Tracy has written
a number of wonderfully inventive novels including, The Girl with the Pearl Earring, and At the Edge of the Orchard. She
has also managed to corral 21 of the best women writers today. Among them is Emma Donoghue, Francine Prose,
Elif Shafak. Each writer based their
stories the line “Reader, I married him,” and then took that wonderful morsel
to stories of amazing creativity, empathy, and power.
Picking favorites
for this review is almost impossible.
While the stories vary on the treatment, they all possess wonderful
imaginations. A case in point is “Grace
Poole Her Testimony” by Helen Dunmore.
She writes, “Reader, I married him.
Those are her words for sure. She
would have him at the time and place she chose, with every dish on the table to
her appetite. // She came in meek and mild, but I knew her at first
glance. There she sat in her low chair
at a decent distance from the fire, buttering up Mrs. Fairfax as if the old
lady were a plate of parsnips. She
didn’t see me, but I saw her. You don’t
live the life I lived without learning to move so quiet that there is never a
stir to frighten anyone. // Jane Eyre.
You couldn’t touch her. Nothing
could bring a flush of color to that pale cheek. What kind of a pallor was it, you ask? A snowdrop pushing its way out of the bare
earth, as green as it was white: that would be a comparison she liked. But I would say: sheets. Blank sheets.
Paper, or else a bed that no one had ever lain in or ever wood”
(31). Grace Poole was a servant of
Rochester who was charged with taking care of Bertha, the iconic “mad women in
the attic.”
Joanna Briscoe
writes in “To Hold,” Mary and I stole conversations between lessons, between
days and nights, every moment with her treasured, even the times when we
clashed and tangled and cried, then tried so hard to start afresh. But how could you love a woman as I loved
her? She lined my existence because she
lived inside me, and at night as Robert slept, there were the colors of her,
the fragrance, the smooth shell of skin behind her ear. When we could escape town, no one else on the
moors on wet days, she walked with me in all the winds, which had names, and by
the stream sources, among the curlews, the peregrine nests. She showed me the sandstone and the thorns
and waterfalls: all the pretty places where the toadstools grew in dark secret;
the drowning ponds, sphagnum, fairy tale growth in tree shadows” (61). This story has an ethereal bent that bring to
mind the moors the Brontë sisters loved so dearly.
If I had the time
and space, I would throw about pages to give a sample of each story. Tracy Chevalier in Reader, I married Him has assembled a marvelous collection of
stories that reflect on the wealth of the literature of the 19th
century. It is a collection every avid
reader and admirer of the Brontë’s should have a permanent copy close at
hand. 5 Stars for each of these women.
--Chiron, 11/04/18