As a lifelong bookworm, I have long found it difficult to disentangle my
own life from my favorite fictional realms, so I empathized readily
with Polly Madassa, the 12-year-old narrator of Lindsay Eland’s Scones and Sensibility.
The books she most cherishes become very real to her, and it’s not
uncommon for her to be carried away on the wings of fancy. I can relate
all too well to drifting off into a daydream and being jolted back to
reality barely aware of my own surroundings, and it’s not uncommon for
my friends and family to look askance at me and wonder what strange
mental leaps led me to an outburst that, to me, seems perfectly
on-topic. But Polly’s bookish eccentricity manifests itself in even more
powerful ways.
Polly’s parents own a charming bakery in a
quaint New Jersey seaside town. It’s one of those picturesque places
that seem lifted right out of a painting by Thomas Kinkade, and I often
found myself wishing I could step into the pages and take in the salty
sea air and the aroma of freshly baked goodies wafting down the street,
where familiar faces peek through the lighted windows of cozy houses.
Polly is a reasonably contented young lady, but like the titular
protagonist of Anne of Green Gables, she has a tendency to wish her own life could be as exciting as the characters about whom she reads.
So engrossed is she in the worlds of Anne and of Elizabeth Bennet, the spirited heroine of Pride and Prejudice
that she speaks in lofty language befitting those books. It’s an
impressive feat, really, and only in times of great excitement or
distress does she lapse into normal speech patterns. I get the sense
that by the time we enter her head – through narration that is just as
high-fallutin’ as her dialogue – she’s probably been speaking like this
for so long that most people are used to it. Few of her acquaintances
bother to comment on it; those who do are mostly politely bemused.
In
addition to her immersion in lofty language, Polly takes something else
away from her two favorite novels: a desperate desire to see epic
romance unfold before her very eyes. The summer stretches before her,
and she needs a project. What could possibly be more thrilling than
trying to help some of her nearest and dearest find true love? Yes,
Polly is determined to become a matchmaker – never mind that her sister
Clementine is happily attached to a classmate named Clint or that her
best friend Fran Fisk’s father seems to have fallen head over heels for a
woman he’s met on the Internet. Polly disapproves of both of these
matches, and she won’t stop until she has found someone she deems
suitable – and if bringing these lovebirds together takes a little
underhanded scheming on her part, so be it.
Polly is a flighty
child who is both sweet and self-absorbed. She feels that she is acting
in the best interests of those whose love lives she is trying to
arrange, but she never takes their own feelings into consideration.
Somehow, she believes that she knows better than they do what is truly
best for them. Because of this, she is a rather exasperating character.
Her intervention on behalf of genial kite shop owner Mr. Nightquist,
probably my favorite secondary character, and reclusive spinster Miss
Wiskerton is sneaky but fairly harmless. After all, they are both
lonely, and neither one has any other prospects at the moment. But her
tactics with Mr. Fisk and Clementine truly had me shaking my head in
dismay at her utter gall and cluelessness.
This is a
light-hearted read that is filled with minor disasters but nothing
irreversible. It helps that all of the characters are just so nice. The
most disagreeable is Clementine, but then wouldn’t you be too if you
were 16 and your little sister was doing everything in her power to
break you and your boyfriend up? While Clementine’s personality bears no
resemblance to that of Elinor, from Austen’s Sense and Sensibility,
Polly’s reaction to her romance reminds me very much of how
disappointed Elinor’s sister Mariane is in the apparent lack of passion
in her suitor Edward. Where are Clint’s grand romantic gestures? How can
she abide someone so mundane? (Though perhaps if Polly were not so
averse to the realms of geeky fantasy – at one point she derides her
male peers for their interest in Lord of the Rings
– she might appreciate the sentiment behind the “I love you” – “I know”
exchange between Clementine and Clint that she overhears, much to her
disgust.)
Polly’s role as delivery girl for the bakery proves a
great aid to her matchmaking plans, though she initially sees it as a
hindrance. It gives her an excuse to drop in on several people,
sometimes slipping them pastries from fabricated secret admirers.
Meanwhile, she has a secret admirer herself – a young man whose identity
does not remain in doubt for long. Brad Baker is an unassuming kid who
has had a crush on Polly since kindergarten. Polly dismissed him long
ago after his first amorous advances, but Brad has decided to summon up
his courage and try again. One might think someone with Polly’s
starry-eyed sensibilities would see something cosmically appropriate
about the notion of a Baker courting a baker, but she just can’t get
excited about the affections of a boy whose idea of romance involves
wilted flowers and poetry containing the lines “I love you forever /
Like a flower that stinks.”
She has a lot to learn about
romance. Most importantly, she has to accept that not everyone wants the
same things that she does. And if she takes a good hard look at her
motivations, she may see that her machinations are driven as much by
fear as altruism. She and Clementine have drifted from each other
lately; finding her a new boyfriend could be a way to restore the bond
she fears is fading. Fran’s mother fell in love online and headed for
the hills; if Fran’s father continues his relationship with this woman
who lives several hours away, perhaps he and Fran will take off too.
It’s much safer for him to fall for someone locally.
Though this
aspect of her personality isn’t really explored until later books in
the series, Anne Shirley is quite the matchmaker herself, as is the
titular character in Jane Austen’s Emma, which gets a cursory nod
in this book. Anne’s matches mostly succeed; Emma’s are more
disastrous. I have yet to read it myself, but from what I’ve heard of
it, Emma seems likely to have influenced this book just as much as Pride and Prejudice,
the only Austen novel that Polly herself has read. The literary nods
here are fun, and the inevitable messes that ensue from too much
meddling often have a comical edge.
Scones and Sensibility
is a cautionary tale against getting too wrapped up in inner worlds and
interfering in the personal lives of others, however good your
intentions may be. It’s also a loving tribute to the works of L. M.
Montgomery and Jane Austen. Polly’s antiquated narration may grow a bit
tiresome at times, but fans of those novels will likely appreciate it
for the homage it is. This mid-grade novel won’t attain the status of
those classics, but if you’re in the mood for a little breezy romance
with literary underpinnings, you may just find this book as tasty as a
fresh-out-of-the-oven chocolate chip muffin from Madassa’s Bakery.
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