No Light Confection, This

One of the dangers of living in an "advanced society" is a degree of arrogance toward those who came before. I recently read a little novel about the Great Plague of 1665 in London, and I couldn't keep from wondering how we in the 21st century would react if we were faced with circumstances similar to what the Londoners faced. I have a hunch that, regardless of how "advanced" we think we are, people would react in much the same way.

The novel was At the Sign of the Sugared Plum by Mary Hooper. It's a simple, short book for relatively young readers, but I found it to be really thought-provoking. The main character, Hannah, is a young girl who is coming from the country to live in London and work in her sister Sarah's sweetmeat shop (that's a candy shop, if you find it as confusing at first as I did). Hannah is excited about the prospect of living in the big city, and her top priorities are catching up on the city fashions and finding a sweetheart. Unfortunately for Hannah, she's come to London just as the plague has -- shortly after her arrival, the Bills of Mortality are announcing the number of deaths in St. Giles' parish has doubled during the week. Then the deaths begin in other parishes, then a neighbor's house is shut up for plague, then the Bills of Mortality begin to number in the thousands each week. Hannah's obsession with fashion is forgotten as she observes piles of bodies carelessly dumped into mass graves. Hooper does a fine job of moving Hannah's character through a growing awareness of the seriousness of the times she's living in.

One reason I liked the book so much was because it was so rich in historical detail. I've read other stories in which the plague had a role, but none of them ever brought home to me the way Hooper's book did the reality of what it must have been like to live during those times. The people of London were faced with an overwhelming crisis over which they seemingly had no control, and I find it fascinating to learn about how they reacted to that crisis. They had no idea what was causing the plague or how it was moving from one person to another; as a result, a hearty market for "plague preventatives" developed. Knowing what we know now, some of the things people tried to do to avoid plague infection were laughable -- carrying a handful of flowers to sniff, smoking heavily, taking specific herbal potions made to match up with their birth sign. Other things they did are horrifying, such as forcibly barricading an entire family into their home for forty days when a single member fell ill with plague, or killing virtually all the cats and dogs in the city. I also think it's interesting to look at the "civic government" side of the issue. Can you imagine being a city official who has to figure out how to dispose of 7,000 bodies in a single week, knowing next week there may be 10,000?

All that brings me back to my original statement. We look back on how seventeenth-century Londoners responded to the crisis of their times, and with the superior knowledge of history on our side, we can laugh at the ineffectiveness of their plague preventatives or condemn their practice of quarantining victims for its role in increasing the number of deaths. But I wonder if we would fare any better if we were faced with our own crisis, and I'm afraid the answer would be probably not. Human nature being what it is, we would probably respond with the same type of irrational fear.

We do have the advantage now of understanding germs and how disease is spread; but consider the descriptions of a possible outbreak of Ebola or bird flu. We may be able to understand that the disease is caused by a virus and that it's spread by contact with air-borne particles, but would that keep us from reacting with fear if or when we came in contact with someone who was ill? In one sad scene in the book, a child of one of Hannah's neighbors has died of plague, meaning the whole family will not only have to deal with grief but with being locked up. People from the neighborhood gather around to watch the scene when the baby's body is taken out of the house, but Hannah notices no one goes forward to comfort the distraught mother or to take care of the two little boys who are left. Would we be any different today? Or would we be like the "quality" folk of London, who got their Certificates of Health and got as far away from the city as they possibly could?

I don't mean to say that I believe everyone is so callused to the suffering of others. Actually, Hooper does a good job in showing Hannah dealing with the conflict of knowing what others need and wanting to do something to help, but fearing for her own safety so much that she can't make herself do what she knows need to be done. That's humanity, I think. In the end, Hannah and Sarah do take a big risk to do something to help someone else (although, of course, they get a big benefit as well). I like to think that "our better angels" will come out -- at least sometimes. Maybe the bigger the crisis, the more extreme the conflict in our human nature appears - there is a mighty pull for self-preservation, but maybe it will be balanced by noble regard for the needs of others and courage to risk personal danger.

Did I ever say I love historical fiction?

Underbelly and Upper Crust

I think there's some kind of poetic symmetry at work here (unintentionally!). My book for this month was The Remarkable Life and Times of Eliza Rose by Mary Hooper, which tells the story of a girl in 17th-century England who's been turned out of her home by the woman she thought was her stepmother and so goes to London to try to make her way in the world. It occurred to me as I was reading that the book is a great companion to the first book I read this year, No Shame, No Fear by Ann Turnbull and its sequel, Forged in the Fire. All three books take place in London in the mid- to late-1660's, but the characters' experiences of London are very different, shaped by who they are.

When Eliza's story starts, she's in Clink Prison for attempting to steal a pasty, since she's hungry, with no one to provide for her. While in prison, another girl teaches her to beg from passersby, giving the girls some money to buy "luxuries" (like a bed up off the floor) for themselves. Eventually, Eliza is bailed out of jail by a woman with less than honorable motives: Ma Gwyn, owner of a bawdy house and mother of the actress Nell Gwyn, who has as her ambition to become a mistress to King Charles II.

Nell rescues Eliza from Ma Gwyn's nefarious schemes, and Eliza acts as her maid as Nell pursues the opportunity to sleep with the king. She quickly succeeds, and when she becomes pregnant with the king's child, he sets her (and Eliza) up in a respectable brick house. Eliza, however, realizes how precarious their lifestyle is, and she longs for her own place in the world. Eventually, the mystery of Eliza's true family is solved, and she gets what she wished for.

Eliza Rose is filled with people who flaunt an immoral lifestyle: King Charles, who maintains multiple mistresses with no attempt to hide their existence from his wife; Nell Gwyn, who aggressively seeks to become one of those mistresses; Charles Duval, the celebrated highwayman; the king's "gang of wits," a group of young men who appear to spend most if not all of their time drinking, gambling, and bedding any woman they can. While Eliza manages to stay pure (for the most part - she does get involved in a scheme with Duval), she has a very ambivalent attitude toward the immorality, accepting and supporting Nell's quest for the king.

What a contast to the lifestyle of Susanna and Will in Turnbull's books! Their whole existence is defined by their religious beliefs. They both spend time in prison too, but their only crime is being a "Dissenter." Though they are strongly attracted to each other, they understand and accept that their attraction is going to be satisfied only within marriage. When they do fall to their desire, the first thing that occupies Will's attention afterward is finding work so he can marry Susanna and support her as soon as possible. I think it's kind of interesting to realize that if Will hadn't chosen to become a Quaker, he might have had a lifestyle similar to that of the king's "gang of wits" (though probably not quite as libertine, since he would be of the merchant class).

I'm fascinated by the thought that these characters are walking the same streets, but that their lives are so different. As Will says in Forged in the Fire, "I stooped and looked out over a spread of rooftops, jetties, innumerable chimneys with smoke rising up, and, far below, people thronging in the darkening streets. . . .So many people live in this city, I thought, so many other lives." Some of these lives, like Nell Gwyn's, are lived in pursuit of worldly pleasures; some, like Will and Susanna, have higher aims. Each book is just a little "slice of life" -- one person's limited experience of the huge megacosm that was London in the late 1660's. Putting their stories together helps me understand the richness and complexity of life - then and now- a little better.

I love historical fiction!!

Entry for March 20, 2007 - At Long Last, Satisfaction

(Note: This will contain spoilers!)

Ok, I'm being a little snarky with that title. Forged in the Fire is the sequel to No Shame, No Fear (see my entry for January 19). The romance between Susanna and Will that begins in No Shame picks up again -- after three years of letter-writing between Susanna (still in Hemsbury) and Will, who has gone to London to try to find work after being disowned by his father. And I must admit -- Will and Susanna aren't the only ones who come away from this story satisfied; when I finished it last night (after devouring it in less than 24 hours), I felt that it was just right -- a delightful historical romance, worthy of sitting on the same shelf with something like The Witch of Blackbird Pond.

I thought No Shame, No Fear was Susanna's story, even though Will tells half of it and much of the plot centers around the conflict with his father that Will faces after deciding he will be a Quaker. Forged in the Fire is Will's story, at least for the first half of the book. He is in London, which in 1665 is on the verge of major historical events. Turnbull does very well in winding her plot through those events, making them personal through Will. He suffers brutal treatment in prison for being a "Dissenter"; he loses his employment (and therefore his prospects for providing for Susanna as his wife) because of plague; a year later, his home and livelihood are burned to the ground in the Great Fire of London.

Against these momentous events, the relationship between Will and Susanna plays out, more important in their perspective than anything else that happens -- and isn't that realistic? Despite what's going on in the world, the thing that most concerns us is what's going on in our own small lives. They've been corresponding for three years through letters that take weeks to travel from one to the other, staying faithful to their promise to be true to each other, planning their marriage as soon as Will is set up well enough to provide a suitable home. All that is thrown into question when Susanna unexpectedly comes to London and sees Will in a situation that makes her doubt their relationship can actually work. They are estranged for some weeks, only to be reconciled by a noble and unselfish act on the part of their common friend, Nat Lacon. (More about him in a minute.)

The only thing that disappointed me a little was a lost opportunity. Turnbull did such a good job in No Shame of portraying Susanna's "moment of faith" -- the point at which she realized she did have the strength to be true to her faith and to do the right thing, even if it was painful. It was one of my favorite parts of the book. Turnbull sets Will up for something similar -- and then doesn't deliver, because of the demands of the romance, I guess. But here's what I wish she had done: when Will is sent to prison (not for the first time, by the way), he admits the gate of the prison "always filled me with dread." He suffers horribly in the prison, and he knows he's not "made of the stuff of martyrs." He nearly dies, but a wealthy Friend rescues him and nurses him back to health. This man just happens to have a lovely daughter near Will's age, a daughter who is not yet committed to being Quaker. She has just been to visit cousins who are still Anglican, and she says going to church is "easier" than being a Quaker. I think here would have been a good opportunity to have Will face the temptation of an easier life, one free from persecution and fear -- but -- it's the author's choice. And I'm not dissatisfied with her choice.

I do feel sort of bad for poor Nat, though. He's that secondary character who gets stuck in the role of making things work out for others. Oh, Turnbull sort of throws him a bone at the end, but that's exactly what it seemed like -- a convenient "let's make sure Nat has someone, too." I feel like he deserved better.

Can you tell these characters came to life on the page for me??

I want to add these additional thoughts about this book that came from a discussion I had with someone in a different context (I was recommending the book for a teen reader):

I recently read a pair of books by Ann Turnbull set in 17th century London -- No Shame, No Fear and Forged in the Fire. The story is set in England, and the historical element is the persecution of Quakers and then the dramatic events of 1665-66 in London (the plague and the Great Fire). The main story, however, focuses on the relationship between an Anglican boy and a Quaker girl. The first book, I thought, did very well with portraying infatuation -- in the end, however, the characters make a mature decision to postpone a quick marriage. The second book picks up after three years of waiting for each other and keeping their relationship alive by letters. There is a brief "coming together" scene that I thought was handled tastefully and that is followed immediately by the young man's determination to carry out his responsibility to provide for his wife-to-be. Although the physical element of their attraction to each other is a part of the story, the characters always view that element in relationship to other parts of life, like religion and economics, and I think that is a good example for young people. After all, sex is part of life, but it doesn't rule life -- which is not the message teens get from so many media sources.