The author of Misunderstood, Florence Montgomery, prefaces her novella with the statement that it is “not a child’s story” but “intended for those who are interested in children.” It is the tale of seven-year-old Humphrey and his brother four-year-old Miles, who have lost their mother and are being raised by a much-absent father and a French nursemaid. The story figures prominently on Humphrey, who is a dynamic child, precocious, kind and full of energy and boyish mischief. The adults around him seem to see him not as a child but as a miniature adult, and while his father loves him he does not seem to make much effort to understand him at all. Miles, on the other hand is frail and timid and sweet, so he gets lots of kisses and comforting and attention, as opposed to Humphrey’s doses of lectures and expectations.

The story unfolds with a few breaks for moralizing as a bit of a cautionary tale to parents. It is hard to imagine, especially in today’s world where seven is hardly considered an age of responsibility, that adults could be so obtuse to the suffering and confusion that might go on behind the smile of a child, but in this time and place it does have credibility. My main objection would be that the story is far too sentimental and weepy and a tad predictable. I kept thinking of the Little Eva death scene in Uncle Tom’s Cabin, which is so overblown with emotion that it has the opposite effect that it intends.

There is certainly a reason some of these obscure works have been forgotten and buried, and with all apologies to Florence Montgomery, who was writing to another audience entirely, this one does not deserve to be revived. It is more the fact that so few women published at the time that makes this interesting than anything the book itself might have to offer.
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