Last week, I read Rilla of Ingleside, the eighth book in Lucy
Maud Montgomery's series of books that focus on plucky orphan Anne
Shirley and her children. This week, I backtracked to the seventh. I
should have read that one first, of course, but my curiosity about
Montgomery's take on World War I was more immediate, plus I wanted to
complete the series on a positive note, and I figured Rilla would be rather depressing. In Rainbow Valley,
we meet four children whose mother has died and who like to hang out in
a graveyard, as well as a pair of adult sisters who have lost both of
their parents and, in the case of one, a sweetheart. Despite these
specters, however, the book never feels gloomy or oppressive. After all,
death taints every installment in the series, and on the whole, this is
one of the cheeriest of the "Anne" books. I call it an Anne book
loosely because she is barely involved in the occurrences of the novel
(though she's even less visible, and only referred to as "Mrs. Blythe"
or "Mrs. Dr. Dear", in the eighth book). Her children are more involved,
but the main focus is on John Meredith, the new minister in town, and
his four free-ranging children.
It's interesting to read this
book in light of the one that follows, since we get to know the
Merediths so well here. They move into the background in Rilla,
as sweethearts of Blythe youngsters, participants in Ladies' Aid efforts
and soldiers. They have important roles to play, but Una is the only
character who is fairly well fleshed out within that book itself. If I'd
read this book first, I certainly would have cared more about the
Merediths when I got to the concluding volume.
Twelve-year-old
Jerry is the oldest, and he doesn't let his siblings forget it,
particularly when they form the Good Conduct Club in an effort to stop
inadvertently giving local gossips something to talk about. He is the
one who most often points out transgressions, and he also is in charge
of coming up with appropriate punishments, some of which have severe
consequences. Eleven-year-old Faith is kind but spunky. She is the most
Anne-like child of her generation. Trouble seems to follow her around,
and her attempts to make amends sometimes lead to even further scandal.
Still, her courage is admirable; she's determined to help her father as
best she can, whether it's by making a public speech, printing a letter
in the newspaper or paying a visit to a wealthy potential parishioner.
Gentle ten-year-old Una is a delicate child with a slightly
otherworldly air about her, which makes her a good match for poetic
Walter Blythe, whom she secretly admires. Shy and compassionate, she
puts her own reservations aside on more than one occasion in order to
appeal on someone else's behalf. I like all of the Merediths, but Una is
my favorite. Nine-year-old Carl is the youngest. An impish, fun-loving
chap, he is rarely without some small creature or another stuffed in his
pockets. Every reptile, rodent and insect in the valley seems to be his
friend, which doesn't bother his siblings but startles many in the
community.
In this book, there are essentially only four
Blythes as well. Jem, the oldest of the bunch, carries himself with
authority, reveling in masculine games as he teeters on the brink of
higher learning, which will take him away from his newfound friends.
Classically handsome Walter spends his days mooning about with his head
stuck in a book, much to the disapproval of some and the derision of
others, though generally, the Merediths appreciate his storytelling
abilities. Nan and Di are twins, with Nan especially beautiful and Di
especially clever. Rilla, the chubby six-year-old who will go on to be
the main character in the last book, is involved in one memorable scene
but generally is absent, while Shirley, the second-youngest, is scarcely
mentioned at all. He's the invisible Blythe; over the course of three
books, we learn practically nothing about him except that he has brown
eyes, hair and skin and that he is especially close to Susan, the
housekeeper.
Susan is a part of this book and makes her
opinions on a number of subjects known. She is particularly outspoken in
her concern about Walter wasting his time with poetry, which of course
is an opinion that Anne does not share. Another prominent side character
is "Miss" Cornelia, a family friend who is married but distrusts men in
general and harbors a deep prejudice against Methodists. She is most
important to the book because Una persuades her to take in Mary Vance, a
coarse, street-smart orphan the Merediths find sleeping in a barn. Mary
is likable enough, and the matter-of-fact way in which she describes
the ruthless woman she escaped makes her easy to sympathize with. But
she also has a tendency to scold the Merediths and make them feel badly
about themselves. Her self-righteousness makes the Blythes and Merediths
glad that her playtime with them is limited.
John Meredith is
kindly but distracted. He spends so much time immersed in thought that
his children scarcely see him, and he has no idea how much mischief they
get into while no one is supervising them. A widower who cannot imagine
falling in love again, he keeps his mind on heavenly things. His
children adore him, but they worry that their shenanigans could cost him
his job. Across town lives a very different sort of widower.
Argumentative, agnostic Norman Douglas never comes to church, and he's
known throughout the glen for his terrible temper, which cost him the
love of his life in his youth. Despite his subsequent marriage, he still
carries a torch for fiery Ellen West, the only woman he's ever known
who can keep pace with him in a debate. She lives in a house on a hill
with her younger sister Rosemary, who is as kind as Ellen is abrasive.
Rosemary develops a close bond with the minister, much to the alarm of
her sister, who lives in dread of the thought of solitude.
The
romantic entanglements of these adults are rarely in the forefront of
the novel, but Montgomery slips hints of them in until the final
chapters, when she explores them more thoroughly. It's nice to have the
adult perspective to counter all of the exploits of the lively children,
though their misadventures are well-written and quite engaging. The
romance that gradually blossoms between John and Rosemary is one of the
best in the series, and heaps better than Rilla's non-courtship with her
longtime crush Kenneth in the eighth book. One thing that makes it so
satisfying is the consideration for the children involved. It isn't
until Faith stumbles into a heart-to-heart talk with Rosemary after
suffering a calamity that she realizes just how bereft she has been
without a mother in whom to confide. It's clear that while Rosemary is
falling in love with John, she's falling in love with his children as
well, his children who so desperately need a little more attention and
guidance than their father is able to give.
It seems fairly
plain to me that Montgomery had already planned on writing the eighth
book as she was working on this one. For one thing, it's dedicated to
the memory of three soldiers who died during World War I. For another,
there are hints of things to come sprinkled throughout the novel. Jem is
obsessed with playing soldier; Anne thinks it's a passing fancy, but
he's every bit as gung-ho about the idea when the opportunity comes for
him to actually sign up in Rilla. Ellen West discusses her
conviction that the Kaiser is a threat to the peace of Europe and her
frustration that almost nobody seems to agree with her. There's a rather
elegiac quality to some of the writing about the idyllic valley, as
Montgomery knows that not only will the children soon face adulthood,
but war will tear them apart.
Most heavy-handed, though, is
Walter's vision of "the Piper", which occurs in the eighth chapter after
he tells his playmates in the valley the story of the Pied Piper coming
and leading all of the children away from their homes. He gets a
faraway look in his eye, and he announces that the Piper will come to
the valley and that he and the other boys will be forced to follow him
while the girls stay at home and wait for their return. Just before
this, Una demonstrates her perceptive nature when, instead of pitying
the lame lad in the story who cannot follow the Piper, she is happy for
his mother, who is able to have him home safe, unlike all of the other
mothers in town. The image of the Piper concludes the novel as well,
with Walter asserting that he has grown closer, to which notion Jem
responds enthusiastically. More foreshadowing of Walter's actions in Rilla
comes in the form of his decision to get into a fistfight with a
classmate who insults his mother and his friend. After the event, John
Meredith tells him, "My motto, Walter, is, don't fight till you're sure
you ought to, and then put every ounce of you into it." It seems likely this advice comes back to him when he finally decides to become a soldier.
I don't recall that I've ever had an objection to Montgomery's language
before, but I was taken aback when she put a certain racial epithet
beginning with "n" in the mouth of Mary Vance. What's more, while the
Meredith children are shocked and affronted by her use of the word
"darn," none of them seem bothered by it. Its inclusion is indicative of
the time in which this book was written, though, and thankfully, she
only uses the word once. My only other major issue with this book is its
limited connection to Anne, and having grown used to her decreased
presence in the series after reading the sixth and eighth books, I found
I didn't really mind that she didn't have much to do. I would have
preferred for her to be a more involved character, but she does have a
role to play. All of the Merediths feel comfortable talking with her
when they have problems, and Anne's spirited defense of the family in
the face of her neighbor's criticism is a shining moment. Even though
the thread that links Rainbow Valley to Anne of Green Gables is fairly tenuous, I enjoyed this light-hearted novel very much and would recommend it to any fan of Montgomery's work.
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