerable negotiation between the two of them. Those negotiations are, I think, possibly the most important facet of their relationship. The other facet is curiosity. The two are endlessly curious about each other’s opinions. That, in turn, made them endlessly intriguing to me as a reader, and indicated they would never be bored with each other.

…Christy wanted to stare at her until she made sense to him, fit into some category of womanhood he could check off and set aside, a mystery solved. She was lovely–but that was obvious; a quality much more arresting than beauty simmered under her apparently unlimited composure. It drew him in spite of the faint mockery in her eyes–he was sure now that it was mockery–whenever she intercepted his curious glance.

And from Anne’s point of view:
I can come closer to being myself with Reverend Morrell than with anyone else–a huge, seductive, powerful relief, and the last thing in the world I’d have expected. We talk about everything. So far he hasn’t tried to convert me, but he wants to know how I “got this way.”

…Proprietary? I suppose. I flatter myself that we have a special relationship, and I find the thought of another woman–another person–hearing the things he says to me, private, confidential, fascinating things about his hopes for his life, his fears of failure–the thought of him sharing them with another person makes me feel . . . diminished. Cheated? I might almost say betrayed, but that’s too much–and–it exposes the vanity in all of this.

A major theme in this novel is love and sacrifice, including what a person needs to do for themselves in order to be able to do for others. Self-care is part of their caring for each other. With Christy, it’s obvious that he commits a great deal of himself to the villagers; he constantly worries that he is not giving enough, that he is not good enough, and that he is failing the people he wants to help. Meanwhile, Anne feels lingering guilt that her marriage to Geoffrey was a failure, even though she knows, objectively, that both of them failed each other. She feels she is not worthy of love or even friendship; she feels set apart from humanity. …I don’t think she will be my friend. She and the others will maintain the social gap they think is between us, in spite of anything I could do to bridge it. The irony is that it’s a false gap, this peeress-commoner nonsense. The real gap is even wider; it’s the one that separates goodness and simplicity (theirs) from emptiness and ennui (mine). Christy helps her to realize that people care for her as a person, as well. She helps Christy to realize that love of her begets more love for the villagers and for God, not less.

During the early portions of the novel, as Anne gets to know Christy, he is her only friend. … he fixed her with a burning blue stare and said soberly, “If you ever need help. If you ever need anything. You know that you can come to me, don’t you? I can help. I can do something. Anne, I will help you.”

She nodded matter-of-factly, but inside she felt breathless. The possibility…the possibility…. Against everything, all her experience, she found herself almost believing him. To have a friend, someone she could trust, someone who might really help her. …It was a heady sensation, like contemplating a dive from a great height. “Thank you,” she whispered, ambivalent. Oh, but the possibility…. She clings desperately to the hope of seeing him again, however briefly.

However, once she is widowed (or thinks she is), she also feels more free to reach out to the villagers, partly because she feels it is her duty, partly because she is desperately lonely. She slowly makes friends among them, though Christy helps her to realize that she has, in fact, made true friends. …and yet, the Weedies’ kindness to me was real, and for a few minutes I did not feel as if I were in disguise…. Her slow bonding with the village reflects her bonding with Christy, while also showing that she is no longer dependent on him for all caring and affection. Christy told her the latest village gossip, and Anne realized with a slight start that, far from being boring, it all fascinated her. By reaching out, she is made stronger in herself as well as in her relationship – self-care, again. Again and again, she and Christy lean on each other for emotional support, long before they become lovers.

“You were the one who needed a friendly ear tonight, and for some reason I decided to burden you even more with my problems.”

“Ah, but that’s your attitude to everyone, all of us sheep in your flock, Reverend Morrell. You ought to guard yourself better. We’re heavy, and we’ll take advantage of you. If you’re not careful, we’ll bear you down to the ground.” She said it as a joke, but she could see the simple truth in it as soon as it was out. Christy would bear anything that was asked of him, and he would always think of himself last.

Christy’s Christian behavior (it’s no accident that his name is Christian!) throughout the novel brings to light facets of Anne’s personality that she’s had to hide for years. Her simple, straightforward kindness was so clear to him, and it drew him as irresistibly as her beauty. They have kindness in common, and it brings them together. It’s because of Christy’s active example that Anne is driven to reconsider her atheism as well as her future path in life as a vicar’s wife. I’m starting to think that believers are better off than nonbelievers if only because they have something to live by besides self-interest. Then why not simply join them? If I can’t accept all of it yet, maybe I will in time, little by little.

It’s fascinating to me that Anne’s spiritual conversion occurs almost as a result of her sexual relationship with Christy; I think, before that relationship, she would have been incapable of reaching out to the numinous for help. Her belief in Christy and in the love they share enables her to reach for concepts she would not allow herself to contemplate while trapped in marriage to Geoffrey.

I think I’ve gone on quite long enough for now!

Side note: I love this small mention of the Crimean War, since I read a couple of fascinating books about it, for a short story. I read the newspapers to keep up. Quiet old England turns out to be a shade bloodthirsty: everyone is dying for a good old-fashioned war again, which they haven’t had since Waterloo. The enemy seems to have been picked almost at random, as far as I can tell. The residents of Wyckerley are puzzled but proud of their new viscount for going off to keep Turkey safe from Russian encroachment (a murky and remote motive to me, but perhaps I don’t understand politics) and never fail to ask me what news I’ve had from my husband. I say the mails are unreliable, which is certainly true, and change the subject.

Book discussion post is here!

I wrote about Eroticism in To Have and To Hold here.